


Purity 9: Subterfuge

by Sueric



Series: Purity [9]
Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Angst, Comedy, Complete, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fanfiction sequel, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Purity, Romance, Sequel, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:08:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 229
Words: 936,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1747436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sueric/pseuds/Sueric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>‘<em>Bonfire</em>’ first appeared on Warrant’s 1992 album, <strong>Dog</strong> <strong>Eat</strong> <strong>Dog</strong>. Song written by and copyrighted to Jani Lane. </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>== == == == == == == == == ==</em>
  </strong>
</p><p><strong><em>Final</em></strong> <strong><em>Thought</em></strong> <strong><em>from</em></strong> <strong><em>Evan</em></strong>:<br/><em>Holy</em> <em>damn</em> …</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Touch

: ** _October 20, 2065_** :

: ** _Columbia University_** :

 

- ** _OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_** -

 

‘ _She's free, she's no one’s pet—beautiful, intelligent_ ,  
‘ _You absolutely must respect the way, she's right as rain_.  
‘ _There's a part of her you're never gonna change_ …’

 - _Bonfire_ by Warrant

 

 

The throbbing music permeated every inch of the boarding house just outside the campus of Columbia University, pulsating in the cold air wafting through the cracked window like a living, breathing thing. Two bodies enveloped in a fine sheen of sweat, locked together in a dance of rhythm and motion . . .

Moans and shudders; the stifled whimpers and half-cries of want and need . . . the combustion of heat and darkness; of sound and energy . . . No words, no names; simply an understanding that transcended the desire to clutter it up with inane comments and perfunctory speech . . .

The odor of the smoke was thinner in here, closed off from the rest of the place as it was. Still, the lingering effects of the marijuana cloud that had inundated him the moment he’d entered the party house was clinging to him despite his best efforts to shake them off. His senses were a little duller than they should have been . . .

“H-harder,” she whispered, arching back to meet his thrusts, her body trembling under the firm hold he had on her hips.

He let a roughened growl slip from him as he jerked her back against him: flesh to flesh, the crack of skin meeting skin a delicious draw in the staid air. Delicious tremors erupted up and down his spine as the hazy light from the huge bonfire burning in the middle of the college’s main quad illuminated the world outside the window in a violent glow. Her body convulsed around him, her pussy tightening and tensing as a cry of orgasm spilled from her lips. Holding onto the chipped wooden frame of the bed, she rotated her hips, ground against him as he reached around, stroked her with deft fingers, rode her hard as she writhed below him.

 _He’d been drawn to her. As though she’d been the moon in a starless sky, she’d captivated him from the moment he’d stepped inside. Standing near the open window with a slightly dazed, if not completely beguiling innocence, she’d drawn him in, captured him without a fight. The smoke-hazed room reeked of incense meant to cover the stench of burning joints and other things. It hadn’t taken long for him to feel the effects of the drugs on his system, either; a comfortable lethargy, an ethereal brilliance_ . . .

 _Someone shoved a nearly full bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. He’d slugged it down in one fluid gulp, discarding the bottle on a cluttered table without breaking his stride as the liquid heat of the booze burned a path straight to his stomach. Realizing somewhat vaguely that some giggling girls were trying to get his attention, he’d ignored them, moved toward her without deviating from his destination. The pounding music echoed in his ears, the heavy beat of the drum goading him further, drawing him closer_ . . .

 _Owlish eyes peered at him in the semi-darkness, tinged by the haze of smoke that lent a dream-like quality to the entire affair. Someone tucked something his hand, and with a surprised quirk of an eyebrow, he slowly lifted the lit joint to his lips, ignoring the remnants of the lingering conversation that replayed in his head_.

“Come on, man . . . lighten up!”

“I swear to God, if you leave this room, I’ll hunt your ass down and skewer you to the nearest wall . . .”

“Idle threats, Mikey . . .”

“If you really think so . . .”

And then, violet eyes—serious, sober . . . “I don’t know . . . you’ll get yourself into trouble . . .”

“I’m _always_ in trouble. Besides, I’m bored as hell . . . and he’ll get over it. Who the fuck does he think he is? My fucking _father_ . . .? Got one of those already, thanks, and he sucks ass, too . . .”

 _He slipped between a boy standing nearby and the girl—his target. She was staring out the window, her honey blonde hair falling over her shoulder, hiding her face—the one he saw in the reflection of the pane of glass—distorted, watery . . . beguiling. He wanted to smell her but couldn’t rightfully ascertain her scent. Lost in the stronger odors that permeated every breathing inch of the house, she stood before him like a ghost hovering over the water_ . . .

 _Slipping his arms around her waist, drawing her back against his chest, he ground his hips against her ass as his hands slipped up to grasp her breast, squeezing, kneading, demanding_.

 _She stiffened against him but didn’t turn around, her body tense but not unwelcoming. He teased her breast, the pads of his thumbs rubbing gently over the distended nipple below the rougher yarn of her sweater. Her skin puckered, extended, and she let out a sharp breath, melting against him, her defenses gone_.

‘Fate . . .’

 _The word reverberated in his head, and with a low growl that only she could hear, he leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. “Fuck me,” he said_ . . .

“ _I . . .” she trailed off with a ragged sigh as he let go of her, trailing his fingertips over the softness of her cream colored angora sweater, down the swell of her breast, down the delicate curve of her side, along the smooth line of her hip_ . . .

 _She shivered as he slipped his hand up under the sweater, pressing his palm against the shocking heat of her flat belly. Pressing his cock against her ass, letting her know exactly what he wanted, he nipped at her ear and whispered his demand one more time. “Fuck. Me_.”

 _She nodded her acquiescence, her breasts swelling, nipples hardening as he slowly, deliberately pinched one between his fingertips_ . . .

 _She ducked her head and let him take her hand, willing to follow him anywhere, wasn’t she? The thought had almost made him smile_.

 _He’d pulled her through the house and up the stairs, paying a couple of college kids a hundred bucks to get out of the first room he found. She had his pants down around his ankles, fucking him with her mouth before they even closed the door behind them. She was clumsy, her motions jerky, but it didn’t matter. He came almost immediately, staggering away from her as his semen arced into the air—pearly droplets of absolute sin. If he’d ever wanted another woman as badly, as desperately, as he wanted her, he couldn’t remember. Leaning heavily against the wall as his breathing came, stunted and shallow, he closed his eyes for just a moment. When he opened them again, she was naked, lying in the middle of the already rumpled sheets, her hands buried in the shadowed curls between her legs. Pumping her fingers into her pussy with a ravenous abandon, she whimpered, moaned quietly, her pleasure a greedy thing. Gorgeously rounded breasts thrust upward as she arched her back and writhed, she panted harshly, her body trembling, pulsing, calling out to him. He uttered a sharp growl, unwilling to allow her to get herself off, unreasonably jealous of the nimble fingers that slipped in and out of her with unabashed ease, shining softly in the moonlight as the sounds of her arousal—the deliciously wet slap of her hand against her pussy—echoed in the room_.

 _He knelt beside the bed, grasping her legs behind her knees and dragging her to him, spreading her legs and burying his tongue deep inside her as the first jolts of orgasm rocked through her lithe body. He showed her no mercy, no quarter, devouring her time and again, savoring the taste of her on his lips, on his tongue. The smell of her was dizzying, inebriating, lingering in his nostrils like the crisp wind of a winter’s gale_ _. . . Grasping her knees, spreading them wide, he pushed gently, opening her further, lifting her bottom as his tongue flicked out, teasing the puckered flesh around her ass as a roughened cry spilled from her, as absolute shock, undeniable pleasure, rocked through her body_ . . .

“Oh, God,” she gasped, her voice failing her, the abrupt whispers echoing in his head like gunfire. She trembled, slipped against him as their sweat drenched the sheets. Her pussy sucked him in, held him tight in a quivering vise. He’d lost track of how many times he’d gotten off, couldn’t tell how long they’d been locked away in the darkened room. He wanted to possess her in every single way, wanted to show her that her body belonged to him—a startling realization, and yet . . .

The harsh throb signaled the rapid approach of yet another orgasm; the tightening in his balls that sent shivers up his spine left him feeling frantic, wanton. As though she sensed it, too, she reared up, reaching back to wrap her arms around his neck as he tumbled forward, bearing her down against the bed. She lifted her ass, braced her knees against the mattress, fucking him back as hard as he was driving into her, meeting his thrusts with her own. Her screams echoed off the walls, her fingers clenched around fistfuls of the sheets as he nipped at the curve of her throat, as he licked away the sweat that formed on her petal-soft skin . . . Her pussy tightened around him, convulsing as she keened, uttering nonsensical sounds, broken words that made no sense. It was too much. Gritting his teeth, his growl mingled with her breathless pants, and he rode her hard, rode her fast, willing her to understand that she, alone, had shattered him . . .

He collapsed against her, his body still throbbing from the force of his orgasm. She convulsed a few more times; residual twinges that she couldn’t help.

After what seemed like forever, he rolled over, dragging her with him, flush against his side, his cock still deep inside her, and while common sense told him that he needed to get the condom off, he couldn’t quite bring himself to let her go. She felt so right, so _perfect_ to him despite the slight thickness that gathered around the edges of his conscious.

Her breathing was still ragged, and she moaned softly when he shifted her to the side, letting his penis slide out of her. He was still hard, and he knew damn well he could easily go another round or two, but she was tired—exhausted, really—and he smiled in the darkness as he carefully pulled the condom off and chucked it into the small trash can beside the nightstand.

Her body seemed to meld against his when he laid down, and she heaved a tumultuous sigh as he kissed her lips, her cheek, and as he held her close, the stirrings of a new song blossomed in his mind.

.

“‘ _The still of the night brings you to me_ ,  
“‘ _The whisper of angels and a promise to be_ . . .  
“‘ _If I traveled the world to find a woman like you_ ,  
“‘ _I’d keep searching time over if you just asked me to_ . . .’”

 

.

“Mm,” she moaned in the near-silence that belied his soft humming. “Pretty song . . .”

“Yeah?” he asked, unwilling to speak much louder than a whisper; unwilling to break the trance.

She nodded vaguely, her breathing evening out, slowly as sleep beckoned her.

He yawned suddenly as a comfortable lethargy ebbed over him. “What’s your . . . name . . .?” he heard himself ask as his eyes drifted closed seemingly of their own accord.

He heard the murmur of her voice, but couldn’t make out her reply.

‘ _S’okay_ ,’ he thought as the last feeble strands of coherence grew taut then broke. ‘ _I’ll . . . find out . . . in the . . . morning_ . . .’

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘ _Bonfire_ ’ first appeared on Warrant’s 1992 album, **Dog** **Eat** **Dog**. Song written by and copyrighted to Jani Lane. 
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Holy_ _damn_ …


	2. 001: Stereotypes

: ** _April_** **_4,_** **_2073_** :

 

- ** _OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_** -

 

‘ _I_ _hate the rain and sunny weather_ ,  
‘ _And I—I hate the beach and mountains too—boo hoo_ ;  
‘ _And I don’t like a thing about the city, no, no_ …  
‘ _And I—I—I hate the countryside too_!  
‘ _And I hate everything about you ...'  
_ '... _Everything about you!_ ’ 

- _Everything About You_ by Ugly Kid Joe

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

‘ _Zel Roka—age thirty-two—current occupation: professional musician—hair color: varies—eye color: varies—height: six-feet, six-inches_ . . .’

Wrinkling her nose as she slipped the paper behind the eight-by-ten glossy print of the man in question, Valerie Denning reached for her iced tea and slowly shook her head as she frowned at the mocking smile. ‘ _Gorgeous? Certainly_ ,’ she allowed with a decisive snort as she took in the carefully contrived mussed tangle of black hair, the vaguely amused glint in his jewel-like eyes. Even the series of earrings he wore around the outer edge of his ear didn’t detract from the overall effect, and Valerie slowly shook her head. ‘ _Aren’t all rock stars drop-dead gorgeous? The beautiful people? Pretty boy_ . . .’

Dropping the photograph onto the table as she sipped the iced tea and flipped through the manila file, Valerie couldn’t stave back the disgusted half-growl as she read the five-plus pages of past incident reports. ‘ _How the hell can one man get into this much mischief?_ ’ she wondered as she shook her head slowly, eyes narrowing in shocked incredulity. ‘ _Drunk and disorderly, inciting a riot, public intoxication, lewd and lascivious behavior, resisting arrest, indecent exposure, assault and battery, possession of narcotics, possession of illegal substances . . . Can he even_ dress _himself in the morning without getting into some sort of trouble?_ ’

Setting the glass of tea aside as she groped around, stubbornly refusing to look, for the black vinyl folder that the waitress had silently slipped onto the table, Valerie cast a cursory glance at the tab and slipped a twenty dollar bill into the padded folder before standing it up for the waitress to collect.

Not for the first time, Valerie had to ask herself just why she bothered. Not one of the glamorous people who wandered through the office doors where she had just been made junior partner gave a rat’s ass about what they’d done to begin with, and she’d long ago given up on the idea that even one of them actually possessed a soul. They didn’t care, one way or another, as long as they got away with whatever it was that they’d allegedly done wrong. Something about the entertainment business sucked the conscience right out of them. It seemed to her that she would be better off changing her field of law from her specialty of pandering to the stars in an attempt to keep them out of prison to something far more fulfilling—like swimming in a tank filled with live piranhas.

‘ _That’s not even half of it this time, and you know it_ ,’ she told herself sternly. ‘ _Madison_ _asked you to meet with him, remember?_ ’

She made a face and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. That was true enough. If it weren’t for Madison Cartham all but begging her to see the man, she wouldn’t have thought twice about taking his case.

‘ _Ugh, she owes me, and she’d better not think for a second that I’ll forget about it. She owes me, big . . . huge_. . . massive . . .’

“ _Please, Val?” Madison begged—an odd thing from the Madison that Valerie knew best_.

 _Valerie caught the phone receiver between her shoulder and her ear as she scowled at the packed appointment calendar on her desk. “I’ve got a full load now, Maddy. I don’t have time to take on another case, especially one that is a lost cause_.”

“ _I know . . . that’s why he needs your help! You know I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. Come on, Val . . . he’s in way over his head_.”

“ _I’ve already looked into his case,” Valerie remarked a little coldly. “He was wasted—_ completely _wasted. The toxicology reports indicated that he had enough alcohol and drugs in his system to kill a horse_.”

 _Madison_ _sighed. “But the accident wasn’t his fault. You’ve read the reports, right? You_ know _it wasn’t his fault. He never should have gotten arrested, in the first place_.”

 _Valerie wrinkled her nose as she tossed her pen onto her desk and sat back in the thickly cushioned chair. “Be that as it may, it doesn’t change the fact that if one tests positive for illegal substances, one is automatically held at fault for accidents, and you know it. He’s damn lucky they let him bail out of jail_.”

“ _Yeah, I know . . . thing is, he’s not a bad guy. He didn’t seem high. The police only tested him because of who he is_.”

 _Rubbing her temple furiously, Valerie shook her head, realizing too late that her friend wouldn’t be able to see the gesture. “That doesn’t matter, either. He submitted to the test voluntarily_.”

“ _They_ trapped _him_.”

“ _Doesn’t matter_.”

“ _Well, it should_.”

“ _Doesn’t he already have a lawyer? He’s a rock star, for God’s sake, and his rap sheet is about a mile long_.”

“ _Yeah, and that’s why he doesn’t have an attorney now. The last one told him that if he screwed up again, he was on his own_.”

“ _And you want to pawn him off on me? Thanks, but no thanks_.”

“ _You’re not really going to make me beg, are you?_ ”

“ _No,” Valerie insisted_.

“. . . _Please?_ ”

“ _Madison_ —”

“ _Valerie_ . . .”

“ _No_.”

“ _So you’ll do it?_ ”

“ _No_.”

“ _Please?_ ”

 _She heaved a heavy sigh, massaging her temple just a little harder as she felt the first waver in her resolve_.

 _Madison_ _must have interpreted it correctly because she giggled. “Thank you, Val. I promise I’ll tell him that he’d better be on his best behavior_.”

“ _The only opening I have is tomorrow at one, and if he’s late_ —”

“ _He won’t be late. You’re such a doll_.”

“ _You owe me,” she grumbled_.

“ _Sure, sure . . . Put it on my tab, will you?_ ”

“ _Oh, I absolutely will,” Valerie promised as she dropped the phone into the cradle_. ‘Zel Roka? Oh, God . . .’

 _Then she dropped her face into her hands and slowly shook her head_ . . .

Muttering a few choice words as one of the papers she’d been looking over slipped off the table onto the floor, Valerie leaned down, stretching out her fingers to reach it. With a grimace as she struggled to extend her fingers just a little further, she managed to snag the errant paper between her index and middle fingers. Sitting up again, she checked her watch before glancing around the dimly lit restaurant.

The glint of faux candle light from the table decorations caught her eye, and Valerie frowned, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Veiled in the dusky shadows in a booth toward the back of the dining room, all she could see was the yellowish glow of the electric candles reflecting off the pale hair of the booth’s occupant. It was clipped short and tidy, and he didn’t seem out of place in the restaurant, yet there was something about him—about his presence—that seemed to fill the spacious room. He had his face buried behind _The_ _Wall Street Journal_ , but he seemed to sense her perusal. Darkened eyes slowly rising, locking with hers for the briefest of seconds, he nodded curtly, the candle light shining off his wire-rimmed glasses before lifting the paper once more, covering his face more completely as he reached around the paper to retrieve the cream colored, bone china coffee cup.

‘ _Who . . . is he?_ ’

Rolling her eyes as she jerked back against the thickly cushioned seat, Valerie hurriedly stashed the papers away and stuffed the file into her attaché case. ‘ _Who cares? This is New York City. You see thousands of strangers every day, and you never stop to ask who they are_ ,’ she reminded herself sternly.

Gathering her things as she tried to brush aside her irritation, Valerie snatched up her things and stalked through the restaurant.   She was being stupid, wasn’t she? ‘ _Who is he, indeed . . .? And why does he seem so . . . familiar to me?_ ’

Her stride faltered for a moment, and she nearly turned around as the strangest sense that she was being watched assailed her. Turning her head just enough to glance back out of the corner of her eye, Valerie scowled as she forced her feet to move on. The man was still hiding behind that newspaper, but she still couldn’t quite shake the feeling . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

“Ms. Denning will see you now.”

Evan Roka Zelig—better known as Zel Roka—peeked up from the _People_ magazine he’d been leafing through and casually tossed it aside without taking his eyes off the young receptionist and pasting on a tolerant little grin. “Thanks, honey.”

Michael Murphy started to rise, too. Zel waved him away as the receptionist—he’d forgotten her name—blushed and giggled before hurrying off. “I think I can handle this,” he remarked mildly when Michael opened his mouth to argue.

“Sure, you can, Zel,” he agreed dubiously.

Zel shot him a bored glance as his smile disappeared. “I can. Have a little faith, will you? I’m not an _entirely_ lost cause.”

Michael’s gaze darkened. “Well—”

“Forget it,” he stated. “I don’t need you to watch my p’s and q’s.”

Michael didn’t look like he was buying it, but he didn’t gainsay Zel, either, glaring pointedly at the errant rock star before slowly sinking down into the thickly cushioned chair once more. “Make sure you behave. She’s your last chance. No one else wants to touch your case.”

“Right,” Zel remarked tightly before striding toward the nondescript cherry wood door bearing the hopelessly boring plaque: _V. Denning, Junior Partner_.

He didn’t bother knocking. The woman glanced up from the file open on her desk and seemed surprised for a moment as she slowly rose to her feet, eyes narrowing as though she recognized him—not his face, but him—though he didn’t really have time to think that over before she opened her mouth to speak. “Mr. Roka, I presume.”

Zel grinned and shook his head as he flopped into the chair across from her desk. ‘ _Oh, well, damn_ ,’ he mused, struggling to hide the incredulity in his expression before she could discern it. ‘ _She smells good, don’t she_ _. . .?_ ’ He pasted on a lazy, lopsided grin. “ _Mister_ Roka?” he repeated with a rather self-deprecating laugh. “Fuck that. I’m just Zel, thanks.”

She sat slowly, her full lips twisting into what he figured was her version of a business smile. “Mr. Roka will suffice.”

Zel rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Whatever. So you gonna get me out of trouble, baby?”

The smile disappeared as she pressed her lips together in a thin, white line. “I haven’t decided whether I’ll take your case or not, no,” she replied, adjusting the thick, clunky frame of her oversized glasses as she leafed through the open file on her desk.

“Oh, I get it.”

She blinked, glancing up at him and slowly shook her head. “Get what?”

“Yeah, this game. Okay, tell me. Tickets to a show and backstage passes?”

“What?”

“You want to see me in the recording studio?”

“Excuse me?”

He grinned almost lazily. “Or you just want a really . . . good . . . _fuck_.”

She gasped, pale cheeks paling even more seconds before they blossomed in indignant color. “Wh—? I-I . . . _No!_ ”

Deliberately letting his eyes travel from the top of her light brown hair—the color somehow didn’t suit her—pulled back a little too severely into a tight knot at the nape of her neck, over the deep hazel eyes still burning with absolute outrage, past the high contours of her still ruddy cheeks as he judiciously ignored the drop-mouthed expression on her face, he nodded slowly. ‘ _Definitely doable_ ,’ he decided as he scowled slightly at the boxy cut of her entirely too-clinical business suit. She was hiding her figure on purpose, probably from dogs like him. Taking a moment to commit her scent to memory, he chuckled. “Yeah, I could fuck you,” he decided at last, his tone playful despite the light of challenge that had ignited behind his gaze. “Definitely an eight out of ten on the bone-ometer. You’d be a nine-and-a-half, easy, if you lost the uniform.”

“I don’t think you’ll—That’s _entirely_ inappropriate!” she spat as she drummed the end of her pen against the open file. “If that’s how you’re going to be, I suggest you find yourself another attorney because I—”

“Okay, okay . . . No need to sic the bitch on me.”

She drew a few deep breaths, obviously to curb her desire to tell him off, and cleared her throat before speaking again. “You’ve been charged with something very serious, Mr. Roka. You realize that, right?”

Zel snorted, propping his feet on the desktop and crossing his ankles. “Yeah, well, it ain’t like he’s dead or nothing,” he grumbled.

He really hadn’t thought that it would be possible for her to look any more irritated. He was wrong. “You don’t really get it, do you, or do you just not care? Because of your actions, a man is laying in the hospital—a man you put there with your reckless behavior, and that man isn’t going to ever walk again.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, babe. It ain’t like I _meant_ to do it. I’m not a bad guy, and anyway, it wasn’t my fault.”

“Not your . . .? Are you serious? Wait . . . if you so much as try to say something like the devil made you do it, I swear, I’ll—”

“I was _bored_ ,” he cut in. “I always do stupid shit when I’m bored. I can’t help it; I swear!”

She sighed and shook her head. “So you were _bored_ , and because you were _bored_ , you chose to smoke a couple joints and slam your car into Mr. Matthis’ truck, and that makes it _not_ your fault.”

“You savvy pretty well, baby,” he drawled as he slumped a little lower in the comfortably cushioned chair.

“No.”

“Oh, come on! You can’t really think I’d have done that otherwise.”

“Honestly, Mr. Roka, I can’t say that I think one thing or another. I don’t actually know you, do I?”

“I’m not that big a dickweed, V.”

“V?”

“That’s what it said on your door.”

She looked completely chagrined. He nearly laughed. “Be that as it may—”

“What’s it stand for?”

She didn’t look like she wanted to answer him. Straightening her back, she stubbornly lifted her chin a notch. “Valerie.”

He considered that for a moment, nodding vaguely as another lurid grin broke out. “Valerie? That’s nice . . . I like ‘V’ better, though.”

“I shudder to ask but . . . why?”

He grinned. “Valerie’s too nice. V sounds a lot more . . . _sexual_.”

Her cheeks reddened a little more, but she didn’t back down. “It doesn’t to me.”

He shrugged. “Sure it does.” Leaning forward, he nabbed the pen out of her hand and grabbed a blank notepad. She watched as he drew a large ‘V’ and turned it around for her inspection.

“What’s this?”

Chuckling again, he tossed down the pen and sat back, drawing his feet up on the desk once more as he grinned lazily at her. “It’s you . . . flat on your back with your legs spread for me, and I’ll bet anything that you taste as good as you smell.”

“You’re disgusting,” she gasped, ripping the paper off the tablet and tossing it into the trash can as her cheeks darkened from ruddy to crimson.

“Wanna hear what I’d do to you if you spread your legs for me like that?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Rather _feel_ it, wouldn’t you, baby?”

“You’re nasty.”

“Damn straight. I’m about as nasty as they come. ‘Course, you already knew that, didn’t you? I’d eat your pussy until you were red and raw and begging for me to fuck the hell out of you. Tell me something, V . . .?”

She didn’t look like she was going to take the bait. She also looked mad as hell, and he stifled the desire to laugh outright. She was spirited, he’d give her that much, and he had a feeling that she just wouldn’t be able to help herself, either. “What?”

Slowly, deliberately, he leaned forward, his mocking grin quickening her pulse. In the absolute silence, he could hear the blood singing in her veins, and the smile widened. “Do you swallow?”

“Swallow?” she echoed, shaking her head in confusion.

He chuckled softly—huskily. “Yeah . . . if I shot my load into that pretty mouth of yours, would you spit it back at me or swallow it?”

Her gasp was all the more startling in the quiet. He chuckled as her eyes brightened, snapping angrily as her cheeks shot up in violent flames. “That is none of your business, _Mr_. Roka,” she bit out. “Just who do you think you are?”

Relenting with a soft chuckle. Zel slouched back in his chair. “So you gonna help me, V?”

“I don’t think I should.”

“Why not?”

Her eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Give me one good reason.”

He chuckled. “You said you didn’t want to hear it.”

Heaving a sigh and shaking her head, she drummed the end of her ink pen against the desk blotter and narrowed her eyes on him. “You know, I don’t really care if you rot in prison for the rest of your natural born life.”

“Ouch.”

Her answer was a strategically arched eyebrow.

“Will you come see me in the big house?”

“And why would I?”

“Conjugal visits, of course.”

“Pig.”

“I prefer dog.”

“Definitely a pig.”

“Woof.”

“If you want my help, you have to do exactly what I say.”

“Ah, bondage? Haven’t tried that, but I think I would with you.”

“Mr. Roka—”

“Zel.”

She ignored his interruption. “Judge Lister doesn’t like rock stars. I don’t think he’d have a second thought about locking you up for the maximum sentence allowed by law.”

He grimaced. “All right, let’s hear your terms.”

Satisfied that he was going to listen to her—at least for the moment—Valerie sighed and pushed her glasses up once more. “You have a preliminary court date in three weeks, though I’d advise that we have that delayed. It’d be in your best interests if we allow enough time for the press to find something else to chew on. That said, until your court appearance and sentencing, should it progress that far, you need to be on your best behavior.”

“I can do that.”

“Can you?”

He nodded.

She rolled her eyes. “That means that until then, you need to be a model citizen . . . In simplest terms: no parties, no alcohol, no drugs, no women.”

Snorting in disbelief, his eyes widened in surprise as he waved his hands to cut her off. “Hold on, honey. The parties and drugs, fine. The booze and women? Have a heart, will you?”

“And home by ten every night unless you’ve got prior obligations.”

“Come again?”

“Those are my terms. If you don’t like them, feel free to find another lawyer.”

Zel heaved a sigh. “Don’t you think you’re being just a little—”

Those startling hazel eyes narrowed dangerously. “A little _what?_ ”

He grinned. “Bitchy.”

“No, I really don’t think I am.”

“You can’t really expect me to follow those rules,” he grumbled.

Valerie sat back and shrugged. “This isn’t a comparatively petty deal like the time you flipped off the police when they tried to give you a speeding ticket.”

“I didn’t do that,” he pointed out. “I was rubbing my eye.”

She arched an eyebrow and opened the file again. “Indecent exposure?”

“I had to take a whiz, and there wasn’t a fucking john.”

“Lewd and lascivious?”

He grinned wolfishly. “ _She_ swallowed.”

“Ugh,” Valerie uttered, her expression showing exactly what she thought of his behavior. “What you did this time was serious. Driving under the influence of illegal substances isn’t something that you’re just going to get a hand slap for. You had a _ten ounce_ bag of marijuana in your car with you, and according to the officers on site, you weren’t only stoned, but you were drunk, too. Are you listening to me now?”

Evan heaved a sigh and nodded once. “All right; I hear you. The straight-and-narrow, huh? Fine, fine . . . Can I think about this?”

“Those are my terms. Take them or leave them; I really don’t care.”

“Are you going to babysit me, honey?”

“Of course not.”

“But I told you, right? I get in trouble when I’m bored.”

She looked like she was teetering on the brink of losing what little control she had over her temper. “Then I suggest you find a hobby.”

Evan stood up and shrugged. “You just _outlawed_ all my hobbies,” he informed her.

“Then I _suggest_ you find yourself some new ones.”

“Damn, V . . . you’re sexy as hell when you’re mad,” he informed her with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s _Ms_. Denning, Mr. Roka—not babe or honey or V— _Ms._ Denning . . . Do we understand each other?”

He chuckled. “Absolutely, _Ms_. Denning.”

She didn’t look like she believed him, but she finally nodded as she rose to her feet. “Good. You need to make another appointment. There are a few more things we should discuss before the preliminary hearing—that is, if you want my help, and if you agree to my terms.”

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie heaved a sigh of relief as the door closed with a soft click.

She’d figured that Zel Roka was going to be just as bad as the other entertainers she’d represented before. She had been wrong. Zel Roka was much, much worse.

Wrinkling her nose in obvious distaste as she frowned at the photographs that were supplied with the file of his various crimes, she couldn’t help the disapproving little growl that escaped her. He looked dangerous, didn’t he? Despite the almost boyish charm of his features, the soft angles and hollows, there was a certain air of unpredictability to him.

Valerie snorted. Then again, maybe it was the multiple piercings . . . Lip, left nostril, both ears—the left one with a series of holes that ran around its perimeter—and right eyebrow made up the metal menagerie, and each of those holes had silver loop earrings of varying sizes hooked through them. If the piercings weren’t bad enough, he also had a series of tattoos running down the length of both arms, across his chest and abdomen, and, from what she had seen in pictures before, he had even more on his back. Add the ever-changing hair and eye colors, and, well, it seemed as though the man were trying to be a chameleon. ‘ _The classic bad boy_ ,’ she supposed. Guys like him were nothing but jokes.

A soft knock on the door broke through her otherwise dark assessment. “Come in,” she called without looking up.

“Ms. Denning? Do you have a moment?”

Glancing up from the photographs, she nodded as Michael Murphy slipped into the office and closed the door behind him. Pacing around almost nervously, the slick manager seemed troubled, nervous. She’d met him briefly a few days ago when he’d made an appointment to ask that she help Zel Roka. Valerie swept all the papers back into the file and set it aside. “Yes, but only a minute. I’m expecting another client, so if you could cut to the chase?”

Mr. Murphy nodded and sat down, drumming his fingertips on the arm of the chair. “Zel told me that you gave him certain . . . restrictions?”

Valerie rolled her eyes. “Listen, Mr. Murphy, you asked me to represent him, and I will, but only if he agrees to behave himself. If you’re here to tell me that I’m overstepping my boundaries, then I’ll have to ask you to find someone else to take his case.”

“No, no . . . not at all. What you’ve asked of him isn’t really that terrible. He needs someone to curb him. He’s not a bad guy, you see . . . When he gets bored, he gets into trouble.”

“So he’s said. If he can’t control his own impulses, then he’s not going to go far in getting out of this mess.”

Mr. Murphy sighed. “Look, I’ve been Zel’s manager for years. He’s a good kid.”

Valerie snorted. “Hardly a kid. He’s well over thirty years old—definitely old enough to know better.”

“Sure, sure, even still . . . Maybe if he had someone nice to hang out with—someone with a level head on her shoulders . . .”

Valerie wasn’t sure she liked where this was going. Slowly shaking her head, she reached for the bottle of water on her desk and downed half of it before speaking again. “I don’t have time to babysit a rock star, Mr. Murphy. If you’re so concerned about him, then you do it.”

“Think I haven’t tried? Zel won’t listen to me on this. I’m just his manager, after all.”

“And you think he’ll listen to me?”

Mr. Murphy nodded. “I think he will.”

“I’m just an attorney. I’m not interested in being his social worker.”

“Better than half of Zel’s problems are caused by his choice of friends.”

“Then tell him that.”

“Just don’t let the act he puts on fool you. The real deal is nothing like the guy you met today.”

“You’re sure of that?”

Mr. Murphy nodded. “It’s all a show to him: part of the image, if you will.”

For some reason, she felt as though she were fighting a losing battle, likely since the music manager wasn’t acting like he was really hearing her, at all . . . “Why me?”

“You’ll be his attorney. Why not you?”

No doubt about it, she really didn’t like the confident tone in Mike Murphy’s voice. “I don’t have time for this.”

“All I’m asking is that you try.”

“Try to do what? Show up on his doorstep and offer to hang out? No thanks.”

Mr. Murphy grinned. “Well, no, of course not. I just have a feeling that Zel’ll be by to see you eventually.”

“And why would you think that?”

The grin turned a little mysterious as he stroked his goatee with nimble fingers. “Call it a hunch.”

Why didn’t she like the sound of that? Valerie shook her head. “Guys like him are a dime a dozen. It’s added stress that I don’t need, Mr. Murphy.”

“Of course you don’t,” he agreed. “Then again, if you’re going to represent him in this case, don’t you think you’d be better off knowing the real Zel Roka?”

“I don’t have to know or like him to represent him.”

“Maybe you don’t, but you’d feel better if you did.”

Valerie sighed. “It’s nice that you’re so devoted to your cause, but I’ve got other clients, too. Am I supposed to just drop everything to . . . what? Save Zel Roka? From who? Himself?”

“Just think it over; that’s all that I ask.”

Valerie didn’t answer as Mr. Murphy stood up and headed for the door. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Denning. Have a nice day.”

She watched him go without another word as she tried to make sense of everything he’d said. “Forget it,” she mumbled as she reached for her next case file. The greater distance she kept between Zel Roka and herself, the better. That man was nothing but trouble.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Roka_** _  
> White crest of the wave_. 
> 
> ‘ _Everything_ _About_ _You_ ’ copyright Ugly Kid Joe. Originally appeared on UKJ’s debut mini-LP, **As** **Ugly** **As** **They** **Wanna** **Be** , 1991. 
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> _**Final** **Thought** **from** **Valerie** :_   
>  _What a pervert!_


	3. 002: Illusions

‘ ‘ _Cause we all just wanna be big rockstars_ ,  
‘ _And live in hilltop houses driving fifteen cars_ ,  
‘ _The girls come easy and the drugs come cheap_.  
‘ _We’ll all stay skinny ‘cause we just won’t eat_ …’ 

-‘ _Rockstar_ ’ by Nickelback

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

“I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

Zel Roka, also known as Evan Zelig, rolled his eyes and held out his hand. “Yeah, yeah . . . you think I care?”

“Seriously, Zel, think about it. Your attorney advised against doing this sort of thing, didn’t she?”

“Of course she did. She’s an _attorney_. . . a damn fuckable attorney, but still an attorney . .. Just hand it over, will you?”

Michael Murphy sighed and grimaced, but dug the bag out of his pocket. Tapping it against his palm for a moment, he seemed to be trying to make up his mind. Pinning Zel with a dark scowl, he slowly extended the baggy and shook his head at the same time. “Don’t be stupid, okay?”

Zel took the bag and grinned at his manager, flashing the multi-million dollar smile that had helped to make him famous. “Stupid? Me? That hurts, man . . .”

Mike didn’t look like he was buying. “Sure, Zel, sure. I’m serious, all right? Don’t piss that broad off, okay? She’s the best shot you’ve got at the moment. Aw, hell, she’s the _only_ bet you’ve got at the moment. You screw with her, and she could nail your balls to the wall.”

“Sounds like fun,” Zel quipped, stowing the marijuana into the inner pocket of his leather jacket.

Mike heaved a heavy sigh and affected an even more austere stance. “Just keep that stuff at home, okay?”

“Don’t get all upper-ass-crack on me, Mike. I have a mother, remember?”

“ _She’d_ nail your balls to the wall, too, if she knew what you have in your pocket,” Mike predicted.

Zel shot him what could only be described as a ‘shit-eating grin’. “Nah. My mama loves me. I’m her baby boy. Anyway, I’d be more worried about what my mama would do to _you_ if she found out since you’re the one who bought the shit for me. That weapon of hers isn’t just for show, you know.”

Mike made a face, having seen the weapon in question once when he’d accompanied Evan in a quick trip to Maine. Gin and Cain Zelig had been practicing in the back yard. To be more precise, Gin was practicing, targeting apples sitting on wooden blocks with the razor-sharp kusarigama—a scythe-like blade attached to a twenty-five-foot chain that extended at will with a heavy lead ball on the other end—while Cain sat back and made borderline-lewd commentary to his diminutive wife.

“Your parents are something else,” Mike remarked. “I’ve never seen people like them before.”

Zel stiffened and slowly turned to eye his manager. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mike shrugged, missing the blatant irritation in Zel’s expression. “They still act like a couple teenagers. It’s interesting. Hell, my parents haven’t ever acted like that . . . probably didn’t even do it when they _were_ teenagers . . .”

“They’re happy together.”

“That’s a new way to say it.”

Zel snorted. “What are you implying?”

“Well, after meeting them, it doesn’t surprise me that you act like a horny kid all the time.”

“Horny, maybe. Kid? Do I _look_ like a fucking goat?”

Mike rolled his eyes but grinned as he lit a cigarette and leaned against the hood of his late-model Corvette. “Teenager, then.”

“Pfft! What the hell ever, man. Anyway, thanks for the shit. Forced celibacy, my balls.”

“Evan—”

Zel cut his manager off with nothing more than the tell-tale arching of one eyebrow. “ _Zel_ , remember?” he grumbled under his breath. Mike rolled his eyes as Evan went on. “The partying and drinking, I can live without. I can even go awhile without this stuff. The pussy? You’ve _got_ to be kidding.”

“I don’t think _she_ was kidding.”

“Look, Mike . . . I promise I’ll keep my nose clean. I won’t go out of my way to get any, but it if should happen to offer itself . . .”

Mike sighed. “You have the most perverted way with words, Roka.”

“Besides that, I have a date with _twins_ tomorrow night. You don’t seriously think I can pass that up, do you?”

“Twins?” Mike echoed, smiling slightly despite his resolve not to encourage Evan in any way, shape, or form.

Evan nodded. “Oh, yeah . . .”

“Can’t say that I blame you for not wanting to miss that,” he admitted.

Evan chuckled and waved as he loped over to his motorcycle and revved the engine. Mike yelled something—probably telling him to put his helmet on—and Evan took off, leaving a loud squeal of rubber on asphalt and the stench of gas fumes in his wake.

Zel Roka . . . Evan Zelig . . . they were one in the same, weren’t they?

Sure they were, and yet, they weren’t; not at all.

Revving the engine again as he waited impatiently for the traffic light to change from red to green, Evan sighed and scowled at the asphalt under the tires of his Harley.

It used to be so easy, didn’t it? Being Zel Roka the rock star was simple: act stupid . . . be loud and obnoxious . . . fuck lots of girls . . . make music. He’d lived with both sides of his personality for years, and outside of his family, precious few knew who he really was: five that he could name off the top of his head. Michael knew. He’d been introduced to Mike through Ben Philips, Evan’s father’s business manager and the head of Cain Zelig’s generals. Though Evan knew damn well that Mike would be stupid to pass up a chance ingratiate himself to the current North American tai-youkai, he didn’t delude himself into believing that that was the only reason that Mike would offer to oversee Evan’s musical career. Evan had insisted that he wanted his family kept out of any sort of limelight; wanted to protect them from any scandal that might happen in the life of a rock star, and Michael had worked hard to bury the trail that led back to Evan Zelig and his family in Maine. Bone, the head of Evan’s personal security team, knew the truth. Bugs, the flamboyantly gay owner of the Bunny Hole Lounge—the club where Evan had been ‘discovered’ by Wicked Soundsations Records’ talent scouts—knew it, too. Dieter also knew it. It was hard to hide something like that from other youkai, after all . . .

And then there was Madison.

He’d grown up with Madison. She was one of the few people he actually called a friend. Her mother, Kelly had been lifelong friends with Evan’s older half-sister, Belle. Madison, too, was youkai, and her father was one of Cain’s primary hunters, a rough and gruff polecat-youkai that everyone called by his last name: Cartham.

They’d first met when Kelly had come over during one of Belle’s visits to Maine. Evan had been four at the time. Madison had just turned three. They’d hit it off immediately—if one could call Evan stealing Madison’s doll and heaving it into one of the hulking oak trees that lined the driveway ‘hitting it off’. She’d started to cry, and Evan had climbed the tree to retrieve the toy, only to get stuck in the top branches. His father had to rescue him, chastising him the entire time for teasing girls, and Evan had given back the doll with a red face and a mumbled apology.

They’d been friends ever since, and while Evan liked to think that Madison was the main instigator, he had to admit that they’d both been in their fair share of trouble over the years, and it was his fault as often as it was hers.

He grinned. ‘ _You just never forget that first fuck, do you?_ ’

‘ _And Cartham would have your balls for dinner if he ever found out you screwed his daughter, Evan_ . . .’

‘ _Which is why neither Madison nor I will ever, ever tell him_.’

True enough, they’d been each other’s firsts. Never mind the entire experience had been rushed and clumsy, and never mind that he and Madison disagreed about the actual first time since they’d tried once before that, but Madison asserted that Evan hadn’t actually gotten it in. He knew damn well that he had—at least, that was what he always told Madison whenever the subject came up. In truth, though, he knew well enough that the real first time had been later—the time that Madison acknowledged. Evan doubted he’d actually thrust more than a time or two before he hit his orgasm, and then he’d been absolutely beside himself when he discovered that he’d made her bleed. Hell, he’d barely gotten the damn condom rolled on, if he remembered correctly—the anticipation, he figured, at actually getting to have sex, to start with . . . He’d gotten much better at it over the years, and he’d certainly paid Madison back for the terrible first time; probably a thousand times over. They weren’t exactly lovers; just good friends who had a healthy respect for each other’s bodies, he supposed. It was something that they both wanted, and they both knew that there was nothing in it other than mutual satisfaction.

Back then, he’d still been Evan Zelig, youngest son of the North American tai-youkai and famous artist, Cain Zelig, and his mate, Gin Izayoi Zelig. His grandfather on his mother’s side was the notorious ‘angry hanyou’ of legend, InuYasha, and his grandmother? Well, she was very likely the most powerful miko in the world. His great uncle was the Inu no Taisho, Sesshoumaru Inutaisho, while his mother’s cousin, Toga was the reigning Japanese tai-youkai . . .

His uncle—or brother-in-law, depending on who he was speaking to—was one of the most celebrated youkai surgeons and clinical researchers in the world, Kichiro Izayoi. The confusion came into play because Kichiro was his mother’s brother but was married to Evan’s half-sister, Bellaniece, too. It was always a source of irritation between Gin and Cain since Cain refused to acknowledge that Dr. Fill-In-The-Blank was married to his daughter from his first marriage, while Gin stubbornly insisted on pointing out just how happy Belle and Kichiro were, and that Cain should be happy that his daughter found a mate who adored her.

The oldest of his mother’s twin brothers, Ryomaru had carved out quite a name for himself as one of the best youkai hunters in Japan and then some, and his youngest uncle was a corporate attorney. Evan didn’t doubt for a second that Uncle Mikio would excel in his chosen profession, too—if he could keep himself alive that long. He was the biggest klutz that Evan had ever seen . . .

And then there were his siblings.

Evan sighed and gunned the engine as he sped down the street, grinning just a little and shaking his head at the catcalls he got from women he passed on his way. ‘ _Only in New York City_ . . .’

His siblings . . .

It hadn’t really helped, being born nearly ten years after his brother, Sebastian—Bas, for short—and even worse, Bas was damn near perfect, right down to his absolutely gorgeous wife and mate, Sydnie. Never mind that Bas was in line to be the next North American tai-youkai, the older brother was, by all accounts, smarter, tougher, stronger, and basically exactly like their father with the only real exception being that Sebastian, unlike Cain, didn’t possess even an ounce of humor in his upper-ass-crack body.

Chuckling to himself, he slowed down as he noted the traffic light ahead changing from green to yellow.

All right, so that was a little harsh. As much as the brothers bickered and fought, Evan had to admit that, as a child, he’d absolutely idolized Sebastian. He used to follow Bas everywhere which never ceased to irritate the living bejesus out of Bas, and yet . . .

And yet, as much as it had to irk him, Bas had never really tried to shake Evan off, either.

Of course, in Evan’s opinion, everything had pretty much leveled out between them through the years. After all, Bas might well be in line to be the next tai-youkai—as if Evan had ever really wanted that dubious distinction—but Evan was far, far better with the ladies . . .

Then there was Jillian, and Jillian, it was safe to say, was everybody’s baby.   Most people thought that Jillian and Evan were twins, and Gin and Cain had let people think it. She, like Evan, had silvery white hair like their mother and blue eyes like their father though Jillian’s were more of an icy aqua than the deep sapphire hue that Cain and Evan shared. Only those close to the family had known that Jillian was adopted, and the world at large knew the girl as one of the highest paid cover girls of all time.

Evan snorted. ‘ _Black sheep, my ass_.’

Maybe that was the real reason that Zel Roka had been created. In the perfect world of the Zelig family’s little empire, Evan, the youth who’d spent days and nights on end, hammering out little songs in the soundproofed basement of the Zelig mansion where he could make as much noise as he wanted without disturbing the more straight-laced members of the family, had grown up feeling as though he existed on the very fringes of the seemingly-perfect world. Always dreaming about that one song that could define his entire life, reaching for the newest sound, the latest groove, Evan hadn’t ever been like anyone else . . .

Or maybe he was the most like his father, after all.

Cain was an artist. Reclusive with shy tendencies that had lessened over his years with Gin, deep inside, Cain was still the quiet dreamer, the artist who could create or destroy a universe with the simple stroke of a brush; with paint on canvas or carved in clay or stone, and maybe in that, Evan was more like his father than even Sebastian could ever hope to be . . .

In any case, he was both, wasn’t he? Zel Roka, the rock star, and Evan Zelig: the son, the brother, the screw-up.

The trouble was that the disguise and the security that had come with the ability to don one persona or the other . . .

It was wearing thin.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

“How was it?”

Letting go of the door, Valerie made a face and stepped back, shuffling aimlessly into her living room as she tried to think of a diplomatic way to tell Madison that she thought Zel Roka was a complete and utter ass. “It . . . was . . .”

Madison sucked in her breath. “That bad?”

Valerie snorted. “He calls me, ‘V’.”

“V?”

“Yes, V.”

“I hesitate to ask but . . . why?”

Sparing a dark glance over her shoulder before flopping onto the sofa with a grunt, Valerie covered her eyes with her forearm and sighed. “Because he’s a _jerk_.”

“No, seriously . . . why ‘V’?”

“He drew it on a piece of paper and showed me and said it was me, flat on my back with my legs . . .” Trailing off as she considered the rest of what he’d said, she growled and waved her hands as though to disburse whatever mental image the words had created in Madison’s head. “Oh, it doesn’t matter _what_ he said. He’s a jerk. There’s no way I’m representing him, so forget it.”

“Said, what?”

Flipping her feet around as she sat up, Valerie shook her head and heaved another sigh. “Never mind. It’s not worth repeating.”

“Really? So why are your cheeks all red?”

Valerie grimaced. “Because it’s hot in here.”

“It is not.”

“Well, _I_ say it is.”

“All right, then . . . I’ll just ask Zel.”

“You do that.”

“You’re really not going to represent him?”

The grimace shifted into a groan. “Are you nuts? Of course not. He’s unsalvageable, you know. Even if I wanted to, I can’t. I have a full workload now, and I’ll tell you the truth: Zel Roka doesn’t need an attorney; he needs a _nanny_.”

Madison laughed, waving her hand as she brushed off Valerie’s condemnations. “He’s really not so bad,” she asserted. “Zel’s just a little misguided and a little . . .”

“Obnoxious?” Valerie asked with a pointed quirking of her brow when Madison faltered.

Madison rolled her eyes and waved Valerie’s condemnations away. “Maligned.”

“ _Maligned?_ Ri-i-ight . . . so he’s not a reprehensible, womanizing, foul-mouthed, narcissistic, spoiled rotten, putrid cesspool of super-inflated male ego?”

“We can overlook all that,” Madison said, her lips twitching as she struggled not to laugh.

Valerie sat back, crossing her arms over her chest as she uttered a coquettish ‘hrumph’. “Why would we want to do that?”

“Because he has a _really_ big dick,” Madison replied seconds before dissolving into a fit of laughter.

“Oh, my God,” Valerie moaned, chucking a throw pillow at her friend. “He’s _dirty!_ ”

“But he’s damn good in bed.”

“Mad-i- _son!_ ”

“So I’ve slept with him . . . we’re just friends. No strings attached; just _phenomenal_ sex . . .” She sighed happily. “I could come just thinking about it . . .”

Valerie groaned and slowly shook her head. “And I used to think you were such a nice girl, too . . .”

“I’m nice enough,” Madison allowed, extending her hand and thoroughly examining her fingernails. “Besides, he was my first.”

Valerie blinked and narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Really?”

“Yep. I was his first, too, so I suppose you could say we perverted each other.”

“And you’re still friends?”

“Of course we are! We have a mutual understanding: hot sex, and lots of it with no strings and no guilty feelings.”

“I think I’d rather abstain than share my boyfriend with the world.”

Madison sighed and propped her feet up. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s never _been_ my boyfriend. It’s never been like that: not ever.”

Valerie shook her head. “It just sounds . . . weird, Maddy. Sleeping with someone without any real feeling?”

Madison waved her hand and giggled. “I never said I don’t have feelings for him,” she contradicted. “I adore him. I always have. There’s just never been that . . . that . . . spark, you know? That churning in the belly just from seeing him—all that jazz . . . he’s comfortable; he’s familiar . . . I _love_ him. I’ve just never been _in_ love with him.”

“I suppose you’re right . . . True love and all that . . . It’s completely over-rated,” Valerie scoffed, striding off toward the kitchen and rummaging around in the fridge. “Just look for someone who’s dependable; that’s what I say.”

She didn’t have to look to know that Maddy was making a face. “Like Marvin, you mean?” she grumbled.

“Yes, like Marvin,” Valerie agreed, twisting the engagement ring on her finger. “He’s the most reliable man I know. That’s why I’m marrying him.”

Madison snorted loudly. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this particular conversation, and as much as Valerie would like to think otherwise, she was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the last, either. “You know, Valerie, you buy a car because it’s reliable. You don’t marry someone because they’re reliable.”

Valerie heaved a sigh and waved a hand dismissively. “No, no, you’re putting words in my mouth. Marvin’s great. He’s got a good personality, a great temperament, and I _do_ love him, but he’s also reliable, and that’s what I need.”

Madison rolled her eyes and slowly shook her head. “You’re right, Valerie . . . you _can_ depend on good ol’ Marvin. You can depend on him to delay your wedding yet again. You can depend on him to be away all the time, and you can depend on him to be a completely self-centered bastard in bed. I mean, if you’re going to marry someone as dull as dishwater, the least you can do is get a good fuck out of it. You’re not even getting that, sweetie . . . I think you should just kick him to the curb and tell him to step the hell off, and don’t think for a second that I didn’t make note of the fact that love was the least of your concerns.”

“Okay, at moments like this, I swear to God, I don’t know you,” Valerie grumbled.

“And now you know where Zel gets it, hmm? Come on, V . . . the point here is that, like it or not, Marvin is just not good enough for you. You’re young, right? Live it up! Sleep around, play the field, and when you’re old and your boobs start to sag, then you can marry someone as lifeless as Marvin-The-Insanely-Dull.”

Valerie shoved the refrigerator door closed and strode over, handing Madison a Corona Extra and flopping down in a chair. “He’s not insanely—did you just call me ‘V’?”

“Yes, I did,” Madison remarked as she carefully twisted the cap off her beer.

“Mad- _dy!_ ”

Madison blinked innocently. “Let’s face facts, V. You’re hot. _Smokin’_. If I were a lesbian, I’d be _all_ about getting into your panties. Zel’s right. You with your legs spread? I can see why he’d want to see that . . . Hell, _I’d_ like to see it, myself . . . Bet you have a really pretty little puss-puss . . .”

Fighting down the livid blush that stained her pale skin crimson, Valerie shook her head and rolled her eyes, draining half of her beer in one long gulp. “You’re just as nuts as Zel is,” she grumbled just before she broke into a catty grin that peeked out around the edges of the beer bottle neck. “Would you really?”

“Yes, I would.”

Valerie laughed and collapsed against Madison’s shoulder. “I love you, Maddy. I just question your choice of friends.”

Madison laughed, planting a loud, sloppy kiss on Valerie’s cheek. “So how’d you rank?”

“Rank?”

Madison wiped away the lipstick that she’d behind. “On the bone-ometer.”

Valerie snorted, her expression darkening just a little more. “An eight.”

An articulated eyebrow arched in silent contention. “An eight?”

“Yes, though he did say something about my clothes . . .”

“Oh, the uniform? Not surprising. Did he score you without the uniform?”

Valerie rolled her eyes and sighed, wrinkling her nose as she set her empty beer bottle on a thick cork coaster. “Nine-and-a-half.”

Madison shook her head. “You’d be a ten if you flashed him your tits.”

“You think so?” Valerie asked grudgingly.

“Oh, honey, I _know_ so! Zel Roka is a breast-man . . . and a thigh man . . . and an ass man . . . He loves the total package . . . Oh! I know! Stand up!”

“What for?” Valerie asked as Madison shoved her forward and stood up, grabbing Valerie’s hands and pulling her off the sofa. “Maddy! What are you—?”

“Strip!”

“What?”

“Strip! Strip!”

“Wh—? I— _No!_ ”

“Oh, come on! I just got a new cell, and I can get a quick snapshot of you . . . bet Zel would cream his jeans if he saw your breasts! I swear to God, you have the _best_ nipples I’ve ever laid eyes on . . . Please?”

“Absolutely _not!_ I’ve let you talk me into some really bizarre things in the past, Madison Cartham, but I am not— _am not_ —bearing my breasts to give some jaded rock star something to stare at while he . . . _defiles_ himself!”

Madison laughed but let go of Valerie’s hands. “All right, but just so you know? I’ll bet he’s home right now spanking the monkey while he’s _remembering_ you.”

“Oh, I feel so violated,” Valerie groaned, leaning forward and burying her face in her hands. She peeked up a moment later and slowly shook her head. “Did you say ‘new’ cell?”

Madison snapped her mouth closed as her cheeks pinked just a touch. “Yeah.”

Valerie sighed. “You lost your other one, didn’t you? How many cell phones have you lost this year so far?”

“I don’t know,” Madison grumbled, waving a hand in blatant dismissal. “Four? Five?”

“Probably more like nine or ten,” Valerie muttered.

“Kick me while I’m down, why don’t you?” Madison pouted.

Valerie smiled despite herself. “Seriously, Madison, you lose more stuff than anyone else I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she rejoined. “It started with my virginity and just went downhill from there.”

“Oh, Maddy, you poor baby . . .”

Madison suddenly shot her a sly smile, and Valerie had a feeling that they were about to change topics again. “So tell me the truth: I swear to God that I won’t tell Zel . . .”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” Valerie insisted with a stubborn shake of her head. “What’s your question?”

“Would you do him? If you weren’t engaged to Marvin, and if you just met him somewhere . . . would you?”

“No!” Valerie insisted.

“Uh hu-u-u-uh . . .” Madison drawled as she flopped down and rubbed Valerie’s back. Valerie opened her mouth to protest her innocence, but Madison relented, waving a hand to stave off whatever Valerie was about to say in self-defense. “Okay, okay . . . I’ll drop it for now . . . Let me take you out to dinner to make up for it.”

“Hrumph,” Valerie muttered without uncovering her face. “Italian?”

“Italian, huh?”

“. . . Yes.”

Madison laughed. “You got it, V. Whatever you want.”

“And you’re paying,” she reminded her.

Madison grabbed her hands and pulled them away from her face with a giggle. “Absolutely.”

“. . . Okay.”

“You won’t regret it, V. Now let’s go have some fun.”

Valerie’s answer was a low groan, but she let Madison drag her toward the door just the same. Why was it that whenever Madison said that she wasn’t going to regret something, she normally did . . .?

“Lighten up a little,” Madison remarked as Valerie grabbed her purse off the table by the door. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Valerie snorted indelicately as she followed Madison out the door. “Don’t say things like that, Maddy . . . _please_ don’t say things like that . . .”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘ _Rockstar_ ’ copyright Nickelback. Song appears on their 2005 release, **All** **the** **Right** **Reasons**. 
> 
> == == == == == == == == == ==
> 
>  ** _Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _… V …?_


	4. 003: The Deal

‘ _They call us ‘problem child’_ ,  
‘ _We spend our lives on trial_.  
‘ _We walk an endless mile_ ,  
‘ _We are the youth gone wild_ …’ 

- _Youth Gone Wild_ by Skid Row

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan moaned softly and rolled his shoulders, slipping his arms around the slender shoulders of his unseen bedmate without bothering to open his eyes. “Mornin’, Bugsy,” he murmured, teetering on the brink of falling back to sleep. “How’s my best girl?”

“You’re a _horrible_ tease, Zel Roka,” Bugs accused.

“Damn me to hell, right?”

“If I damned you to hell, who would I snuggle with in the morning?”

“True enough,” Evan agreed. “Don’t suppose you’d make me coffee?”

Bugs heaved a melodramatic sigh and cuddled against Evan’s shoulder. “I’ll think about it,” the flamboyantly gay rabbit-youkai asserted. “Convince me.”

Evan chuckled. “Oh, yeah? And just what kind of convincing are we talking about here?”

“Hmm . . . we-e-ell . . .”

“Can’t think of anything?”

Bugs waved his hand dismissively. “I could think of _more_ things if you’d just break down and admit that you’re gay,” he pouted. “There’s no shame in it, you know.”

“I know,” Evan agreed as a slow grin twitched on his lips, “but I gotta tell you . . . I’m still kind of attached to the breasts . . .”

Bugs snorted indelicately. “Those things are just _nasty!_ ” he pointed out in a plaintive whine. “They’re nothing but _fat!_ I mean, have you seen how much some girls jiggle? And they do it on _purpose_ , the trollops! Ugh! Puh- _leez_ . . .”

Grin widening, Evan lifted his hand to muss Bugs’ hair—a gesture that very few could actually get away with. “Now, now, Bugsy . . . I completely respect the jiggle . . .”

Bugs shook his head in complete dismay. “You’re breaking my heart, Zel,” he accused.

“Yeah . . . I’m sorry, doll-baby,” he remarked as the distinct sound of high heels clicking on the hardwood floor of the hallway drifted into the room. Evan’s grin widened. “Speaking of the jiggle . . .”

“And she’s one of the worst offenders,” Bugs pouted, nestling closer to Evan in a completely territorial sort of way. “Go away, Maddy! He’s mine this morning!”

“You know, there’s more than enough of me to go around,” Evan quipped, finally forcing his eyes open as Madison sauntered into the room. “Ah, Maddy . . . just the woman I was hoping to see.”

She giggled at him and sat down on the opposite side of the bed while Bugs rumbled out a pathetic sounding warning from low in his throat. “I’ll just bet,” she said amiably enough before letting her violet gaze shift to meet Bugs’ more belligerent expression. “Morning, Bugs.”

Bugs wrinkled his nose and uttered a terse ‘hrumph’. “I know what you’re up to,” he accused, “and it’s not going to work. Zel Roka is mine. I’ve got dibs on him.”

“So I suppose that means that we can’t share him?” Madison drawled, arching an eyebrow and pinning Evan with a secretive little smile.

“You look like a shameless hussy,” Bugs pouted, eyeing her slowly up and down.

Madison turned and grasped the mock fireman’s pole that Evan had installed a year ago. “Do I?” she drawled.

“Yes,” Bugs decided with a curt nod. “Can I borrow that skirt?”

“As long as I’m not in it,” she quipped, giving the rabbit-youkai a saucy wink as she sauntered around the foot of the bed.

“C’m’ere, Maddy,” Evan murmured, pulling her down on his other side.

She giggled but complied, resting her head on Evan’s shoulder while Bugs snorted and shot her a narrow-eyed glare. “I _guess_ I could go make that coffee for you,” Bugs breathed with a shake of his head. “Will you miss me, Zel?”

Evan planted an obscenely loud kiss on the rabbit-youkai’s cheek but didn’t try to stop Bugs from scooting off the waterbed. He was giggling madly as he hurried out of the room.

“I think he’s got more sway in his hips than I do,” Madison commented as she watched Bugs’ hasty retreat.

Evan chuckled, wrapping his arms around Madison’s waist and pulling her closer as he buried his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice muffled. “Too much woman for me, I think.”

Madison laughed and snuggled closer to him. “I can’t believe you let him crawl into your bed,” she mused, idly tapping her index finger against his bare chest.

“Aww, Bugs is pretty savvy. He knows damn well I’m straight, even if he likes to try to think otherwise.”

“Hmm . . .”

“You, on the other hand . . . didn’t anyone ever tell you that you shouldn’t be wandering into men’s bedrooms early in the morning . . .?”

Rolling her eyes as his hand slipped under her blouse to casually stroke her breast, Madison laughed but didn’t push him away. “You have a one track mind, Evan,” she chided.

“Yeah,” he agreed, burying his face in the satin blouse covering Madison’s chest as he rolled over to pin her against the mattress. “Just in time for a nice, long morning fuck . . .”

“Oh, I’m sure that Bugsy would be more than happy to service you,” she said though her voice had grown a little throaty.

“Sure,” Evan allowed, biting a nipple through the fabric as a distinct shiver passed down Madison’s spine as he ground his hips against her, his penis throbbing painfully, fully aware that Madison rarely wore panties. “Too bad he ain’t got a pussy.”

“Behave yourself, dog,” Madison said with a heavy sigh as she shoved lightly at his shoulders.

Evan made a face and uttered a curt whine to let her know just what he thought of the idea of ‘behaving himself’, but he flopped onto his back, setting off a reverberation of waves in the mattress below them. “Heartless, Maddy,” he complained, pinning her with his best ‘pity me’ expression.

Madison leaned on her elbow and grinned down at him. “I didn’t say no, but I want you to listen to me first.”

Evan snorted, rubbing his knuckles up and down the shallow vale in the center of his chest. “You know, I have a much better attention span when I don’t have a fucking hard-on,” he grumbled.

She reached over and tugged his hair. “You’ve _always_ got a hard-on, Evan,” she pointed out with a shake of her head that completely contradicted the amused glint in her eyes. “Now listen to me, will you? I have an . . . offer that you can’t refuse.”

Evan arched an eyebrow and shifted his gaze to the side, his interest quirked. “Going _Godfather_ on me now, are you?”

She spared him an impish grin that showed off her deep dimples to an advantage. “Listen to me,” she said in a very bad affectation of Marlon Brando.

“Keep your day job, Maddikins,” he said but grinned, idly rubbing her firm ass through the tease of a skirt she wore.

“Here you go, Zelicious,” Bugs said, sweeping back into the bedroom with a steaming mug of coffee. “Hot and black . . . just like you like it,” he announced then giggled. “Come to think of it, _I_ don’t mind hot and black, myself . . .”

“Oh? So that means you’re going to go hit on Bone?” Evan drawled, sitting up and reaching for the mug.

Bugs twittered quietly, waving a hand in front of his slightly flushed face as the satin sheet that had covered Evan slipped down to pool around his hips. He didn’t bother to pull it up, either, taking the coffee mug and slugging back the drink in one long gulp. “Thanks, Bugsy,” he said with a wolfish grin as he leaned over to thump the mug down on the nightstand.

“Yes, well, someone has to take care of my Zel.”

“You mean you don’t think I can take care of myself?” Evan drawled, flopping back on the bed and gazing up at Bugs through heavily lidded eyes.

“I told you, didn’t I? The night we met I told you to stick with me, and I’d make all your dreams come true.”

Evan chuckled—a warm sound that added a certain brightness to his deep blue eyes. “Yeah, I guess you did,” he allowed.

Bugs nodded emphatically. “That’s right! I knew you were going to be a star, didn’t I? And that’s ‘star’ with a capital ‘ess-ss-ss- _sah’!_ ”

True enough, Evan figured. Whether he’d been smitten by Evan’s looks or if he really did think that he had talent, Evan had gone from being the house performer at Bugs’ little club, The Bunny Hole to having a standard-level contract offered to him within months of his initial meeting with the rabbit-youkai who, at the time, had been balling the premier talent scout for Wicked Soundsations Records. After a little whining and a lot of schmoozing, Bugs had talked his lover into coming to see Evan perform one night. Barely a week after his college graduation, and he’d landed himself his first record deal—with Bugs’ help, of course.

“You certainly did, doll-baby,” Evan agreed, pushing himself up on his elbow as he groped around on his nightstand for the butt of a half-smoked joint. “I suppose I owe you, don’t I?”

Waving his hand dismissively, Bugs blushed and emitted a high-pitched giggle. “One of these days, I’ll take you up on that offer,” he warned, casting Evan an exaggerated wink.

“Anything for you, Bugsy,” Evan replied.

Bugs heaved a sigh and shook his head, his mouth puckering in a petulant little pout. “As much as I’d love to stick around, I have to go,” he said, his expression registering his irritation at having to leave Evan alone with Madison. Hurrying over, he leaned in to kiss Evan’s cheek before narrowing his eyes on Madison and uttering a cute little growl. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, my darlings!” he called over his shoulder, tossing the long end of a bright yellow scarf over his shoulder.

“Well, that leaves it pretty well open,” Evan approved with a chuckle. “Bye, Bugsy.”

“Are you calling me a ho?”

“Now, would I say something like that about my best girl?” Evan countered with a wolfish grin since it was a well known fact that Bugs really was quite the slut.

“You would,” Bugs asserted then shook his head and snorted, his footsteps echoing as he made his way down the hallway. “Ta-ta!”

Madison laughed and reached over to tug a tissue out of the box on the other nightstand and grasped Evan’s face to wipe away the crimson lipstick left from Bugs’ kiss.

“Hmm, so how about it, Maddikins? Up for a damn fine game of Fuck-the-Roka? Winner gets a homemade milkshake . . .” Evan drawled, leaning over to bite one of her nipples through the thin fabric of her shirt. He felt her shiver—he’d known that she would.

“Back off, dog,” she commanded, slapping his nose and pushing him back.

“Suck my dick, Maddy.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “Will you listen to me if I get you off?”

“Why don’t you fuck me and find out?”

She laughed softly, reaching out and slowly stroking his cock. He moaned and shuddered as she ran her hand down, her fingers curling around his balls and squeezing gently. “Sh . . . _shit_ . . .”

“You have to promise,” she purred quietly.

Evan’s arms locked around her waist, and she fell on top of him, rolling her eyes when he shuddered, lifting his pelvis against hers. “Oh, come on, Maddy . . . you know I can’t function with a damn boner . . .”

“Aww, poor baby,” she retorted in a mocking sort of tone. “If you listen to me, I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

“You’ll fuck me?”

She sat back, regarding him with an entirely too-thoughtful expression as she slowly nodded. He had a feeling that he wasn’t going to like whatever it was that she was considering, and he took his time lighting a joint before glancing up at her. “I want you to agree to Valerie’s terms,” she finally said.

Evan grimaced. He’d had a feeling that it would be something like that. “No fucking way,” he grumbled, taking a long drag and closing his eyes as the smoke started to infiltrate his system. “You realize, right? She wants to shut down the H-Evan Express. You’d hate that, you know.”

She snorted indelicately, leaning in to steal the joint and deliberately taking her time as she puffed it. “I’d get along just fine,” she teased.

He shook his head and dropped onto his back once more. “So you say,” he grumbled.

“Besides, it’d do you some good to abstain for awhile.”

“Bite your tongue, Madison!” he gasped in mock horror. “It’d shrivel up and fall off if I didn’t get any, and then where would I be?”

“Even then,” she interrupted, letting him take the joint from her so that he could take the last drag. “It’s just for a little while, and she’s got a point . . . if you made an effort, the judge might take it into consideration . . . at the very least, it wouldn’t look bad on you, don’t you think?”

“Like I give a fuzzy rat’s ass,” he shot back, tossing the sheet aside and rolling out of the bed. “No sex? Keh!”

“All right, if that’s how you feel,” she said, sounding more triumphant than she should have by rights. “How about a deal then?”

He stopped mid stride to peer over his shoulder at her, narrowing his eyes and feeling distinctly discomfited by the almost smug expression on her face. “A deal,” he repeated. “What _kind_ of deal?”

Pushing herself onto her hands and knees, Madison laughed softly, crawling toward the end of the bed as the Cheshire-cat-like smile widened enough to make Evan wonder briefly whether or not he was in serious trouble. “Well, see, I crashed at Valerie’s last night,” she nearly purred.

“Oh?” he parried, struggling to keep his tone neutral.

She nodded, letting her legs slip out from under her as she kicked up her heels, crossing her ankles and affording him a damn fine view of ‘her girls’ beneath the filmy fabric of her blouse. “Mhmm,” she drawled, pulling her cell phone out of her purse and pushing buttons as that smile widened. “We drank a little too much wine, I guess . . . You know, that girl really can’t hold her liquor to save her soul . . .”

Evan grunted. “Like you’re much better,” he mumbled.

“Better than she is,” she commented. “Anyway, I’ve gotta tell you, that woman has some damn fine breasts. Nicest I’ve ever seen . . .”

That got Evan’s attention quickly enough, and he barely controlled the impulse to whip around to face Madison. “Oh?” he asked instead, slowly pivoting on his heel, his arms crossed over his chest stubbornly.

“Mmm,” Madison intoned, slowly tapping one of the buttons on her phone with her thumb. “Incredibly high nipples— _large_ nipples, considering . . . a beautiful shade of rosy pink . . . just gorgeous . . .”

“Sure they ain’t fakes?” Evan asked, mostly to be obnoxious.

Madison laughed. “Fakes? God, no! Nothing fake at all about her . . .”

He snorted. “And why are you telling me all this?”

The look she shot him was downright scary, no doubt about it. Violet eyes alight with a mischievous glow, she looked like the cat that ate the canary and the blue jay, too . . . “Well, see, I got these pictures . . .”

“. . . Pictures?”

“Yep . . .”

“Did you tongue her?”

She giggled, rolling onto her back and clasping her phone to her chest. “No, I didn’t . . . I might have if I’d had a couple more glasses of wine, though . . .”

He quirked an eyebrow at her since he knew damn well that Madison preferred cocks to kitties.

“I told you, right? We got a little tipsy at dinner, and when we got back to her apartment, she wanted some more wine, and she was trying to kick off her shoes as she was carrying it into the living room, and she ended up spilling it all over her blouse. So she took it off, and I told her that she had fabulous titties, so she—being drunk, of course—figured she’d show me, and since I’d just gotten this cell—” she held up the phone for his inspection, “—I took a few pictures. It’s got a _fantastic_ camera on it, did I tell you?”

“V’s titties?” Evan deadpanned, reaching for the phone and snorting when Madison smashed it against her chest before he could get his hands on it.

She threw a pillow at him. “No, honey; my new phone!”

“You’re _gonna_ show me those pictures, right, Maddikins?” he asked pointedly as he crawled back onto the bed.

“I could,” she said, her voice shifting from liquid velvet to spun silk in a single heartbeat, “ _if_ . . .”

“Aw, here it comes,” he grumbled, knowing damn well what she was about to say but stubbornly refusing to acknowledge it.

She shook her head and scooted off the bed. “All right, if you say so . . .” she said, sashaying toward the doorway. “See you, Evan. Bugs’ll be deliriously happy about it since you’ll be used to ass-banging by the time you get out of the big house . . . Hope you like prison-stripes . . .”

Groaning as he made a face of abject disgust as he sought to ignore the bitter bite of curiosity that he couldn’t repress, Evan uttered a frustrated growl and hurried out of the room in Madison’s wake. He was intrigued, no doubt about it. He’d known her forever, hadn’t he, and he knew well enough that she certainly wouldn’t be bragging on Valerie unless there was something legitimate to brag about . . .

‘ _Oh, come on! You’ve seen one rack, you’ve seen them all, haven’t you?_ ’ his youkai voice piped up.

‘ _Yeah, yeah . . . that’s right_ . . .’

‘ _So what’s the big deal?_ ’

Evan shook his head, refusing to quantify that with an answer as he loped down the stairs two at a time to cut Madison off before she could reach the front door. What was it about Valerie? he wondered. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind for more than a few minutes at a time since he’d walked into her office. She’d gone to some pretty outrageous lengths to hide her figure and her face, downplaying her looks with those ungodly large framed glasses and the boxy business suit. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? He simply wanted to ascertain that she really was as hot as he figured she’d be. That _had_ to be it. After all, why else would he even care, right?

He frowned. ‘ _Right_ . . .’

He caught up to Madison in the living room. She was heading for the door, and while he was pretty sure that she was just teasing him, he wasn’t about to let her walk out, either, damn it; not without showing him those pictures . . . “Where you runnin’ off to, Maddy?” he asked, his signature lazy drawl back in place.

She gave him a very pointed once-over then rolled her eyes. “Wow, you didn’t even bother with pants. That interested, are you?”

Satisfied that he’d stopped her for the time being, Evan let go of her arm and fairly swaggered into the huge kitchen. “Well, you seemed so set on showing me those pictures that I figured, what the hell? Why not play along?”

She followed him into the kitchen and accepted the mug of coffee that he offered. “So it’s for my benefit, is it? Don’t do me any favors, big boy. After all, _I’ve_ seen V naked . . .”

“Tits are tits,” he countered mildly, peering over the rim of his mug at her.

Madison shrugged a little too nonchalantly. “And peckers are peckers,” she retorted.

“That’s not what you say when we’re fucking,” he pointed out.

She laughed—a low chuckle that felt like a caress rippling over bare skin. “That’s entirely my point . . . tits may be tits and dicks may be dicks, but that doesn’t mean a thing if one has no idea how to use them.”

Casting her a sidelong glance, he leaned against the counter, one arm wrapped over his stomach and rested his elbow on his forearm, the mug hovering mere breaths away from his lips. “Spoken like a true deviant,” he relented.

She hefted her mug in silent salute. “Absolutely.”

Evan heaved a sigh and shook his head, turning abruptly to rinse the mug before depositing it in the sink. “I dunno, Maddy,” he said dubiously. “Seems like a hella high price to pay just to see a few measly pictures.”

“She’s got a tattoo, did you know?”

Tossing aside the towel he’d used to dry his hands on, Evan shrugged. “So do I. A few of them. Big fucking deal.”

Madison nudged him aside with her hip and rinsed her mug, too. “Yeah, you’re right . . . but I have a picture of it, too . . .”

Rolling his eyes, he strolled out of the kitchen and through the house to retrieve the newspaper that Bone had brought in for him earlier. “So given that you know damn well that tattoos aren’t _really_ a big deal, what’s so special about V’s?”

“You didn’t ask where hers was,” she prodded as she rummaged through her purse.

“So where’s hers?” he asked grudgingly.

Madison paused long enough to wink at him. “On her snatch.”

His chin snapped up. “Oh?”

“Yep . . . very cute, too. It’s a little heart . . .”

“And you have a picture of it?”

She laughed again. “I _did_ tell you she was bombed, right?”

He snorted, tossing the paper onto the coffee table before he flopped onto the sofa. “Does she know you’re pimping her pictures?”

“I mentioned it,” she said, fluttering her fingers dismissively.

“So she doesn’t,” he concluded.

Madison rolled her eyes. “No, she does. She said that she’d take your case if you agreed to her terms, and I told her that the pictures would be fantastic leverage.”

Narrowing his eyes, he snorted. “Keh! You don’t really expect me to believe she said you could show them to me.”

She shrugged offhandedly. “Well, she was drunk when I mentioned it, but she didn’t say ‘no’.”

“What _did_ she say?”

“I believe her exact words were, ‘ _Hmm, okay_ . . .’.”

He grinned. “So she knows.”

Madison nodded slowly. “So how about it? You want to see her tattoo?”

He shook his head, telling himself that he didn’t care, not at all. He was just curious; that was it. “If it’s on her snatch, how did you see it?”

“Oh, she waxes.”

“You wax,” he pointed out.

“I don’t wax quite like _she_ waxes,” she contradicted, pointing an emery board at him before she zipped her purse closed and stepping around the sofa. Knocking his feet off the cushions, she sank down beside him and shot him a lazy grin. “I like my little bush, thanks.”

“Like she . . .?” Evan sat up straight, eyes narrowing as he searched Madison’s face. “No-o-o-o . . .” he breathed almost reverently.

She nodded, carefully examining her claws and pausing now and again to file a nonexistent rough spot. “Oh, yes,” she remarked lightly. “She says that it’s . . . cleaner . . .” Pausing there, she tapped the emery board against her chin thoughtfully. “Yes, I think that’s the word she used: _cleaner_.” She laughed at that, as though she found the word amusing.

“No shit,” he half-moaned.

“She has a very pretty little pussy. If I were into women, I’d totally be all up in her business,” Madison went on casually, as though she was talking about the weather, “but you’re not interested in the pictures, are you?”

“Does it _look_ like I’m interested?” he snapped, gesturing at his crotch—and his painfully throbbing boner.

Madison’s smile widened dangerously. “If you agree to her terms, I’ll send you some of the pictures. How’s that?”

He grimaced. “Some of them?”

She nodded slowly. “How about a teaser?”

He grunted.

Twisting her body and pushing herself onto her knees to reach her purse on the table behind the sofa, she dug out her cell and took her time scrolling through the images stored on the device. “Here,” she said, flipping her phone so that he could see the display. He reached for it, but she pulled it back before he could grab it.

Evan growled in protest but narrowed his eyes to get a better look: a picture of a pouting Valerie, her hair all mussed and tangled, and while her shoulders were completely bare, the image was cut off just below the rise of her breasts . . . She was leaning forward, it seemed, and the shadows that touched her face lent her an air of mystery. Hazel eyes so deep and soulful, as though she was begging for something, and while her expression brought to mind a petulant child, there was nothing childish about the fullness of her lips, pursed slightly, her cheeks flushed, her skin glowing in the warmth of the ambient lighting of her living room . . . The sternness of her at-work persona seemed to have all but disappeared to the point that he had to wonder if the woman really was the same one he’d met in the stuffy attorney’s office.

“Mm, she’s a hottie, isn’t she?” Madison piped up.

Nodding absently, he couldn’t take his eyes off the picture. “Talk about letting your hair down,” he mumbled, shaking his head in abject disbelief.

“So you want more pictures, Evan?”

He nodded again.

“And you’ll agree to her terms?”

He snorted but didn’t answer. Madison sighed. “Evan,” she said, her voice taking on a more serious tone, “promise me that you’ll at least consider it, please . . . I was there, remember, and you know as well as I do that you weren’t even—”

“I _was_ ,” he cut in coldly, narrowing his gaze for just a moment before he relented with a shake of his head. “Just drop it.”

She sighed again. “ _Please_.”

Dragging his eyes off the picture, he made a face at Madison. “She wants to cut off my balls,” he grouched. True, he didn’t like the prospect of ending up in jail, and he’d even considered giving in just because of that, but he wasn’t about to admit as much to Madison, damn it, not when she was offering to bribe him into submission . . .

“Abstaining for a couple months is hardly cutting off your balls,” she pointed out.

“Close enough,” he grumbled.

She heaved a sigh and shook her head. “Okay,” she allowed slowly. “That _would_ suck, wouldn’t it?”

He nodded emphatically, taking advantage of the moment to crawl over and lay his head in her lap, doing his best to give her his version of ‘The Look’. She rolled her eyes and tugged on his hair but didn’t shove him away. “You’d hate it, too, you know,” he added for good measure.

“Oh? You think you’re the only person I can get a good lay from?” she challenged.

He wrinkled his nose and leaned up to nip her breast. “I meant you’d hate it, too, if you were me.”

She considered that, idly stroking his hair, and he couldn’t help it as his eyes drifted closed. He’d always been a sucker for that, he supposed . . . “Point taken,” she allowed. “How about this? You agree to her terms, and I agree to service you whenever you feel the need?”

He considered that, wrinkling his nose in an effort to show Madison exactly what he thought of Valerie Denning’s ‘terms’. “Lemme see that picture again.” She held up her phone for his perusal again, and he sighed. Damned if he wasn’t a sucker for a woman with those pouty lips . . . and those soulful hazel eyes . . . “So you’ll do me whenever I want?” Still . . .

“Yes.”

“ _And_ you’ll send me the pictures?”

She nodded.

Heaving a sigh, Evan could feel himself relenting, but he stubbornly held his ground. “Including the picture of her tattoo?”

“Just say the word, and I’ll email them straight to your computer.”

“I don’t know, Maddikins . . . I’m not sure I’m ready for a committed relationship,” he drawled.

“Idiot.” She shoved him away but laughed. “She’s a good attorney, Evan—a _damn_ good one . . . better than you deserve, anyway. If anyone can help you get out of this mess, she can.”

“I gotta be nuts for even thinking about it,” he informed her.

“So do we have a deal?”

“Service me now?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes but reached out, letting the tips of her claws drag gently over the head of his cock, and he sucked in a sharp breath as the first droplet of semen squeezed out of him. “Ah, God,” he breathed as she smeared the liquid over him. “Damn . . . damn . . .”

Opening his eyes in time to see Madison suck her fingers into her mouth, he groaned quietly when she pulled them out with an obscene popping sound, the appendages gleaming with her saliva as she broke into a smile and wrapped her hand around his shaft, idly pumping him hard enough to draw a growl from him but not nearly hard enough to make him come. “Fucking damn it, Maddy,” he rasped out.

She chuckled huskily. “Do . . . we . . . have . . . a . . . deal . . .?” she asked, emphasizing each syllable with a definitive squeeze.

He gritted his teeth together for a moment, lifting his pelvis to aide her hand movements. “Shit,” he hissed quietly.

Madison let go of him and pushed him off her lap, rising to her feet to pace the length of the floor. “You answer me, and I’ll see what I can do for you,” she countered brazenly.

Heaving a sigh, he sat up, rubbing his hands over his face before answering. “All right,” he agreed grudgingly. “I’ll do it, but only as long as you’re available . . . starting tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow?” she challenged.

He grinned wolfishly at her—at least, as wolfishly as he could manage since his groin was protesting the loss of her attentions. “I got a date with twins tonight— _identical_ twins.”

Madison groaned then laughed. “No, I don’t suppose you’d want to miss that . . .”

“Absolutely not,” he agreed. “Now send me those pictures, will you?”

“Already on it,” she informed him as she lifted her cell phone and pushed a few buttons.

Evan waited until she lowered the device, indicating that she was finished. Before she could speak, though, he reached out and grasped her wrist, jerking her to her knees before him as he leaned back against the sofa and pushed her head down. With a sigh and a marked rolling of her eyes, she opened her mouth, her tongue darting out to flicker over his cock as he raised his hips, as she sucked him in deep . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘ _Youth_ _Gone_ _Wild_ ’ copyright Skid Row. Song first appeared on their 1989 debut album, **Skid** **Row**.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Hot daaaaaaaaaaaaaamn_ …


	5. 004: Negotiations

‘ _I want to love you but I better not ouch (don’t touch)_.  
‘ _I want to hold you but my senses tell me to stop_.  
‘ _I want to kiss you but I want it too much (too much)_.  
‘ _I want to taste you but your lips are venomous poison_ …’ 

- _Poison_ by Alice Cooper

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

“Good _God_ ,” Evan croaked, groping for the water bottle without taking his eyes off the computer monitor as he scrolled through the images that Madison had sent him. He’d always known that Madison was a one of the hottest women he’d ever met. With her golden blonde hair and deep violet eyes and her kick-‘em-in-the-balls body, there wasn’t a question about it. What he hadn’t bargained for, exactly, was the shock to his senses at seeing the stoic Valerie Denning devoid of her boxy, frumpy business suit and in, well, nothing . . .

Madison giggled as she rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin on her hand and kicking her feet idly in the air. “I told you she’s hot,” she remarked mildly.

Wincing as the sharp pang of need shot through him again, Evan sighed. Damn it, he’d just gotten done balling Madison, and he was already hard again? ‘ _Fuck_ . . .’ Swallowing hard as he stared at a picture of Valerie, spread eagle in the middle of a thick white fur throw rug, he downed the contents of the water bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He’d thought she’d have a nice body under that bullshit business suit she’d worn, but damn it . . .

‘ _I want to fuck her_ ,’ his youkai piped up.

‘ _I . . . yeah_ . . .’ he thought, lifting his hand, tracing the tiny heart tattoo that was, indeed, etched into the delicate skin of her beautifully bare pussy.

Long legs—shockingly long legs . . . perfectly toned thighs . . . a tiny waist . . . breasts that he wanted to titty-fuck . . . Her hair fanned out around her, her eyes were half-closed. Cheeks tinted with a drunken flush, she looked like she was waiting for him to—

“Hard? Just from those pictures?” Madison teased. From her position on the floor, she could easily see under his desk, and he spared a glance at her only to find her staring at his erection with unmasked amusement.

“You fucked her, didn’t you?” he asked, ignoring her observation.

Madison sighed and pushed herself off the floor as she reached for the blouse that he’d tossed aside. “No, I told you.   I didn’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

She laughed at his surly question. “Because, you idiot, I happen to like penises, for starters.”

He snorted and clicked the ‘next’ button. Same position but she had her knees bent demurely to the side, her pussy lost in shadows, her arms crossed under her very generous breasts, squeezing them together as she pouted prettily at the camera. “For starters?”

The soft clink of her decorative belt punctuated her movements. “And she’s engaged.”

“She’s _what?_ ” he hissed, his gaze flashing away from the monitor to Madison’s face, scanning her features for a hint of a lie.

“Engaged,” Madison replied, completely nonplussed.

“Well, fuck-fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck,” Evan mumbled, flopping back in the chair and shaking his head as he idly stroked his cock. “What’d she go and do a hella stupid thing like that for?”

“If it makes you feel any better, she doesn’t love him—” Cutting herself off abruptly, Madison shook her head and shrugged before she continued her slow work of getting dressed. “At least, she doesn’t love him like she should. I have very little doubt in my mind that she loves him in a . . . platonic sort of way, but . . . well . . . She says he’s dependable, which is a great, big fucking laugh and a half. Little _troll_ . . .”

He grunted something entirely unintelligible as he clicked through the pictures again. Leaning back in his chair with a half-sigh, half-moan, he looked entirely discomfited—an expression that Madison certainly did not miss. “What a waste of a damn fine pussy,” he muttered, leaning forward and moving the trackball to close out the image files.

“Wait,” she blurted, drawing his attention away from what he’d planned to do. “Weren’t you listening to me?”

Rolling his eyes—he really was irritated, wasn’t he?—he shook his head slowly. “Damn it, yes, I was listening to you. She’s fucking engaged to a fucking troll and is going to spend the rest of her natural born life ruing the day that she went and did something so hella-fucking-dumb.”

“Careful, Evan . . . you’re sounding smarter than you like to,” she couldn’t resist pointing out with a wink.

Evan snorted and shook his head again. “All right,” he relented with a long-suffering sigh. “What did I miss?”

Madison chuckled. “She doesn’t love him in a romantic sense, even if she does say otherwise. Don’t you think it’d be a shame if she wasted her life with a man that she doesn’t love?”

Sapphire blue eyes narrowed dangerously, and Madison had to bite back a laugh. He was onto her, but then, she hadn’t really thought it’d take him too long to connect the dots . . . Evan Roka Zelig was nobody’s fool, after all . . . “I get the feeling I’m not going to like where you’re going with this,” he drawled.

Her immediate answer was a husky laugh.

He groaned. “Maddy—”

She held up a hand to cut him off. “She needs to learn that there is more to life than feeling comfortable with a little dickweed like him . . . and you, Evan Zelig, are the man to do it.”

His reply wasn’t entirely expected. Instead of the flaring eyes and the absolute indignity of his rebuttal that she’d actually expected, the man let his head fall back as a deep swell of his rich laughter filled the air instead. She didn’t say a thing as he continued to laugh, and she wasn’t entirely surprised when the amusement slowly wound down. When he finally managed to squelch the sound though the grin remained, he lowered his chin and stared at her. “That’s cute, Maddikins. For a second there, I could have sworn you said that you thought that I was the man to do it.”

She didn’t blink. “I did.”

This time, his eyes did flare wide, and he shook his head as he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times as the power of words failed him. “Aha . . . no fucking way,” he stated flatly in a tone that left no room for argument.

“Oh, come on, Evan! Think of it as your good deed for . . . a _few_ years—maybe fifty . . .”

“Cain would fucking rip my damn balls off,” he intoned, slumping lower in his chair with his head propped on the back of it. “Don’t mess around with another man’s mate . . . remember?”

“If you say that too loudly, then other people are going to hear you, and they’ll know that you actually do possess some morals,” Madison remarked. “That aside, since when have you cared what your father would say?”

“I don’t,” he argued, staring at the ceiling. “He can suck my left nut.”

Madison’s lip twitched as she tried not to smile. He liked to talk big, she knew. She also knew that the subject of his father was a sore spot for him. “I’m not asking you to make her your mate, you know. Just show her that there’s more to life than her stuffy, boring fiancé.”

“Maddy . . . in case you weren’t paying attention . . . she hates me— _loathes_ me. I actually think she wants me to die. That woman would dance at my funeral and piss on my grave—and while the chase might be fun enough, if you actually think that I have the time or inclination to—”

“Another deal.”

He blinked and shifted his gaze to the side, staring at her for a moment though he stubbornly refused to turn his head toward her. “Another deal?” He sighed. “What?”

“I have another picture,” she drawled quietly. “One I didn’t send you—yet.”

Evan heaved a sigh and shook his head. “Ain’t no picture worth the seven kinds of hell ol’ Cain’d bring down on me,” he predicted.

“So you say; so you say . . . this one is definitely worth it.”

He didn’t answer out loud, but he did grin just a little.

“It’ll make you come.”

That got his attention fast enough. Sitting up straight, he leveled a look at Madison and laughed. “I haven’t come without a pair of lips or a pussy wrapped around me in . . . hell, in _years_ ,” he reminded her. “Not even a damn wet dream.”

Madison laughed, mostly because she knew damn well that the picture in question was much hotter than the actuality of the situation at the time. In reality, they’d been watching a movie—damned if Madison could remember what one—and Valerie had been sitting between Madison’s legs while Madison brushed her hair—Valerie was a sucker for that. Madison had commented on how soft Valerie’s hair was, and Valerie had giggled, turned, and given her a quick kiss on the lips—the friendly kind, nothing more. That the phone had been set to take a picture hadn’t been more than coincidence, and that they’d both been naked at the time? Well, that was just because they were both feeling a little drunk, too . . .

“I know damn well that you jack off, Evan Zelig,” she reminded him.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head but his grin didn’t diminish. “Well, hell, yeah! That ain’t the same thing, you know. Every man alive practices the art of Hairy Napalm, whether he wants to admit it or not—and if he says he don’t, then he’s a fucking liar, too.”

“All the same,” she went on with a fluttered hand to shut him up, “if it makes you come, you have to do it . . . Agreed?”

Rolling his eyes again, his cheesy grin fairly dripped with absolute male ego. “Yeah, yeah,” he replied with a shake of his head. “You make me cream, and I’ll return the favor for her.”

Madison laughed, casting Evan a victorious little smile as she sent the picture to his email.

A moment later, the soft chime from his computer announced that he’d received the file intact, and with a completely smug expression, he clicked on the attachment to open it.

That smile faded very slowly, much to Madison’s amusement. “Sh . . . _shit_ ,” he muttered, leaning forward to get a better view as Madison sauntered around the desk to lean on his shoulder.

She had to admit that it was a hell of a picture. Captured the moment that their lips had touched, Valerie had her hand on Madison’s cheek, her eyes closed with her long lashes fanned prettily above her slightly flushed cheek. Breasts pressed together—completely visible despite Madison’s arm that traversed the shot, she didn’t have to be brilliant to know that Evan would just assume that she had her fingers buried deep in Valerie’s business when, in reality, it was curled around the hairbrush that was just out of view. The hazy glow of light that shone through the smallest space between their lips lent an entirely erotic feel to the image—a steamy quality that Madison knew that a dog like Evan Zelig wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Oh, shit . . . you _did_ fuck her . . .” Evan murmured, his voice strangled and reaching.

Madison chuckled softly but didn’t deny it. Whatever he thought at the moment was fine with her, wasn’t it? Sure, he might have reservations about what she wanted him to do, but . . .

But she also knew damn well that they’d both thank her for it later. After all, she was Evan’s best friend, wasn’t she?

With a loud, longsuffering moan, his hand disappeared under the desktop. Maddy looked down in time to see him grab his cock and squeeze. She knew that stance, didn’t she? Though it’d been years since she’d last seen him do that, she knew well enough what it meant. He was trying to hold it in, literally, and as the first drips of come seeped out of him, tracing a thin, ragged trail down the head of his penis, only to disappear into the tiny seam between his fingers and his cock, she smiled, grasping his elbow and tugging hard—tugging until he let go. She laughed outright as a powerful arc of semen shot up, showering down on his stomach. Two smaller sprays followed in close order as Evan jerked and groaned and panted. “Shit . . . shit, shit, shit, shit— _shit—shit—shit—shit!_ ”

She was still laughing as she sauntered off toward the bathroom to grab a wash cloth.

“Make it a fucking towel, Maddy,” he hollered in her wake.

She did as she was told, nabbing a thick, white towel off the stack on the shelf. She was even nice enough to make sure that the water was warm before she stuck one corner under the tap as her smile turned just a little catty.

‘ _Ah, Evan_ ,’ she thought with a little laugh. ‘ _Your fate is sealed_ . . .’

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie groaned and rubbed her face, shivering slightly under the light blanket that didn’t offer nearly enough warmth as she stubbornly tried to ignore the incessant knocking on the door.

It didn’t work.

She heard the door open and close, followed by the distinct tapping of heels. “Aww, sweetie . . . you’re still sleeping? It’s almost five!”

Groaning as she slowly opened her eyes, Valerie blinked as Madison Cartham’s face swam in and out of focus. “I’m never drinking wine again,” Valerie pouted.

Madison laughed, mostly because Valerie always swore the same thing, and she always drank it, anyway. “You poor baby,” she crooned, sitting on the edge of the sofa. “What can I do for you?”

Valerie uttered a terse grunt as she rolled over and clutched the blanket a little closer. “You could cuddle with me. I’m freezing,” she complained.

Madison laughed and sat back, patting the sofa beside her. Valerie muttered and grumbled but scooted toward her and crawled onto the furniture, huddling beside Madison, who wrapped her arms around Valerie and smacked an obscenely loud kiss on the woman’s forehead.

“Ooh, you’re so warm,” Valerie said, her voice muffled by the blanket.

“Hmm, am I?”

Valerie nodded.

“I just came by to tell you that I got Zel to agree to your terms.”

Valerie leaned back far enough to stare incredulously at Madison. “Really? How’d you manage that?”

“I have my ways,” Madison drawled then giggled, waving a hand in blatant dismissal. “I told you, I gave him those pictures.”

Valerie’s brow furrowed as she considered that. “What pictures?”

Madison rolled her eyes but dug her cell phone out of her purse, taking a moment to scroll through the images still stored in memory. “These,” she said, handing over the phone for Valerie’s perusal.

“Wh . . .? Aww, Mad- _dy!_ ” she whined as she slowly scrolled through the images. “You gave him _these?_ ”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it? He’ll be as good as gold—with a couple of exceptions.”

Valerie winced, sitting up though she was careful to keep the warmth of the blanket wrapped around her as she flipped to the next image. She wasn’t completely nude in it, but she was well on her way. She grimaced and hit the ‘next’ button. “I can’t believe you—Oh, hey . . . I like this one. Send it to me.”

Madison laughed. “Okay.”

She sighed and shook her head. The next picture was a lot more compromising, and she shook her head at the sight of her own nipples displayed quite openly. “Why’d you give him these? You know, I don’t even want to think about what he was doing to himself when he looked at these . . .”

“He didn’t really do anything to himself,” Madison assured her with a grin. “But he did have a solid boner the whole time . . .”

“E-e-eww-w-w-w,” Valerie breathed, her face registering her abject disgust. “I wouldn’t have said that it was okay to give those to a pervert like him!” she complained, scrolling through images that should probably make her blush a little more than they actually did. Even the image of her tattoo didn’t actually bother her nearly as much as the idea of exactly who had seen those images did . . . “I can’t believe you’d do that to me! He’s nasty! He’s disgusting! He’s vile! He—” Cutting herself off abruptly, Valerie’s eyes widened as another groan slipped from her. “Oh, _God!_ I _did_ say you could, didn’t I?”

Madison nodded slowly.

Valerie sighed and shook her head as she continued to scroll through the pictures. “You know . . . as much as I hate the idea that he has them . . . these aren’t half bad . . .”

“That’s because you’re a hottie,” Madison quipped, kissing her temple again.

Valerie heaved another sigh. “Send them all to me,” she decided. “Still . . . ohh, I feel so dirty . . .”

Madison laughed.

Valerie paused with her finger poised above the arrow button, her eyes widening as she stared at a picture of the two of them getting ready to kiss. “Oh . . . wow . . .” she breathed. “I love this one . . .”

Madison leaned to the side to see the image that Valerie was staring at. “Hmm, yeah . . . how hot is that, right?”

“Mmm . . .” Tearing her eyes off the cell phone, Valerie wrinkled her nose.   “You didn’t give him this one, did you?”

Madison laughed, the devil. “He came all over himself,” she admitted.

“O-O-Oh, ew-w-w-w,” Valerie moaned. “Disgusting! I don’t even want to think about that!”

“ _All_ over himself . . . He hasn’t done that in . . . years . . .”

Valerie didn’t look impressed, but she couldn’t help the slight twitching of her lip as she met Madison’s gaze, either. “. . . Really?”

Madison nodded, her lips twitching, too. “Really.”

Valerie was about to point out that she wasn’t too pleased with the idea that a man like Zel Roka knew what she looked like underneath her clothes when something else Madison had said popped into her head. “What do you mean, a couple of exceptions?” she demanded dubiously.

Madison waved a hand dismissively but shrugged. “I mean that he said he’d abide by your terms starting tomorrow . . . and provided that I am his . . . umm . . . call girl, so to speak.”

“What?”

Madison fluttered her hand again. “It’s not a big deal,” she assured her. “I just told him that if he should feel the need, he could call me. After all, it’s not like we don’t fuck, anyway, so it’s nothing new.”

Valerie’s mouth fell open in complete disgust. “No! He’s not going to do that to you! That nasty pig! If he thinks—”

“Relax, V. I don’t mind, really. He gives as good as he gets, you know.”

“No, Maddy! No, no, no, no, n—Why starting tomorrow?”

Madison blinked and looked completely lost for a moment, as though she wasn’t sure what Valerie was asking. Jerking suddenly—she must have gotten the question—she raised her eyebrows and laughed. “He has a date with twins tonight—identical twins, or so he says. I doubt even an offer to spend the night with his mama would come between him and his twin fetish . . .”

“Oh, absolutely _not!_ ” Valerie fumed, stumbling to her feet and kicking the bottom of the blanket out of the way as she stomped around the room. “He’s already got those pictures of me, and he wheedled that promise out of you! He doesn’t _need_ twins, damn it, identical or not!”

“Now, now, you can’t hold this one against him,” Madison began in a placating sort of tone. “He’s always had a thing for twins. He thinks it’s hot when they go down on him.”

“That’s because he’s loathsome,” Valerie shot back. “I’m going to march right over there and tell him,” she muttered, stomping out of the living room and down the short hallway, “just as soon as I find my clothes . . .”

“It’s too late,” Madison pointed out as she trailed along in Valerie’s wake. “They’re already over at his house. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that he’d agreed to your terms.”

“Where are you going?” she demanded, sticking her head into the hallway to eye Madison cautiously.

Madison laughed as she stood up and keyed in the information to send all the pictures to Valerie’s email account. “If you really want to know, I have a date.”

“A date? With who?”

“A hopelessly boring accountant with a really tight little ass . . . He came in for a trim, and I offered to give him the ‘Madison Special’. Ta!”

“Bye,” Valerie called out, giggling despite herself. In all of one’s life, she figured that one only met a person like Madison once. She was just lucky enough to become her friend. Outrageous, maybe, and even a little misguided . . . Still, there wasn’t a thing that Madison wouldn’t do for someone she considered a friend, and while Valerie knew that her uncanny ability to attract the strangest friends—just look at her relationship with that miscreant rock star—had gotten Madison into her fair share of troubles, she also had to admit that she wouldn’t want the impetuous and impractical woman to be anything other than exactly who she was.

In fact, the idea that Madison had given Zel Roka those pictures didn’t really bother her nearly as much as the idea of what he might be doing with them, or at least, what he might be doing to himself while he was looking at them, anyway. After all, she was a modern woman, right? She absolutely believed that the human body was a beautiful thing, and she worked more than hard enough to ensure that hers was as good if not better than most models these days. She had nothing to be ashamed of. She simply didn’t like the idea of Zel Roka desecrating himself while he looked at them . . .

And Madison had asked, never mind that she’d been drunk at the time and likely would have agreed to just about anything.

‘ _I’m just going to march right over there and tell that pervert a thing or two_ ,’ she told herself as she shoved her closet door open. ‘ _If you think that you’re getting away with this kind of crap, you’ve got another thing coming_ , Mister _Roka_ . . .’

After all, her terms were clear enough, weren’t they? There wasn’t any room for his kind of negotiations, and she’d be double damned if he thought he was going to use Madison for his sick pleasure just because Madison was too sweet and kind to tell him to go fuck himself . . .

Then again . . .

Maybe she ought to see for herself, exactly what sort of mischief that deviant was getting into. What was that old saying? ‘ _Ah, yes: ‘know your enemy_ ’ . . .’ she thought as she reached for a pair of sleek black pants and a black turtleneck blouse.

‘ _Twins, my ass_ . . .’

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘ _Poison_ ’ copyright Alice Cooper. Song appeared on the 1989 album, **Trash**.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Madison_** :  
> … _He agreed_ …


	6. 005: Damnation

‘ _Can you help me I’m bent_ ,’  
‘ _I’m so scared that I’ll never_ ,’  
‘ _Get put back together_ ,’  
  
‘ _You’re breaking me in_ ,’  
‘ _And this is how we will end_ ,’  
‘ _With you and me bent_ …’

- _Bent_ by Matchbox Twenty

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Hidden deep in the shadows near the northeastern perimeter two-foot thick, ten foot high brick wall that surrounded the obscenely large property belonging to one Zel Roka, Valerie Denning scowled up at the grappling hook that had gotten lodged between the perfectly set bricks—very good for aiding her plight of scaling the wall. Not so great when she needed to retrieve the equipment in her backpack. After a moment of deliberation, she shook her head and stifled a sigh before grasping the stout rope once more to rescale the wall.

At least she’d still had the thing, which had surprised her. She’d tried mountain climbing a few summers back but had figured out quickly enough that it wasn’t really her thing. Oh, it was all right, and she hadn’t minded the physical workouts, but she’d signed up for the course after her fiancé had mentioned that they ought to take up a hobby like that—not entirely surprising since he had been talking to an investor who had mentioned that he climbed and that maybe Marvin ought to accompany him sometime . . .

Not that Marvin—Valerie’s fiancé—was the kind to do any such thing, and she’d known that at the time. Still, she’d rather hoped that he’d take a liking to it, but when it became obvious that Bill Blackman had no real interest in underwriting Marvin’s research, Marvin’s interest in the sport had all but dissolved, too. That was just before Marvin had decided that he needed to broaden his network. Having already approached most of the better known philanthropists in New York City and the outlying areas, he felt that he’d have better luck if he took his proposal on the road, and like the dutiful fiancée, Valerie had smiled and agreed.

It didn’t really bother her so much—something that Madison had never understood, not that Valerie could blame her. It was hard to explain to someone like her, why it was that Valerie wasn’t too upset with the arrangement. True, she sometimes went weeks or even months without seeing Marvin, and most of their conversations were fairly short in duration, but it wasn’t like Valerie was sitting around, doing nothing but pining herself away, either. After all, she had a career of her own—a career that kept her quite busy, too.

Sparing a minute to catch her breath once she reached the top of the wall, she crouched there for a moment before carefully tugging the grappling hook loose and methodically stowing it in her knapsack. She’d have to let herself drop to get back down again, a prospect that she had to admit was a little daunting. She’d be all right, she figured, as long as she didn’t try to land on her feet—and as long as she didn’t land on that knapsack.

She dropped the bag off to the left so that it wouldn’t be in the way when she hit the ground. That done, she turned over onto her belly and lowered herself over the side once more. There was a slight ledge, so she was able to hang onto that, at least for a moment, as she drew a deep breath and pushed off just enough so that she wouldn’t hit her head on the way down.

Landing flat on her back in a thick bed of lush grass, she lay perfectly still for several seconds as she struggled to catch her breath again. Nothing was broken, she decided as she cautiously moved her arms and legs. If the wall had been any higher, though, she would never have tried to get down that way.

It had surprised her, she had to admit. A man as spoiled and pretentious as Zel Roka had comparatively little in the way of security installed around his home. There were a handful of cameras along the wall, but most of those were on the outside at about fifty- yard intervals. Gross negligence, in her opinion, especially since the area where she’d climbed over was pitch black in the shadows. Rolling her eyes as she sat up slowly, she had to wonder if her opinion of him could possibly get any worse . . .

‘ _Don’t be stupid_ ,’ she told herself grimly as she pushed herself to her feet and retrieved the knapsack. ‘ _Of course it could_.’

The next problem was crossing the wide expanse of yard. Bathed in the bright light of the full moon, there was nothing to provide any sort of cover, and even if she skirted around the perimeter, sticking to the shadows, she’d still have to chance crossing the yard somewhere.

Face scrunching up in a frown of concentration, Valerie shook her head and started moving. She was his attorney, for God’s sake! She had every right to be here, and if he didn’t like it, well, then he was free to find someone else who was willing to put up with his ration of crap, wasn’t he?

Yes, he certainly was, and maybe some small part of her even wished that he would.

Giving herself a mental shake, Valerie heaved a heavy sigh as she asked herself yet again if there wasn’t really something incredibly wrong with her for putting herself through all of this. After all, Zel Roka didn’t seem at all contrite and even thought that the entire situation was funny, didn’t he? Maybe sitting in the big house for a little while would be good for him. At the very least, it could serve as a wakeup call for his overinflated ego . . .

‘ _Focus, Valerie. Crucifying your client in your own mind isn’t necessarily a good way to approach a new case, is it?_ ’

This time, the sigh that slipped from her was resigned, at best and outright hopeless at worst.

That meant she needed to get moving.

It didn’t take long for her to reach the relative cover provided by the shadows falling around the mansion. The arrogant man didn’t even have security cameras out here, and she wrinkled her nose as she carefully pushed her way through the thick branches of the bushes outside the windows. She figured that she’d be better off to make sure that he really was misbehaving before she stomped in there with all guns blazing.

The living room window was open, and what was meant to be a quick glance stopped her short as her mouth dropped open, as a livid flush shot to the surface of her skin as she stared in almost comical horror at the debacle unfolding inside.

“Oh, my God,” she muttered, pressing a hand to her mouth as her eyes widened in complete disbelief at the scenario laid out before her. Sure, Madison had told her what he was doing, and yes, she’d certainly believed it—at least she thought she had. Maybe, she realized as she tried to make herself back away, maybe she hadn’t honestly believed that even he could be that completely debased. Seeing it happening, though . . . ‘ _I-it’s like a train wreck_ ,’ she thought wildly. Good Lord, she just couldn’t look away . . .

Bottle blonde identical twins, all right, with extremely large, extremely fake-looking breasts, damn it. One was bouncing up and down on the disgusting man’s penis while the other was straddling his head, keening like a puppy as she writhed and fondled her breasts. “Ooh, yeah; ooh, yeah,” she squeaked. Zel was sprawled on the floor—his hair was jet black today—lifting his hips in a steady rhythm, though how he could possibly keep it up was beyond Valerie. The woman on his face leaned forward, licking at the other one’s nipples as her breasts bobbed obscenely. It was completely disgusting, wasn’t it? Completely, utterly, insanely . . .

“Don’t give yourself a black eye, _honey_ ,” Valerie grumbled under her breath.

He was moaning and groaning and carrying on, too, which only managed to add to Valerie’s overall disgust with the entire affair as the other twin leaned forward, as the women felt up each other’s breasts, their tongues flicking out to lap at each other. “That’s it . . . suck those titties, baby . . .” he murmured. Valerie smashed her hand over her mouth to keep from snorting out loud despite the marked flush that she could feel burning her skin.

Zel reached up, burying three of his fingers into the nearest twin. She squealed and bucked wildly, showing absolutely no shame as she rocked against him. Valerie thought that she heard him chuckle but wasn’t sure since it was hard to make out anything over the din the women were making. The girl riding him leaned back, bracing herself on her hands while the other one jiggled her palm against her twin’s clitoris to make her come. “Oh, baby! Oh, Zel! Ooh, you’re so big! So _huge!_ I’m gonna come! I’m gonna—I’m gonna—I’m gonna . . .!”

She crumpled to the side, her breathing labored and harsh as she huddled on the floor. The girl Zel was fingering yanked the condom off of him, drawing him in completely as Valerie shook her head in disbelief.

‘ _Dear God, he_ is _huge!_ ’ she thought, unable to repress the complete astonishment that the woman was actually able to take him in completely. Something like that couldn’t possibly be natural, could it? Had he had some weird surgery to make his penis larger or something? And why wouldn’t she put that past him, anyway?

Even as she wondered that, though, he unleashed a loud growl, lifting his hips and thrusting himself deeper into the poor girl’s mouth, and she swallowed fast as he jerked her head down hard. From her vantage point, Valerie could see dribbles of semen escaping the woman’s lips despite her efforts to swallow all of it. With one last, long groan, he collapsed on the floor, stroking the blonde’s hair as she and her sister licked him clean.

Her twin, finally having recovered from her own orgasm, nudged her aside to help clean him up. Valerie clutched her stomach and narrowed her eyes. ‘ _Hussies_!’ she thought with a mental snort. ‘ _No wonder he didn’t want to . . . Oh! Eww! Eww, eww_ , eww! _You’re_ sisters! _That’s entirely the reason that men are still no better than dogs! What does he think this is? A porno?_ ’

But they _did_. Sidetracked, maybe, by the taste of come on each other’s lips, the girls were on each other like white on rice. Zel chuckled and stood up, retrieving a glass of wine off the table where the remnants of dinner had been abandoned, and he stood back, watching the girls as they writhed on the floor. One of the girls had her face buried between the other’s legs while the one being serviced whined and squeezed her own breasts. “Ooh, yeah! Ooh, baby!   Ooh, yeah!” she squeaked, bringing to mind a really bad porno. “Right there, Cassie! Fuck me, fuck me! Ooh!”

Rolling her eyes, despite the vivid flush that was darkening almost painfully with every second that ticked away, Valerie glanced at Zel again, half afraid of what she’d see. He stopped beside the girls long enough to ruffle Cassie’s hair before wandering over to the cold steel bench sofa nearby. He slumped on it, legs out straight before him, stroking himself with a slight grin—completely smug—gracing his lips as he sipped the wine and took in the scene. He shifted his gaze toward the windows once, and Valerie nearly gasped as she ducked, squeezing her eyes closed as her knees protested the landscaping rocks under the bush. Slowly, slowly, she peeked in the window again. Zel was busy watching the girls’ antics, and he didn’t look like he’d noticed her. ‘ _Don’t be stupid_ ,’ she told herself, pressing her hand against her chest as her heart hammered against her ribcage. ‘ _He’s got the lights on in there, and it’s dark out here . . . he can’t see me_ . . .’

“Here,” Zel said, setting the glass onto the table beside him and tossing a neon pink double ended dildo on the floor beside the girls. “Let’s see what you can do with that.”

Face contorting in absolute horror as her mouth dropped open, Valerie couldn’t help the disapproving grunt that slipped from her, either. The twins were more than happy to oblige him, arranging themselves in a strange mass of writhing bodies and limbs as the obnoxious sounds of their puppy-panting filled the air and rang in her ears. The longer she watched, the more appalled she was, and yet she couldn’t quite bring herself to look away, either. Zel drained the last of his wine and sauntered over to the girls. Somehow, they managed to fuck each other as they sat up, one of them latching onto his penis as the other lapped at his balls. It didn’t take them long to coax him back to hardness, either.

‘ _Nasty, nasty . . . He’s just disgusting_ ,’ Valerie fumed, shifting slightly as a dull throbbing registered in the back of her mind. She wasn’t turned on by what she was seeing; God, no . . . It was the single most deplorable act she’d ever born witness to! Men like him should be dragged out at dawn and shot, damn it! Still . . .

Still, as much as she hated to admit it, there was something kind of erotic about it, too . . .

With a roughened growl, Zel pulled away from the girls to retrieve an unopened condom off the floor. The girls whined in protest, but the porno-whiner didn’t waste any time pushing her twin down to reciprocate. In a dazed sort of horrified fascination, Valerie watched as the girl buried both her tongue and her fingers inside her sister.

With a chuckle, Zel knelt behind Porno-Whiner and jerked her back hard, unleashing a shriek from her even as Zel shoved her head back into Cassie’s crotch. Fucking her so hard that the crack of skin meeting skin managed to drown out the mewling whines of the girls, he also managed a stream of dirty talk that was bad enough that Valerie could feel her own face flaming, and as much as she hated to admit it, she felt as though her body was unraveling, a series of tiny explosions that only served to set off a deep-rooted ache.

She was breathing heavily, herself, her hands shaking as she stared through the window. The girls were screaming in earnest now, each of them driven forward by Zel’s thrusts like a really twisted perpetual motion machine, and Valerie gasped, jumping back only to collapse against the side of the house when she saw it: his eyes staring directly into hers with an unfathomable expression on his face as he continued to fuck the twins.

‘ _Oh, God . . . I have to get out of here_ . . .’ she thought, pressing an icy palm against her forehead. Too bad her legs wouldn’t move. ‘ _He saw me, didn’t he? He saw_ . . .’

‘ _Of course he didn’t see you, you goose_ ,’ her conscience piped up. ‘ _How could he have seen you? Think about it: it’s dark out here, you know. Besides that, why in the world would he have been looking at you when he’s got those two in there?_ ’

That reminder drew a loud, albeit inward, snort from her. ‘ _He’s such a pig_ . . .’

‘ _A hot pig_ ,’ her conscience agreed. ‘ _A really,_ really _hot pig_ . . .’

She heaved a disgusted sigh, crossing her arms over her chest as her expression darkened. Women like those two were the kind who based their worth on how many guys they slept with, weren’t they? That they would degrade themselves in such a way was proof enough, as far as Valerie was concerned. ‘ _Just_ _wanted to sleep with the rock star, huh . . .?_ ’

‘ _You know, you were almost that bad when you were younger_ ,’ her conscious pointed out reasonably— _too_ reasonably.

Valerie wrinkled her nose and stubbornly shook her head. Her wild days were well in her past now, and even though she would be the first to admit that she’d done more than her fair share of really stupid things, she also knew damn well that she had entirely too much self-respect to denigrate herself like that now. Leave it to a man like Zel Roka to single out and prey upon girls like those—girls who hadn’t yet learned that there was more to life than just being some rock star’s plaything . . .

‘ _Now you sound completely preachy_ ,’ the voice in her head stated.

Maybe she did, but still . . . as disgusted as she was by the appalling display, she couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for those girls, too.

The front door opened a few minutes later, and Valerie ducked. The sounds of the women’s voices were easily discerned, and Valerie scrunched down a little more when the flicker of headlights approached.

“Are you sure you have to make an early night of it?” one of the twins asked, her pout obvious in her tone.

Valerie shifted slightly so that she could see through the network of branches, and she smothered a gasp as she slowly shook her head. Zel laughed, the jerk—the very naked jerk. He didn’t even have the decency to get a pair of pants on before he’d strolled outside, and dark or not, that was just a damn stupid thing to do, in her opinion. His property wasn’t nearly as secure as it ought to be, was it? What if some paparazzi had scaled the wall like she’d done? That’s all the idiot needed—his penis, plastered all over the morning’s papers . . . “Sorry, ladies . . . I’ve got an early morning interview tomorrow. Gotta be my best, right?”

A very large, very tall, very _intimidating_ looking black man got out of the car but didn’t shut it off, loping over to the group with a wide, broad grin as he chuckled under his breath. “Need somethin’, Roka?” he drawled, revealing a very thick southern twang and not much in the way of stereotypical African-American accent.

Zel chuckled as his girls whined a little more. “Ladies, this is Bone. He’ll take you home. Hell, he’ll even check out your place to make sure no one broke in and is lying in wait to molest you while you were gone.”

The one named Bone chuckled, too. “Take them home, eh?”

“Please.”

One of the girls uttered a small, ‘hrumph’. “Can we stop and get some beer?” she asked in a plaintive tone.

“Oh, I think that could be arranged, ya,” Bone replied. “Roka, you know about _that_ , right?”

Zel nodded once. “Yeah, I knew about that.”

Bone shrugged. “I figured . . . Now, ladies . . . y’all ready to go?”

They seemed reluctant to leave, of course, but they did, linking arms with Bone as the latter led the way to the running car. The girls stopped long enough to blow kisses at the miscreant rock-star before ducking into the vehicle. Bone gunned the engine, swinging the car in a tight circle before screeching out of the driveway, leaving a lingering stench of burned rubber in the balmy night air.

Zel didn’t move to go inside, though. Standing on the porch until the car sped through the gates and out of view, he heaved a sigh and slowly shook his head. “So, V, you gonna stay in my bushes all night or you want to come inside?”

She squeaked out an indignant yelp that she cut off abruptly as she shrank back into the shadows as far as she could. He couldn’t know that she was there, could he? Of course not! That was ridiculous, wasn’t it?

He sighed and shuffled off the porch, taking the few strides necessary to separate himself and her before he reached out, grabbed her wrist, and tugged her out of the foliage. “You suck at black-ops,” he pointed out with a lazy grin.

“I wasn’t spying,” she blurted suddenly, glad that the darkness hid her blush from his entirely too-perceptive eyes. He stood in a shaft of moonlight, though, and damned if the bastard wasn’t grinning from ear to ear.

“Yeah, you dropped something, right?” he supplied helpfully.

“I-I— _Yes!_ ”

He nodded. “How’d you get past security?”

She snorted, clutching her knapsack against her chest. “What security? Your so-called security is sorely lacking, Mr. Roka! What if I’d been some tawdry photographer out for a good scoop?”

He laughed. Threw his head back and laughed . . . “Bone would have caught ‘em . . . Bone’s a Bone of many talents, if you know what I mean.”

“He didn’t catch _me_ ,” she shot back, raising an eyebrow in contention.

“Oh, he caught you. He also knew that you’re my attorney, so he let it pass. By the way, why don’t you just use the front gate next time?”

She snorted in a completely irritated sort of way. “For your information, I was testing your security, _Mister_ Roka! Otherwise I would have used your—your gate!”

He wasn’t buying it, and she knew that he wasn’t. That didn’t stop her from straightening her back proudly, tossing her head in a completely defiant way full of bravado that she was far from feeling. “That still don’t answer why you were hiding in my bushes,” he pointed out calmly.

“I wasn’t hiding,” she shot back, narrowing her eyes in a fulminating glower. “I dropped my . . . my . . . my earring!”

He arched a black eyebrow. “Oh, well, if that’s the case, let me see if I can’t help you find it, V.”

She heaved a sigh as he stepped past her and knelt down to inspect the area for the earring that was still fastened to her ear. Remembering that a moment too late, Valerie made quick work of unfastening the left one and dropping it in what she hoped was a discreet manner. “I think I’ve told you, Mr. Roka, my name is _Ms_. Denning, and I’ll thank you to remember that, please.”

“So don’t thank me,” he said, holding up her earring. The small diamond glinted in the moonlight. She stared at it for a moment then snatched it out of his hand, pausing long enough to blow it off before she pulled the backer off again and stuck it through the hole in her lobe.

“You know something?” he said as he stood up and brushed off his hands.

“What?” she asked grudgingly.

“Well, assuming that I let it slide that I noticed that you were wearing both of those _before_ I started looking, if it just _fell_ out of your ear, then you’d better be a little more careful. I mean, if the hole in your ear is big enough to let the entire thing with the backer still on slip through . . .”

His grin was downright gloating as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you calling me a liar?” she squeaked angrily, though if she were completely honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she was angrier that she’d been caught than because she’d lied to him, in the first place.

“No-o-o-o,” he crooned then laughed when she uttered a low growl.

Valerie heaved a frustrated sigh then turned on her heel, prepared to make a grand exit by stomping away in a complete huff. Zel was faster, slipping an arm around her waist and drawing him firmly against his chest. “Give it up, V . . . I know damn well that you were watching . . . and I know damn well that you liked what you saw . . .”

She froze, unable to move, unable to think as a completely unfamiliar and savage jolt of desire shot through her. “Wh-What?” she breathed, swallowing hard to force down the sudden thickness that was blocking her windpipe.

He chuckled in her ear—throaty, soft—vastly disturbing. “You know, I never would have thought that you’d be so fucking hot under your business suits,” he went on. “I can’t believe that Maddy didn’t fuck the shit out of you . . .”

With a gasp as he ground his hips against her back, she jerked back to throw him off balance then yanked herself out of his grasp, whipping around to glower at him. “ _You’re disgusting!_ ” she bellowed, her anger igniting once more. “Nasty, gross, _sick!_ Let me tell you something, Mr. Roka: women were not put on this earth just to fornicate with you! You have to be the vilest, most loathsome bastard alive, and—and why the _hell_ are you laughing?”

And he was laughing—laughing so hard that no sound was actually coming out of him. Shoulders shaking, body quaking, the only sound that gave testament to his obnoxious behavior was the airy breaths that escaped with every guffaw that rattled out of him.

Valerie was in the middle of contemplating the idea of beating him senseless when his hand shot out again, and he turned around, heading for the house and dragging Valerie along behind him.

He was still laughing when he closed the door and slumped against it inside. She might have protested a little more, but the huge poster mounted on the short wall across from the door had drawn her attention. Zel Roka in nothing but a pair of underpants that he was holding down just a too low, he wasn’t smiling in the picture, but he didn’t have to be. All the muscles—she’d have thought that the image had been airbrushed if she hadn’t seen him with her own eyes—all the rises and ridges . . . and the way he was posed, the underpants didn’t actually cover him, either. Half of his penis was showing, the other half was delineated so well in the tight undergarment that absolutely nothing was left to the imagination, and for several seconds, Valerie stood, transfixed, caught somewhere between abject disgust and a deep appreciation of the artistic quality of the photograph . . .

“Ah, the one and only time in my adult life that I’ve _ever_ worn a pair of those,” he quipped. “Wanna see my house?”

She blinked at the incongruous statement and question, still a little too bemused to object when he took her hand again and led her to the left.

The wall the print was mounted on wasn’t as tall as the room and wasn’t as wide, either: an open air foyer, she supposed. He led her down four steps into a small alcove. The length of the room was nothing but a configuration of windows that ran from floor to ceiling. A number of plants were displayed around the room, and in the middle of the darkly stained hardwood floor—teak, maybe—were two off white chaise lounges, richly upholstered in padded velvet. They looked comfortable—really comfortable. Zel chuckled again but didn’t bother turning on a light. “I meditate in here,” he said.

She shot him a quick glance and shook her head. “You meditate? _Ri-i-ight_ . . .”

He chuckled again and shrugged. “No, I do . . . I’m a real mess if I don’t.”

She snorted but didn’t answer as he took her hand and dragged her up the steps into the main living room again. Wrinkling her nose since she’d seen quite enough of that particular room through the window, she was vaguely surprised to see that the room had been straightened up though the remnants of dinner still sat on the table nestled in the far corner near the window where she’d watched.

This room, too, had the same hardwood floors though a huge plush area rug covered a lot of it. Rich burgundies and greens with accents of blues and golds, the rug was Oriental in style and undoubtedly very, very expensive. A thick light brown fur rug graced the hearth near a gigantic fireplace. On the far side of the room near a wall that seemed to be nothing but a configuration of windows flanking two huge lead glass doors stood the strangest looking metal sculpture she’d ever seen. So chaotic that it appeared to be little more than wires and strips in no real order, she stared at it. The longer she stared, though, the more her perception of the piece changed. There was an understated quality to it, almost erotic, very evocative . . .

“Cool, eh? A friend of mine made that,” he said, staring at the sculpture in a wholly appreciative way. “Want a glass of wine or somethin’?”

Shaking herself out of her reverie, Valerie turned away from the sculpture and shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” he replied, stopping at the table beside the steel bench sofa to retrieve his wine glass before sauntering off toward the table to refill the glass.

Lip curling as she thought of those women eating dinner with him before they took turns being used by the odious man, Valerie was abruptly reminded exactly why she’d come over here. Taking a deep breath and interrupting Zel’s babble about the different things that took up space in the large room, she whipped around to face him, only to stop short when she remembered a moment too late that the unsalvageable man was still very, very naked.

“Mr. Roka, will you _please_ put some clothes on?” she demanded.

He blinked and glanced down at himself before casting her a cheeky grin. “I could, or you could just get naked with me,” he suggested a little too hopefully.

Valerie sighed and counted to twenty then on to fifty for good measure. “I don’t think so,” she replied icily. “I didn’t come over here for a . . . social call.”

“Right, right,” he agreed indulgently. “You came over to crawl around in my bushes.”

Sucking in a breath so sharply that it whistled, Valerie resumed the mental count before she dared trust herself to speak to him again. “I came over here so that you could read and sign my contract,” she insisted, digging into her knapsack for the papers that she’d grabbed almost as an afterthought.

He chuckled again but moved away, swiping up the tattered jeans that were carelessly tossed on the floor. He tugged them on but didn’t bother to fasten them. Valerie figured that was as much of a concession as she was likely to get.

“I still don’t see what the big deal is,” he said as he moved toward her again. “I’m at home, for fuck’s sake . . .”

“Don’t make me add a naked clause to it,” she shot back.

She sighed. She was really starting to hate that sexy grin of his; damned if she wasn’t . . . “I got it; I got it . . . you sure you don’t want to see the rest of my house first, V?”

“I just want you to sign the contract,” she pointed out. “Now if you’ll just—” Cutting herself off abruptly as he tilted her chin and dabbed at her cheeks with a tissue—she’d forgotten that in one of her more inspired moments, she’d smeared black greasepaint under her eyes for the mission. Fingers warm and infinitely gentle, he didn’t smile as he worked, but he did look amused. “Your eyes are brown,” she murmured.

He blinked, his gaze slowly coming to rest on her. “Yeah, so?”

“They were green the other day.”

He smiled a real smile—a true smile—a smile that lacked the hint of a smirk or even the slightly mocking overtone that she’d caught glimpses of before. The effect was astounding, and for several moments, all she could do was stare. “Contacts,” he admitted with a shrug, letting his hands drop away.

“Afraid to let people see you as you really are?” she challenged.

He chuckled. “Let me see that contract, V.”

She shook her head, wondering if she hadn’t struck a little too close to home.

He glanced at it, flipping the pages so fast that she knew that he hadn’t read them. Narrowing her gaze, she crossed her arms over her chest, ready to growl at him the moment he said something stupid.

To her surprise, he shuffled over to the large desk near the wide French doors and scrawled his signature on the last page. “Here you go,” he said, refolding the docket as he ambled over to her once more. “Signed, sealed, and delivered . . . I’m assuming you didn’t want me to sign it in blood . . .”

Caught off guard—she really hadn’t expected him to give in without an argument—she took it and stashed it into her knapsack again. “Look, I understand that you’re used to a . . . more decadent lifestyle,” she began. He opened his mouth to say something, and she held up a hand to stop him. “Do you really have to drag Maddy into this, though?”

Zel shrugged as though it were of no real consequence. “She offered,” he said simply. “Besides, it ain’t like fucking me is really that bad a deal . . . but I guess you saw that for yourself, huh?”

Valerie heaved a sigh, snapping her mouth closed on her retort. It didn’t really matter what she said, did it?   Something told her that Zel Roka wasn’t about to listen to reason.

“I tell you what,” he said suddenly, his eyes lighting with suspect inspiration. “If you don’t want me to fuck Maddy, fine . . . if you’re willing to do the job for her.”

Valerie’s mouth fell open in complete shock. Just when she’d thought that he couldn’t get any worse, that he couldn’t be more outrageous, there he went and proved her wrong. Reacting before she thought it through, she took the few steps that separated them, hauling her arm back and cracking the palm of her hand across his cheek. “You’re the sickest, foulest, most miserable bastard I’ve ever, _ever_ met, Mr. Roka! I don’t care if you rot in prison! For that matter, I hope to God you get slammed with the maximum sentence allowable by law! Forget the contract, damn you! Find yourself another attorney, because I quit!”

He didn’t say anything as she stormed out of the house, despite the slow smile that spread over his features as he slowly, methodically rubbed his cheek. She hated him, didn’t she? Really, really hated him, and for reasons that he couldn’t explain, the idea that she hated him . . . was intriguing. Oh, maybe she honestly believed what she said, but he knew the truth, didn’t he?

She’d wanted him. He knew she did. Her scent had been more prevalent in his mind than the twins he’d been fucking at the time. Hell, he’d known the very instant she’d managed to scale the fence, and even though it did bother him on a certain level—how the hell had he gotten so accustomed to her in just one meeting?—he didn’t question it, either . . .

“Valerie Denning,” he murmured to himself, lifting the cloth he’d used to wipe her cheeks clean to his nose, breathing in the scent of her as he closed his eyes for a long moment, as his smile widened dangerously. “Game on . . .”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“ **Bent** ”_ _by Matchbox Twenty originally appeared in the May 2000 release, **Mad**_ **_Season_** _, written by Rob Thomas.   Copyright 2000 EMI Blackwood Music_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Madison_** :  
>  _Oh, they get along beautifully!_


	7. 006: Office Politics

‘ _They can see no reasons_ …  
‘ ‘ _Cause there are no reasons_ …  
‘ _What reason do you need to be shown_?’

 

‘ _Tell me why? I don’t like Mondays_ …  
‘ _Tell me why? I don’t like Mondays_ …  
‘ _Tell me why? I don’t like Mondays_ …  
‘ _I want to shoot ... The whole day down_ …’ 

-‘ _I Don’t Like Mondays_ ’ by the Boomtown Rats

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie strode into her office in a fine temper. Thanks to that no-account, overgrown delinquent, she’d stomped all the way home—no small feat since he lived practically on the other side of the city—only to realize once she’d gotten there that she’d been so angry that she’d left her car parked on the street outside Zel’s estate. By the time she’d called a taxi to take her to pick it up and drove home, she’d had a hell of a time getting to sleep the night before, and consequently, she’d overslept this morning, meaning that she’d had to take what amounted to a five minute shower. Unfortunately, the water heater in her apartment building had broken and wouldn’t be fixed until later today—a message that she hadn’t received until she was standing there, shivering as she gulped down a scalding hot mug of chamomile tea.

Since she hadn’t had time for breakfast, she could also add being ravenous to that list—yet another thing that she could blame on that damned Zel Roka.

Heaving a sigh, she rubbed her temple, rifling through the pencil drawer on her desk for the small bottle of Tylenol that she kept there for dire situations.

Blast him, anyway. Intolerable miscreant that he was, she knew that agreeing to be his attorney would be the worst choice she ever made. At least she’d been able to make the best one, ever, too, in dumping the damned fool, and while the smallest, tiniest voice whispered in her head that he’d probably never find anyone else stupid enough to take on his case, she refused—absolutely _refused_ —to let herself feel bad about that, either.

He had his chance, didn’t he? She’d given him very explicit terms—terms that anyone could understand and that would only benefit his situation, but no. No, no, a thousand times, no . . . He honestly possessed the unmitigated gall to be offended and even put upon that she would inhibit his lifestyle, even if it wasn’t permanent, and even if the constraints might even benefit him in the end.

Shaking out two pills into the palm of her hand, Valerie frowned at the dosage then shook out two more for good measure. Her hands were still freezing from that stupid shower. ‘ _Idiot rock star_ ,’ she fumed as she downed the pills with a couple slugs of water before taking a deep breath and flopping into her chair.

She had just started reviewing her list of meetings for the day when the door opened, admitting an absolutely smug-looking Zel Roka. “Mornin’, babe,” he greeted between bites of cream filled, chocolate covered doughnut. “Wan-a-bite?”

“Ugh, no,” she muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “What are you doing here, Mr. Roka? I could have sworn that I said everything that I needed to say to you last night.”

Why, oh _why_ , did he have to grin at her like that? She stifled a sigh, determined not to let him see how horribly he’d already managed to crawl under her skin in the span of a few seconds.

“Well,” he drawled, sauntering over and settling himself in the chair across from her, “I had an appointment with your boss— _the_ Xavier Bainey, esquire, himself.”

“Did you?” she asked mildly, reaching for the file on top of the neat stack in the tray. “He gave you the doughnut, I take it.”

“Yeah,” Zel remarked, wiping his fingers on his tattered jeans. When she made no move to question him further, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he continued to grin at her. “Not going to ask me what about?”

“Nope.”

“O-O-Okay,” he drawled with a breathy chuckle.

“I have an appointment in ten minutes, so if you could just leave . . .” she suggested when he made himself comfortable once more.

“So what are you? About a ‘B’?” he asked suddenly. “I’d have guessed a ‘C’, easy, after seeing those pictures, but damn, I can’t see how you manage to hide them so well, if that’s the case . . .”

Valerie glanced up, blinking in confusion since she wasn’t entirely sure exactly what he was talking about—until she saw where he was staring and until she noticed that he was holding up his hands as though he were juggling a pair of breasts . . . Uttering a harsh growl born of abject frustration, Valerie shot out of her chair and started around the desk, intent on telling Zel Roka exactly what he could do with his brand of perversity when the knock sounded on her door.

She spared a moment to pin him with a warning look that even he couldn’t possibly mistake before stomping over to yank on the handle. “Yes?” she snapped.

Van Delainey, another attorney who had been hired in about the same time she had, blinked and stepped back, his friendly smile faltering though it didn’t disappear completely. “Morning, Valerie. I just need the Norton case file . . .”

She blinked in surprise, then shook her head and frowned. “That’s my case.”

Van opened and closed his mouth, his cheeks pinking slightly, then shrugged.

“Valerie, Valerie! Just the girl I was meaning to talk to! Right this way, right this way! Van, I’d imagine that file’s on her desk, so why don’t you help yourself?” Xavier said as he strode over, one of his patent-lawyer smiles in place. He leaned to the side to look around Valerie and waved at Zel. “Ah, Mr. Roka! We’ll just be a minute. Shall we?”

Valerie clamped her mouth closed as she followed her boss down the long hallway to the posh office at the end, and Xavier didn’t speak until after he’d closed the door. “Doughnut?”

“Oh, no thanks,” she said.

Xavier held one out to her, anyway, then took a huge bite when she shook her head. “Mr. Roka came by this morning to let me know how thrilled he is that you’re taking his case.” He chuckled, looking positively like the cat that ate the canary. “Well, of course you know that, considering he’s sitting in your office right now, eh?”

“What?” she blurted before she could stop herself or even spare a moment to at least modulate her tone. As it was, she could only assume that Xavier was either so absorbed in what he viewed as a small victory or he had simply chosen to ignore the harshness in her tone.

Xavier set the doughnut on a napkin and grinned, showing far more teeth than the standard-seven that he normally flashed on a regular basis. “He’s very pleased with you, Valerie! Whatever you’ve done, you’ve managed to make a hell of an impression on him!”

“But I haven’t—”

“Anyway, anyway, he was a little concerned that you wouldn’t have enough time to devote to his case with your current workload, and I agree, so I’ve asked some of the others to take a few of them off your hands for you.”

“A few of them?” she echoed dumbly.

Xavier grimaced and nodded. “Well, more like all of them—except for Mr. Roka’s of course.”

“Those are _my_ cases,” she interrupted with a shake of her head. “My clients trust me, and some of them have rapidly approaching court dates! Surely you cannot mean—”

He chuckled and clapped her on the shoulder in a completely good-natured sort of way. “From what I understand, Mr. Roka gets into trouble when he’s bored, so I think it is in his best interest that you handle his case exclusively. You understand the exposure that a client of his caliber can bring in, right? We may not be able to get him off the hook completely, but if you can just get him a drastically reduced sentence, then it’ll really bring in the clients! Word of mouth, Ms. Denning! You can see the big picture here, can’t you?”

“Th-The big picture?” she stammered, shaking her head as she struggled to grasp Xavier’s reasoning. “The man is a walking, talking parasite!”

“Be that as it may, that doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t have the right to adequate legal representation,” Xavier went on, spreading his hands wide in an effort to help Valerie ‘see the light’.

She heaved a sigh and rubbed furiously at her temples as the throbbing in her head broke into a full-out jackhammer. “I . . . I can’t . . .” she very nearly whimpered, more to herself at the prospect of having to deal with the likes of Zel Roka.

“Sure, you can!” Xavier insisted. “Listen, Valerie, I didn’t want to mention this until things were a bit more official, but Halsey is leaning toward retirement soon . . . The little woman wants to travel the world while they’re still able to enjoy it, and he’s never been able to tell her ‘no’, you know . . . So if you can help to bring in that kind of business, well . . . ‘Denning’ would certainly look good on the company letterhead, don’t you think?”

Valerie heaved a sigh and scrunched up her face. “I’m really trying not to,” she muttered.

Xavier chuckled. “Look, Valerie, whatever you have to do, just keep him out of trouble. If that means you have to babysit him, then babysit him!”

“Why me?”

“Mr. Roka specifically said that he wanted you to represent him—you, and no other. Think about the publicity! He is extremely high-profile. I mean, this case is huge!” He paused here to cast Valerie a bright, broad grin. “I have a good feeling about this!”

That statement only served to draw another low moan from her. “He’s completely unsalvageable, and he doesn’t give two cents for propriety. Just a spoiled, pampered rock star that got caught doing something entirely stupid—something that any normal person wouldn’t be able to get away with. Forget about saving him from getting what he deserves—he’ll be lucky if he isn’t hung out to dry by the judge.”

“It doesn’t matter if he’s acquitted or not. No one actually thinks that he will be, but if he’s happy with his representation, then he’ll recommend us, and that is worth its weight in gold!”

Stifling a sigh as the dull realization that she just wasn’t going to win this battle started to sink in, Valerie heaved a sigh. The real problem with men like Zel Roka was that everyone was too quick to cater to his every whim, and this just emphasized that point, as far as she was concerned, and now she was being basically ordered to pander to his whims, and that really didn’t sit well with her, at all.

Xavier, sensing that he’d won, leaned back against his desk and smiled happily. “You don’t have to like him,” he added almost as an afterthought. “Just keep him out of trouble.”

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie stomped back into her office a few minutes later after having taken a long time returning, mostly because she needed to calm herself down after Zel Roka’s latest show of highhandedness. She’s been hoping in the back of her mind that he’d gotten bored and left. No such luck, she realized as she stopped short, her eyes narrowing dangerously. Sitting behind her desk, he wasn’t even attempting to hide the fact that he was snooping through her drawers.

With a very loud snort, she stomped over, slamming the drawer closed so abruptly that he barely had time to yank his hands back. “Get out of my desk,” she gritted out from between clenched teeth.

That he grinned at her was not surprising, all things considered. Actually, he was bordering on gloating, damn him. “I’m hungry,” he said as though the thought had just occurred to him. “How about some real breakfast?”

“I have business to take care of, Mr. Roka,” she replied. “Now, move.”

Zel waved a hand at her as he opened another drawer. Pulling out the expensive leather planner that she’d bought herself as a college graduation present, he actually had the audacity to open it up and scan the pages. “‘Dinner with Brekradge: six p.m.’,” he read. “Who’s Brekradge?”

She tried to snatch it away but missed when he jerked to the side. “One of my clients,” she informed him.

“Lucky bastard,” he muttered, flipping through a few more pages.

“Can I have that back? Please.”

He ignored her, of course. “‘Meeting Marvin . . .’ Marvin? Who the fuck is Marvin? Who the hell names their kid ‘Marvin’?”

Pressing her lips together into a thin line, she crossed her arms over her chest and slowly counted to twenty. “None of your business,” she said.

“He a client?”

‘ _Twenty-one . . . twenty-two . . . twenty-three_ . . .’

“No, and there’s nothing wrong with that name.”

“Yeah, if you’re the _fat_ kid,” he retorted with a cheesy grin.

“He’s a very nice man,” she bit out stiffly. “It’s a lot better than being named ‘Zel’.”

“I’ll give you points for the effort,” he remarked mildly. “Not nearly as insulting as it could have been, though.” He grinned lazily—that dangerous smile that she had a feeling she was going to come to despise. “So who’s Marvin?”

Letting her arms drop, Valerie stomped across the room and yanked open the cabinet, rifling through the active case files to locate Zel’s. “If you must know,” she began in a haughty tone, yanking the file out of the drawer and shoving it closed—hard, “he’s my fiancé. That’s right, my _fiancé_. My _fiancé_ is named _Marvin_ , and it’s a very strong name that means ‘eminent marrow’, possibly Welsh in derivation.”

“ _Wo-o-ow_ ,” he drawled, slowly shaking his head as he leaned to the side and propped his elbow on the back of the desk chair. “So you really hate it, huh? Can’t blame you. Reminds me of little green men . . . in skirts . . . with vaporizer guns . . .”

“For your information, I happen to _like_ the name ‘Marvin’, and I looked it up because I wanted to know what it meant.”

“You sure about that? The only time someone gets that defensive about something like that is if they didn’t like it to start with, and they’re just trying to convince themselves that it ain’t really as bad as it sounds . . .”

“Yes, well, that shows how very little you know, Mr. Roka. Anyway, Marvin’s none of your business, all right? So drop it.”

“How can a woman as hot as you be engaged to someone named Marvin?” he went on, completely disregarding her warning that he’d do well to let it alone. “I gotta tell you, the only ‘Marvins’ I’ve ever met had really small peenies . . .”

She couldn’t staunch the flow of blood that shot into her cheeks at his unwelcome commentary. “Not everyone is as obsessed about size as you seem to be, you know, and not that it matters to you, but I’ll have you know that Marvin certainly isn’t . . . _small_ . . .!”

“Okay, so you’re engaged to the one Marvin on earth who has a _reasonably_ sized cock. So what’s this paragon of pecker-tude’s last name? Do I know him?”

Gritting her teeth as she reminded herself a few times that she absolutely was not going to lower herself to Zel Roka’s level, she strode over and tossed the file onto the desk before pinning him with a completely blank expression—no small feat, all things considered. “There’s no way in hell that you know him,” she remarked. “Now will you leave?   I need to look through your file, and I can’t do it while you’re trying to start a fight with me.”

“All right; all right, I’ll lay off your darling Mervie.”

“It’s “Marvin’, Mr. Roka— _Marvin_.” Stifling the urge to roll her eyes, Valerie tried to grab the planner again. “Didn’t you ever learn that it’s rude to snoop into other people’s things?”

“What? This? This is just a planner, V. Ain’t like it’s a diary or nothin’.”

Heaving a sigh at the deplorable nickname that he seemed to have adopted for her, she tried to remind herself that she was supposed to be working for him, even if she’d rather be stranded in Antarctica without a coat. “Look, Mr. Roka, I’m a very busy woman. I have things that I have to get done, and I can’t do it if you’re hanging around here, pestering me. Why don’t you go find something else to do? Preferably far away from here . . . Go play on the Interstate or something—just go _away_ . . .”

Snapping the book closed between his hands, he let it fall harmlessly on the desktop as he shot her what could only be described as a completely petulant pout. “But I’m _bored!_ ” he whined.

Valerie snapped her mouth closed on the retort she’d been forming as her chin snapped up to stare at him. “Oh, my _God!_ What are you? Five?”

The pout didn’t wane. If anything, it became more pronounced. “Well, you didn’t have to take _that_ tone with me,” he muttered.

“I take that back. I was being too generous. I’ve met five year-olds who weren’t as infantile as you.”

Zel wrinkled his nose and got to his feet, still obviously pouting. “Why you gotta do me like that?” he protested.

Valerie let her face fall into her hands then rubbed it for good measure, her sigh echoing against her palms as she struggled to retain some measure of control over her rapidly skyrocketing irritation. “Can you just go find something else to do?”

“O-Okay,” he drawled, sounding entirely suspect. “Guess I can take a hint . . .”

She rather doubted that he could but said nothing as he stood up and headed for the door. Digging his cell phone out of his pocket, he dialed it as he reached for the door handle. “Hey, Maddikins . . . I don’t suppose you’re free . . .?”

Eyes flaring wide as a slow comprehension dawned on her, Valerie ran across the room, smacking her hand against the door that had just started to open. Zel shot her a cursory glance as Valerie yanked the cell phone out of his hand. “He’ll call you back,” she growled then clicked it ‘off’. “You are so _not_ going to do what you were thinking about doing!” she informed him. “Madison is a nice girl! I’m not going to let you use her!”

He actually looked vaguely irritated at the verbal set-down. Staring at her for a long moment, he squinted slightly as though he were trying to figure out exactly what she was thinking. She shook her head slightly, mostly because of the icy shade of gray his eyes were today, but stubbornly stood her ground.

Suddenly, though, he laughed. The lightning-fast changes in his mercurial mood were going to take a bit of getting used to, she supposed. “I’m really hungry,” he finally said, dragging his fingers through his currently-light brown hair. “That doughnut just wasn’t ‘breakfast’ . . . So how about it?”

She opened her mouth to tell him that she certainly wasn’t hungry, but her stomach rumbled ominously, which only served to further his amusement. “God, you sound like you’re gonna eat me,” he remarked as he reached for the handle again. “’Course, if you wanted to eat me, I’d be more than happy to let you . . .”

Shaking her head since she was starting to wonder if he really didn’t realize when he was saying entirely inappropriate things, she hesitated for a moment before retrieving her purse from the cabinet near the door. “All right,” she allowed almost grudgingly. “We’ll consider this a _business_ lunch. I’ve got a few things that I need to clarify with you, anyway . . . and since it’s a _business_ lunch, then I’ll allow you to pay for it.”

He held the door open as she ducked under his arm in passing. The husky sound of his laughter was enough to shake her senses just a little, and he followed her out of the room. “I think I can handle that,” he agreed amiably enough. “Does this mean I get to choose the place?”

“Absolutely not,” she informed him brusquely as she stopped beside the receptionist sitting just outside her office. “Anne, forward my calls to my cell, please.”

“Are you sure?” he continued, sparing a moment to wink at the receptionist who blushed deep crimson in response, “because I know this great little seafood place . . .”

Valerie sighed and led the way to the elevator, unable to shake the nagging feeling that she was sorely going to regret taking on Zel Roka’s case . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “ _I Don’t Like Mondays” originally appeared on the 1979 album_ , **_The_** **_Fine_** **_Art_** **_of_** **_Surfacing_** _by the Boomtown Rats. Song copyright 1979 to Bob Geldof and John “Mutt” Lange_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final Thought from Valerie_** :  
>  _He’s a walking, talking headache_ …


	8. 007: Unsalvageable

‘ _Everybody needs a little place they can hide_.  
‘ _Somewhere to call their own - Don't let nobody inside_.  
‘ _Every now and then we all need to let go_.  
‘ _For some it’s the doctor - For me it’s rock and roll_.

‘ _For some it’s a bottle - For some it’s a pill_.  
‘ _Some people wave the Bible, ‘cause it's giving them a thrill_.  
‘ _Others point their finger if they don't like what they see_.  
‘ _If you live in a glass house, don't be throwing rocks at me_. 

‘ _We all need a little shelter - Just a little helper to get us by_.  
‘ _We all need a little shelter - Just a little helper ooo, and it’ll be all right_ …’

 

-“ _Shelter Me_ ” by Cinderella

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

“Let me make a few things clear, Mr. Roka,” Valerie stated as the waitress hurried away to bring their drinks. “This is strictly business. That means no questions regarding my personal life, no inappropriate commentary of any kind, no untoward gestures, no sexual innuendos, no double entendres, no referencing body parts, no body noises or secretions—either voluntary or otherwise—and no—let me repeat, _no_ —touching of yourself in any manner that might cause an old woman who is innocently passing by to blush or to enlist the assistance of the local, state, or national authorities. Do you understand?”

Zel ran his fingers through his long light-brown hair and grinned unrepentantly. “Well, hell . . . what are we s’posed to talk about, then?”

“As little as possible, I hope,” she muttered, swiping up a laminated menu and jerking it up over her face.

“And what if my balls itch? You sayin’ I should just sit here and squirm around and hope that they stop on their own?”

She leveled a completely unimpressed glower at him before lowering her gaze to the menu once more. “Not my problem. If that should happen, I suggest you get up and go find the restroom.”

He chuckled, his bright gray eyes sparkling with obvious mischief. “That ain’t very friendly. Why don’t you scratch ‘em for me?”

“Do I need to remind you of the rules I just stated when we sat down, Mr. Roka?”

He waved a hand, lounging back against the bright red vinyl bench, draping his arm along the edge. “I don’t think there was a damn thing sexual about itchy balls,” he remarked.

Valerie opened her mouth to argue then snapped it closed and shook her head. What was the point, anyway? He was impossible—completely impossible. She might as well give up before he drove her completely insane . . . “Why do you always have to be so obnoxious?” she mused, more to herself than to him.

Zel broke into a lazy grin—a sexy grin, damn him. “I dunno, V . . . why do you like to hide in my bushes?”

Indignant flames shot into her face at the blatant reminder. “W—Th—I-I-I wasn’t _hiding!_ ” she blurted. “I told you, I dropped my . . . my . . .”

“Earring?” he supplied helpfully.

She snorted and fluttered her hand in blatant dismissal. “Yes, my earring! I was _not_ hiding! Hiding implies that I had no right to be there, and I _did!_ I was just—”

“—enjoying the view?” he cut in with a wider grin and a helpful tone.

She narrowed her eyes and sat up a little straighter. “—bringing the contract over for you to sign,” she bit out from between clenched teeth.

“Oh, right, that,” he drawled, winking at the waitress as she set a pilsner of beer on the table in front of him. Valerie heaved a sigh and shook her head as the woman set her ice tea down and snapped her gum. She’d reminded him that beer wasn’t allowed, according to their agreement. He’d laughed and asked her if she’d ever gotten drunk off it. She’d conceded his point but shot him a pointed glower as he shot her a shit-eating grin and ordered it, anyway.

“You know what you want or you need another minute or two?”

“Aww, I know what I want,” he said. “You figure it out yet, V?”

Valerie stifled a sigh along with the rising desire to kick him hard under the table. “A chef salad without ham with low calorie ranch on the side, please.”

The waitress clicked a few buttons on the electronic order pad and nodded. “You want rolls or buttermilk biscuits with that?”

Valerie held up her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Neither, thanks.”

The waitress nodded before turning back to Zel once more. “The usual?”

He grinned. “You know me a little too well, Peaches.”

Valerie couldn’t help but roll her eyes as the woman laughed and hurried away. “Peaches?” she echoed when she was certain the waitress was out of earshot. “You call her ‘Peaches’?”

He laughed again—an entirely pleasant sound that, under ordinary circumstances, might not have gotten onto her last nerve. Too bad that everything about him got onto her very last nerve . . . “That’s her name,” he finally said. “Hell, she’s worked here for as long as I can remember . . .” Leaning forward, he offered Valerie a conspiratorial sort of wink as his laughter trailed off into a soft chuckle. “She told me way back when that I was going to be a star.”

“Did she tell you that you were going to be a pain in the ass, too?” she asked dryly.

“Nah, she must’a forgot to add that part . . .”

Valerie sighed and dug the slim-file she hadn’t bothered to pull out of her purse the night before. “Mr. Roka, we really need to discuss your preliminary hearing,” she explained as the slim-file booted up.

“Eh-h-h-h, I don’t wanna talk about that,” he complained, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. “’Sides, that’s what I’m paying you for, right? To take care of that stuff?”

“And I will,” she replied in a very brusque, businesslike tone. “But you’re still going to have to be there, and you’d better listen to what I tell you before hand.”

He cocked his left eyebrow. “Are you going to coach me?”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘coaching’, no, but I am going to tell you that you’d better not say a damn thing if you know what’s good for you.”

“Now, what could I possibly say that could get me into more trouble than I’m already in?” he asked with a chuckle. “Hell, from the way you talk, I’m already buried up to my left nut.”

Valerie sighed and rummaged through her purse for a bottle of Advil. “You will be if you say anything stupid.”

“Stupid?”

“Yes, stupid.”

“Define stupid.”

She spared a moment to glance at him before resuming her quest for the Advil. “I mean stupid, like telling him that you were bored or something.”

“Oh, well, I wasn’t bored that night,” he admitted.

“Really?”

He shrugged. “Nope . . . I was on a beer run.”

Dropping her purse, she contented herself by draining half of her iced tea before she dared to answer. “And that would be a stupid answer, too.”

“But it’s the truth!”

“Mr. Roka . . .”

He held up a hand in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I hear you. Zel no speak-ie; I got it.”

Shaking her head and wondering why she honestly didn’t think that the man knew how to ‘no speak-ie’ to save his life, she tapped through the file. Police reports, toxicology . . . emergency hospital room reports . . . pages and pages of doctor reports from Mr. Matthis’ slew of physicians . . . She really, really couldn’t understand how one solitary man could possibly get into that much trouble . . .

“How did you cut your forehead?” she asked absently as she surveyed the image of a particularly nasty-looking bruise on the right side of Zel’s temple.

“Looks bad, doesn’t it? Nearly broke my moneymaker,” he teased.

Valerie rolled her eyes but smiled just a little. “The ER report says that you had a mild concussion and that you checked out of the hospital against doctor’s advice.”

Zel snorted, downing his beer and waving at the waitress to bring another. “They only wanted to keep me there because I’m a big ol’ rock star,” he assured her. “Where the hell’s my food? Damn, I’m _starving_ . . .”

“You poor thing,” she remarked, her tone lacking any real compassion.

Zel grinned. “You know, V, I . . . _da-a-a-amn_ . . .” he cut himself off, letting out a long sigh in the form of the last word.

Valerie glanced up from the file with a frown. Eyes wide, lips quirked with just the barest hint of a somewhat dangerous grin, he was staring in awe toward the glass doors at the front of the small restaurant. Almost afraid to look, Valerie followed the direction of his gaze anyway, only to shake her head slowly as a disgusted scowl surfaced on her features.

Long black, blade straight hair that reminded Valerie of Morticia Addams from the old, old movies and television shows—she’d seen pictures in magazines over the years but had never actually seen the shows—the woman who had entered the establishment wore a stretchy lycra shirt that barely contained her massive chest—those really had to be fake—and a matching micro mini that almost didn’t cover her at all . . . five inch stiletto heels that were held to her feet via a configuration of thin black laces . . . She looked completely and utterly trashy. ‘ _Right up his alley_ ,’ Valerie thought with a derisive snort. “No.”

He only chuckled at her staunchly uttered word.

“I mean it, Mr. Roka: absolutely not.”

“Do you know what a girl like that could do with those tits?” he complained, proving, at least, that he’d heard her.

“They’re fake,” she pointed out, disgusted that he couldn’t tell that for himself. “Just look at them! You can tell they’re implants!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, dragging his eyes off the woman at last. “Damn fine lookin’ implants.”

Valerie shook her head. Why wasn’t it surprising that he would say something like that, anyway? “God, you’re disgusting . . .”

“Oh, come on! You’re tellin’ me that you think that I ought to ignore it when they’re presented so damn nicely?” he countered.

“Yes!” she snapped then drew a deep breath as she rubbed her temples with a weary hand. “Mr. Roka—”

“Excuse me . . . are you Zel Roka?”

His grin widened into a very lazy, very lecherous sort of expression as he leaned back a little further and let his gaze roam up and down the woman’s frame. “That’d be me. What can I do for you, honey?”

The woman giggled as Valerie shook her head in complete and utter disgust. “Oh, I’m such a _huge_ fan!” she gushed.

Zel’s eyes dropped to her chest as that grin of his widened. “Oh, I can see that,” he drawled.

“Can I have your autograph?”

“Sure,” Zel remarked without taking his eyes off the woman’s fake breasts. “Got a pen, baby?”

“No-o-o-o,” she pouted, pursing her blood red lips that shimmered and shone with the mass amounts of lip gloss that she’d obviously so painstakingly applied.

“Awww, well, let me see what I can do,” he offered.

She giggled again, half hopping around from one foot to the other as her chest jiggled precariously. ‘Oh _, I’m going to be ill_ ,’ Valerie thought with a mental snort.

“Hey, Peaches, you got a pen on you?” he asked as the waitress set another glass of beer on the table in front of him.

Peaches grinned and dug a fine point Sharpie out her apron pocket. “Here you go.”

He grinned and pulled Peaches down to kiss her cheek. “Thanks!”

Valerie blinked as Zel got to his feet, struck once more by exactly how very tall the man really was. He had an overwhelming presence, didn’t he? Something inherently dangerous—almost animalistic—despite the friendliness in his expression.

Shaking her head at her own capricious thoughts, Valerie wrinkled her nose and sat back, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched the debacle unfold.

‘ _Everything he does is like a massive train wreck!_ ’ she fumed. The woman apparently didn’t know what paper was, and she laughed rather obnoxiously as she tugged her already disturbingly low top even lower. Valerie wasn’t sure if it was worse that Zel was quite used to such a display or that the woman started moaning low in her throat as his hand brushed over her skin when he started to write.

“What’s your name, sweetness?” Zel asked as he continued to write.

“Candy,” the woman replied with a sickeningly cute giggle.

“Candy,” he repeated with a quick wink. “You as sweet as your name, Candy?”

“I’ve been told I am,” she replied. “You want to find out for yourself?”

He chuckled nastily as Valerie gritted her teeth. Everyone in the restaurant was staring quite unabashedly now. Some of them were whispering to each other and pointing. Valerie wondered how long it’d take before more of Zel’s fans moved in.

It didn’t take very long. A couple girls a few tables over stood up and wandered over, looking entirely embarrassed but hopeful as they stared at Zel with expressions akin to hero worship on their faces. Seeing the other two line up, a few more joined the growing queue. “So much for a working lunch,” she muttered sourly as she reached for the slim-file.

“Well, look at that. I ran out of room,” Zel commented in a low, husky tone that Valerie didn’t doubt that he normally reserved for the bedroom.

The woman twittered and leaned forward, tugging the front of her shirt down even further. “I don’t know, Candy. Still not very much room there . . .”

She laughed and started to adjust her shirt a little more. Valerie snapped the file closed and cleared her throat loudly. “This is a family establishment,” she hissed at Zel. “If she pulls that shirt down any farther, things are going to fall out.”

Zel laughed and shot Valerie a completely unrepentant sort of grin. “I don’t see a damn thing wrong with that,” he pointed out.

If he were closer, she would have been hard pressed not to kick him. Narrowing her eyes, she sat up a little straighter. “Mr. Roka . . .” she began in a warning tone.

“Sorry, Candy. My attorney, here, doesn’t have much of a sense of humor. Why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll finish my autograph later . . .?”

Candy blushed deep crimson but her smile widened.

“No,” Valerie stated once more.

Zel heaved a melodramatic sigh and shrugged as he straightened up to kiss the woman’s cheek. “There you go. Nice to meet you,” he said, sounding much more sincere than Valerie would have ever thought possible.

Candy looked like she might pass out just before she threw herself against his chest in an exuberant hug.

Valerie pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger. At the rate he was going, he’d be signing autographs all day long.

But it didn’t take nearly as much time as she figured it would. All in all, about a dozen or so people stepped up to get his signature, four of whom were men. Zel was as attentive and just as polite to the last one as he had been to Candy in the beginning—something that Valerie had to grudgingly admit was nice, considering the man’s food had come during the second autograph and was likely now completely cold since he didn’t mind, standing around, making a bit of small talk with each and every one of them, too.

When he sat back down, though, he grinned at her, digging into the food on his plate without seeming to notice that it wasn’t even warm. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he said between bites of his huge cheeseburger.

“That was nice of you,” she admitted as she sipped her ice tea.

Zel shrugged and grinned. “Nah. Hell, they’re the ones that buy my shit, right? Gotta be nice to ‘em.”

She didn’t comment. That wasn’t exactly the truth, and she knew it. Lots of stars weren’t nearly as magnanimous as he was, especially when they were out doing things that ordinary people took for granted, like trying to eat lunch. “It doesn’t fit your spoiled persona,” she pointed out with the barest hint of a smile.

Zel glanced at her then looked back again, blinking as his eyes flicked over her features. “Damn, you got a helluva smile there, V,” he said with a wink.

Valerie blinked and shook her head. “You’re hopeless,” she said with a heavy sigh though her tone lacked any real censure.

“So they tell me,” he muttered. “Bet your fiancé thinks the same thing.”

She was a little surprised that he’d said as much without any trace of rancor or sarcasm. “I suppose,” she replied. In truth, she couldn’t recall Marvin ever commenting on her smile before, not that it mattered. She knew well enough that Marvin really did think that she was attractive.

“When’s the big day?”

“Spring of next year,” she replied, unsure why she was telling him anything of the sort. She supposed that it was because he was actually being conversational instead of outrageous.

“That far away?”

Valerie shrugged, nodding at the waitress when she set another iced tea in front of Valerie. “We’re both very busy.”

“Mm,” Zel intoned as he polished off his burger. “I guess . . . He a lawyer, too?”

“No. He’s a medical researcher.”

Zel made a face but grinned. “Sounds boring,” he pointed out between piles of fries that he was stuffing into his mouth, two-and –three at a time.

Valerie rolled her eyes. “Not at all. He’s researching childhood cancers—well, he wants to. He’s got some theories that he’d like to prove.”

“Wants to? What’s that mean?”

Shrugging offhandedly, Valerie dug into her purse for her lipstick. “It means that he’s currently trying to garner funding for the project.”

“Oh, you mean like begging for handouts?”

She snorted. “Hardly. It’s a good cause—a _worthwhile_ cause. It’s not begging.”

“You don’t think so? Running around with his hand stuck out? Sounds like begging to me.”

She sighed, wondering how she’d been able to forget, even for a second, that Zel Roka really as a complete ass. “Do you know how many children are diagnosed with cancer every day? Do you know how many of those cases are forms that many people have never heard of? I fail to see how wanting to figure out how to help or even prevent such cancers isn’t worthwhile, and—”

He held up one hand in mock-surrender. “I get it; I get it. You’re right: it’s a sad thing.”

“You’re such an ass,” she muttered, her cheeks pinking with indignant color. “You can try to belittle him all you’d like. A man like Marvin is _ten_ times the man you’ll ever be!”

Her statement didn’t even faze him as he reached for his drink while still chewing a huge bite of burger. “Where is he now?”

“Come again?”

He rolled his eyes, wiping his fingers on a clean napkin. “I said, where is he? You make it sound like he’s running all over Hell’s Half Acre.”

“At the moment, he’s in Phoenix. There’s a gentleman here who is known for undersigning research projects, especially when it pertains to children. Marvin thinks that he’ll have some luck there.”

“Phoenix? Damn, that’s pretty far . . .”

“He travels a lot,” she admitted with a frown, unsure why she was telling Zel Roka any such thing and hating the hint of defensiveness she could hear in her voice.

He nodded slowly, pushing his plate away. His gaze lit on the ring on her left hand as she reached for the new glass of iced tea, and before she could grasp it, he caught her fingers to inspect the ring. “What the . . .? This your engagement ring, V?”

Jerking her hand away, Valerie stuck them under the table, away from Zel’s curious gaze. “Yes, it is,” she replied stiffly.

“Where’s the rest of it?”

Heaving a sigh—she figured he’d say something obnoxious like that—she pressed her lips together in a thin, tight line. “An eighth of a carat is hardly something to scoff at,” she informed him.

“Absolutely not,” he agreed easily— _too_ easily.

“Look, it’s the one I wanted,” she snapped, pinning him with a formidable glower. “It doesn’t have to be big enough to choke a horse, and Marvin liked it when he saw it, too.”

He frowned at her, his expression taking on a suspect glow. “You make it sound like you bought it and showed it to him after the fact.”

Valerie shrugged. “He’s busy,” she reiterated. “We both are.”

The incredulity on Zel’s face slowly faded, only to be replaced by a completely dumbfounded expression—one tinged with the barest hint of something much darker. “Shit, V . . . what the hell kind of relationship is that?”

Stuffing the slim-file into her purse, she stood abruptly. “What do you know about relationships, Zel Roka?” she bit out.

“I know well enough that if I were in some kind of relationship, I sure as hell wouldn’t let her pick out her own engagement ring. Hell, I’d get her the biggest damn rock I could find.”

“That would be gaudy,” she remarked, “and a woman would be a fool if she were stupid enough to fall for a guy like you.”

Something amused him as he slowly shook his head. “A guy like me? What’s that mean?”

“I think you know damn well what I mean,” she hissed.

“Quick to assume, aren’t you, V? Do you really think you know me?”

“I know enough,” she insisted. “You . . . You snap your fingers, and you think that women should just fall at your feet, don’t you? That’s why you can sit there with that grin on your face and pretend that you’re so much better than anyone else when you don’t really know the first thing about relationships. You’re a rock star, and that’s what you’re good at. Everything is just a part of the show to you, right?”

He didn’t answer right away, but he did smile. “Damn, you _do_ know me,” he allowed.

Valerie sighed and shook her head, tamping down the misplaced feeling of pity that his words inspired in her. Forcing a tight little smile, polite at best, she nodded once and straightened the sleeves of her jacket. “At any rate, Marvin and my relationship is none of your business, you know, and this lunch is over. Good day, Mr. Roka. Try to stay out of trouble, won’t you?”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “ _Shelter Me” appeared on Cinderella’s 1990 release,_ **_Heartbreak_** **_Station_** _._ _Copyright 1990 Cinderella_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _A completely lost cause_ …


	9. 008: Misunderstood

‘ _If you wanna be happy for the rest of your life_ ,  
‘ _Never make a pretty woman your wife_ …  
‘ _So for my personal point of view_ ,  
‘ _Get an ugly girl to marry you_ …’

 

-‘ _If You Wanna Be Happy_ ’ by Jimmy Soul

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

‘ _You know, she’s gonna rip your balls off and feed ‘em to you for dinner if you don’t straighten up and stop deliberately trying to get her goat_.’

‘ _Baa-a-a-a-a-a-aah_ ,’ Evan thought with an inward snort.

‘ _Oh, you’re such a hella funny guy! And that was a sheep, you idiot_ . . .’

Okay, so he could behave a little better . . . maybe. Then again, it was entirely too much fun to see exactly how irritated V got, wasn’t it? Of course, if she figured out that he thought that, he was reasonably certain that there’d be hell to pay . . .

‘ _You’re more perverted than I originally thought_ . . .’

Yeah, and unfortunately, that comment only made his grin widen, anyway.

Glancing up only to find the woman in question dealing him one of the most suspicious looks, bar none, Evan almost chuckled—almost.

Shoving her square glasses up her cute little nose, she shot him a ‘don’t-fuck-with-me’ half-glower as she deliberately opened the black slim-file. “For the pretrial next week, you will wear a suit.”

Evan blinked and grinned. “A _wha-a-a-at?_ ” he drawled.

She really wasn’t amused. “A suit, Mr. Roka. Slacks, dress shirt, tie, jacket . . .”

“Oh, yeah, I don’t have one of them,” he said with a lazy wave of his hand.

She wasn’t impressed. “And underpants.”

He made a face. “I _really_ ain’t got none of _those_.”

She didn’t look especially surprised. Evan wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. “Then get some,” she replied evenly.

She was doing a damn fine job of not letting him get to her. He had to give her that, at least. If he looked really closely, he might be able to see steam escaping from her ears, though . . .

“All right; all right, I’ll see what I can do,” he muttered but spared her a surreptitious look. “Hey, V . . .”

She heaved a sigh, probably at the deplorable name he insisted on using for her, he figured. “What, Mr. Roka?”

He was actually rather proud that he managed to keep a straight face as he asked his next question. “Where do I buy underpants?”

Those incredible eyes of hers slowly flicked up to meet his, narrowing just enough in a ‘fuck-you-and-the-horse-you-rode-in-on’ expression. ‘ _Damn, she’s fucking_ hot,’ he mused.

“At the store, Mr. Roka,” she gritted out from between clenched teeth.

“Aww, baby, why you gotta play me like that?” he complained.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head before tapping the slim-file against her palm. “Anyway, you do have to be there, so I advise you for your own sake not to say even one word. Do you understand?”

He blinked and grinned widely. “Yus!” he exclaimed.

She heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Trying to talk to you is like trying to talk to a kindergartener . . .”

“ _Ze-e-e-e-eli-i-i-i-icious!_ ”

Evan blinked but was not surprised to see Bugs dash around the wall that separated the living room from the foyer with tears in his eyes and a very recognizable brown envelope in his hand. Today, he was decked out in an obscenely short black leather micro mini and a white mesh, long sleeved jersey along with a pair of black fishnet stockings—he could see the rabbit-youkai’s black satin garters holding up the top edges—and what had to be six inch stiletto ho-boots. All in all, vampy, trashy, and completely fuck-me, which was probably the look he was going for . . . “Whazzamatta, Bugsy?” Evan crooned as Bugs threw himself onto the sofa and buried his face against his chest.

“ _He_ sent me a letter!” Bugs announced breathlessly—dramatically—as he waved the envelope under Evan’s nose.

Cocking an eyebrow, Evan slipped an arm around Bugs’ shoulder and smacked a deplorably loud kiss on his forehead. He intercepted Valerie’s raised-eyebrow-ed look and winked at her. “Doesn’t he send you letters all the time?”

Bugs nodded earnestly. “Uh huh, uh huh, but this one is _different!_ I can _feel_ it!”

Evan nodded slowly. “Okay, so what’s the big guy got to say this time?”

“Well, he—” Cutting himself off abruptly, Bugs sat up straight and turned to cast a seething glower in Valerie’s direction, slowly letting his gaze travel up and down her frame before he turned to Evan once more. “ _What_ is _that?_ ” he demanded, poking a finger over his shoulder, ostensibly indicating that he objected to the lawyer’s presence.

“That’s my lawyer,” Evan pointed out. “Ain’t she fuckable?” She narrowed her eyes at him as she crossed her arms over her chest, nostrils flaring with her silent indignation.

Bugs considered that then uttered a terse ‘hmph’. “ _That_ is going to keep you out of the big house?”

Evan nodded again.

Bugs wiggled his nose—a quirk of his whenever he was considering something that he thought was important. “It has _breasts_ ,” he pointed out coolly.

Evan’s grin widened as he slowly looked her over, too. “Oh, yes, it does,” he agreed. For a moment, he thought that maybe she really was going to walk over and beat him, and he could only hope that she really would . . . Valerie’s expression didn’t change, aside from the pointed quirking of an articulated eyebrow. Evan nearly laughed but thought better of it.

“It _has_ to go,” Bugs stated. “I cannot talk about _him_ if _that_ is sitting there, staring at me . . .” Whipping around to face the woman, Bugs leaned forward to waggle a finger in her direction. “Take a picture, honey, ‘cause it’s the closest you’ll ever get to _my_ Zelicious!”

Valerie opened her mouth to say something—probably something completely cruel, but Evan was faster. “V, would you mind . . .?” Evan drawled, jerking his head toward the kitchen.

He really didn’t think she was going to comply, but she finally rolled her eyes and slowly uncrossed her legs—Evan about died. ‘ _Would it be so bad to get a glimpse of her panties?_ ’ he railed silently. Then she stood up and stalked out of the room.

Bugs heaved a sigh of relief as Evan tried not to be too obvious as he swung his head around to watch her departure. ‘ _Damn, that ass_ . . .’

‘ _I wanna bite that_ ,’ his youkai said.

Evan sighed, long and loud, shifting slightly since he’s actually been decent enough to pull on a pair of ratty jeans before he’d let her into his house. ‘ _Me, too_ . . .’

“ _Zel!_ ” Bugs grouched, waving the letter under his nose once more. “I’m having a crisis, and you’re eyeballing some woman’s _cookies!_ ”

“But I _like_ cookies!” he protested then sighed when Bugs pulled a pout. “Okay, Bugsy . . . I’m all yours.”

“I wish,” Bugs muttered. Drawing a deep breath, he held the letter out to Evan. “I can’t! I just _can’t!_ You do it!”

Nodding solemnly, Evan took the letter and poked the claw of his index finger into the crease in the flap that sealed it closed.

“Wait!” Bugs screeched, slapping a hand over the envelope to stop Evan. Closing his eyes and drawing a few more breaths, he pressed the palm of his hand against his chest to center his chi, or so he’d say if Evan asked, he opened his eyes and nodded. “Okay.”

Evan stared at him for a moment longer. He was quite used to this particular little scenario. It always happened whenever Bugs got, what he called, ‘The Letter’. When Bugs rolled his hand impatiently, Evan nodded and started to slit the top once more.

“Wait!” Bugs howled, waving his hands like a lunatic—or a little girl. “What if it’s good news?” he whined. His eyes widened in a completely appalled sort of expression. If he weren’t wearing a ton of makeup, Evan had to wonder if the rabbit’s skin had paled at whatever scenario he’d concocted in his head. “What if it’s _bad?_ ”

“Why don’t you open it, doll-baby?” Evan coaxed, holding out the letter.

Bugs pushed his hand away and shook his head staunchly. “Oh, no! No, no, no, no, no! That would jinx it, Zel Roka, and you know it!”

Evan heaved an exaggerated sigh and shrugged. “Do you want me to open it?”

Bugs considered that then nodded once.

“Do you _really_ want me to open it?”

Bugs nodded again, a little more vigorously.

“And you’re sure?”

“For the love of gays, Zel, _yes!_ ”

Evan chuckled—then he ripped the envelope open before Bugs could stop him again.

“Oooh,” Bugs whined, hunching forward with his hands balled into fists, thumping against his knees as he shook his legs impatiently. “Read it!”

Casting the rabbit a sidelong glance, he quirked an eyebrow. “You want me to read it?”

“Yes!” Flopping against the back of the sofa, Bugs draped his forearm over his eyes. “I can’t bear to read it myself.”

Evan grinned and nodded vaguely. No, he never could, could he? He pulled out the letter, letting all the other stuff fall onto the floor at his feet. It only took a moment to scan it over, and he slowly shook his head.

“Well?” Bugs demanded, his face contorting from the sheer torture of waiting.

“I’m sorry, Bugsy,” Evan replied. “They just want you to buy some magazines.”

“Those bitches!” Bugs gasped, snatching the form letter out of his hands. He looked it over then heaved a sigh. “And here I thought that this was the big one,” he whimpered as big fat tears welled in his eyes. “Ed McMahon should be shot!”

Evan chuckled and slouched back. “Sorry to tell you, sweetie, but that dude’s been dead for years.”

Bugs heaved a sigh and snuggled against Evan’s chest. “But I don’t like any of their magazines,” he pointed out, his bottom lip quivering.

Evan nodded. “Well, they do have _A Bug’s Life_ ,” he pointed out.

Bugs wrinkled his nose and snorted. “But that’s about bugs not Bugs . . . A shame, though . . . a magazine about me would be so too-too, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would,” he agreed without batting an eye.

Bugs tensed when Valerie strode back into the room once more with a glass of iced tea in hand and a completely blank expression on her face.

“Aww, you didn’t bring me a beer,” Evan complained.

“Drop dead,” she retorted mildly as she sat back down in the overstuffed chenille recliner she’d commandeered shortly after her arrival. When he’d asked her if she wanted to stretch out on the sofa, she’d only narrowed her eyes and told him that she’d rather be buried in a wooden coffin full of termites. He wasn’t sure if she was objecting to the stretching out part or the fact that the sofa in question was forged out of a huge block of metal . . .

Bugs leaned away long enough to hiss at her, which she also ignored as she calmly continued to sip her iced tea, much to his chagrin. “I don’t like _it_ ,” he pouted at Evan.

‘ _But I do_ ,’ Evan thought then shook his head since he was relatively sure that V wouldn’t really appreciate his commentary at the moment. “Now, Bugsy . . . don’t be catty.”

Bugs snorted and moved in even closer against Evan’s side. “I can’t help it. I’m channeling my inner bitch.”

“Put the claws away, doll-baby. She’s got to get my nuts out of the D.A.’s vise before you can have at her . . . ‘Sides . . . I’m pretty sure that she could easily kick your ass and mine at the same time.”

Oh, she really did almost smile, though she managed to hide it easily enough.

Bugs heaved a sigh designed to let Evan know exactly what he thought of that, but didn’t get a chance to respond when the sound of the door opening filtered through the house. A moment later, his newest visitor sauntered into the living room with a bright smile, a definite jiggle, and her bouffant ash blonde hair in full bloom.

“Mo-o-o-orning, Zel! How is that absolutely _fantastic_ aura of yours today?” Stopping short, she shook her head and crossed her arms over her very ample bosom. “Why are you wearing _clothes?_ ” she asked as if it were the most natural question in the world.

“That was my question, too,” Bugs huffed.

“Bugsy! Those boots are just fabbie! Has Maddy seen them?”

“That huss can get her own,” Bugs replied, fluttering a hand dismissively. “But aren’t they just _beyond_ yummy?”

“I could floss my teeth with them,” she assured him with a wink of her false eyelashes. “Now, Zel, we’ve talked about this. Clothing inhibits the flow of our chi, especially when we’re in our own homes. You don’t want to inhibit your chi, do you?”

“Of course not!” he insisted. “Some people just don’t understand.”

“Hmm . . . it’s very bad for your creativity,” she said slowly. “Inhibited chi is responsible for all the sappy love songs ever written.”

Evan chuckled and started to sing. “‘ _You'd think . . . That people would have had enough of silly love longs . . . But I look around me and I see it isn't so . . . Some people wanna fill the world with silly love songs . . . And what's wrong with that ? . . . I'd like to know 'cause here I go again_ . . .’”

She laughed. Bugs clapped. Valerie rolled her eyes.

Grinning widely, he leaned forward to kiss the air beside his visitor’s cheeks as she returned the favor then grabbed one of her very provocatively displayed breasts for good measure. She swatted him away with a giggle then held her blouse open and shook her shoulders to give him a good look before leaning over to kiss the air beside Bugs’ cheeks, too. From the other side of the room, Evan didn’t miss the very definite snort coming from Valerie’s direction.

The latest arrival didn’t seem to notice, however, as she carefully wiped the smudge of bright red lipstick off Evan’s cheek. Bending over with her hands on her knees, her breasts nearly falling out of the filmy faun colored blouse she wore, she stared directly into his eyes. “O-o-o-oh, sweetie . . . your chi is blocked, isn’t it? Didn’t you get your morning nookie?”

It was Evan’s turn to pout this time. Casting Valerie a very pointed look, he shook his head slowly. “ _She_ won’t let me,” he said, jerking his head toward Valerie.

The woman turned to see who Evan was talking about and blinked. “Oh . . . my . . . _God!_ ” she breathed as she slowly circled the table.

The attorney blinked when the Zen-guru grabbed her hands and tugged her to her feet, making no bones about giving her a critical once-over as a huge grin surfaced on her California-tanned face. Dark brown eyes sparkling as she smiled at Valerie, she let go of her, only to close her eyes as she moved her hands over Valerie’s silhouette without actually touching the puzzled attorney, who shot Evan a questioning glance only to narrow her eyes when she saw the smirk he was struggling to hide. “Your chi is _completely_ constipated, darling, but it has the potential to be so _lovely!_ ” She gasped suddenly and blinked as her eyes widened. “Are those _real?_ ” she asked suddenly as she reached out and grasped one of Valerie’s breasts.

Valerie’s face turned about ten shades of red as she stammered and stuttered. Knocking her hand away, Valerie stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Who the hell are you, and why are you feeling me up?”

The woman laughed, clapping her hands as she bounced up and down a few times, her enormous breasts jiggling in a way that normally made Evan groan. “Oh, she’s just _precious!_ ” she said, leaning to the side as though she were just speaking to Evan, who nodded and covered his mouth with his hand to hide the grin that he couldn’t hold back. Valerie glanced at him then narrowed her eyes, her nostrils definitely flaring as her temper rose. She was looking more and more irritated by the second, and he had to wonder if she were more irked with him or with his Zen guru at the moment . . .

“I’m so sorry for not introducing myself properly!” she gushed as she turned back to face the livid attorney. “I’m Bitches!”

Valerie’s expression blanked as her gaze shifted back to the woman who had just introduced herself. “Come again?”

Bitches giggled. “Bitches!” she repeated. “I’m Zel’s Zen guru.”

“Your _name_ is Bitches,” Valerie repeated, her hazel eyes darkening just a touch.

“Well, it’s a nickname,” Bitches explained as she reached up and fondled her own massive breasts. “These are the bitches, you see, so the name kind of stuck. This one’s Chi-chi,” she said, wiggling her right breast. “And this one is Cha-cha,” she added, wiggling the left one. “And you are?”

Valerie’s eyes narrowed slightly, her cheeks pinking just a touch when Evan choked out a smothered cough. She really, really didn’t like Bitches, did she? And just why, exactly, did that amuse the living shit out of him? “Valerie,” Valerie intoned. “Valerie Denning.”

“That’s such a nice name! So pretty! It has the potential to be wide open,” Bitches remarked.

Evan choked on a snort of laughter. Fortunately, Valerie didn’t seem to have heard it or she’d have beaten him, for sure.

“So tell me, Valerie, are you busy tonight?” Bitches went on.

“Busy?”

The Zen guru nodded as she tucked a long strand of ash blonde hair behind her ear. “Mm . . . We could go out to dinner . . . maybe some dancing . . . then I’d be more than happy to help you . . . cleanse your aura . . .” She winked. Evan choked a little more. Bugs smacked him with the back of his hand, his eyes on the women and obviously quite enjoying the entire display.

Valerie frowned as she stared at Bitches. Evan could almost hear the gears turning in her head. “Are you . . . asking me on a . . . _date?_ ” she asked.

Bitches nodded happily.

“A—Uh—W— _No!_ ” Valerie croaked, sounding a little less like her usual self. “I’m engaged, sorry.”

Evan snorted. “Yeah, to a guy named _Marvin_ . . .”

“Oh, dear . . .” Bitches said, fluttering a hand near her lips but not close enough to smudge her lipstick. “Would he ever consider changing that? Marvin is _such_ a repressed name . . . because the open ‘v’ is being stifled with the letters on each side; you see?”

“Forget it, toots,” Bugs said as he kissed Evan’s cheek then stood up, wiggling his legs to force the skirt back down. “Come on . . . We both got the shaft, and not in a good way . . . let’s go get some tea, hmm? Oh, and then you can take me wherever you got that delicious belt!”

Bitches giggled as Bugs grabbed her hand and headed for the door. “I’ll be by to check your Zen later, Zel!” she hollered over her shoulder then winked and blew a kiss at Valerie. “Nice to meet you Valerie! Zel’s got my number, should you change your mind!”

Valerie didn’t move until after the front door closed, and then she heaved a sigh of relief and slowly shook her head. “I feel so violated,” she muttered, her cheeks pinking up again.

“What? You didn’t like Bitches?” Evan couldn’t resist asking as he draped his arm along the top of the sofa.

She snorted indelicately and pinned him with a look. She looked like she was considering something, and whatever it was she didn’t seem to like whatever conclusion she’d reached. “Bitches gots to go,” she stated flatly.

Evan blinked as his mouth dropped open. “But she’s my Zen guru!”

“So find another one,” she shot back. “One who doesn’t have her dogs loose and running all over the neighborhood.”

“Why?”

“Do you fuck her, too?” Valerie demanded.

Evan blinked again, but then he broke into an entirely cheesy grin. “Jealous, baby?”

She snorted. “Hardly, and I’m so _not_ your baby.”

He chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest as he slowly shook his head. “But to answer your question, no, I’ve never fucked her. Tried, of course, but she’s a lesbian, and she totally was all up in your stuff . . . not that I blame her, ‘cause, well, you’re hot as shit, V . . .”

She shook her head, as though she couldn’t believe she was actually having this particular conversation with this particular man. “Get rid of her,” she stated once more.

Evan made a face. “You’d make me dump my Bitches?” he muttered. “That’s so cold, V . . .”

“Yeah, yeah, bite me,” she shot back, rolling her eyes, then shook her head then suddenly turned to narrow her gaze on him. “What did she mean by ‘cleanse my aura’?”

Evan couldn’t help but grin at that. Standing up so that he could get a beer out of the kitchen, he shrugged. “She meant she wanted to fuck you. If you change your mind, can I watch?”

Valerie groaned then choked. “I think I’m going to go die now.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, V,” he called as he grabbed a beer and popped the cap. “I’ll tell Bitches that you’re my bitches, and then she won’t try to grab your bitches again.”

Her answer was a long, long sigh and something muttered under her breath that he was probably better off not hearing.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘ ** _If_** **_You_** **_Wanna_** **_Be_** **_Happy_** _’ recorded by Jimmy Soul, 1963. Written by and copyright to Frank Guida_.
> 
> ‘ ** _Silly_** **_Love_** **_Songs_** _’ recorded by Wings, 1975, album titled:_ Wings at the Speed of Sound _. Written by and copyright to Paul McCartney_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final Thought from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _… I was hit on by a woman named BITCHES …?_


	10. 009: Dieter

' _I would swallow my pride_.  
' _I would choke on the rhines_.  
' _But the lack thereof would leave me empty inside_.  
' _I would swallow my doubt turn it inside out find nothing but faith in nothing_.  
' _Want to put my tender heart in a blender_.  
' _Watch it spin around to a beautiful oblivion_.  
' _Rendezvous then I'm through with you_ …'

 

' _Inside Out_ ' by Eve6

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie pushed her glasses up with the back of her knuckle and read through the papers she'd just had faxed over. The DA was offering Zel a deal, of sorts. For pleading no contest to two of the charges, the third one would be dropped, and he'd be allowed an abbreviated sentence of one year counting time served plus community service, restitution, and court costs: much better than she'd actually thought he'd be offered, really. Still, she didn't doubt for a moment that he wouldn't like it, stubborn man that he was.

She rubbed her head and spared a glance at him. Half sprawled on the steel sofa—how that thing could possibly be comfortable was completely beyond her—with his feet kicked up and an acoustic guitar on his chest that he was idly strumming, she honestly didn't think he'd actually heard a damn thing she'd said to him all day . . .

Not entirely surprising; not really. He had the attention span of a flea or worse, and she had serious doubts that he could actually wrap his brain around the charges that had been levied against him, in the first place . . .

"Mr. Roka, I need you to look over these," she said, swatting his foot with the papers as she stepped toward him.

"' _Is you is or is you ain't my babeh_ '," he sang with a very pronounced twang in his voice.

Valerie rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh. "Come on," she insisted, waving the papers under his nose.

He shot her a saucy grin and the song somehow managed to blend into a completely different one. "' _She's a dancer, a romancer . . . I'm a Capricorn, she's a Cancer . . . She saw my picture in a music magazine_. . .'"

"Are you listening to me at all?"

Zel glanced up from strumming the guitar. "Of course, V," he insisted as he resumed his playing.

She crossed her arms over her chest and stifled another sigh. "Somehow, I just don't believe you."

Zel shot her a completely innocent sort of look—one that was wholly out of place on the man's features since Valerie was relatively sure that he didn't know what that word even meant. "I totally am," he argued. "You know, though, men tend to listen better to shirtless women."

"Really."

"Proven fact, V. They did a clinical whoseewhatsis on it once. Read about it in _Playboy_. They took a hundred well-boned guys, stuck half of 'em in a room with a talking woman, stuffed the other lucky bastards in a room with a talking _shirtless_ woman, and the ones exposed to boob therapy did better with remembering all the stuff their woman told them—on a related side note, the shirtless woman couldn't walk right for about a month. Saddle sore, you know?"

She stared at him for an entire thirty seconds before she rolled her eyes. "You're so full of shit, you stink."

He shot her a shit-eating grin. "Yeah, maybe just a little. That story's worked before, though, I swear to God."

Valerie shook her head. "Absolutely unsalvageable."

"Hey, V, you really should get naked. Don't wanna constipate your chi any more than it already is, right? I swear, I'll be good."

"You don't know how to be good," she shot back, judiciously choosing to ignore the rest of his commentary.

"That's not what my women say," he retorted as his grin widened.

Valerie sighed and held out the docket once more. "Here. Read this, and I advise you to sign it."

"What's that?" he asked, staring at her hand.

She counted to twenty-five in her head. "It's a plea agreement. I already told you. The DA's office faxed this to me this morning. They're offering to drop the reckless endangerment if you'll agree to plead guilty to possession of illegal substances and driving under the influence. In addition, you'll agree to do five hundred hours of community service, serve one year for each charge, concurrently, and, of course, the prerequisite fines and whatever restitution amount they deem fair."

Zel shot her an incredulous look. "A year? A _year?_ That's . . . that's like . . . a _year!_ No fucking way!"

"Your powers of reason are just . . . frightening," she muttered, rubbing her forehead as a throbbing pain stabbed her right behind her eyelids. "Let me explain something to you, Zel Roka. This is the best offer you're going to get! Reckless endangerment and public menace carries a mandatory sentence of no less than three years if you're convicted—that's three years that cannot be served concurrently with any other sentences. Do you understand me?"

"Blah, blah, blah," Zel pouted, waving the document in the air. "Bare the boobs, V, or forget it."

"Read it now, Zel Roka, or you'll miss the balls you used to have."

That gave him pause long enough to grin at her yet again. God, she was really starting to hate that particular grin . . . "Now that's what I'm talkin' 'bout, V . . . So how did you plan on removing them?"

She shook her head. "Just read it."

"I prefer your teeth . . ."

Pressing her lips together in a thin line, she stared at him for a moment—then pressed her lips together tighter because that boyish, hopeful look on his face was almost— _almost_ —enough to make her laugh. "Read. It."

He made a show of sitting up, letting the guitar fall off his lap as he shuffled through the ten page docket. He scanned it for about a minute then dropped it on the coffee table. "Tell the DA to shove that so far up his ass that he feels it tickling his ivories."

Valerie slowly shook her head. "You didn't even read it."

"Eh, I got the gist of it," he drawled.

"Mr. Roka—"

Her tirade was cut short when the sound of the door opening and closing again echoed through the house. A moment later, a very pale, very scrawny, very tall man strode into the living room with a very pronounced scowl on his impossibly angular face. His black leather biker's jacket looked like someone had dragged it behind his motorcycle cross-country, his black tee-shirt was ripped and faded, and his jeans—if one could call them that—were frayed at both the top and bottom, the knees worn so thin that it was amazing that they were still holding together. For the love of God, one of his black leather boots was held together by duct tape wrapped around the toe . . . He shot Valerie what could only be described as a hostile glance before literally throwing himself into one of the steel cage chairs that was suspended from the vaulted ceiling by industrial chains. He looked like a vagrant, didn't he? But Zel didn't seem to think there was anything odd about his sudden appearance—in fact, the man was grinning from ear to ear—so Valerie figured that he had to be one of his friends.

"Get your ass booted again?" Zel asked pleasantly as he reached for the guitar again, sparing a moment to wink at Valerie.

The stranger snorted, sort of. It was more like an actual snort might have been too much work for him.

Valerie cleared her throat.

Zel glanced at her and grinned like an idiot. "Deet, this is V, my attorney. V, this is Dieter Reichardt."

Dieter echoed the first noise once more.

Valerie shook her head and grabbed the plea agreement. She wasn't done harping on him about it, no, but she had a feeling that he wasn't going to listen, especially while his friend was there. Straightening up, she glanced at Zel, only to find him leaning halfway off the sofa, quite blatantly staring at her ass. She narrowed her eyes and turned on her heel, managing to 'accidentally' whack him over the head with the court docket. The man had the gall to grin at her.

"Miss kick you out again?"

Dieter shrugged. "She's being a bitch," he muttered.

Valerie shook her head, unable to grasp exactly how the two of them could possibly be friends. What kind of conversations did they really have, after all? Dieter didn't seem at all interested in speaking, and Zel? If he could actually speak about anything that didn't have to do with tits, ass, or anything else that could even loosely be described as genitalia, she'd eat her cell phone.

Zel nodded. "Yeah, but she's _your_ bitch." He turned to face Valerie, who was stowing the plea agreement into her attaché case again.   "Deet's an artist—and my part-time bassist," he told her. "Made that." He nodded at the hulking metal sculpture. "How's the new one coming?"

Dieter made that first sound once more.

Valerie set the case down and headed for the kitchen for a bottle of water. No doubt about it, she was starting to think that Zel's friends were the strangest lot that she'd ever seen before . . .

Stepping into the bright kitchen, she frowned. It had struck her yesterday when she'd first seen the room, just how well-appointed it was. It was very industrial looking, just like the rest of his house that she'd seen—a collection of brushed steel and chrome, black marble flooring, wrought iron pan rack hanging over the center island and the huge gas range that was more like a grill than a stove . . .

Even his refrigerator was surprising. It wasn't actually a refrigerator, per se, though it looked like one on the outside, albeit a very large one. When she'd opened the door yesterday, she'd blinked when she'd discovered that it opened into a long, narrow cold room. Everything was arranged right, too, which was really odd, considering. All the fruits and vegetables that should be kept cool but not cold were arranged on the shelves near the door in expensive wicker baskets. The eggs and dairy were close, too, and further back were the things that needed to be cold but not frozen. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her, though, and she had peeked into the freezer side. She hadn't gone in that one, of course, but she had noticed that the shelves were quite full—packages of meats wrapped in white butcher paper. Every one of them was carefully labeled and tagged, too . . .

' _Big hairy deal_ ,' she told herself as she strode into the walk-in refrigerator for a bottle of water. Stowed far enough back that it was still liquid, she knew from prior experience that bits would solidify into a slushy-like consistency when she opened it. ' _So he's got a cook or something—a personal chef. Not really surprising, is it? He's got more money than God_ . . .'

Interesting, though, she had to admit. This room had plants placed generously throughout, and with the exception of his meditation room, she hadn't noticed an abundance of those before, either. In here, though, there were some quite beautiful ones: vines spilling over the planters, trailing their tendrils almost to the floor, and the breakfast nook situated in the far corner and surrounded by windows had a planter box built onto the top of the benches with what looked to be herbs growing thick and lush.

Striding out of the kitchen, she frowned. The two men were standing at the base of the sculpture, staring up at it as though they were trying to figure something out. A moment later, Dieter caught hold of one of the upper spikes and pulled himself up onto the piece. Valerie's eyebrows raised. Just what the hell were they doing?

Dieter reached up to catch the thin cable that supported the top of the piece, and to Valerie's surprise, he managed to shimmy up, using his hands to catch and tug himself higher and higher, end over end. "What the hell is he doing?" she demanded in a hissed whisper directed at Zel.

Zel didn't blink as he stared up at his friend. "Just making sure that the cable's all right. This sculpture was a little top-heavy, so I had to reinforce it. Dieter thought that the attachments looked a little off, was all."

She shook her head, narrowing her eyes on the rock star. "What if he falls?"

Zel grinned at her. "Eh, he won't. Never does."

It didn't really help, did it? His allusion that they did this sort of thing before . . . There was always a first time for everything. What if he really _did_ fall? Visions of another lawsuit danced through her head, and Valerie stifled an inward sigh. If Dieter fell from that cable—if it broke or something and Dieter ended up as a blotch on Zel's floor . . . Oh, she was so not representing him again, and she didn't care whether or not she ever got that damned promotion if it meant that she'd be babysitting an idiot like Zel for the rest of her miserable life . . .

"So how is it?"

Dieter shook his head and descended the cable the same way he'd climbed up. A couple minutes later, he dropped off the sculpture, safe and sound. "It's fine," he muttered under his breath.

Zel nodded, as though he'd expected as much. "I'm gonna go grab a beer. Want one, Deet?"

The man shrugged as Zel sauntered away. Valerie screwed the cap back onto the bottle of water, staring at the bottle but watching Zel out of the corner of her eye. There was something entirely wrong with that man, wasn't there? After all, it shouldn't be possible for one man to look that damn good all the time, should it? She scrunched up her face for a moment, silently berating herself for ogling the walking, talking train wreck.

' _Oh, but he's a damn fine train wreck_ . . .' she thought with a soft sigh.

' _Uh, no! No, no, no, no, no! He's not a damn fine anything! Stop that!_ ' she told herself sternly.

That just figured, didn't it? She was losing her mind; that had to be it . . .

But it really just wasn't right, was it? She sighed again and sat down, pulling out her cell phone to check her messages.

The first one was from Madison—a reminder that Valerie had a 'hair date' tomorrow morning. One call was from her dentist to remind her that it was time for her to make an appointment for a thorough cleaning. The third was from her bastard of a boss, calling to make sure that she was behaving, and to remind her that she was to keep Zel Roka happy, no matter what. She cleared her messages, muttering under her breath about spoiled rock stars and idiot bosses and that they could basically hold hands and skip on off to hell together, for all she cared . . .

She cleared her messages and snapped the phone closed. When she looked up, though, it was to find Dieter scowling fiercely in her direction. Standing with his bony arms crossed over his chest, he had his chin lowered, his eyes glowing from the confines of the murky shadows cast by the straggly lines of his unkempt black bangs. He looked like the classic 'brooding artist', the misunderstood genius who would work for days on end, neglecting everyone and everything around him as he let himself become a slave to his muse—but, no doubt about it, his intensity was more than a little disconcerting, and she had to keep herself from fidgeting as she waited for him to say something, do something. Hell, it'd even be all right if he just moved, but no. Nope, he just stood there, staring, turning it into an impromptu game of chicken.

"Attorney, right?" he finally said just when Valerie had been about to break.

She blinked and nodded, her knees oddly weak as a surge of relief washed through her. "Yes. Why?"

"Zel don't belong in jail," he muttered under his breath. "Makes you mean . . ."

"I'm doing what I can," she replied, unsure as to why she was bothering to try to reassure the man, in the first place.

The devil himself strode back into the room with three bottles of beer and a broad grin. The fluidity in his every movement struck Valerie, and she couldn't help but stare at him for several seconds. She'd never noticed before, had she? The way the human body seemed to work in a lethargic sort of symmetry . . . or maybe it was simpler to notice in Zel since he tended to parade around shirtless, as he was now . . . Or maybe . . .

Maybe it was the man, himself . . .

"Here," he said, handing a bottle to his friend.

He held one out to Valerie, and she shook her head. "I'm working," she informed him brusquely.

"It's just a beer, V," he intoned though he set the beer on the coffee table without trying to get her to take it. "You two having a meaningful conversation?"

Dieter dropped into the chair he'd first occupied, leaning forward with the beer held between his knees as he popped the cap off.

Zel grinned, as though he found something of sovereign amusement. "Don't mind him. He's practicing his moody artist spiel," he told Valerie.

She shook her head, unsure what to make of either one of them, really.

"Ask him about his boy," he whispered, stretching out on the sofa to lean in toward her and batting his eyes in a completely idiotic sort of way.

"You have a boy?" she asked, wondering if that weren't a huge mistake.

Suddenly, though, Dieter broke into a wide, engaging smile, his turbulent gray eyes taking on a certain sparkle, and she shook her head when she realized that he had the deepest, cutest dimples dug into his cheeks. The smile seemed to diminish the stark contours of his face, and he set the beer aside as he got to his feet, digging around in the back pocket of his dilapidated jeans for his wallet. "Aw, man! My kid's the cutest thing you ever saw!" he insisted, shuffling toward Valerie as he jammed the electronic photo display under her nose. "That's him . . . adorable, huh? Looks just like his mama."

She blinked at the almost boyish quality of Dieter's smile, just like a child who had managed to make the ugliest macaroni art picture frame that his mother claimed to love best. "H-His name's Daniel . . ."

"Oh, he _is_ cute," Valerie said, unable to mask the surprise in her voice. It wasn't that she disliked children, of course, but she she'd seen more than her fair share of them that really weren't what she'd consider, 'cute'. Strange, really. Dieter seemed to believe that the child really didn't look like him, but he did—large gray eyes, midnight hair—and deep dimples in his cheeks, too.

Dieter laughed. "He's got his mama's nose . . . and her toes . . . and her laugh, too . . . but you can't really see that in these, huh?" He reached over, pushing the little button to scroll through a few images. He stopped on one of the boy and a very pretty blonde woman. Dieter's almost bashful smile widened. "That's Miss—uh, it's short for Mississippi."

Valerie smiled. "Oh? Was she born there?"

Dieter looked puzzled. "No . . . she was born in Kentucky."

She blinked and stared, then shook her head since that didn't really make any sense to her.

Dieter shrugged. "Well, her mama told her she got knocked up while she was working at a club called the Mississippi. Her mama was a stripper."

Valerie snapped her mouth closed. "I . . . I see . . ."

Dieter flipped to the next image. "That's Daniel's second birthday. He got that whole piece of cake in his mouth, too. Didn't make a mess at all. He's smart—really smart." Dieter shrugged, his cheeks pinking slightly. "Smart like his mama."

"He's adorable," Valerie agreed with a smile.

Dieter grinned happily as he stowed his wallet away in his pocket once more. "Oh, hey! I gotta go. I'm supposed to be at the gallery to talk to Fawn about the exhibition."

Zel wiggled around on the sofa until he was lying flat on his back. "You know she wants to fuck you, right?" he remarked almost nonchalantly.

To Valerie's amusement, Dieter's slight blush darkened considerably. "Aw, don't tell Miss that, okay? She already had a fit about Fawn earlier . . ."

"So _that's_ why you came over . . ."

He shrugged then turned around, holding out a hand as he leaned on his right leg in a bony display of angular lines. "I'll tell you what I told Miss: I says, 'Miss, you know damn well that I'm a 'one-mother-fucker'.'"

Zel blinked. Valerie bit down on the inside of her cheek. Hard. "You . . . You told her that?" Zel asked blandly.

Dieter scratched his head and frowned. "Yeah . . . it didn't sound right then, either . . ."

Zel laughed and shook his head. Valerie snapped her mouth closed and very casually slipped her hand up to cover her twitching lips.

"We still good for tomorrow night?" Dieter asked as he headed for the door.

"Sure . . . you get it figured out?"

Dieter nodded. "Yeah. The security guards change shifts at ten, and the two crews always seem to stand around and shoot the shit for a little while, so we can sneak past 'em then."

"Nice," Zel replied. "Later."

"Later!" Dieter called.

Valerie slowly turned to narrow her eyes suspiciously. "What are you plotting?" she demanded.

Zel shot her a wide-eyed stare. "Nothing," he drawled innocently— _too_ innocently—as he reached for the _Bad Ass_ magazine on the table.

"Oh, no," she insisted, swiping away the publication. "You tell me what you're planning."

He made a face. "It's not a big deal," he stated again. "An annual ritual—that's all, baby . . . I swear! Cross my hard-on and hope to fry."

She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot impatiently. "What sort of annual ritual? Zel . . ."

He shot her a really, really cheesy grin that really, really worried her.

"I mean it, Roka. I'm not leaving until you tell me what you've got planned."

That cheesy grin widened.

Valerie heaved a longsuffering sigh.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> " ** _Inside_** **_Out_** _" recorded 1998 by Eve6, on album Eve6. Song written by and copyrighted to Eve6_.
> 
> ' ** _Is_** **_You_** **_Is_** **_Or_** **_Is_** **_You_** **_Ain't_** **_My_** **_Baby_** _' recorded 1944 by Louis Jordan. Song written and copyright to Louis Jordan and Billy Austin_.
> 
> ' ** _C'mon_** **_and_** **_Love_** **_Me_** _' copyright Paul Stanley (Café Americana, Inc)/Kiss Songs, Inc, ASCAP_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final Thought from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _What the hell does he have planned?_


	11. 010: Barter

' _Yeah, I … I got to know your name_ ,  
' _Well and I … could trace your private number, baby_ ,  
' _All I know is that to me_ ,  
' _You look like you're lots of fun_ ,  
' _Open up your lovin' arms_ ,  
' _I want some—want some_ …'

 

-' _You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)_ ' by Dead or Alive.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie tapped her foot as she waited for Zel to try on the clothes she'd bought him.

"The pants are too fucking tight," he hollered from upstairs.

She sighed and shook her head. She figured she was ahead of the game, really. At least she'd been able to talk him into changing upstairs instead of down here, which he'd tried to do . . .

Honestly, working with him was like working with a child. The DA had given her the smuggest look when she'd met with him earlier, too, which just figured. The man was one of those types with the luxury cars, the wife who regularly checked into and out of rehab for recurring dependence on sleeping pills and Prozac, two perfect children, both in law school, all set to take right after Daddy, and a smile so thin that one could shine a flashlight through it.

Rubbing her forehead, she flicked her wrist to glance at her watch. Nearly seven o'clock, and that man had yet to tell her exactly what it was he and Dieter were planning, damn it.

"V, this just don't feel right . . ."

Blinking quickly as she lifted her face to watch as he descended the open metal staircase, she gaped as her mouth dropped open, as her hazel eyes took on a menacing slant. Oh, he'd put the suit on, all right, and from what she could tell, it fit him decently though the jacket did seem to be a little tight across the shoulders. No, that wasn't the problem. The odious bottom-feeder was wearing the underpants she'd brought him over his slacks . . .

"Oh, my God," she muttered, burying her face in her hands.

He made a face as he bowed his legs as far apart as he could and continued down the stairs, rather resembling a cowboy who'd been in the saddle too long . . . or Frankenstein . . . "Too . . . tight . . . cutting . . . off . . . cir . . . cu . . . la . . . tion . . ."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded, peering at him from between her splayed fingers and viciously biting back the desire to laugh.

Zel cast her what had to be the most pathetic sort of look, ever, and she had to bite down hard to keep from heaving a sigh and giving in. What was it about that man that made her forget her most stringent resolve . . .? "Have a heart, V! I can't wear these things! I'm suffering nerve damage in my balls!"

"You can wear them for one day," she countered mildly, lifting a cup of coffee to her lips in an effort to keep him from seeing the small grin tugging at the corners of her lips. "Didn't your mother make you wear underpants?"

Zel snorted, tugging injudiciously at the crotch of the offending undies. "Hells, no," he pouted. "Said it'd stifle my creativity."

"Oh? And is your mother a Zen-master, too?"

He shot her a completely cocky grin. "Somethin' like that."

"I'll bet she is," Valerie muttered. "Will you stop tugging on those? If anyone causes nerve damage, it's going to be you," she insisted.

Zel's face scrunched up in a pained grimace that only served to make Valerie roll her eyes. "Sorry, V," he half-whined as he reached for the zipper and shoved the pants down before she could blink or form any real protest. "You know, if you were nice, you'd apologize to my boys, here," he said, making the most hideous show of cradling and rubbing his testicles in his hands.

Valerie could feel her skin go up in flames as she quickly forced her gaze away. "Would you _put that away?_ " she hissed, pressing the back of her icy cold fingers against her burning cheek. "You have absolutely no sense of propriety, do you? What's the matter with you? Did you get dropped on your head when you were a baby or something?"

That damned cheesy grin widened. "Entirely possible, V. Dunno. I never asked."

"Completely unsalvageable," she muttered under her breath.

"Ah! Feel the Zen _flow!_ "

She slowly closed her eyes and counted to twenty seconds before she dissolved in a fit of helpless laughter. She couldn't help it, damn it. The man was entirely too incorrigible for his own good . . .

Lilting sideways in the chair, she couldn't control the escalating fit of giggles. Every time she tried to stop, she only managed to laugh a little harder, and by the time she finally wound down and opened her eyes, it was to find him staring at her with the strangest sort of expression on his face . . . like he . . . like he . . . but . . . ' _No-o-o-o_ . . .'

"Wh-What?" she stammered, sitting up straight and clearing her throat, trying to pretend that she didn't just suffer a momentary lapse in her sanity.

Zel chuckled softly—a different kind of chuckle than she'd heard from him thus far. Warmer, smoother, infinitely more personable . . . it was the kind of sound that sent an entirely too-nice shiver right down her spine . . .

"Marry me, V."

She blinked, eyes widening as she wondered if her ears had just failed her. "Huh?"

He grinned that boyish grin—the one she'd seen before . . . the kind of smile that could completely disarm her if she weren't careful. "Marry me," he said again.

For one dizzying moment, Valerie felt as thought he entire universe had flipped upside down, tossing her belly straight up in the air along with it despite the knowledge that nothing at all had really changed. For that one instant, she'd almost thought that he was serious, and for reasons that she didn't dare consider, every inch of her body was shivering, too . . . "D-don't be stupid," she muttered, abruptly reaching for her briefcase to rummage through it in an effort to alleviate the overwhelming tension that had sprung up around her. "Very funny, Mr. Roka. Can we get back to business now?"

"I was being serious," he pointed out with a shrug. "Even the class clown can do that every once in awhile, can't he?"

She glared up at him, only to stop short and shake her head, realizing a moment too late that he was still naked from the waist down as he flopped onto the sofa. "Please put some pants on," she gritted out.

Zel blinked at her a few times then heaved a longsuffering sigh though he did actually reach for a pair of tattered jeans that he'd slung over the arm of the sofa earlier. "All right, then," he agreed airily as he tugged the pants on. "You do know, right? When we're married, you'll have to see me nekkid at some point or another."

"We're not getting married, so I don't really foresee any problems with your keeping your pants on."

He chuckled a nasty little chuckle—entirely too soft, entirely too seductive. "But how will we do the dirty deed, V?"

Valerie bit her lip, refusing to let the current discussion continue. "Suppose you tell me what you and Dieter have planned for ten o'clock tonight?" she asked instead.

"Not a thing, V," he lied.

"I know damn well that you're up to something," she replied. "Tell me."

He offered her an entirely insincere grin. "It's a guy thing," he told her. "We do it every year, so it's no big deal, right?"

"Wrong," she countered, arching an eyebrow in challenge. "Spill it, Roka. I'm on to you."

"I wish," he muttered.

"What was that?"

"Eh, nothing, V. Nothing at all . . ."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan sat back in the orangey-red vinyl-covered bench seat and grinned across the table as Valerie tried for the fourth time to get the waiter's attention. "Give it up, V," he remarked. "I told you: they don't have silverware here, anyway."

She shot him a droll sort of look. "What do you mean, they don't have silverware? Of course they have silverware. Even fast food joints have silverware. Why _wouldn't_ they have silverware here?"

He snorted and leaned in just a little. "You don't get out much, d'ya, V?"

She narrowed those stormy hazel eyes on him, a light flush of righteous indignation flaming below the smooth surface of her skin. ' _Wonder if she'd look like that when I'm fucking her . . .?_ '

His youkai only groaned.

"I get out just fine, Mr. Roka. _Why_ don't they have any forks here?"

"Sorry, babe," he replied insincerely as he reached for the icy cold bottle of Budweiser.

She wrinkled her nose and reached out to snag the beer out of his hand. "No liquor," she reminded him.

"It's just a _beer!_ " he argued.

Leveling a look at him, Valerie shook her head. "It's _liquor_. No liquor."

Rolling his eyes, he shot her a slightly lopsided grin. "You let me have one the other day with lunch," he reminded her.

"Yes, well, that was then; this is now."

It was on the tip of his tongue to protest just for kicks, but he fell silent when the woman tipped the bottle to her lips and sucked it down in one long series of swallows. Her eyes drifted closed, her lips poised on the rim of the bottle . . . Watching the gentle swell of her throat, rising and falling as she drank the beer down was almost more than he could stand . . .

Leaning back, he stared at her in silence, wondering exactly how hard she'd smack him if he slipped and voiced any of his thoughts . . .

She tipped the bottle all the way up, swallowing the last of the beer before slamming the bottle down on the table with a very satisfied sort of expression on her gorgeous face. ' _Damn . . . she's hot_ ,' he nearly whined.

Again, his youkai only sighed in agreement.

"You know, you're supposed to drink beer when you eat crab," Evan pointed out with an arched eyebrow.

"No liquor, Mr. Roka," Valerie insisted, balling her hand into a fist to cover her mouth as she stifled a petite little belch that brought tears to her eyes, probably because of the carbonation in the beverage. She rubbed her nose and blinked a few times to clear her vision.

Evan smiled. ' _God, she's cute_ . . .'

"Now, remember," she said with a shake of her head, "you promised that you'd wear the suit _and_ underpants to court in exchange for dinner."

"Okay, all right," he agreed. "I agreed I'd wear a suit and under-fucking-pants; I know; I know . . ."

The one and only waiter that Evan had ever seen in the place hurried over with two banged-up tin pails heaped full with steaming crabs before striding away again.

Valerie's eyes widened as she slowly shook her head. The kid—Mark, he'd told Evan his name was once before—returned with a bowl of clarified butter and a wire basket of baking soda biscuits wrapped in a threadbare old white napkin, two wooden mallets, two small paring knives, and a couple more beers.

"How do you eat these?" Valerie finally, grudgingly, asked, motioning at the crabs.

Evan grinned. "Well, first, you yank off his legs," he instructed, demonstrating on a crab from the nearest pail.

Blinking as she watched him, she slowly shook her head, her face registering a quiet sense of disgust. "Positively barbaric," she muttered.

Evan rolled his eyes. "Maybe, but absolutely delicious. One of my favorite things." Cracking open a leg, he pulled the meat out and extended it to her. "Just try it."

She looked dubious, at best, but gingerly reached for the hunk of meat. "That's . . ." Her gaze brightened as the suspicious air that had been clouding her expression faded away. "That's good. . ."

Evan chuckled and popped a lump of crabmeat into his mouth with a wink. "Almost as good as pussy."

Valerie heaved a sigh and shook her head but didn't even try to correct him. ' _Score one for the Roka_ ,' he thought with an inward chortle. Slowly, carefully, she pulled a huge crab out of the bucket in front of her.

She didn't do too badly, either. Stubbornly refusing to ask him to show her again, she resorted to watching him as he pulled his crab open. He took his time and actually reached for the knife since she was watching, making sure that she saw the parts that weren't to be eaten as he scraped them out and pushed them away.

"You gotta dip it in the butter," he told her when she managed to pull a hunk of meat out of a crab leg and popped it into her mouth with a very self-satisfied sort of smile on her face.

"I don't eat butter," she replied almost by rote.

"What do you mean, you don't eat butter?" he countered with a raised eyebrow as he dipped a nice hunk of meat into the butter and leaned forward to catch the butter dribbles with his tongue.

She looked up from the crab she'd been working on in earnest and blinked in a rather vacant sort of way. "What? You've never heard of someone making a conscious choice not to eat something?" she remarked.

He shook his head. "Not butter," he retorted. "I mean, it's _butter!_ "

Scowling at her hands for a moment since she didn't have a napkin handy, she made a face. "I don't eat butter," she reiterated slowly.

"Why not?"

She shrugged, as though it were of no real recourse. "It's fattening," she said.

He snorted and dipped another hunk of crabmeat into the butter. "Everything's fattening if you eat a ton of it."

"Maybe, but just the same, I find it easier just to avoid it completely."

"Wo-o-ow . . ." he drawled with a shake of his head. "V, I gotta tell you, butter is a necessity when you're eating seafood."

"Maybe for you, but not for me."

He let it go for a moment and reached for a biscuit, instead. It took him all of two bites to realize that she was staring at him again, but this time, she was doing it in such a way that he knew damn well he wasn't supposed to notice. Head lowered as though she were looking at the crab in front of her, she was picking delicately with the tip of her paring knife, but he could tell from the tilt of her head that she was, in fact, eyeing him. ' _Huh . . . no biscuits, either, I guess_ . . .' So he did what any man like him would do: he slathered on the butter and made a huge display of eating the damned biscuit . . .

"V?"

"Wh-What?" she blurted, her cheeks pinking just a little.

He'd flustered her? Just by saying her name? ' _Nice_ . . .'

"Want some?" he asked innocently, holding out the last bite of his biscuit—a bite thick with slathered butter.

She swallowed hard and stared at the offered bite, then suddenly, quickly shook her head. "N-no, thank you," she managed in a very tight little voice.

Evan chuckled and shrugged off-handedly. "All right," he agreed, popping it into his mouth. "But _damn_ , it's good . . ."

She blinked, staring at him in a completely chagrined sort of way. When she met his gaze, he grinned at her, and she rolled her eyes. "So where did you learn to do this?" she asked, frowning in concentration as she smacked the crab's claw and jerked away when some juice squirted out.

"Grew up in Maine," he told her with a shrug as he reached over to grab the crab to finish laying it open for her. She returned the favor by nabbing his beer and draining it dry. "You don't grow up there and not know how do crack a crab or lobster."

"So you aren't completely useless, then," she teased.

Evan broke into a wide grin. "You don't think?"

She didn't move her head as her eyes flicked up to meet his. The laziness in her gaze was enough to send a delicious shiver right down his spine.

' _Shit . . . I need to fuck the hell out of that woman_ ,' he thought as he swallowed hard.

' _Shit . . . I need to marry the hell out of that woman_ ,' his youkai replied in a pained, strangled voice.

' _Y . . . yeah_ . . .'

' _Which one?_ '

Evan's grin widened as she proceeded to down the third beer on the table. '. . . _Both_ . . .'

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan put his finger to his lips and tried to shush Valerie as he held onto the Styrofoam cooler they'd picked up at an all-night convenience store just off the docks. "You're so totally gonna get us busted, V," he remarked.

Valerie giggled unmercifully, waving her hands at him to shut him up. "C'mon, Roka. You promised we'd free the fishies, right?"

"Well, I suppose I did," he agreed, peering over his shoulder to see if they were in any danger of being caught. "I swear to God, this has to be the most expensive non-date I've ever been on . . . and I'm not even gonna get laid for it."

"Aw, you poor baby," Valerie crooned in between fits of laughter. "Hurry up! It's cold out here!"

Evan snorted as he tugged the lid of the cooler off. "Hold on, V. I gotta get these bands off or they'll be nothing but hella expensive fish bait . . ."

Luckily for him, not only was it dark, but she was also more than a little tipsy from the beers she'd slugged down. He shook his head as he snapped the bands on the first lobster he pulled from the cooler. He'd spent damn near a thousand dollars, give or take, buying every lobster they could find in about ten restaurants along the stretch, and all because she'd very nearly jumped out of her skin about an hour and five beers into their dinner. A couple at a nearby table had ordered lobsters from the live tank nearby, and Valerie hadn't been prepared when they'd 'screamed' when dropped into the pot of boiling water. Evan had assured her that it ws just air escaping from under their shells. She'd sworn up and down that it was their last, dying shriek, and he'd blinked when tears had sprung to her eyes, muttering about the inhumanity of it all . . .

" _I swear to God that it doesn't hurt 'em," Evan tried to console her as she dabbed at her eyes with the last clean napkin on the table_.

 _She sniffled and shook her head, unwilling to believe him. "I suppose I'd scream, too, if you dropped me into a pot of boiling water . . ." she allowed, her voice muffled by the napkin_.

" _They don't have vocal cords," he pointed out gently. "They can't scream without those_."

" _Don't you tell me what I heard or didn't hear, Zel Roka!" Valerie fumed. The sparse patrons in the restaurant stopped and stared at Evan curiously, but thankfully, no one bothered to approach. "They were screaming . . . because they'll never get to see their poor families, ever again!_ "

". . . _Poor families . . .?_ "

 _She snorted at his indelicate reply and spun around in the booth, pushing herself up on her knees—she had to hang onto the back to keep from swaying—to glower at the people who had ordered the lobsters. "You're lobster murderers!" she accused loudly. "Home wreckers!_ "

 _Evan shot to his feet though he couldn't contain his amusement as a chuckle slipped from him, and he gently grasped Valerie's shoulders to get her to sit down once more. "It's okay, V . . . Tell you what. If you swear to leave the rest of the people alone, I'll never try to get you to eat lobster, ever_."

 _She looked irritated for all of a second, but her eyes widened when she caught sight of the live lobster tank. "Those lobsters . . . someone's going to eat them, aren't they?" she whimpered_.

 _Evan grimaced when he saw what she was staring at. "Well_. . ."

 _She leaned toward him, grasping his hand in both of hers, her gaze pleading as she stared at him as she slowly broke into a very pretty, very tipsy smile. "Zel? We've got to save them! For their little lobster-y babies . . .!_ "

It was because she'd smiled at him, damn it, showing off those absolutely adorable dimples of hers. That smile was dangerous, wasn't it? It added a sparkle to her eyes, a brightness to her entire being that was entirely too inviting to him. Hell, it was because of that smile that Evan had said the most ridiculous thing of his life, wasn't it? " _Marry me, V_ . . ."

He made a face as he stole a glance at the woman in question. Leaning over the railing—she'd fall in if she weren't careful—she was trying to see the first of the lobsters that Evan had dropped into the water. "Buh-bye, little lobster! Don't get caught again!"

Evan chuckled despite himself. Okay, so he wasn't entirely sure why he'd up and asked her to marry him, and he wasn't sure if he was more irked that he'd done it in the first place or that she'd been so damn quick to discount it. He supposed, in hindsight, that it was a little bit of both.

"So tell me something, _Mister_ Roka," Valerie said, holding onto the railing as she turned her face to gaze up at him. The weak but warm light from the security light high above cast her face in harsh shadows. "Zel is short for something, right?"

"Guess you could say that," he remarked, dropping another lobster over the side. ' _Only about twenty-five more to go_ ,' he thought with a disbelieving shake of his head. ' _Yup . . . completely fucking nuts_ . . .'

"So . . .?"

Four more lobsters plopped into the water. Evan shot her a cocky grin. "What do you want it to be short for, V?"

She rolled her eyes and grasped his arm to hoist herself upright again. "I should have known I wouldn't get a straight answer out of the likes of you," she pouted. "Fine, fine, fine . . . You just be that way, why don't you?"

"There," he said, dropping the last of the lobsters into the water. "What do you want to do now?"

She giggled, wrapping her hands around his arm and tugging him away from the safety rail. Evan grabbed the cooler and let her drag him along, pausing beside the large trash barrel standing nearby to break the cooler into pieces and toss it into the can. "I want some wine," she announced suddenly. "This is a special occasion, right? We single handedly freed the fishies—"

"Lobsters," he corrected.

She slapped at his arm. "Don't interrupt me. Anyway, we freed the fishies—err, okay, the _lobsters_ . . . It was a humanitarian act . . . That calls for a celebration, right?"

"I dunno, V . . . I think those beers did you in."

She snorted indelicately, letting go of his arm, only to spin around, poking him in the center of his chest with her outstretched index finger. "Let me tell you something, Zel Roka! I'm not drunk, just so you know!"

He grinned unrepentantly and slowly nodded. "Of course you're not," he agreed.

She straightened her shoulders proudly, sputtering loudly in an effort to blow the strands of hair that had escaped the severe knot at the base of her neck out of her face. "Oh, fuck that," she grumbled, grasping the knot and giving it one good yank to dislodge it. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in a wave of liquid silk, and she shook her head quickly, scrubbing at her scalp with her fingertips. "There . . . That's better . . ." She frowned. "Now, what was I saying?"

Evan almost laughed. He didn't, but it was a close thing. She looked entirely befuddled as she chewed on her lower lip. Damn, he wanted to kiss her . . . He heaved a sigh, reminding himself yet again that she was drunk, and even if she weren't, she was also very, very engaged . . . "You were saying that you wanted to celebrate," he reminded her against his better judgment.

Her eyes flashed open wide, and she giggled again. "That's right! Aren't you clever, Zel?"

"Ev—" he started to say, almost automatically. He caught himself in time and frowned. Why did it bother him? Hearing her call him by his stage name . . .? That kind of thing had never bugged him before, had it?

"Look . . . there's a liquor store. Buy some wine, Mr. Roka. Oh! Oh! Oh! We can go drink it in Central Park!"

That brought him back to his senses quickly enough. Central Park at night was a fairly dangerous place—at least, it would be to a human, he supposed. It was a bad idea, and he knew it. Opening his mouth to tell her as much, he gave up with a sigh and smiled instead. "All right; all right, but only if I can have some, too," he prodded.

She snorted then rubbed her nose. "Well . . . Since you're with me, then I guess it might be okay . . ."

"So you're saying that as long as I'm with you, I can drink?"

She thought about that then slowly nodded. "Just a little bit," she allowed.

Evan grinned and veered toward the doors of the liquor store.

"You're buying," she told him.

Evan rolled his eyes and pulled the door open, standing back so that she could go in first. "Yes, ma'am," he muttered. "Whatever you say, V . . ."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Do you have cold toes?"

Evan blinked and shifted his gaze from the stars high above—he could only make out a few of the brightest ones because of the glow of the city around them—to the back of Valerie's head. She was sitting up with one hand hugging her legs—damn, she had fine looking legs—and she idly gestured with the wine in her other hand.

"Do I have cold toes?" he repeated. "Not that I know of."

She giggled a very girlish giggle. "Marvin has cold toes," she ventured.

"Does he?"

"Mm . . . and a cold nose, too."

Evan made a face. She didn't see it. Damn it, he really, really didn't want to talk about Marvin . . . "You don't say."

"Oh, I do," she countered. "Always so cold . . . You know, sometimes when I wake up, he's got all the covers, too! And I'm freezing . . ."

"Poor baby," he crooned, only half-joking. The other half of him . . . He snorted inwardly. He had no idea what the other half of him was thinking, did he? Not really . . .

"I know!" she agreed with another giggle. "Poor me!"

Silhouetted in the filmy dimness of Central Park by the weak and wan light of the lamp burning beside the path above them on the low rise, there was something altogether earthy about her—touchable yet entirely unattainable . . .

She rubbed her arms suddenly through the thin white cotton shirt—she'd left the no-nonsense gray tweed blazer at his house earlier.

"You cold?"

She nodded absently then uttered a smallish laugh—one that seemed almost a little sad, almost a little sheepish. "Marvin tells me I'm always cold," she admitted.

"Yeah, well, you can't be nearly as bad as Maddy," he remarked. "That woman's always got a cold ass . . ."

"That's right . . . Madison said that you're always warm," Valerie said suddenly, her voice taking on a mild intrigue.

"If you ask my father, he'll tell you that that's why he kicked me out of my mama's bed," he said with a nostalgic little smile. "'Parently, I toasted ol' Cain right outta bed."

She drained the last of the wine and flopped back with a wince and a full-body shiver that Evan certainly couldn't miss. A moment later, she rolled toward him, crashing against his side with a little gasp of delight. "Oh, you are warm!" she exclaimed happily. "Really, really warm!"

He grimaced, mostly because the of the shock of her body so very close to his. ' _Da-a-a-amn_ . . .'

"Why are you so warm?" she demanded suddenly, her voice muffled slightly by the side of his chest.

"I dunno, V," he mused, slipping his arm up and over her, stroking the side of her arm in an idle sort of way. "Just lucky, I guess."

"How come you're being so nice?" she asked.

He chuckled. "Am I? Guess I make it a habit to be nice to drunk women," he teased.

"I'm not drunk," she declared but didn't move. "I'm . . . mellow."

Shifting his gaze to the side, he wasn't surprised to see that she had her eyes closed. "Mellow."

She nodded just a little. "Yes, _mellow_."

' _Which means 'drunk'_ ,' he thought with an inward sigh. ' _Damn it_ . . .'

' _Evan?_ '

' _Huh?_ '

'. . . _We're gonna die_ . . .'

Evan heaved a sigh and smiled wanly. ' _Well, if I gotta go, this is a helluva way to do it_.'

Valerie heaved a contented sigh and snuggled a little closer to him. "Why didn't I think of this before?"

"What? Camping out in Central Park?"

She giggled. "Yes!"

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure that there's probably an ordinance or some damn thing against it," he remarked.

"Oh, poop! We're not sleeping; we're star-gazing . . ."

He laughed again, noticing not for the first time that having Valerie so damn close . . . It was nice—almost too nice . . .

"You know, you're not such a horrible person," she ventured with a shake of her head, as though she couldn't quite believe that he wasn't actually the bastard she wanted to think that he was. "A little . . . oh, what's the word?" she asked, snapping her fingers, or at least trying to.

He shook his head though his grin didn't wane. Valerie had already been tipsy enough, just from the beers she'd drunk during dinner. After the boxed wine, though . . .

He chuckled. Boxed wine. Who'd'a thunk it? A woman like Valerie had actually chosen boxed wine. She'd said that it was 'sweeter' . . .

"Sexy as hell?" he supplied hopefully.

She wrinkled her adorable little nose and waved a hand in blatant dismissal. "Ornery! That's the one!" She giggled. "Anyway, anyway . . . You going to tell me what you and Dieter were going to do tonight?"

"Is it really important?" he countered with a shrug. "I mean, I didn't do it, did I? I was hangin' out with you all night, instead."

For some reason, that sent her into another fit of laughter. "We're hanging out? Really?"

Evan rolled his eyes but grinned. "Well, aren't we?"

"I thought it was more like babysitting, myself," she replied.

"Oh, yeah? So who's babysitting whom?"

She blinked and shook her head at him. "You know the difference between 'who' and 'whom'?"

"Yes, V, I know the difference between subjective and objective," he retorted mildly.

"So you're not completely stupid . . .?"

He snorted but grinned. "Well, hell, of course I'm stupid! I'm a rock star, right?"

She shot him a calculated sort of glance but was sidetracked when she heard a noise nearby. "Zel . . .?"

"Hmm?"

Valerie lifted her head just a little with a marked frown. "There's a very _large_ black man over there, poking around in those bushes," she whispered.

He laughed but didn't move. "Uh-huh."

Pushing herself up on her elbows and narrowing her eyes, she slowly shook her head. "Zel . . .?"

"Hmm?"

". . . Is that _your_ very large black man?"

He chuckled again. "'Course! That's the Bone. He's just checking for paparazzi."

She frowned and leaned back but didn't lie down again right away. "They're a problem for you, aren't they?" she ventured quietly.

He shrugged. "Dunno about problem," he confessed. "They can be a nuisance, I guess . . ."

She laughed suddenly and flopped onto her back. "Like when you're trying to free the fishies, you mean?"

He grinned. He couldn't help it. Something about her laughter was just infectious. "Yeah, something like that."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘ _You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)_ ’ as recorded by Dead or Alive, 1985, and first appeared on their album, **_Youthquake_**. Written by and copyrighted to Pete Burns, Wayne Hussey, Mike Percy, Tim Lever, Steve Coy.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Free the fishies …?_


	12. 011: Breaking the Rules

_'Wanna tell ya a story that happened to me_.  
 _'There was this old man started chattin' with me_.  
 _'He sat by himself on the side of the road_.  
 _'A cowboy hat and them pointed toes_.  
 _'He said, hey son what do ya do_.  
 _'Ya better pay attention when I'm talkin' to you_.  
 _'I've been around here for a long, long time_.  
 _'Could have bought this land for damn near a dime_ ...'

 

-' _Old Man_ ' by Slaughter.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"You know, there's a damn good chance that she's gonna hang you by your balls for that . . ."

Evan shot Bone a cheeky grin. "You think so? That'd mean she'd have to touch 'em, you know."

Bone Brauerton slowly shook his head. The huge man was the head of Evan's security team—as though he actually needed one—but he was a rock star, and he had to keep up appearances, didn't he? And Bone took his job seriously, or at least as seriously as a guy nicknamed after the physical state of his penis could, anyway . . . "Gotta tell you, Roka, I really don't think that you'd like it nearly as much as you seem to think you would."

"Eh, it's all good," Evan argued with a shrug. "How do I look?"

Bone rolled his eyes. "Like Hugh Heffner," he said, removing the bright red pimp's hat he always wore—the one with the snowy white ostrich feather sticking out of the stark white silk band. "God rest his immortal soul . . . May a little bit of Heff live on in each and every one o' us sinners . . ."

Evan's grin widened. "Yeah? You think?"

"Yeah. You about ready? You're supposed to be there in an hour, and it's on the other side of the city . . ."

Evan heaved a sigh and idly scratched his silk-clad ass. "All right; all right. Jesus, Bone . . . Quit nagging me already . . ."

Bone tilted his shoulder and flexed his huge arms. They'd met years ago when Evan was still in elementary school. Back then, though, Bone had gone by his real name—something that Bone would probably break Evan's legs for mentioning now, and that was all right. It was Evan's considerable opinion that 'Bone' fit him much better, anyway . . . Bone's parents had just moved to Maine from Idaho or some odd shit. The entire family was buffalo-youkai—very _large_ buffalo-youkai—and Evan had thought that Bone was the funniest guy he'd ever met . . . "Don't fuck with me, little man— _Oo-rah!_ " he warned seconds before he broke into a wide grin. "Whatcha think?"

Evan chuckled as he fussed with the gaudy paisley fuchsia cravat. " _Ni-i-i-ice_ . . . been working out again?"

"Eh-h-h," Bone drawled. "C'mon, Zelig. Get a-movin', will ya?"

Evan heaved a sigh and adjusted his shoulders under the black silk brocade smoking jacket. "I dunno. I look respectable, don't I?"

Bone snorted but didn't answer as he led the way out of the house.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie tapped her foot and glanced at her watch as she waited outside the courtroom for the miscreant rock star. She'd called him twenty minutes ago, only to be told that he was on his way. It wasn't much of a consolation, all things considered . . .

' _If he's late, I swear I'll kill him_ . . .'

She sighed, refraining from rubbing her forehead in a completely exasperated sort of way.

Bad enough she'd had to spend nearly every waking minute of her time with him since she'd taken the case a few weeks ago, but somehow that man had managed to talk her into having dinner with him, too, and then the whole free the fishes incident?

Valerie almost smiled—almost. ' _Okay_ ,' she reluctantly admitted, ' _so that was fun_ . . .'

Of course, it wasn't nearly as much fun the next morning when she was rudely awakened by the prodding of a police man's nightstick against the small of her back. They'd actually fallen asleep in Central Park, much to her embarrassment, and if that weren't bad enough, she'd had a hangover to beat all hangovers, too . . .

And Zel, bastard that he was, just laughed and told the cop that he hadn't been sleeping at all, so she was the only one who had actually broken the law on that count. That the glib rock star was able to talk the cop out of giving her a citation for it . . . well, that just figured, too, didn't it?

She sighed and checked her watch again. ' _If he's not here in the next two minutes, I swear that I'll_ —'

She heard him long before she saw him, and no small wonder, really, considering he was being escorted up the wide marble staircase by a full entourage of security, including the really huge black man that Valerie had seen a few times, most recently during the Central Park incident, as she had started referring to that night—his manager, the woman she'd briefly been introduced to as Dahlia, his press secretary, and about twenty-five reporters and photographers who were snapping pictures left and right and generally making a nuisance of themselves. The documents she'd looked over had expressly forbidden the press from having access to the courthouse. Apparently, security hadn't gotten that message, though . . . Then again, considering who it was, she couldn't say that she was surprised, either. As much as she hated to admit as much, Zel Roka was probably the biggest rock star on the planet . . .

' _Oh, God, it's a three-ring circus_ . . .' she thought with an inward groan.

And then she caught sight of what he was wearing, and her temper exploded. Black silk pants, white socks with black thong-slippers, an obnoxious black silk brocade smoking jacket with electric blue lapels and tied belt, and the most hideous fuchsia paisley silk cravat, of all things . . .

"Mr. Roka, were you under the influence of anything illegal when the car you were driving struck Mr. Matthis' truck?" one reported yelled over the din.

With a sigh, Valerie strode forward, shoving her way into the midst of the throng. "Mr. Roka won't be answering any of your questions. Thank you," she stated in a tone that broke no room for argument.

"Well, hey, baby!" he greeted happily.

She glanced at him, then did a double take. Aqua eyes today, and flaming red hair. She sighed and shook her head, wondering why she'd ever honestly believed him when he'd promised—promised—that he'd wear what she'd told him to wear . . . "What the hell are you wearing?" she hissed in his ear.

That damned grin of his widened. "It's a suit, sweetheart."

She narrowed her eyes and wondered if he could see steam escaping her ears . . . "It is not a suit, you odious man. It's—"

His soft chuckle—how could she hear it over the din the reporters were making, she'd never know, but she did—cut her off. "I told you that I'd wear a suit," he said. "But that one you brought me was too fucking small . . . By the by, V . . . Did you reconsider my proposition?"

She rubbed her forehead. "What proposition, Mr. Roka?" she asked, only paying half-attention since she was having unpleasant visions of the headlines that were bound to appear after that man's perverse display.

He snorted but laughed. "About marrying me, of course!"

She blinked and shot him an incredulous look. "Don't be stupid!" she snapped.

"Aw, fine, but you coulda played along until after the hearing, don't you think? If I break into a torrent of heartbroken tears in there, they might get the wrong idea," he teased.

She heaved a sigh and wondered if the judge would remove her from the case if she beat the hell out of her client before they entered the courtroom . . . Given Zel Roka's disrepute, she highly doubted it . . . "All right; I'll bite. Where the hell did you get that . . . that . . ." she trailed off, waving her hands at his alleged 'suit'.

That damned grin widened. "Well, Bone, o' course! Loaned it to me."

She snorted indelicately as Mike and Dahlia shooed the reporters away though in actuality, they weren't listening to the two nearly as much as they were being forced to retreat by another force, entirely. 'Bone' was standing with his very broad back to them with his arms outstretched as he slowly moved forward, effectively herding the reporters back, though if he weren't careful, he'd likely walk them right down the stairs the hard way . . . The odds that the 'suit'—and she used that term very lightly—was Bone's was entirely laughable since it fit Zel well enough, and he was a good foot shorter than the man in question—and quite a bit less bulky on the whole, too . . . Of course, she might just consider herself lucky that the blasted man hadn't borrowed the head of security's hideously red hat, too . . . "Mr. Roka—"

She was cut off when the courtroom doors opened and the bailiff leaned out, glancing around until his gaze found Valerie. "Counselor Denning? Judge Lister's ready for you."

She winced inwardly. Sparing a moment to glance at her client, the wince shifted into a low groan of absolute despair.

Why, oh _why_ , did she just know that this preliminary hearing was going to be one of the biggest fiascos in the history of common law . . . ever . . .?

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan bit the inside of his cheek and tried— _really_ tried—not to laugh outright as he followed Valerie out of the courtroom, only to be greeted by a bevy of reporters that had managed to elude the courthouse's security. The frazzled attorney spun around faster than he could blink, slapping him in rapid succession in the center of his chest as the very precarious rein she'd had on her glorious temper, snapped.

"Damn you; damn you; _damn you; damn you!_ " she growled, her face growing redder by the second as he broke down in helpless laughter. "What the _hell_ is wrong with you? Can't you take _anything_ seriously?" she blasted.

Evan tried to curb his laughter; he really did. It didn't work, but he did try . . . "S-S-Sorry, V," he choked out, vaguely aware of the camera flashes that were chronicling this very inopportune moment. "But you asked if there was anything else that I needed to tell you—"

She heaved a sigh and opened her mouth to continue her gripe-fest, only to stop short when she realized a moment too late that the photographers were having a field day, snapping pictures of Zel Roka, being attacked by his lawyer. After muttering a few choice curses, she grabbed his arm and dragged him straight through the paparazzi with all the authority of an army general, herding him into a small meeting room nearby.

"Hell, that was pretty good," Evan drawled as she closed the door. "You want a job on my security team?"

"Shut up!" she snapped, gripping her forehead in her fingertips and rubbing furiously. "Why— _why_ —can't you be normal?" she almost whined.

Evan pressed his lips together since he highly doubted that she'd appreciate his amusement at the moment . . .

Okay, so he probably should feel a little bad for flustering her. Thing was, well, he didn't. Who'd'a thought that a woman like her would get rattled just because he'd casually mentioned that he wasn't wearing underpants, anyway? Hell, she really should have known that, shouldn't she?

' _That's not what did it, dumbass_ ,' his youkai pointed out in an almost lazy sort of drawl. ' _It was that you kept brushing her ear with your lips when you told her._ '

He really couldn't help the little grin that surfaced at that. Damn, she'd smelled too fucking good not to lean in closer . . . 'Course, he'd nearly whined when he did get a good whiff of her, but that was completely beside the point . . .

She intercepted the smile and narrowed her eyes dangerously. Evan tried to make it go away. Damned if it worked, though . . .

"If you laugh again, you can find yourself another attorney," she gritted out.

Somehow, he managed to choke back the chuckles. "You know, I really had nothing at all to do with you asking the judge why he wasn't wearing underpants," Evan pointed out innocently—too innocently.

She growled. She actually broke into a throaty little growl that was just sexier than all hell, in Evan's estimation. He had half a mind to tell her so and to pull the smoking jacket back enough for her to see that the simple little noise was more than enough to send him straight to boner-hell, but he figured that she wouldn't appreciate it at the moment, given the situation . . .

True enough, she'd muttered to him as the proceedings got underway if there was anything else that he thought she ought to know, and Evan, who wasn't sure exactly what she meant, had leaned in to tell her that he wasn't wearing underpants. Unfortunately, Judge Lister—Evan found out quickly enough that the man didn't have any sort of sense of humor in any part of his upper-asscrack body, either—had just asked Valerie if the defendant had any questions regarding his rights when she stood up and demanded to know exactly why 'he' wasn't wearing underpants.

So, Judge Lister, after turning about ten shades of red that bordered on purple, had informed the Counsel for the Defendant that it was—quote—none of her business, what sort of undergarments the judge was wearing, _if_ he was wearing any, at all—end quote—along with a dire warning that Valerie was toeing the line, as far as he was concerned, with facing charges of her own in the way of contempt of court . . .

She let out a deep breath and sank into the nearest chair, planting her elbows on the table as she continued to rub her forehead. "Please . . . _please_ . . . can't you please at least _pretend_ that you have an ounce of common sense? This judge isn't a joke, Mr. Roka. He _will_ lock you up and throw away the key—then have a party to celebrate."

Evan wrinkled his nose and heaved a thoroughly put-out kind of sigh. "No one understands me," he whined.

Valerie rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't even go there, Zel," she muttered.

He shot her a very petulant little pout. It didn't work, but then, he hadn't figured that it would.

"And another thing," she went on, slapping her hand on the table as she shot to her feet, the light of irritation sparking in her gaze yet again.

' _God, God_ , God, _she's so fucking hot, I can't stand it_ . . .'

' _Down, boy_ ,' his youkai reprimanded.

' _Aw, hell_ . . .'

"If you're ever tempted to speak in court again, please remember _not_ to do it!"

He really couldn't help the grin that broke over his features at that reminder . . .

" _Were you driving the car, Mr. Roka?" Judge Lister had asked just after he'd read the charges levied against him_.

" _Well, if that's what the_ fuzz _said, then I musta been," he replied before Valerie could stop him_.

" _Then why are we here again?" the harried judge had asked_.

 _Evan shrugged off-handedly and lifted his feet to rest on the table. Valerie knocked them off a second later. "I dunno, Your Judge-ness," he'd said in a slow drawl. "Probably for the same reason that my lawyer was crawling around in my bushes_ . . ."

She heaved another sigh and slowly shook her head. "Okay, Mr. Roka. I want you to go straight home—do not stop to talk to any reporters; do not stop for photographs. Got it? Straight home, and do not leave that house unless I tell you that you can."

"But—"

"I mean it."

"All right, but—"

"No."

"V—"

"No means no, Mr. Roka."

"Sure, sure, but—"

"But what?" she growled, rounding on him yet again to glower up at him.

He grinned. "Well, see, I got this gig tonight . . ."

She stared at him for several minutes before finally letting out a deep breath and shaking her head. "What time?" she demanded in a completely defeated tone of voice.

Evan chuckled. "I gotta be there for sound check in about . . . an hour."

"And you swear that you're only going there? Nothing else? You promise?"

He nodded, figuring that he'd do well to let her off the hook for once. "Swear."

For some reason, she didn't look all that relieved, either . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Old_** **_Man_** _' as recorded by Slaughter, June 24, 2003 album_ **_The_** **_Wild_** **_Life_** _on Capitol Records. Copyright Mark Slaughter and Dana Strum_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :
> 
> _Why me …?_


	13. 012: Ripped

' _How dare you say that my behavior is unacceptable_?  
' _So condescending unnecessarily critical_ ,  
' _I have the tendency of getting very physical_ ,  
' _So watch your step 'cause if I do you'll need a miracle_ …'

 

-' _Harder to Breathe_ ' by Maroon 5.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"I'm looking forward to seeing you this week," Marvin said in his normal, enthusiastic tone.

Valerie smiled, tapping the cap of her pen against the desk calendar. That was one of the things she really liked about him: his fathomless energy, his overwhelming zeal. "Me, too," she agreed, glancing at her watch. "Do you want me to pick you up at the airport?"

"Oh, you don't have to, Val. I can get a cab."

"Okay . . . You'll be here in time for a late dinner?"

"Assuming the flight's on time," he allowed. "Anyway, when are you leaving? You've got that conference this weekend, right?"

Her smile dimmed just a little at the mention of the conference, but she brushed the sense of trepidation aside. "I got a flight out Friday night, but I should be back on Sunday."

Marvin chuckled warmly. "That's a short one," he said. "I'm due back here on Sunday, anyway. There's supposed to be a big meeting with Hendricks Frontham. He asked me to bring over all my research so far. If I can impress him, he might underwrite some of the costs."

"Really? That's great!" she exclaimed, her momentary lapse of enthusiasm gone.

"Yeah, keep your fingers crossed." In the background, Valerie could hear the PA system announcing a flight out to Dallas. Marvin sighed. "Listen, Val, I'd better go. Figured I'd grab a paper to read on the flight."

"All right. Have a safe trip."

"Absolutely. See you in awhile."

The line went dead, and Valerie snapped her cell phone closed, a little smile still lingering on her face. Hearing Marvin's voice was just what she'd needed today, wasn't it?

She sighed.

The conference.

She'd almost forgotten about that . . .

It wasn't a conference, exactly, no, but when Marvin had assumed that was what she was planning on attending, she hadn't actually corrected him, either. At the time, she'd just thought that it'd be easier that way. She'd do what she had to do and fly right back: no muss, no fuss, right? Right.

' _Conference, indeed_ . . .'

No, the truth of it was that she was planning on flying to Kentucky to see her baby sister's middle school graduation. She'd read online that Kaci Lea was graduating at the top of her eighth grade class in the 'commencement' ceremony to be held Saturday at Bluegrass Middle School, and she really wanted to go just to see it. With any luck, Valerie could slip in just before it started and slip out again without drawing notice. That's what she wanted, anyway. Maybe, if she were lucky, she'd catch a glimpse of Garret, too . . .

She bit her lip, leaning over unlock the bottom drawer of her desk to retrieve the small picture frame she kept there. Two children, a boy and a girl: the boy wearing bright green shorts with white stripes up the sides of the legs and threadbare gray t-shirt that was about two sizes too small. The peeling yellow writing on the shirt couldn't be discerned, and the girl was clad in a faded but clean orange terry-cloth sundress with her cornsilk blonde hair caught up in a messy ponytail . . . He was about three, she might have been around one and a half in that picture. It was the last time Valerie had actually seen them . . .

' _How much different do they look now . . .? Would I recognize them if I passed them on the street . . .?_ '

She sighed again, the pad of her thumb softly caressing the glass that covered the snapshot.

A terse knock on the door drew her attention, and Valerie was just tucking the picture away when the door opened and Xavier Bainey strode inside and closed the door behind himself. "Ms. Denning, I'd like to have a word with you," he said in a completely brusque tone as he dropped a copy of the _New York Times_ onto the desk. "Have you read that this morning?"

"Uh, no," Valerie allowed with a shake of her head. "Should I have?"

Xavier stuffed his hands into his pockets and pinned her with 'The Look'. "You made the front page."

Drawing and holding a deep breath, Valerie slowly flipped the folded paper over. It didn't take her long to find it. Just under the article about the latest NATO talks was the picture—a picture of her, beating on Zel Roka's chest just after they'd exited the courtroom, along with a nice, large headline that read, ' _Roka's Attorney Attacks Client'_. The air rushed out of her in a loud whoosh, and she gritted her teeth as she forced herself to read the article.

Of course, that wasn't even close to being the worst of it, either. Apparently the DA, jackass that he was, had immediately taken the opportunity to suggest that Zel find himself a decent defense attorney; one that knew how to conduct herself in a court of law instead of demanding to know whether or not the judge was or wasn't wearing underpants, among other things. He'd all but called her inept, citing that she could not control her client, and with the gravity of the charges that Mr. Roka faced, wouldn't it be a better idea to find himself another lawyer instead of choosing one based upon the physical beauty of her face . . .?

"Must I tell you how . . . _negatively_ this entire situation reflects upon our firm?" Xavier asked after Valerie refolded the paper and set it aside. "This article was released on the UPI . . . Every national—for that matter, every paper in the world—is likely to run a version of it in their papers today." He slowly shook his head, as though he were gravely disappointed. "I am vastly disappointed in you, Ms. Denning."

She could feel her face burning, as much from outrage as it was from just plain embarrassment. That damned Zel Roka had caused all of it, hadn't he? But no, she was the one being lectured by the old windbag . . . "Are you going to remove me from this case?" she demanded in a tight, clipped voice.

Tugging off his wire-rimmed glasses, he shook his head. "Do I need to?"

She gritted her teeth. Even if she wanted off the case, she couldn't back down now; not with her very reputation on the line. If she quit now, she'd never, ever find another job as a lawyer. It was entirely too high-profile. _He_ was entirely too high-profile. Everyone— _everyone_ —would know about this, and she didn't even try to delude herself into thinking otherwise. "No, sir," she managed to choke out.

He shook his head. "Why were you . . . beating on Mr. Roka?"

She sighed and counted to twenty. "You have no idea what that man is really like," she said in a steady, even tone. "He delights in saying and doing outrageous things, just to see if he can get under my skin. I went out of my way to buy the man suitable attire for his court date, and he completely undermined my advice on the matter. He never listens to what I have to say, and he doesn't show any desire at all to get himself out of this situation—a situation that he brought entirely upon himself. The things he said to me in court were just another example of that. Sir," she added, almost as an afterthought.

At least Xavier seemed to be listening. He stared at her for several moments, his eyes slowly losing the irritation that he'd walked into her office with, and leveled a no-nonsense look at her. "After this, everyone will be watching you—paying attention to how you conduct yourself—and how you represent this firm. I trust that we will not have any more incidents like this one?"

Hating the feeling that she was little better than a child with her hand caught in the proverbial cookie jar, Valerie shook her head. "No, sir," she bit out.

Xavier didn't look like he believed her completely, but he finally nodded. "I've taken the liberty of having our press department draw up an official statement of apology for this. I would like for you to sign it when it's brought to you."

She pressed her lips together in a tight line until after the man had let himself out her office, and only after the door closed did she give in to the urge to let her face fall into her hands as she heaved a longsuffering sigh and uttered a quiet little groan.

Damn that Zel Roka. This was _his_ fault. He was the one who just couldn't say anything normally, the one who always— _always_ —had to make inappropriate commentary . . . He was the one who had instigated everything, and somehow he was coming out of it, looking like a saint.

All she could do was regret the very day she'd ever met anyone as asinine as that man, but he wasn't going to get away with his bad behavior, damn it; not if she had a say in it . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"So you'll do it, right?" Evan asked, batting his eyelashes as best as he could while Madison teased his hair.

"Hmm, Saturday? Sure . . . What's the occasion?"

With a chuckle, Evan reached for the newspaper. "Well, my mama, of course!"

Madison rolled her eyes but laughed. "Ah, silly question, hmm? Who else would you 'get respectable' for?"

"That's right," he drawled.

"I didn't know Gin was going to be in town."

Evan shrugged. "Eh, they both are, but Mama's got a benefit Saturday night, and apparently good ol' Cain's got something else going on—bet it's a woman on the side."

Madison snorted indelicately and gave a tug on his hair. "You know better. Your father _adores_ your mother."

"Yeah, yeah, so much so that he knocked her up just so that she could have me," he retorted dryly. "Fan-fucking-tastic."

She sighed but didn't argue with him, not that it would do any good, anyway. Evan was nothing if not stubborn as hell, especially when it came to the subject of his father. "So you're actually going to escort your mother to that gala? You? Zel Roka?"

He grinned, partially because she'd dropped the subject of Cain Zelig without a fuss, and partially because the idea of spending any time with his mother was always enough to make him smile. "That's right . . . I get to show off my hot mama. Reminds me. I sent over a dress for her, just for the occasion. Ol' Cain'll never know what hit 'em . . ."

Madison grimaced. "You didn't."

"Oh, but I did," he replied happily. Of course he had. It was completely innocent, of course. He had been walking down Fifth Avenue yesterday, just out prowling, when he'd seen the perfect dress for his precious mama, prominently displayed in the window of Saks Fifth Avenue, so, being a good son, he'd marched right in and bought it. He'd also left explicit instructions that they were to make sure that it didn't need to be altered before they left it with her, but that was beside the point. Then again, the salesgirls in there were quite hot . . .

"So, you going to tell me why V was beating the hell out of you in this morning's paper?" Madison asked casually—too casually.

Evan grinned. "I have no idea, Maddikins," he lied.

She rolled her eyes, her expression stating quite plainly that she didn't believe a word of it. "They say that you only hired her because she's gorgeous—Well, they didn't say 'gorgeous', but it was implied."

Evan snorted. "Shit . . . Why _else_ would I have hired her?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "According to the DA, you just wanted to add her to your 'pretty thing' collection."

He grinned like an idiot at that. "I have a 'pretty thing' collection? Seriously?"

Madison hit him on the shoulder but giggled. That giggle died away, though, and when Evan peeked up at her, he had to stifle the urge to sigh at the seriousness in her gaze. "Evan . . ."

"What?"

She grabbed the curlers he was trying to pin together and dropped them in her kit, out of his reach. "Maybe . . . Maybe you should tell her . . ."

He stiffened, all traces of humor gone. "No."

"But—"

He shook his head and batted her hands away from his hair. "I said no."

She heaved a sigh and crossed her arms over her chest, her features showing her irritation at what she perceived to be his own show of stubborn idiocy. "You're going to go to prison, Evan," she tried again.

He shrugged—belligerence or mock bravado, he didn't know and didn't rightfully care, either. "Leave it alone, Madison," he replied in a deadly serious tone.

Biting her lip, she looked like she wanted to argue it further. He was quick to cut her off before she could begin. "I don't have anything to lose, do I? Now leave it alone."

She slowly shook her head, her gaze dropping to the floor. The contentious silence that filled the room was deafening, but finally, she heaved another sigh and forced a tight little smile that looked more like a grimace, her eyes filled with a suspect sheen as she willed her smile to brighten. "So do you want the full rocker pouf or the flat rocker grunge look?"

Evan chuckled softly, content to let the subject drop, glad that Madison was willing to do the same, at least for the moment. "Hmm . . . how about the full rocker pouf? I haven't done pouf in awhile, right?"

She didn't comment as she finished working on his hair, and that was good enough for Evan, too. "There," Madison said, stepping back to give Evan a healthy coating of hair spray.

"Thanks," he said, getting out of the chair as he rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, scrunching up his face a few times to keep himself from sneezing. "Oh, nice. Contact high . . ."

Madison laughed and started packing up her gear.

"Hey," he said, spinning around to face her.

"Hmm?"

"Could you do me a huge favor?"

She cocked an eyebrow but shrugged. "What's that?"

"Would you tell Bone that Mama should be stopping by sometime today to drop off my babies?"

"Sure thing."

Evan strode over to Madison to kiss her cheek. "Thanks, Maddikins."

Pointing a brush at him, she shook her head. "So will you do something for me?"

Reaching for brand new Zel Roka t-shirt that they'd dropped off for the photo shoot, Evan shook it out and held it up for inspection: the profile of a naked woman with a gothic-looking winged demon floating over her with his signature scrawled across the bottom. "Aw, hell, they put the 'R' right over her tit!" he grouched then heaved a sigh. "Damn censors . . . Ah, well, what can you do? Maddy, toss me a pair of scissors."

She dug a pair out of her makeup case and sauntered over to him. Evan grinned, appreciating the fluid way the woman moved. She was like water, wasn't she? Every part of her body was in perfect synchronicity, even the little smile on her face . . . He'd always adored that about Madison Cartham . . . She held out the scissors but pulled them back when he reached for them. "Listen to me first, okay?"

Evan rolled his eyes but nodded. "Yeah, okay," he agreed, holding out his hand.

She tapped them in the air but didn't hand them over. "Take it easy on V today, will you?"

"Did I tell you about our date?" he countered instead.

Madison heaved a sigh. "Yes, you did, about a hundred times, and I'd hardly call taking her out for crab a 'date', Zelig. Now . . . Promise me you'll behave yourself."

"All right, all right," he relented. "Jesus, you're a slave driver, aincha?"

She laughed and handed over the scissors. "Don't mess up your hair."

He snorted, making quick work of relieving the garment of its collar and sleeves—and half of its sides. "Yes, ma'am."

"Why didn't you just have them send over a tank top?" Madison asked as she took the scissors back and moved to pack them away.

Evan pulled the amended garment over his head, though he was careful not to ruin his hair. "Nah . . . only geeks wear those—geeks trying to be . . . _hella_ cool."

Madison snapped the case closed and pulled the long leather strap over her shoulder, giggling since he was still leaning to one side, snapping his fingers in a completely _un_ -hella-cool sort of way. "I have to run. I've got Sanna Ton coming in for a one o'clock . . ."

"Sanna?" Evan repeated, his chin snapping up at the mention of the international supermodel—the one with the really long legs and really huge tits that he'd fucked between sets at a show in LA last year. She sucked damn good dick . . . " _Really_ . . ."

Madison laughed and kissed the air beside his cheek. "Too bad you're celibate, huh?"

Evan heaved a longsuffering sigh as Madison headed for the door, her laughter lingering in her wake . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie very nearly whimpered as she pulled her feet up closer and held onto the cupboard above her, gathering all of her courage before leaning over to peer down at the floor. She nearly screamed when the two beasts bared their teeth at her, their gawping maws hanging open, their tongues lolling out . . . ' _They're going to_ eat _me_ . . .'

' _Oh, stop that! They aren't going to eat you . . . that little one isn't big enough_ ,' her conscience pointed out.

She made a face as futile tears filled her eyes, and those tears only served to tick her off a little more. "G-Go away!" she squeaked, unable to control the trembling in her voice.

Those beasts tilted their heads to the side and stared at her. She could see it in their eyes, couldn't she? They wanted her to fall off the damn counter—wanted to devour her for dinner—or at least a midday snack . . .

' _Get a hold of yourself!_ ' she told herself sternly, biting down hard on her lip, hard enough to draw blood. Twisting her hand to tap along the shelf above her, she grimaced. She'd already thrown everything she could get her hands on in a vain effort to make those two monsters go away. They'd ignored everything else, quite possibly because they couldn't get into the cans of food she'd thrown, and while rational thought told her that she was being stupid when she'd thrown them, she couldn't help hoping that they'd chase the cans, anyway . . . Grasping something smooth, flattish, and cool, she pulled it out of the cupboard and nearly cried. Sardines, the kind with the key lid . . .

Her hands were trembling terribly as she caught the end of the key and began to turn it. Nasty sardine oil spilled over the freshly exposed rim and ran down her fingers as the stench of the canned fish made her stomach roll.

The dogs stood up, padding anxiously along the floor beside her. She didn't dare look at them and cringed when the bigger one unleashed a loud, echoing bark. It unnerved her so badly that she fumbled the flat can. It slipped out of her hands and crashed onto the floor. The sounds of the dogs, greedily licking their chops and tearing into the fish rang in her ears. The big one licked his chops and half-growled at her. ' _You'r-r-r-re next_ ,' he seemed to be saying.

Valerie whimpered and pushed with her feet, scrunching herself back further into the corner . . . The trill of her ringing cell phone that she'd left in the living room mocked her, and she whimpered a little more.

Damn it . . .

She'd come over here just after having her ass handed to her by Xavier Bainey, set to give one rocker in particular a very large piece of her mind, only to realize once she's gotten there that he was out—a photo shoot, the itinerary that his manager had faxed over to her, had said. Still, she hadn't figured that it'd take him that long, so she'd gone into the kitchen to get a drink of water, only to be accosted by those two beasts that had come running around the corner from whatever was beyond the kitchen like the hounds of hell. She'd barely managed to save her feet from those miserable monsters, scrambling up onto the counter just as quickly as she possibly could, and she'd been stuck there ever since. If the clock on the wall was right, then it meant she'd been stuck right there for the last four hours . . .

In the distance, she heard the unmistakable sound of the front door open then close, and she nearly cried. Those damned beasts didn't move, even when Zel's voice rang out. "Munchies! Mimi!"

She squeaked out a strangled little squeak and smashed her hands over her ears when the dogs erupted into a very loud chorus of barks, and she'd just managed to force her eyes open when Zel sauntered into the kitchen, his coppery hair looking suspiciously like something had exploded under it. Still, for that moment, he was a welcome sight.

At least, he was . . . until the bastard blinked, stared at her for a moment, then tossed his head back in laughter.

"Oh, shut the hell up!" she snapped, her anger quickly nudging aside her fear. "Just call them off!"

They attacked him. Valerie shrieked, glancing around wildly for something—anything—to throw at them as they lunged at Zel, yapping their fool heads off. It took her a moment to realize that he was still laughing—laughing and hugging those monstrosities . . .

"Aww, did you miss me, babies?" he crooned, grabbing the huge dog's cheeks and shaking his head from side to side. The dog retaliated by trying to taste Zel. He sputtered but laughed and gave the dog a good, sound slap on the hind quarters as the tiny dog leapt into his arms. "I know, I know . . . I'd be happy to be home, too, if I had to stay with that damned Cain, too . . ."

' _He . . . He_ likes . . . _it_ . . .' she slowly realized. The knowledge didn't make her feel any better. "Z . . . Zel . . .?"

She had to call his name a few times before he finally looked at her again. Damned if he wasn't still smirking, either . . . "Hey, V . . . uh, what the hell are you doin' up there?"

"They _attacked_ me! They were trying to _eat_ me!" she screeched, knowing somewhere in the back of her head that she sounded like a damned lunatic—knowing but not caring, at least for now.

He blinked and stared at her for a long minute then slowly looked at his dogs. "You two can't eat her till I've gotten to sample her first," he deadpanned.

Valerie grabbed a towel—it was the only thing within reach—and heaved it at him. It didn't go far, and the dogs, thinking that she meant for them to play with it, started an impromptu game of tug-of-war.

Zel chuckled. "All right; all right, you two. Out." The dogs tugged on the towel for another moment then dropped it before careening around and tearing back around the corner the way they'd come, to start with. He chuckled again. "There weren't three?"

Valerie, who had started to swing her foot off the counter, jerked it right back up again. "Th-Three?" she whispered, her eyes widening as the color she did have in her skin leeched out again.

"Yeah, three . . . I have three dogs." Zel waved a hand and touched the cell phone he had hooked over his ear. "Call Cain," he said. "Hey, sexy . . . What are you doin' answering his damn phone?" he greeted in a teasing tone as a very real smile spread over his features. "Yeah, I was wondering about that . . ." He chuckled that same breathy chuckle that made Valerie's knees feel a little weaker. "I see . . . well . . . All right, but just for a little while . . . Uh huh. Of course . . . Do you? Nice . . . 'Kay, I'll see you then. My lawyer's here, so . . . Yup . . . You, too . . . Bye." He touched the earpiece again and yanked it off, tossing it onto the counter behind him as he crossed his arms over his chest and leveled a look at Valerie and then at the stash of cans she'd tossed all over the kitchen. "You can come down now," he told her as he leaned down to retrieve one of the cans. "They'll stay outside till I tell 'em they can come in."

Valerie wasn't sure whether or not she believed him. Still, she had to admit that they had listened when he'd told them to go outside . . . Maybe they were better trained than she'd thought . . .

He sighed though he was still smiling as he held out his arms. "C'mon, V. Let's get you down from there."

She blinked and stared at him for a moment, but let him pull her off the counter. He set her on her feet with a soft chuckle as he let his arms linger around her a second longer than necessary before he let go and stepped back. "You know, I think they just wanted to meet you, was all," he drawled as he scooped up the rest of the cans and set them on the counter.

She rubbed her arms, telling herself that her heart was just thumping so erratically because of the dogs; that it had nothing at all to do with the feel of Zel Roka's arms around her.

"They . . . They can't come in here again, can they?" she asked, glancing around nervously, half-expecting those terrors to come tearing around the corner yet again.

Zel snorted. "Nah, they'll stay out . . . You're not really afraid of them, are you?"

She shot him a very dark look—as dark as she could muster, anyway. "I don't like dogs," she replied in a tight, clipped tone.

"But they're just babies," he argued. "They'd never hurt anyone."

"They were trying to _taste_ me!" she insisted once more.

He rolled his eyes but laughed. "They were trying to _greet_ you, V . . ."

She snorted and shook her head stubbornly, glancing out the window over the sink to satisfy herself that the dogs really were outside. Both of them were sprawled out under the leaves of a wide tree that was off to the right of the huge pool. It wasn't nearly as far away as Valerie might have otherwise liked . . . "Look, I just don't like dogs, okay?" she snapped.

"Why? _Everyone_ likes dogs."

She rubbed her forehead, all the anger she'd managed to garner for her last statement having ebbed away from her. " _I_ don't like them," she reiterated. "Can we just leave it at that?"

Zel considered that then shrugged. "Lemme guess: a dog attacked you when you were little?"

"Something like that," she allowed grudgingly. "It used to lunge at the fence whenever I walked past going to school, and one day, it broke the fence and bit me." She shivered.

He sighed. "I'm sorry. I swear my dogs are much better mannered than that."

She didn't answer since she had serious doubts regarding his claim.

"So you gonna tell me why you were up there on the counter, anyway?" he asked, apparently appeased with her explanation.

She had to force herself to concentrate on his question. "Did you . . . Did you see the paper today?" she demanded though her tone lacked any real irritation.

"Oh, _tha-a-a-at_ ," he drawled. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that."

She snorted. He didn't _sound_ sorry. Still, she just didn't have it in her to be overly irritated with him; at least, not at the moment. He'd saved her, didn't he? Never mind that he was the one with the damn obnoxious as well as scary as hell dogs . . .

"Give me a sec. I need to go wash this shit out of my hair," he called over his shoulder as he strode out of the room, leaving Valerie with no choice but to follow him. "If you want to bitch at me some more, I'll let you do it after that."

She shook her head and wondered if further 'bitching' would make any difference at all to him. Something told her that it wouldn't; not really. "Will you at least _try_ to behave next time?" she asked wearily.

He stopped long enough to cast a little grin at her over his shoulder. "I _swear_ ," he replied.

She heaved a sigh as he disappeared up the stairway. Somehow, his reassurances just didn't really make her feel any better, did it?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Harder_** **_to_** **_Breathe_** _' by Maroon 5, first appeared on the 2002 album,_ **Songs** **About** **Jane**. _Copyrighted to Adam Levine, Jesse Carmichael_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _She's afraid of my babies …?_


	14. 013: Child's Play

' _The cowboy kills the rock star_ …  
' _And Friday nights gone too far_ …  
' _The dim light hides the years_ …  
' _On all the faded girls_ …'

 

-' _Broadway'_ by The Goo Goo Dolls

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"So, V . . ."

Valerie sighed and slowly, pointedly, turned a rather bored stare on Evan. "Have I told you lately that I really don't like it when you call me that?" she asked.

He waved a hand dismissively and frowned as he touched the key on the baby grand piano. His frown deepened as he hit the key a few more times, pausing a moment to listen to the note that lingered in the air. "Ah, damn it . . ."

She blinked as the papers in her hand tilted back, forgotten. "What?"

Letting out a deep breath, he dragged his long fingers through his now-blue-black hair. "Needs fucking tuned," he complained.

She smiled almost snidely. "You mean you can't do that, yourself?"

He shot her a somewhat droll sort of look despite the hint of amusement in his eyes. She was in rare form, wasn't she? Then again, she always was, wasn't she? "I can, but it's a pain in the ass. Rather just pay someone to do it."

"See? That's entirely your problem, Mr. Roka," she said, turning her attention back to the document she was reading.

He wandered toward her, draping himself over her shoulder. Her back stiffened almost instantly. "What is?"

She had to clear her throat before she spoke. Evan didn't miss it, either. "Y-You . . . You don't do anything for yourself; you just pay other people to do it for you."

He chuckled at the absolute breathiness in her tone. Damn, she smelled good. There was just something about her, wasn't there? Something innately . . . sexy as all hell . . . "Oh? You know, V, I'm a very busy man. I don't have time to sit around here, tuning my piano. What's wrong with paying someone else to do it? Doesn't the other guy deserve to make a living, too?"

She spared him a chagrined sort of look. "And you're trying to tell me that's the reason you won't do it yourself?"

He shrugged. "You know, that peeved look of yours is hella hot . . ." He shifted his gaze downward and grinned. "Speaking of 'hella hot' . . . I can see down your blouse, too."

She rolled her eyes and smashed her hand into the center of his face, shoving him back abruptly as she got to her feet. "You're just foul," she muttered, unable to hide the blush that stained her cheeks a pretty shade of pink. "Why are you so foul?"

He really did try not to laugh. Seriously, he did. It just didn't work. "I dunno, V. Why were you in my bushes?"

For the briefest of moments, she actually looked like she just might hit him. Suddenly, though, she smashed her hand over her mouth and laughed. "Jerk," she managed to choke out between giggles.

He hopped over the back of the chair and landed neatly in the seat. "Yeah, but life'd be boring without me, right?"

She snorted and shook her head though her smile had yet to fade, which, in Evan's considered opinion, made it all worthwhile . . . "Anyway, I have to get going."

Narrowing his eyes as she started stashing things into her attaché case again, he wasn't entirely sure that he liked the idea of her leaving . . . "Why?" he asked in a thoroughly neutral tone of voice.

She didn't answer right away. In fact, he was starting to think that she wasn't going to answer, at all, when she finally shrugged and uttered a brisk little sigh. "I have dinner plans," she told him.

Little alarm bells started sounding in his head. It might have had something to do with the altogether smug little smile toying with her lips. "With whom?" he asked. ' _Score for me . . . that sounded neutral enough, too_ . . .'

Oh, he really didn't like the way the smug little smile turned slightly coy . . . "My fiancé."

He snorted. Loudly. "Oh, _ri-i-i-ight_ . . . what was his name? Irwin?"

Those gorgeous hazel eyes narrowed menacingly. " _Marvin_ ," she corrected.

He waved a hand in blatant dismissal. "You don't say . . . So, where are we going?"

She blinked. " _We_ are not going anywhere, Mr. Roka. _Marvin and I_ are going to dinner, yes, but _you_ are staying here, out of trouble. Do _we_ understand?"

He pasted on the most tolerant little smile he could muster. "But it'd only take me a minute to change . . . Aw, hell, I just need a shirt . . ."

"No," she stated flatly, crossing her arms over her chest to pin him with a no-nonsense glower. "Absolutely positively _not_."

"But I want to meet this pillar of society," he assured her.

She rubbed her forehead in a completely exasperated sort of way. "Just stay here and be good, can't you?"

He grinned tightly. "V, baby, I'm always _go-o-od_."

She snorted. "You don't know the meaning of the word, 'good'."

The grin took on a lazy sort of tilt. "Well, depends."

"On what?" she shot back.

"See, there's 'good' and then there's ' _go-o-o-od_ ' . . ."

She stared at him for a long moment, completely nonplussed. "Hmm, then let me clarify: tonight you will be 'good'."

He chuckled at the way she held up her hands and pinched her thumb and index fingers together with both hands to emphasize her point. "Good's no fun, but _go-o-o-od_ . . . That's all right." She slowly shook her head. "Want a demonstration?"

She reached for the case.

"Tell me what's so fantastic about a guy named Moravin," he countered.

"Mora—It's 'Marvin', you doofus," she retorted hotly.

Evan grinned. "Yeah, whatever, whatever. Tell me what's so great about him."

She rolled her eyes, and for a moment, he seriously thought that she wasn't going to answer him. "Well, unlike you, he's a nice man, a _good_ man."

"Nice is overrated," he countered with a grin. "Is he tall?"

She shot him a completely chagrined sort of look. "What does his height have to do with—?"

Evan leaned forward on the back of the chair to leer at her. "Is he a big man?"

A flash of comprehension flared to light behind her gaze, and she narrowed her eyes as her cheeks pinked prettily. "The biggest man," she shot back. "Huge."

Evan chuckled mercilessly. "Huge, huh?"

"Bigger than you," she retorted airily.

"Ah, come on, V! I wanna meet Mervin!"

"Marvin."

He wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, yeah, him!"

"No."

"Why?"

She stopped, her head snapping up, but she didn't turn around to look at him right away, either. "Oh, my God, you sound like a child," she muttered.

"But if I don't come with you, I'll get bored," he warned her.

That didn't really work, not that he figured it would. "Why do you want to come with me, and don't give me that bullshit story about wanting to meet Marvin, either," she said as she whirled around to stare at him once more.

Evan snorted. "But I do want to meet him to make sure you don't meat him, because it's just not cool if my fiancée is out meating other men, savvy?"

She blinked, her cheeks pinking yet again, mostly because of the accompanying hand gestures that Evan had made to emphasize his point about 'meating' Marvin.

"I am so _not_ your fiancée," Valerie bit out.

Evan grinned. ' _Okay, so maybe the gestures weren't what she took exception to_ . . .'

"And you are _not_ coming with me."

"All right, but tell me one thing, V."

She was dangerously close to losing her temper, if the flash in her eyes meant anything at all . . . "What?"

"Hypothetically speaking, if Mork—"

" _Marvin_."

"—Yeah, him—were to walk out in front of, say, a bus and bite the big one, would you marry me then?"

' _Any more pissed off, and I just might see steam escaping from her adorable little ears_ . . .'

". . . No."

"V—"

She snatched up the attaché case and stormed toward the foyer, stopping just outside the doorway to swing around and glower at him once more. "I mean it, Mr. Roka. You aren't to leave this house for any reason at all! You cannot afford to get into any more trouble than you're already in, so _stay put!_ I mean it!"

He heaved a sigh as she stomped out of the room. Moments later, the resounding echo of the front door slamming preceded the vast wash of emptiness that always seemed to accompany the woman's departure, and Evan frowned.

Everything about the situation seemed wrong, didn't it? Valerie . . . She didn't belong with this 'Marvin' guy, no matter how 'great' he was, damn it. Even he could see that much. The thing was, he wasn't sure how he could convince her. He'd never had to do something like that before . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie followed the maitre d' through the restaurant to the small table beside the huge windows that looked out over the crowded street. It was a special place to her, and she couldn't help but smile as the man pulled out her chair to seat her. "Thank you," she murmured, flashing a bright grin at him.

Marvin stood up and hurried around the table to brush a chaste kiss over her cheek before sitting back down. "Everything okay? You're a little late . . ."

She waved off his concern. He knew well enough that Valerie prided herself on being punctual, but she didn't feel like talking about the reason she'd been late, to start with. After all, it'd taken her drive across town as well as a half-hour shower before she had calmed her irritation at the damned man enough to get ready for her date with Marvin, in the first place. "I got a little tied up," she said. "I'm sorry."

Marvin smiled in the endearingly sweet way that he always did. "It's okay," he assured her. "I had a call, anyway . . ."

"Anything important?"

He shook his head. "Well, Winston Levine—you remember? I told you about him . . ."

She frowned as she considered the name. "Oh . . . San Francisco, right?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Right! Anyway, he didn't flat-out say so, but I think that his group is seriously considering offering some financial assistance on the project."

"Really?" she blurted, her eyebrows lifting as a smile surfaced. "That's fantastic!"

Marvin flinched and shrugged. "It's not official, of course, but . . ."

Valerie shook her head. "If anyone deserves it, you do, and I'm sure that they know it, too."

He smiled though he didn't look entirely convinced. "Anyway," he breathed with a little chuckle, "I'm starving!"

She laughed and glanced at the menu out of habit. She always had the same thing, at least in this restaurant. "M-Marvin . . ."

"Hmm?" he intoned without glancing up from his menu.

"I'm glad you chose this restaurant," she said.

He peeked up at her, his expression blank for a moment before he smiled. "It's a special place for us, right?"

For some reason, his words made her unaccountably happy. That he remembered it like she did . . . ' _Okay, so maybe he's not as . . . as exciting as Zel Roka, but he's reliable . . ._ dependable _. . . and he remembers things that are important to me, too_. . .'

Marvin laughed again. "This is the place where we were the first time anyone called to have me come out to give a presentation to get funding."

She blinked, her smile fading slightly, and when she lifted her gaze to meet his, he'd already looked at his menu again. "Yeah," she ventured, shrugging off the momentary disappointment in his answer. "It's also the place where you asked me to marry you."

Marvin shot her a quick smile. "Well, that, too," he agreed. "Seems like this restaurant is good luck for us, huh?"

Valerie nodded. "Y-Yeah . . ."

"Evening, folks. Do you know what you'd like or do you need a little more time?"

Valerie smiled politely at the waiter and handed him the menu. "I'd just like grilled chicken breast salad—may I have the chicken on the side?"

"Sure," he said, punching her order into the electronic transmitter. "And you, sir?"

Marvin stared at the menu for another minute then finally smiled at the waiter. "I'd like the grilled pork loin, please."

"Baked potato or fries?"

"Baked potato, thanks."

The waiter smiled. "Okay, and to drink?"

"Iced tea," Valerie said.

Marvin nodded. "Sounds good."

She turned her attention back to Marvin as the waiter hurried away. "I'm glad you're in town," she said suddenly.

Marvin looked a little surprised but chuckled. "Me, too. I missed you, Val . . . You know, I was thinking . . . I mean, I know the Fourth of July is a few months away, but Hayes Mayward was telling me that he has this great place out on Cape Cod, and he mentioned that there'd be room for a couple guests this year out there . . . He always has guests, and they spend the day on the yacht, watching the fireworks from the water . . ."

"Really?" she asked. "That sounds like fun."

He shot her the boyish grin that she knew so well. He rather reminded her of a happy child that had just been praised by the teacher for being the only kid in class to score a hundred on his spelling test. "I thought you'd like it." He laughed suddenly and shook his head. "I'll just have to remember to get my Scopolamine patch prescription filled so I don't end up seasick."

She laughed, too. "Good idea," she replied.

"I told him I'd talk it over with you, but if you don't mind . . ."

"I'd love that," she assured him. Glancing up, she started to say something else about it, but frowned when she caught the disapproving gazes of a couple at a nearby table. They looked away quickly, the woman leaning across to whisper something to her date, who looked at the newspaper he was holding. A moment later, they both peeked at her again, and she lifted her chin proudly and slowly turned away.

Marvin shifted his eyes from Valerie to the couple and back again. "So . . ." he drawled slowly, his tone a little overly cautious. "That article in the paper . . . Did you really hit your client?"

Gritting her teeth together, she tried to force a little smile. "That was . . . taken completely out of context," she replied, "and he deserved it."

Marvin nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "You . . . you hit _the_ Zel Roka?"

"Marvin . . . He's obnoxious, okay?" she muttered. "And what do you mean, ' _the_ Zel Roka'? You don't even know who he is, do you?"

Marvin laughed and shrugged. "Just because I don't listen to the radio a lot doesn't mean I've never heard of him."

She sighed and rubbed her forehead.

"Okay, okay," he relented quickly, sitting back as his little smile widened just a touch. "I'm sorry; I'm sorry . . . You . . . You're not going to hit me, are you?" He laughed. "Oh, hey . . ."

Still a little irked, she tried unsuccessfully to hide her pique. "Yes?" she asked.

Marvin grimaced at her clipped tone. "Uh, nothing," he hurried to say.

"What?" she prompted, forcing a smile as she tamped down her irritation. ' _Stop it, Valerie. You're not really even mad at him, remember?_ '

Marvin shot her an apologetic half-smile. "Well, I just wondered . . ."

"Wondered what?"

He leaned forward slightly, his normally ruddy complexion deepening in hue. "You remember when I told you about the investor from Denver?"

She frowned in concentration, trying to remember the man's name. "Oh, um . . . the newspaper guy, right? Owns the _Denver Daily_?"

Marvin's grin brightened considerably. He was always inordinately pleased when she could remember specifics about the investors that he talked about. "Yeah! Gus Johnston!"

Valerie smiled, too. "Right . . . What about him?"

The self-consciousness seeped back into Marvin's green eyes, and he spared her a half-grimace, half-smile. "W-Well, he's got a sixteen year-old daughter—Justina—a huge Zel Roka fan . . . and I thought . . ." He winced, as though he believed that Valerie wasn't going to like whatever it was he had been thinking. "See, when I mentioned that you were his lawyer, she asked if you could . . . could get his autograph for her . . ."

Valerie smiled and shrugged. "I'll ask him," she promised. "I can't guarantee anything. It may depend upon his mood," she cautioned.

It was enough to satisfy Marvin, though. "Thanks, Val. You're the best!"

Her cell phone rang. She ignored it, reaching over and tapping the 'off' button to send the device into standby without so much as glancing at the caller ID, but Marvin's phone rang, too. "Oh . . . um, it's Hayes Mayward—you know, the guy on Cape Cod? Let me tell him that you like the idea of visiting them over the Fourth of July . . ."

She nodded and smiled at the waiter as he set her salad on the table. Her cell rang again, and she answered it without bothering to check the number since Marvin was still talking on his. "Valerie Denning."

"Hey, baby! Whatcha doin'?"

Closing her eyes, she rubbed her forehead, wondering why she'd ever thought that she'd actually be able to get away from that man for more than a few hours . . . "Is there something you needed?"

He chuckled—airy, breathy, entirely too familiar. "Well, funny you should mention that, V. See, there's been a bit of a . . . I guess you could call it a misunderstanding . . . Don't suppose you could come on down here and help a brother out?"

"Misunderstanding?" she echoed, groping for her purse. "What kind of misunderst—? Come down _where?_ " she demanded suspiciously.

"Now, sweetheart, before you get all pissy—"

"Try again, Roka. I'm well beyond 'pissy' . . ." she warned, trying in vain to use one hand to pop the lid off the small bottle of Advil she'd taken to carrying around the same time she'd been coerced into taking on Zel Roka's case.

"Hurry it up, Roka. You know the rules. Five minutes."

Valerie's eyes flared wide as she lowered the phone and glanced at the caller ID. ' _NYPD . . . Oh, Zel_ . . .'

"Yeah, okay," he drawled. "So how 'bout it? Come down here and pop me from this joint?"

"What did you do?" she demanded in a deathly quiet tone.

"I'm tellin' you, it was just a misunderstanding," he maintained stubbornly. "Anyway, I'm at the 19th, and the cops are pretty tight today.   I'm guessing their favorite doughnut shop was closed down or something . . ." In the background, she heard a dull 'thump' followed in close order by Zel's exclamation. " _Ow!_ You hear that, V? Police brutality!"

"Yeah, well, if that's your attorney, Roka, then it's no big thing. According to the papers, she beats on you, too."

Valerie stifled a low groan and furiously rubbed her forehead. "I _hate_ you," she muttered, heaving a sigh. "I hate you, hate you, hate you . . ."

"I know; I know," he muttered then chuckled again. "Come on, V! I don't wanna stay here all _night!_ "

She had better than half a mind to let him do exactly that. Too bad she simply couldn't . . . "Isn't there someone else you can call?" she asked pointedly.

"No," he said. "Attorney only."

"Fine," she said, slapping the phone closed as she snatched her purse off of the table. "Of all the idiotic, stupid, moronic, retarded . . ."

"Val?"

She blinked and glanced at Marvin. "I'm sorry," she said with a shake of her head. "My . . . client . . . has been arrested. I've got to go down to the 19th Precinct and pick him up."

Marvin's eyes widened. "Oh, uh . . ."

Forcing a smile to reassure him, she shrugged. "We can finish this back home, right?"

He smiled and nodded as he stood up and came around to squeeze her hands, tugging her down just enough to kiss her cheek. "Sure," he told her. "Take as long as you need."

She turned and headed toward the doors, her gaze darkening with every step she took. Why— _why_ —couldn't he ever do anything without getting himself into trouble? She should have known, shouldn't she? He caused an uproar whenever he went anywhere, didn't he? And he just had to go out when she'd expressly forbidden it, didn't he?

Well, no matter. That damned man was going to listen to her, whether he liked it or not. She'd get him out of jail, take him home, and lock him in there if she had to; just see if she didn't . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"So, you want to tell me what that was all about?"

Evan shot Madison an overly-innocent look and shrugged. "I dunno what you're talkin' 'bout, Maddikins."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Don't even try to give me that," she countered mildly enough. "V looked mad enough to spit, and I suppose you had something to do with that."

He snorted and flopped onto the sofa. "You're giving me far too much credit, you know. Besides, V's _always_ mad at me."

"All right," she relented easily enough as she sauntered over to sit beside him. "So why did she have to pick you up at the 19th?"

He shrugged. "Madison, did you know that there's an ordinance or something against public performing without a permit anywhere in New York City?"

Her lips twitched. "Is there?"

He grinned. He couldn't help it. "Oh, yeah."

She giggled. "Don't you have a permit for that? I mean, you do gigs in New York City all the time . . ."

He snorted. "Apparently, that's different, too. If you're performing on, say, a street corner, you have to have a _vendor's_ permit, and that aside, did you know you're not allowed to perform on any street corner on Madison Avenue? Go fucking figure."

"So you were hauled in for that?"

Evan actually grimaced. "Well, no . . ."

"Oh?"

"Well, for that I was fined five hundred bucks, but apparently they were a little worried about my welfare since there were about a hundred or," he coughed indelicately, "or maybe a _few_ more kids hanging out with me . . ."

Madison covered her mouth but couldn't contain her laughter. "I see . . ."

"And . . . Well, those kids had traffic stopped for about two blocks."

Madison's lips twitched a little more, but she said nothing.

He shot her a longsuffering glance and shrugged offhandedly. "I need a smoke. Got one on you?"

"Hmm, can't say I carry that sort of thing around with me," she allowed.

Evan leaned forward and pulled open the drawer under the coffee table, grabbing the bag of dope that Mike had given him just after his first meeting with Valerie Denning. "Hey, get in that table beside you. I think I got some papers in there . . ."

Madison did as she was told and scowled. "Why's it so hot in here?" she asked suddenly, wrinkling her nose.

Evan frowned as he concentrated on rolling the joint on the table. "Ah, the air's on the blink. They'll send someone out to fix it tomorrow, they said."

"Ugh," Madison muttered. She got up and wandered over to the living room control panel, fiddling with the settings. A moment later, the electric buzz kicked in, and the hulking windows retracted, letting in a slight breeze that didn't really help as much as it teased them.

Dropping the rest of the bag into the drawer once more, Evan reached for his lighter and slumped back against the sofa again. "Damn," he muttered, taking a long drag off the joint.

"I think it's going to rain . . ." Madison said. She'd ventured out onto the patio and was staring up at the sky.

He made a face. "You know something, Maddy?"

"What's that?"

Evan smiled a little sadly as he stared at the smoldering end of the joint. "Have you met this Marvin of hers?"

Madison heaved a sigh and wandered back into the house. "Officially? No, but I have talked to him on the phone a couple times."

Evan cocked an eyebrow, holding out the smoke in a silent invitation. "And?"

She shrugged, taking it from him and pulling a deep drag. "And . . ." she shook her head. "Well, he's not a bad guy, per se," she allowed though she didn't sound entirely pleased with it, either.   "I mean, Valerie's not stupid, you know? If he were shitty to her or something, maybe it'd be easier, but . . . I don't know. It's not that he doesn't care; it's that he doesn't care _enough_ . . . Does that make sense?"

Sitting up, Evan tugged his shirt off and tossed it on the floor, followed in close order by his pants. "That's better," he breathed, stretching out on the sofa again, bare-assed naked. "So you mean he's got his priorities fucked up."

Madison considered that and nodded. "That sounds about right."

He took the joint back, dragging off it as he contemplated Madison's words. "She'll always be second or third with him, you mean?"

"The first time I met her, she'd sort of just wandered into my shop off the street. Starr had started to tell her that we were by appointment only, but . . . but she just looked so . . . sad . . ." Madison waved a hand and started to peel off the tight black cotton dress she wore. "Anyway, that was the second time good ol' Marvin pushed off their wedding date," she said, carefully laying the dress over the back of a chair to keep it from getting wrinkled. She laughed suddenly, shaking her head as though she were remembering something good. "I fixed her all up, and we went out that night. Went to the Bunny Hole and got her completely plastered with just two house specials . . ."

"Oh, yeah?" Evan asked with a lazy smile. "Damn . . ."

She turned on her heel and headed outside again. Evan figured that she was going to take a quick swim to cool off, but he didn't follow her.

It bugged the hell out of him, didn't it? Why in the hell would a woman like V put up with that kind of bullshit? It didn't make any sense; not to him. A woman like her should be pampered and coddled and given the best of everything . . .

And maybe . . . Maybe he was the one who could show her that . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Broadway'_** _by The Goo Goo Dolls first appeared on the 1998 release, **Dizzy**_ **_Up_** **_The_** **_Girl_** _. Copyright belongs to John Rzeznik_.
> 
>  _Bearing in mind that this is quite a distance into the future, we're taking a few liberties with ordinances and the like_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _'Em damn Marvins_ …


	15. 014: Grudges

' _And just like the ocean under the moon_ …  
' _Well that's the same emotion that I get from you_ …  
' _You got the kind of lovin' that can be so smooth_ …  
' _Gimme your heart make it real_ …  
' _Or else forget about it_ …'

 

-' _Smooth_ ' by Santana featuring Rob Thomas.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan walked into the brightly light gallery amid the flash of camera bulbs, sparing a moment to flash a broad smile and wave at the photographers while ignoring shouted questions that, even if he'd wanted to answer, he couldn't since he couldn't rightfully discern one voice from another.

It was insane, really, and something that had been making him laugh for awhile now. It seemed goofy. He was still just Evan Zelig, the screw-up son of the North American tai-youkai, wasn't he? Nothing special, right? Right . . .

Yet everywhere he went—at least when he went out in full Zel Roka regalia, anyway, people seemed to lose what little common sense they had, didn't they? ' _Screwball wabbits_ ,' he thought to himself as he waved off the girl who offered to take his leather jacket.

He spotted Dieter right away. Standing off to the side, he kept glancing around almost nervously, and Evan had a feeling that his youkai senses didn't really help. He was listening to everyone's comments—comments that he wasn't exactly meant to hear—the unofficial critiques of his hard work. It was something that Evan had learned to ignore a long time ago, but Dieter . . . Well, it was safe to say that he tended to be a lot more sensitive than Evan did in that regard.

"Hell of a turnout," Evan remarked as he sidled up beside Dieter.

Dieter shot him a dark glance then snorted. "You ditched me, man."

Evan grinned and shrugged. "Sorry 'bout that. Got caught, you know. Couldn't escape the talons of my keeper for the night."

Dieter snorted. "I waited for you till almost midnight, dude. Miss got really pissed at me, too." He suddenly grinned. "Hey, that rhymed . . ."

"I tried to shake her off; I swear," Evan said. "She was stuck to me like white on rice, and not in a good way."

Dieter made a face. "M-Maybe you should tell her," he said, leaning toward Evan and letting his voice drop to a near-whisper.

Evan snorted and waved a hand in blatant dismissal. "Don't worry about that," he breezed with a lazy grin.

He didn't look entirely reassured. "The papers say you're gonna fry," he pointed out, his brow furrowing in obvious concern. "Say you're gonna do time for it."

"Eh . . . What's a rock star without some time spent in the big house?" he insisted.

Dieter opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off short when Fawn Mantrall hurried over and grabbed his arm. "Dieter, _darling!_ I have someone you absolutely _have_ to meet!" she gushed.

"W—I—"

Fawn rolled her eyes and paused long enough to wink her false eyelashes at Evan. The damn things even had rhinestones stuck to the tips to add a touch of bling for effect. "Oh, if it isn't _Zel Roka_ ," she purred. "Looking totally _glam_ , as always."

Evan grinned. "Is that right, Fawn?"

She laughed, her smoke-rusted voice husky and dark. "Isn't it?"

"Well, damn . . . and here I thought you didn't waste your time on bastards like me," he quipped.

"Stick around, _gorgeous_. I can always _spare_ a _moment_ for you," she promised.

Evan chuckled. "We'll see, baby," he replied.

"Oh, uh, Zel, can you find Miss and tell her I'll be back?" Dieter called over his shoulder as Fawn dragged him away.

He raised a hand to wave.

"If he isn't careful, she'll have his pants around his ankles quicker than he can say 'Fawn's Crab Shack' . . . skanky-assed bitch . . ."

Evan chuckled again as he slipped an arm around Madison's waist. "Eh, he wouldn't let her do that."

Madison shot him a droll look. "You don't think?" Sipping the glass of champagne in her hand, she slowly shook her head. "She's not the kind to ask permission."

Evan shrugged. "Maybe not, but Deet's not stupid."

"He doesn't have to be stupid to fall into her trap. That hussy has fucked more men than Para Ho."

"The porn star?"

Madison snorted indelicately.

"Madison, you sound absolutely cynical."

"I'm hardly cynical," she shot back mildly. "I just know a nasty fuck hole when I see one, and that woman has one of the nastiest. Careful, Roka, or she'll try to suck you in, too—and youkai or not, I'm pretty sure you'd catch something off of the likes of her."

"Oh, hey, Maddy . . . Still got time to do me this weekend?"

She giggled and winked. "Hmm, I might . . ."

He grinned and nodded. "Always time for a lost cause?"

"Something like that . . ."

Evan's commentary was cut short by the sudden, high-pitched holler directed at him. "Uncle Roka!"

Evan grinned as Daniel darted through the milling crowd to grab Evan's leg.

"Hey, squirt. Where's that hot mama of yours?"

"I dunno." Daniel giggled and held out a hand to show Evan a new Ollie Owl stuffed toy. "Daddy got it for me!"

"There you are! Sorry, Zel . . . He ran off about the second we got inside," Miss apologized as she hurried over to reach for her son.

Evan laughed. "It's all right. Dan was hanging out with me, weren't you, buddy?"

"Yeah," Daniel announced happily, waving a hand at his mother to keep her at bay. "Hangin' out!"

Miss rolled her eyes, her eyes sparkling softly. She really was a pretty little thing, Evan thought. Dieter must have bought her the dress she was wearing, though. Tasteful, sure, but the short, black sheath dress showed far more cleavage than Miss tended to present . . . Or maybe she'd bought it on purpose, knowing that Fawn Mantrall was going to be here. Miss really, really didn't trust that woman, not that Evan could blame her. Madison's assertions weren't too far off . . . "You didn't come here to watch him, though, did you?" she said.

Evan shrugged. "I dunno. I mean, he's pretty damn cool."

"That's right! I'm damn cool!" Daniel proclaimed proudly.

Miss smiled, though Evan noticed how her eyes kept darting around, looking for Dieter, he supposed, but knowing Miss' jealous streak—completely unfounded but there, nonetheless—he figured that he'd do well to distract her before she saw her mate, being dragged along by the art director . . . "Hey, Miss . . . Why don't we go find something to drink?" he offered.

She bit her lip and forced a tight little smile. "Oh, uh, I'm okay . . ."

"M-Miss! Listen!" Dieter said as he stalked back over and shot Miss a hesitant smile. "Fawn said there's a guy over there that wants to buy one of my sculptures for, like, a _lot_ of money!" he marveled.

"Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah, and another woman over there? She said she wanted a different one, but she'd pay more if I delivered it, myself."

Evan choked back a chuckle as Miss' expression darkened. "Oh, she did, did she?" she demanded tightly.

Dieter didn't notice his mate's foreboding air. "Fawn told her that I don't deliver, myself though . . . Hell, how could I? Those things weigh a ton, easy . . ."

"Hello, Miss," Fawn drawled, slipping her arm around Dieter's waist. If the artist noticed, though, he gave no indication. It was Evan's considered opinion that Dieter had a habit of overlooking most everything. Daniel wiggled around, leaning toward his father. Dieter grinned and took him, stepping away from Fawn in the process, much to Madison's undisguised amusement.

Too bad Miss looked like she was ready to light into poor ol' Deet. Evan grabbed Fawn's hand and pulled her against his side. "Now, honey, you can't possibly get away from me that easily," he quipped.

Fawn laughed, batting her eyelashes in such a way that made Evan wonder how the damn things kept from getting stuck together. "Mr. Roka, are you coming _on_ to _me?_ " she murmured in an entirely catty sort of way.

Madison shot him an amused glance over her shoulder as she steered Dieter and Miss away from Evan and Fawn. Evan merely smiled. It was all for a good cause, after all, wasn't it?

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Marvin turned on the television and dropped the remote onto the sofa as he tugged on his necktie then meticulously rolled up his sleeves. "Wow, that was a really good meal, wasn't it?" he mused as Valerie kicked off her sensible black pumps and reached up to remove her earrings.

"It was," she agreed with a smile.

He yawned but shot her a wide grin. "Do you want a glass of wine?"

"Sure," she replied as she headed down the short hallway to her bedroom to change clothes. Dinner and a movie had been exactly what the good doctor had ordered, really. For the first time in a few weeks, she felt entirely relaxed for once, and that was a damn good feeling . . .

' _See? Marvin_ is _good for me_ ,' she thought with a soft laugh as she pulled the light cream colored sweater over her head and reached for the shapeless gray sweatshirt she tended to wear to bed more often than not. Sure, she had some very pretty nightgowns, most of then given to her by friends over the years, but they were just too cold, and she much preferred the warmth of the sweats, even if they weren't particularly pretty . . .

Grimacing at a strained tightness that had settled into her lower back, she braced her hands against the sore area and leaned back to stretch. It was all that damned Zel Roka's fault. She hadn't gotten to go for her normal morning jog more than a couple times since she'd had to start 'babysitting' the man, and for reasons that she couldn't completely comprehend, he actually tended to get up ungodly early—a fact she'd discovered a few days ago when he'd unceremoniously waked her up at the proverbial crack of dawn, demanding over the telephone that she meet him for breakfast since he was _bored_.

Well, she was going jogging in the morning whether he liked it or not, and if he got in trouble while she was out, then she'd beat him, no doubt about it . . .

Tugging the barrette out of her hair that held it at the base of her neck, she dropped it onto her dresser in passing, scrubbing vigorously at her head to alleviate the feeling that lingered as she padded back toward the living room in a thick pair of slouchy socks.

Marvin was setting two glasses of wine on the table behind the sofa when she wandered into the room, and he smiled endearingly at her when he saw her. "Got a couple messages," he told her absently.

"Oh? What were they?" she asked as she reached for her glass.

He shrugged. "I didn't have time to check them," he replied. "I can if you want me to, though . . ."

"No, it's fine," she said with a smile, hitting the button to retrieve them. The first was the building maintenance department, reminding her that they would be working on their annual maintenance check as well as replacing a few things over the next week, and that they'd try to keep any outages to a minimum. The second was a courtesy call from the car rental agency in Louisville, confirming her reservation for the weekend. Glancing at her watch, she frowned. It was too late to call them back, but she'd give them a ring in the morning before she left for the airport . . .

Marvin's cell phone rang as she deleted the messages and shuffled toward the computer. She ought to be packing, but she felt so restless. Besides, it really wouldn't take more than a few minutes to do that. She would only be there for a couple days, and even then, it wasn't like she'd actually be seeing anyone while she was there, either . . .

Sinking down in the thickly cushioned sofa, she almost smiled to herself. She'd taken her time in selecting the things that surrounded her, and everything in her home was accompanied by a sense of utter satisfaction. She'd gone to great lengths to make sure that all of her things were the best and most economical that she could manage, spending countless hours researching online or shopping around for the best deal on the item she'd chosen, and as she grabbed a fluffy throw pillow and hugged it against her chest, she sighed.

Reaching for the remote, she raised it to change the channel, but stopped and hit the volume button, instead.

"And in entertainment news, infamous shock-rocker, Zel Roka was spotted at _L'Attitude_ , the ultra-hip art gallery that hosts only the trendiest and most cutting edge artists, tonight, showing his support for his long-time friend and bass guitarist, Dieter Reichardt. Sources say that the always colorful musician showed up without a date, not that it was a problem since he was seen leaving the high-profile art gallery with Fawn Mantrall, the owner of _L'Attitude_ . . ."

Narrowing her eyes at the footage, she snorted indelicately. It was Zel, all right, leaving the gallery with a very buxom woman hanging on his arm amid the flash of camera bulbs. She didn't look like the owner of an art gallery—nope, she actually looked a little more like a fifty-cent whore, complete with her overly-teased, very bouffant hair, her low cut dress that barely covered her breasts, and those trashy false eyelashes . . . That damned dog had his hand on her hip and a completely lecherous sort of grin on his face, and he actually had the nerve to tell the reporters that they were heading to a 'private party' . . .

And she very nearly reached for the telephone to call Zel and remind him that they had a deal when Marvin hung up the phone and hurried around the sofa to grab her hands as he sat down on the edge of the cushion. "Val! Fantastic news!" he blurted.

Valerie blinked, requiring a moment to make the transition in her head from Marvin's boyish excitement to her own marked lack of enthusiasm. "W-What?" she muttered, shaking her head since she honestly had no idea what he was talking about.

Marvin laughed and squeezed her fingers. "Well, you see, there's this huge gala this weekend—I mean, _bigger_ than huge, really! It's kind of a fundraiser, but there'll be a lot of investors there, not to mention the ones hosting it! I-It's the most fantastic thing, and I never really thought I'd ever manage an invitation to it, but Carson Meadows—You remember him, right?" He paused long enough to take another deep breath before waving his hands and plunging on. "Well, his mother-in-law is pretty sick, so he and his wife won't be able to attend, and he called just now to offer us their tickets! He said he'd send them over by courier tomorrow, and . . . Val, you know, I think you'll love it. It's a black tie thing."

She shook her head slowly, unable to get the entire gist of what he was saying since he was talking so fast. "Wait . . . When?"

"—This is so great!" Marvin went on without actually hearing Valerie's question. He was so excited that he just wasn't listening. "I mean, I've told them all about you, of course, and now you'll finally get to meet a lot of them, and—"

"Marvin," she interrupted, raising her voice enough to be heard over his happy chatter. "When is this thing?"

"Oh, uh, Saturday night."

She frowned. "I won't be here," she reminded him slowly.

He grimaced suddenly, as though he'd just remembered that she'd already made plans for the weekend. "Geez, I'm sorry, Val . . . Man, I forgot . . ." He brightened up suddenly and smiled. "Yeah, but it's just one of those boring lawyer conferences, right? I mean, every time you go to one, you tell me what a drag it was, don't you? So why don't you skip this one?"

"Marvin . . ." She sighed and shook her head, trying to decipher exactly why the expression on his face made her feel so damn guilty. "I already made reservations," she explained slowly, trying to temper the slight irritation that swelled up inside her at the ease with which he'd discounted her plans.

For the first time since he'd gotten off the telephone, his smile wavered. "I-I know. It's just . . . But you always say that you get bored at those conferences; that you never really understand why you go to them, in the first place . . ."

She forced a tight little smile, reminding herself that she really hadn't told Marvin what her true plans were. It wasn't that she worried what he'd say. Marvin would just have told her that she should do whatever she felt she should do. Truthfully, she wasn't entirely certain why she was keeping it a secret, in the first place. She supposed that it had a lot to do with the entire history of it all, and maybe even the feelings that she wasn't sure she wanted to face . . .

"I . . . It's too late to get my money refunded," she went on, fully aware of exactly how lame she really sounded.

Marvin laughed suddenly—one of those laughs that always sounded forced and never failed to make her feel like a complete and utter bitch. "That's okay, Val. It's fine. I mean, it's not like I actually expected to be invited to this, and you're right. You already made your plans. I . . . I'm sorry."

And the kicker? He sounded sincere, didn't he? He really was sorry that he'd assumed that she'd drop everything for his little soiree . . . Rubbing her forehead, she heaved a sigh. "It's just a fundraiser, right? It's not like you are going to give a presentation or anything . . ."

Marvin shrugged and smiled, though the smile held a tinge of disappointment. "You're right. It's just that I'd talked you up so much to a lot of these people that I wanted them to meet you, but it's not a big deal. I mean, maybe . . . Maybe we'll be invited next year . . ."

She glanced up and frowned. She just had to look, didn't she? She had to look up to see the doubt in his gaze. He knew damn well that the odds that he'd be invited back to the annual fundraiser were slim and none, and he simply didn't want to make her feel bad, and she knew it. That was the hell of it, wasn't it?

"It means a lot to you, doesn't it?" she asked quietly, shoving aside the prickle of irritation that she felt with herself for being irked, in the first place. How selfish was she, really? After all, it was just one party, right? And the work Marvin was fighting to get funding for was important— _really_ important—much more important than a family that Valerie had chosen to break ties with years ago . . .

"Oh, well . . ." he hedged, unsure whether or not he really ought to answer her truthfully.

She shrugged and deliberately kept her gaze averted. "I-It's just such short notice," she murmured.

Marvin laughed softly, a cautious sense of optimism brightening his gaze. "I should be able to rent a tuxedo, I think . . . Heck, it's such a big thing, though . . . Maybe I should see about getting a better one. You . . . You could wear that black dress of yours: you know, the one with the matching jacket? Classy yet businesslike . . ."

Valerie almost snorted. "I don't know, Marvin. That dress isn't exactly 'black tie', I don't think, and I've got time tomorrow. Maybe I'll go shopping."

He chuckled and nodded—she had a feeling that he'd agree to just about anything, at least at the moment. "Sure, sure . . . You look good in anything. Oh, I need to make a few calls; see if I can't find out who all might be there!"

She sighed as he stood up and skittered away. The feeling of irritation didn't go away completely, even though she tried to ignore it. Untangling her legs, she stood up, grabbing her glass of wine as she shuffled over to the desk to check her email. When she sat down, she bit her lip. Clicking on her internet browser, she frowned. It opened to the last site she'd looked up: Kaci Lea's blog. She's made a new post about the dress her mother had bought for her just for her middle school graduation, and she sounded really excited.

Valerie read the post and clicked on the corner to close it as the soft sound of Marvin's excited voice droned on in the background . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Smooth_** ' _originally performed by Santana featuring Rob Thomas appeared on the 1999 release,_ **_Supernova_**. _Song is copyrighted to Rob Thomas and Itaal Shur_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _So, change of plans_ …


	16. 015: Anger

' _So take me as I am_ …  
' _This may mean you'll have to be a stronger man_ …  
' _Rest assured that when I start to make you nervous_ …  
' _And I'm going to extremes_ …  
' _Tomorrow_ _I_ _will change_ …  
' _And_ _today_ _won't_ _mean a thing_ …'

 

-' _Bitch'_ by Meredith Brooks.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie plodded along the path that led through Central Park, drowning out the sounds of the city with the steady tones of Crystal Ladders, one of the newest and most cutting edge bands to rise up from the new music scene based in St. Louis. A curious mix of folk and blues and rock, Crystal Ladders, along with the few other bands that had come to light recently, had adopted the tag of 'fu-blues'—fusion blues—to describe their collective and distinctive sounds.

She sighed but kept running, savoring the slight tickle as sweat dripped down her neck, only to be absorbed into the neckband of her tank top. But the normal sense of peace that the exercise inspired was missing, wasn't it? She'd gotten up early, unable to get back to sleep after Marvin's tossing and turning had awoken her a few hours ago . . . She was having entirely too much trouble dealing with her emotions, and while she knew somewhere deep down that she really had no one to blame but herself, she couldn't help the irritation that she really had let Marvin talk her into changing her plans.

With a sigh, she quickened her pace. All right, so that wasn't entirely fair, either. Marvin hadn't changed her mind. He hadn't even really tried. Still, she'd seen it in his face: had seen exactly how much the whole thing meant to him. She knew that, didn't she? And yet . . .

And in the end, she'd felt bad—felt horrible, actually. Somehow, he'd managed to make her feel like the world's worst girlfriend with just a simple look. Marvin's research . . . It could change the world, couldn't it? At least, he could change it for a number of families who were still struggling, wish and hoping for a cure for neuroblastoma—a rare form of childhood cancer that, in the later stages of development, tended to be fatal. Marvin's younger brother had died from it, and he'd devoted his entire life to trying to find a cure for it.

In fact, it was Marvin's absolute devotion to his cause that had first drawn Valerie to him. She'd met him during her junior year of college. He was giving a student lecture for childhood cancer awareness in one of the free lecture halls, and a friend of hers—a medical student—had talked her into going along.

She'd been mesmerized by Marvin's passion, his dedication, and after the lecture, she'd asked him to have coffee with her . . .

And maybe he wasn't exactly the most charismatic man in the world, but he _was_ a good man. Maybe he wasn't as tall and good looking as Zel Roka, but he always came off as entirely approachable: warm and affable, with a friendly smile and an enthusiasm that couldn't be denied.

So maybe that was the real reason that she'd felt so bad when she'd realized that this precious fundraiser of his was happening the same weekend when she'd already made plans to do other things. Marvin was right. Every time she went to one of the lawyer conventions she sometimes attended, she did complain that they were boring and almost a waste of time, so really, how would he have known any different?

Slowing to a walk, Valerie dug a bottle of water out of her fanny pack as she strode around the wide area where she always took a moment to cool off before heading back along the trail once more.

Why hadn't she told him? Why hadn't she bothered to explain to Marvin that she wasn't going to a conference? Why hadn't she just said where she really had been planning on going? Marvin would have understood. Marvin always tried to understand, and even if he didn't particularly care for the idea of her going to her younger sister's middle school graduation, he would at least have told her that, if it was important to her, then it was important to him, too . . .

Still . . .

It was just hard for her to talk about; that was it. It always had been. Her story was so much different from Marvin's, and while he tried to understand, she knew deep down that there were parts of it that he didn't, and how could he when she didn't, either?

Marvin's parents had died, and he and his younger brother had ended up in the custody of the State, he'd told her. Sometime in the commotion of being moved and settled in with a few different families until he'd found a family who had kept him for most of his youth, his brother's symptoms had been overlooked, not purposefully, no, but in the chaos, what one family might have noticed, another one had missed . . . It wasn't that they didn't care: it was more that they just hadn't realized: that's what Marvin had said, and at first, they had trouble placing the boys together, as well, so he hadn't really noticed much, either, in the few instances when they'd have visits together. Finally, though, they'd found a permanent placement with a very sweet older couple, but by then, his brother's condition was a lot worse, and he'd died less than a year later.

Marvin had continued to stay with the couple—the Robbins. That couple had raised him until the husband died. By then, Marvin was seventeen, and he'd stayed with the wife until he'd graduated from high school. She died of a heart attack, complicated by pneumonia when Marvin was in his last year of college . . .

But Valerie's story? It was much, much uglier than that, and maybe that was the real reason why she was loathe to talk about it, and while she'd told Marvin quite a bit of it, she certainly hadn't told him all of it. It was just something that she didn't want to talk about much, anyway, so the bits and pieces that Marvin knew only served to show him the parts that she, herself, understood . . .

And maybe that was part of the reason why she'd wanted to go on that trip; part of the reason why she hadn't told Marvin—hadn't told anyone—her true destination, and while she tried not to be upset with Marvin for inadvertently making her feel badly for wanting to go, she couldn't quite help herself, either.

She took a deep drink from the water bottle and sighed. When she'd left her apartment, Marvin was still sleeping, snoring lightly. That was it, wasn't it? She'd just had to get out of there before she let her emotions overwhelm her . . .

Letting out a deep breath, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed Madison's number. She'd meant to call her when she'd gone out to jog, but it was too early then, and while it was still early enough, at least she wouldn't feel so badly about waking her up . . .

"Hello?" she answered, sounding oddly 'awake', given the relatively early hour.

"Hi, Maddy. I just wondered if you could fit me in to do my hair on Saturday?"

Madison shuffled some papers around, probably looking for her planner, and very likely unable to find it, either. "Saturday? Wait . . . I thought you were going to be out of town this weekend . . ."

Valerie grimaced since she was planning on that and had told Madison and Zel exactly that the other day when she'd unceremoniously found the two of them, curled up together on Zel's sofa—naked. She'd been furious, of course. How dare that manipulating, conniving, odious man coerce Madison into going along with whatever nastiness he had in mind . . .? That he'd just grinned that intolerably smug grin of his and told her that nothing had actually happened was arbitrary. She didn't doubt for a moment that he'd done _something_ bad, and she'd told him as much, too—after she'd tossed a glass of icy cold water on the two of them, anyway . . .

"I was. I'm not now," Valerie replied curtly.

"Oh, that didn't sound like a happy thing," Madison drawled. "What happened?"

Heaving a long sigh, Valerie shook her head. "Marvin got a last minute invitation to some fund raiser thing," she admitted.   "Anyway, he really wanted me to go with him, so I told him I would."

"Fund raiser thing?" Madison repeated.

"Yes, some black tie thing . . ."

Madison suddenly groaned. "Oh, no! Tell me you're not wearing that perfectly awful sack you call a dress."

Valerie rolled her eyes but finally managed a little smile. "It's not that bad," she argued.

Madison snorted indelicately. "It's not bad," she agreed mildly, "it's _awful_ , and if you're planning on wearing it, then you can forget about me fixing your hair."

"Actually," she cut in before Madison could really get herself worked up, "I was wondering if you've got time to go shopping with me, too."

"New dress?" Madison mused.

Valerie sipped the water. "Yes."

"And new shoes?" Madison pressed.

"Ma-a-aybe . . ."

". . . Can I pick the shoes?"

Valerie laughed. "Within reason," she allowed. "I don't like heels . . ."

Madison sighed. "You _love_ heels, V; you're just engaged to the world's shortest man."

Valerie tried not to laugh outright. She did smile. "He's not that short," she argued.

"Short enough," Madison rejoined.

All right. She had a point. It didn't bother her, though—at least, not that much. Sure, Marvin was about four inches shorter than her. Still, what he lacked in height, he made up for in personality . . . "You know, many of the world's greatest leaders weren't particularly gifted with height," she pointed out. "Look at Napoleon. Look at James Madison . . ."

Madison didn't reply right away. Valerie figured she was staring at the phone receiver or something. "I'd hardly put Marvin on par with any kind of military leader," she muttered.

"All the same," she maintained stubbornly, "I was going to go shopping, anyway . . ."

"Ah, what the hell?" Madison blurted suddenly. "Count me in!"

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Cut, cut, cut!" Buzz Marleighvaughn interrupted with a heavy sigh, waving his hand in an irritated sort of way, nearly catching what was left of his frizzy brown hair on fire with the cigarette dangling limply between the knuckles of his third and forth fingers. "What the fuck was that, Roka? Sounded like utter shit!"

Evan didn't comment as he offered a shrug and grabbed his balls in a gesture meant to let Buzz know what he thought of the interruption.

"Yeah, whatever. You gotta grow some, first," Buzz muttered. "Anyhow, take it again from the top, and this time, try to sound like you wanna be here, you little cocksucker."

He rolled his eyes but grinned.

"' _You tell me that you want me_ ,  
' _It don't really mean a thing_ . . .  
' _If you tell me that you need me_ ,  
' _Then you just tease me_ . . .  
' _So get down on your knees and pray_ . . .'"

 

Heaving a sigh, Evan yanked off the headphones and tossed them aside.

"What's the matter?" Mike asked through the intercom.

"The matter?" he echoed with a nonchalant shrug. "Easy. I don't fucking like that song."

Mike blinked, exchanging glances with the legendary producer. ". . . But you wrote it."

"Yeah, well, I changed my mind. I don't like it. Forget it."

Mike shook his head. "Zel . . . We're on a fairly tight schedule here," he reminded the rock star. "We really need to get these tracks down—"

Evan headed for the door of the sound-proof studio and pushed into the hallway just as Mike stomped out of the mixing booth. "Listen, Roka—"

"I'm just not feeling it, Mikey," he replied. "Give me a week or two to do some rewrites—hell, I might just scrap that one entirely—dunno."

Mike sighed and rubbed a weary hand over his face—not entirely surprising since they'd been in the studio for nearly fourteen hours now. "Wicked Soundsations isn't going to like this," he predicted slowly.

Evan snorted and scratched at his head. "What are they gonna do? Drop me? Big deal. Even if they did, I'd have another contract in less than a week."

Which was true enough, and Mike knew that, too. To be honest, Evan highly doubted that they'd be too upset over the delay, anyway, all things considered. It wasn't as though he gave them a lot of trouble, as far as meeting deadlines. In fact, this would only be the second one he'd pushed back in his career with them—a far cry from some of the other 'artists' who threw hissy fits constantly because their underwear was bunched up a little too tightly.

Without another word, he headed for the stairwell, foregoing the elevator since he really didn't like those things in the least.

Stopping between floors long enough to peer outside, he grimaced. It wasn't surprising in the least that his presence must've been leaked to the press since there were a handful of reporters outside, but he didn't feel like hanging out, for once. True enough, normally, he rather enjoyed taking a few minutes or longer to chill with the fans that had managed to track him down. It never ceased to amaze him, how crazy-insane his fans tended to be, and talking to them was always damn funny, if he didn't have any prior obligations.

Today, though . . .

Today he had other things on his mind: most importantly, someone in particular that he was anxious to see . . .

So he turned on his heel and headed upstairs, not stopping until he stepped onto the roof of the recording studio.

It only took about thirty minutes, give or take, of sprinting and jumping to reach the roof of the townhouse, and, satisfied that he wouldn't be seen, he dropped into the alley beside it.

"I see . . . Oh, no . . . I understand. It can't be helped, right? Of course not . . . Just get better soon . . . Okay, absolutely!"

Evan lounged casually in the doorway with a lazy smile on his face as he waited.

Gin Izayoi Zelig heaved a sigh and set the cell phone onto the table beside her, her shoulders slumping, her absolutely adorable little hanyou ears drooping.

"What's wrong, Mama?" he drawled without straightening up.

Gin sighed and shook her head, opening her mouth to say something. Suddenly, though, she snapped her mouth closed as her eyes widened, as she stared at him for several calculating moments. "Oh, it's awful! Terrible! _Horrible!_ "

"Aww, I'm sure it's not that bad," he remarked.

She heaved a louder, longer sigh and rubbed her forehead. "It is," she countered. "I just don't know _what_ I'll _do!_ "

"'Zat so?"

She nodded dramatically. "It's _so_ so!"

Judiciously hiding his amusement, Evan shrugged. "What happened?"

Gin twisted her fingers together in an exaggerated slow of impatience. "We-e-ell," she drawled.

Evan chuckled. "Now, Mama, you can tell me," he assured her, rather enjoying her feigned reluctance to voice her problems.

"You see," she finally said, "it's about the bachelor's auction . . . David Vanderwahl—otherwise known as 'Eligible Bachelor Number Ten'—broke his leg yesterday while he was waterskiing."

"That's too bad," Evan remarked.

Gin's eyes grew round, and Evan chuckled. At moments like that, it was simple to see how his father succumbed to a woman like her . . . "But it's for charity, you know, and ten bachelors would have brought in so much more money than just nine, and Mr. Vanderwahl was really the best looking of them all . . . He was _People_ magazine's fifteenth most eligible bachelor last year." She trailed off and tapped her chin thoughtfully. "My goodness, who was number one on that list, again . . .?"

Evan's grin broadened since he knew damn well where his mother was going with this. To be honest, it rather amused him. " _People_ magazine? Don't recall reading it . . ."

"Oh! That's right! _You_ were the most eligible bachelor last year! My boy!" Gin exclaimed proudly.

Evan chuckled. "I wasn't," he argued with a shake of his head. "Zel Roka was."

She waved a hand as though it was of no real consequence. "Same thing; same thing," she insisted as she wandered over to finger a lock of his bright, copper-red hair. "So . . . Do you suppose you'd do your mama a favor? It's for a good cause . . ."

"I don't know, Mama . . ."

"Please?"

He grinned again. "What about Bubby?"

Gin laughed and kissed Evan's cheek. "Your brother's married, and I don't think Sydnie would like it if I were to auction him off!"

Evan made a face. Unfortunately, there was a lot of truth in that . . . "Yeah, you wouldn't get so much out of him, anyway. He's too anal to impress the ladies—unless he flashed 'em his weenie. That might get him some attention."

Gin giggled, her cheeks pinking up prettily at the mere thought of the aforementioned 'weenie'. "Oh, I don't think that'd be in good taste, do you?"

Evan shrugged. "I dunno, Mama. Women seem to like my weenie all right . . ."

The twitters of laughter escalated. "Oh, well . . . It was just an idea . . . You're so busy, anyway, but maybe I could talk your father into letting me sell him . . ."

The aforementioned 'father' walked into the room, glancing up from the papers in his hands with a somewhat quizzical look on his face. "Sell me?" he echoed.

She giggled and hurried over to her mate, slipping her arms around his waist and giving him a quick squeeze. He retaliated by kissing the top of her head, eliciting another round of giggles from her. "I know; you're busy, but I just lost Eligible Bachelor Number Ten," she informed him, her eyes wide and blinking. "I thought Evan would be a suitable stand-in, but he's so busy . . . I mean, you're just a tai-youkai, after all, not an internationally famous rock star!"

Cain snorted indelicately, likely at her allusion that he was 'just a tai-youkai'. "Um, Gin, you're selling _bachelors_ ," he pointed out.

"That's right, Zelig-sensei."

He stared at her for several long moments. ". . . But I'm married, baby girl— _very_ married."

"We could market you as 'Semi-Eligible Bachelor Number Ten—brooding unknown artist," Gin went on.

Cain chuckled and shook his head. "Maybe, but everyone there knows damn well that I'm your husband," he reminded her, "and I don't really brood . . ."

"Horse piss," Evan shot back. "How'd they know any such thing when you're not even going with Mama, Cain?"

"Well, you do brood a little . . ." Gin went on.

"Is there something you wanted, Evan?" Cain asked, making a point of ignoring Gin's commentary, at least for the moment.

Evan shot his sire a cheesy grin. "I just came by to check on my hot date," he quipped.

Gin giggled, unable to control her humor. "You're such a sweet boy!"

Evan chuckled. Cain rolled his eyes. "Just make sure that damned Wayne Buchanan stays the hell away from her, understand?"

Evan scowled in concentration, turning his gaze upward as he considered the name. "Buchanan . . . Buchanan . . . Oh, that old bastard with the house in Malibu who's always trying to lure Mama down for a visit?"

Cain grunted, his expression darkening just a little more.

"Oh, he's harmless!" Gin insisted.

"Yeah, well, he can keep his harmless ass away from you," Cain muttered, flipping the long end of his ponytail over his shoulder. "How's court going?"

Evan tried to hide the grimace that surfaced on his features. It didn't work so well. He didn't have a doubt in his mind that good ol' Cain already knew damn well, 'how court was going': he had too fucking many spies at his disposal not to know. Still, he forced a small smile and shrugged offhandedly since his mother's pleased expression had taken on a much graver note. "Fine," he told them both. "Nothing to worry about. Got the best lawyer money could buy."

Cain cocked an eyebrow. "And that's why she was beating on you in the paper the other day?"

Evan really did grin at that reminder. "Well . . ."

Cain heaved a sigh. "Take it easy on her, will you?" he admonished.

Evan chuckled. "Don't worry about it, Cain. I got it all under control."

"Of course you do," Gin insisted with an encouraging smile. "Don't worry, Cain. Evan's a good boy, and they'll see it, too."

Cain didn't look nearly as confident as Gin did, but he did manage a tight little smile. "If you say so, baby girl."

"Don't lose sleep over it, Cain," Evan went on airily. "Zel Roka ain't got nothin' to do with the precious office of the tai-fucking-youkai."

"Evan . . ." Cain began in a warning tone.

"What do you think, Zelig-sensei?" Gin asked suddenly, giving her mate a reassuring squeeze as she shifted from one foot to the other, feeling the tension tightening over the room. "Bachelor Number Ten fell through, and I was trying to convince Evan, here, to fill in."

"Sounds about right," Cain remarked with a shrug. "Besides, it is for charity."

Evan snorted but grinned. "I don't know, Mama," he drawled slowly.

"Then again, Bas did sell for, what? Seven-hundred-fifty thousand the year he let you talk him into it?" Cain mused.

"Oh, that's right! That was the year before he met Sydnie, wasn't it? He was our biggest money maker," she told Evan, as though he didn't already know that.

"Like I give a shit how much you sold Bubby for," Evan scoffed.

Cain nodded slowly. "I suppose it would be a pretty big blow to the ego if Evan couldn't raise as much money as Bas."

"Could, too," Evan muttered under his breath. His parents didn't seem to have heard him. "Fine, fine, I'll do it," he said, injecting just enough boredom into his tone to let his parents know exactly what he thought of the entire affair, "but it isn't because Bubby did it."

Gin squealed and clapped her hands happily as she bounced toward him to hug him tight. "I knew you wouldn't let me down," she insisted.

Evan smiled and kissed Gin's cheek. "'Course not, Mama . . . Seven-hundred-fifty, you say?"

Gin nodded and laughed once more. "That's right."

Evan's smile widened. "Not a problem," he told her. "Not a problem, at all . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Bitch_** ' _as performed by Meredith Brooks first appeared on the 1997 release, **Blurred**_ **_Edges_** _and is copyrighted to Meredith Brooks and Shelly Peiken_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Too much upper-ass-crack for me …!_


	17. 016: Respectable

' _R-E-S-P-E-C-T_ …  
' _Find_ _out_ _what_ _it_ _means_ _to_ _me_ …  
' _R-E-S-P-E-C-T_ …  
' _Take_ _care_ , _TCB_ …'

 

-' _Respect_ ' by Otis Redding.

 

 

- ** _Madison_** -

 

 

"So, what, exactly, are we going for here?"

Evan chuckled. "Aw, respectable, right?"

Madison arched an eyebrow, pausing as she pulled some of her gear out of the quick tote bag she'd packed for the occasion. "Respectable, huh?"

He nodded as he pulled the immaculate black tuxedo from the dry cleaner's bag.

She eyed the garment and slowly shook her head. "Dragging out the Vonderosi?" she quipped, making reference to the tux' designer. Gianni Vonderosi was one of the most expensive lines in the world, and no wonder since every last one of them were made to order according to measurements, and every last one of them was made by hand by the aging designer. That Evan's was fashioned from a lightweight silk that was brushed to remove much of the signature sheen—it could easily be confused with a sturdier cotton or even linen, Madison knew damn well that it was likely the most expensive thing that the man actually owned . . . "You weren't kidding, were you?"

"What do you expect? I'm accompanying the most gorgeous woman in the known universe tonight," he replied with a wink. "I gotta look the part, don't I?"

"Hmm," she mused, unable to hide her smile. It never failed to amuse her. The ultra-hip, ultra-popular Zel Roka was the biggest mama's boy on the face of the planet, and the idea of spending an entire evening as her escort? He'd blown off the chance to do a gig at the newly reopened Stone Pony—a venue that she knew he'd been dying to do ever since they closed it down some twenty years ago . . . A lot of great rockers back in the day got their start at that club . . .

"So what are your plans for the night, and don't tell me you don't have any," Evan said as he plopped onto the small stool where he always sat whenever Madison cut his hair.

She heaved a sigh. "Well, believe it or not, I'm going to hang out with Bugs."

Evan blinked and shot her a quizzical look to see whether or not she was joking. She didn't appear to be . . . "Hanging out with Bugs? Since when?"

She shrugged. "He came in to get his weekly hair treatment yesterday, and he was all kinds of upset over his latest boy-toy's defection, then Alicia pointed out that I didn't have plans tonight, so . . ." She trailed off for a moment then sighed again. "I really should fire that girl . . ."

"So you're going out with Bugsy? Sounds fun," he teased.

Madison shot him a droll look. "Oh, it shouldn't be too bad. He said I could pick the place."

Evan chuckled as Madison made the first cut with the hellaciously sharp scissors. "Hmm . . . well, don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"That leaves it pretty well wide open, doesn't it?" she remarked. "Oh, what do you think of my new dress?"

The grin widened when Madison stepped back and posed prettily for Evan's perusal. He held up a hand and twirled his finger. She complied, pivoting so that he could get the full effect. "Nice," he replied with a wink, smiling brightly at the black leather dress that clung to her body as though it were molded to fit her as she fiddled with the black metal zipper pull that dangled between her breasts. "C'mere, Maddikins."

She laughed and sauntered toward him, watching with a bemused smile as he caught his claw through the small hole on the end of the pull and tugged it down a few inches. "That's better," he approved. "Hell, if you got the tits, might as well show 'em off, right?"

"Is that right?"

He nodded. "That's right."

Madison stepped over once more, reaching for the comb she'd set aside a few minutes before. "Hmm, I have a good feeling about tonight," she ventured as she lopped off another long strand of hair.

"Oh, that's not the half of it," he told her with a broad grin.

"It's not?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Mama asked if she could auction me off."

Madison paused long enough to shoot him a very amused smile. "Is that so?"

Evan nodded. "Yup. Apparently 'Eligible Bachelor Number Ten' hurt himself, and being the good and devoted son that I am . . ."

"You let her talk you into it, of course."

"Of course."

Madison shook her head and quickly finished cutting Evan's hair. Heck, she'd done it so often that it wasn't even a thing she had to think about anymore. Every so often, he'd ask her to do it so that he could escape; so that he could wander the streets without anyone recognizing him. It was an interesting thing, really, as far as she was concerned. He adored the attention that he garnered as shock-rocker Zel Roka, but even he had moments when he just wanted to be 'normal'.

But then, Evan had always been that way, ever since she could remember. He loved to shock people; to give them 'the show', but he also had his introspective times, and while they tended to be few and far between, she knew damn well that there were moments when he'd tell his family one story or another, only to grab her and disappear deep into the forest or wandering the vast Maine coast for a day or a week. During those times, Madison was the only person he ever had taken along, probably because he knew that she'd be lost without him, and when they were younger, that was true enough.

When Evan had moved to New York City a year before she'd finished high school, she'd seriously thought that she'd go insane. Sure, she had other friends, and some of them were really close to her—friends like Jillian Zelig, now Jillian Jamison, but as close as they were, there were still things about Madison that she doubted that Jillian would understand, even if she tried.

Evan was the only person who'd ever really 'gotten' her: gotten her without question and without having to have it explained. It was as though the two could look at each other and know what the other was thinking, and she knew well enough that she'd probably never find anyone else who understood her quite as fully and completely as Evan Zelig did, and while it made her a little sad, she had to be thankful that she'd found him, in the first place.

And everyone had assumed, growing up, that there was something between the two of them, too. Maybe that was the real reason that neither of them had really ever found a significant other for any length of time.

Of course, that didn't mean that they didn't get into their fair share of mischief over the years, either. They had, and it was a lot of fun. It hadn't taken Evan long to figure out that women just loved him, but maybe that was the real problem, too. He was too good-looking, wasn't he? Movie star looks and a killer smile . . . The girls had been a little daunted by him, and Evan? Well, he'd reveled in the attention. The thing was, none of the girls ever seemed to take him seriously, either. Maybe he was just too good-looking. Girls automatically assumed that he'd never be anything more than a playboy, and he'd conformed. Not many people knew the Evan that she knew: the sensitive guy who really just wanted nothing more than to find the one woman meant for him.

Not that it stopped him from looking or playing. Hell, no . . . He rather enjoyed his 'fun', and as long as he wasn't hurting anyone, then where was the problem?

Madison smiled as she carefully brushed the excess hair off Evan's shoulders. "I suppose that'll be about as 'respectable' as you're going to get," she said a little dryly.

He turned his head from side to side as he eyed his reflection in the small portable mirror he'd grabbed off the table beside him. Hair cut very short and tapered in the back and sides, his bangs were a little longer. Silver hair gleaming in the stark afternoon sunshine filtering through the wall of windows that overlooked his back yard, he shot Madison a smile of approval. "It'll do," he told her with a grin.

"You know, it's been so long since I've seen your regular hair color, I was starting to forget what it looked like," she mused as she slipped her shears into the hard plastic case.

He chuckled and stood up, balling his hands into tight fists as he leaned back and stretched. "Yeah, it's a little weird, innit?"

"All the same, you look nice, though I don't doubt for a moment that your mother isn't going to be too pleased that you went and cut off your hair for the night."

He wrinkled his nose and reached for the pristine white Jordane DeSalvio shirt, narrowing his eyes as he gave it the critical once-over. "Nah, she'll dig it."

"Well, there you go," she said as she packed up the rest of her gear. "I gotta run."

"So soon?" Evan asked with a blink.

Madison nodded as she tugged the strap of the nondescript black leather bag—her to-go kit—over her shoulder. "Yep. The life of a hair executive, you know."

"You did Mama's hair, right?"

"Just before I came over here," she said. "I saw the dress you bought her. Has Cain seen it?"

Evan grinned. "You think I'd be taking her if Cain had seen it?"

Madison giggled. "Good point," she said with a wink. "You know, your mama doesn't have a clue, how hot she really is."

Evan's grin turned a little goofier. "Yeah," he admitted. "Makes you wonder why she settled for an ugly old dog like Cain, doesn't it?"

She rolled her eyes and shook her head since she knew damn well that Cain Zelig was hardly an ugly old anything. "I don't know . . . If I had been around when your father was still single, I might have tried to get into his pants."

"Ugh," Evan grunted, making a face of absolute disdain. "Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh . . ."

Madison laughed and headed for the door, pausing long enough to blow a kiss over her shoulder at him. "Bye, Evan . . . Have fun . . ."

His soft laughter trailed after her, lingering in the air long after she'd closed the door behind her.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie bit her lip as she frowned at the dress she'd bought on impulse. She'd been so irritated at the time that she'd let Madison talk her into it, despite the tiny voice in the back of her head that kept insisting that Marvin wouldn't like it; not in the least.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead, cradling a steaming cup of coffee against her chest. Marvin wanted to present a more businesslike appearance, and she had to admit that there was nothing at all 'businesslike' about the dress she'd purchased . . .

To be honest, she hadn't started to feel too bad about it until earlier today when she'd finally started to put things into perspective. After all, her changes in plans weren't really Marvin's fault. He hadn't known what she was planning to do, and if she had told him, he would have insisted that she go, and she knew it. So why had he made her feel so badly when she'd insisted that she wanted to go to her conference, anyway?

Marvin's work was important, and she knew it. It would mean a lot more than trying to get a rock star out of trouble that he thoroughly deserved. She was being selfish and terrible, wasn't she? And then . . .

Face shifting into a grimace, Valerie shook her head and set the cup aside. It was too late to go to the store and find another dress, but she still had the black one—the one that Madison hated. She winced. She'd heard of the Zelig Foundation fundraisers. They were the absolute talk of the highest of society, weren't they? The guest list was always relatively small—only about five hundred or so—and every last person was normally exceedingly wealthy, to boot. How Marvin had gotten an invitation was entirely beyond her, and because she knew just how exclusive it was, she'd wanted to buy a new dress so that she wouldn't look completely out of place amongst the beautiful people . . .

' _It'll have to do_ ,' she thought with a stubborn lifting of her chin. The black dress wasn't cheap, by any means, and yes, she'd worn it a few times, but it wasn't even close to up to the standards of the women she'd see tonight, was it, and even then, it was more the kind of dress that one wore to a semi-formal day function, not a full-out gala hosted by one of the richest families in the world. She let out a deep breath and tried to tell herself that it would be just fine. Given the situation, she supposed that it couldn't be helped, either. Damn her rash decisions, anyway . . .

"Valerie!"

She let out a deep breath and headed toward the closet. "In here!" she called out.

"Finally! I tell you, I've done nothing but house calls all day," Madison said as she sauntered into the room. "I guess it's understandable, given the occasion, but I swear, I should double my going rate for this kind of thing."

"Have I told you lately how much I adore you?" Valerie muttered half-heartedly.

"What are you . . .?" Madison trailed off then gasped when Valerie tugged the stand-by black dress from her closet. "Oh, _no!_ No, absolutely _not!_ "

Valerie sighed and shook her head stubbornly. "I can't wear that one," she said, jerking her head toward the dress that had just been delivered.

Madison snorted. "Of course you can," she argued. "You can put it on and walk out the door, and if Marvin doesn't like it, then even better, I say."

"Madison—"

She was cut off by the trill of her cell phone, and she heaved another sigh as she snatched it off the nearby table. "Hello?"

"Oh, uh, Val? Hi . . . You okay?"

Darkening her scowl as she shot Madison a warning look, she turned away. "Yes, fine, Marvin. Shouldn't you be coming home to get ready soon?"

"Yeah, well, that's the thing," he said in a slow, almost uneasy sort of tone. "I got to talking to Dane Candlor, and he said that he's got a place right next to the Faaustin Garden, and he wanted to hear a little more about my research, so I figured that I'd just change over there."

Valerie blinked and shook her head. "But you just went to pick up your tux," she said. "I thought we were going together . . ."

Marvin laughed a somewhat nervous little laugh. "Just catch a cab, Val, and I'll meet you there. How's that sound? I mean, by the time I got back there, I'd have to hurry to change, and then it'd be a little silly, wouldn't it, driving back across town again? Is it really such a big deal?"

Valerie could positively feel Madison's irritation rising, as though the woman could hear what Marvin was saying, which was entirely impossible. "Sure, it's fine," she said, unable to keep the clipped tone out of her voice. "I'll see you there, then."

She hung up before Marvin could say anything else. She didn't need to look at Madison to know that the woman was likely getting ready to lambaste Valerie's fiancé.

Glancing at the boxy black dress that more resembled a suit than a party frock, she snorted, herself, and jammed it back into the closet once more. Why was it that she could normally overlook such things as this? After all, Marvin did it all the time, didn't he? He'd make plans with her, then change them at the last moment, and why did it feel so odd, the idea of showing up at this function alone?

" _I'm sorry, Val, but he's really, really interested in funding at least part of the research . . . I know you wanted a summer wedding, but fall's just as nice, right? I mean, with the changing leaves and all that . . . Heck, it might even be prettier_ . . ."

" _Uh . . . Yeah, you didn't order the invitations for the wedding yet, did you? It's just that Henry Montgomery invited me out to his place that weekend, and he said there'll be a lot of would-be investors there, too_ . . ."

"Earth to Valerie . . . Are you all right?"

Valerie blinked away the lingering echo of Marvin's words, pasting on a bright smile that didn't quite reach her eyes as she whirled around on her heel to face her friend. Madison looked concerned, and for once, she didn't bash Marvin, either—something that Valerie could appreciate. "You know," she said, rubbing her hands together in a completely conspiratorial sort of way, "you have a bottle of that color remover in your bag, don't you . . .?"

Madison's eyes widened since Valerie had been quite adamant about leaving her hair brown for the occasion despite Madison's insistence that she ought to wash out the color rinse and let her true colors be seen, so to speak. Still, she didn't comment as she dug the bottle of Maddikin's Striptease—a signature creation that removed temporary and semi-permanent color without stripping the hair of its natural oils and without harming the original color of one's hair—out of her bag and handed it over.

Valerie's smile brightened, her eyes flashing with a determined sort of light, as she took the bottle and headed for the bathroom . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Respect'_** _was originally recorded by Otis Redding on the 1965 album release, **Otis**_ **_Blue:_** **_Otis_** **_Redding_** **_Sings_** **_Soul_** _, and later by Aretha Franklin. Written by and copyrighted to Otis Redding_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Hmm_ …


	18. 017: Strangers

' _I walk alone in the darkness of the city_ …  
' _Got no place to call home_ …  
' _I might be dyin'_ …  
' _But you can't hear a sound_ …  
' _Midnight rain is comin' down_ …  
' _I'm just a stranger, a stranger in this town_ …  
' _I mean no danger, I'm a stranger in this town_ …'

 

-' _Stranger in this Town_ ' by Richie Sambora.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie stood in the bright and airy lobby outside the Grande Ballroom on the seventy-sixth floor of the Faaustin Garden Hotel, trying her best to seem nonchalant as she tried to find Marvin amidst the milling crowd.

It was worse than she'd first imagined, though if she had ever bothered to watch any of the entertainment news programs, she'd have realized that it would be akin to a three-ring circus.

She hadn't realized that most of the major news outlets would be covering the arrivals. The convergence of flashbulbs was daunting, though most of those stopped when Valerie had stepped out of the taxi she'd called to deliver her. After all, she wasn't a big name, and if that wasn't enough to daunt her, then the limo that pulled up behind her was. It had apparently belonged to Sesshoumaru Inutaisho—easily the richest man on the planet. Valerie had stood in complete and utter awe as the impossibly tall and absolutely intimidating great-grandson of the late 1900's high-tech mogul and founder of Inutaisho Corporation had stepped out of the jet black vehicle. They'd barely spared Valerie a glance as he escorted his absolutely gorgeous wife past her on the red carpet that had been laid out for the occasion.

A few press boxes were set up inside the lobby, vying for the attention of the various celebrities arriving for the fundraiser. Valerie lifted her chin a little higher and fought to tamp down the rising irritation—irrational irritation brought on by the feeling of being completely alone and wholly out of place. Gritting her teeth, she cast around a surreptitious eye and stifled the urge to sigh.

"Valerie! Valerie!"

She started and turned around, a surge of giddy relief shooting through her when she spotted Marvin. A moment later, though, the rise of irritation was back, mostly because he looked entirely awe-struck, and she was still trying to deal with the feeling that she just didn't belong there . . .

He was so excited that he could barely contain himself, his face a happy flushed shade that spoke louder than words. "Stargazing, Val?" he quipped as he grasped her arm and tried to look everywhere at once. "Oh, wow! There's Karyn Comstock!"

Valerie followed the direction of Marvin's gaze, glancing at the aging starlet, better known for her advocate work for autism awareness ever since her beloved nephew was diagnosed with the disorder a few years ago.

"I told you that you'd love this!" Marvin insisted. He shot her a quick smile, only to hesitate as the smile faltered. She arched an eyebrow. "Something wrong?" she asked as pleasantly as she could.

Marvin quickly shook his head, forcing a much more exuberant laugh than was necessary. "Oh, uh, n-nothing," he insisted.

She tugged her arm out of his grasp and leveled a rather cagey sort of expression at him. "No, what is it?"

He looked distinctly nervous. "Well, it's just . . . I mean, I thought you were going to wear that black dress; that's all."

She blinked a few times. "I told you that I was going shopping," she replied a little too reasonably in the same tone she'd have used to cross-examine a witness.

"O-Oh, it's lovely," he hurried on to say. "Just a little . . . flashier than I thought you were going to get." He blinked and shook his head in confusion. "Did you bleach your hair? It looks different."

Valerie raised her other eyebrow in an expression of absolute incredulity.

"Not bad or anything. Just really different," he explained with a little laugh. "Anyway, come on! I want to introduce you to Dane Candlor and his friends."

He took her hand and almost clumsily tugged her through the milling crowds toward a bunch of very uptight-looking men.

She stifled a sigh and let him pull her along. She was blonde when they'd met, too, and while he'd mentioned once or twice after she'd started to use the brown rinse on her hair that he was "glad she went back to her natural color", she'd told him more than once, as well, that she actually was a natural blonde . . .

' _Come on, Valerie . . . Think about something else or you're going to ruin tonight for Marvin_ . . .'

"Dane! Hey! This is my fiancée, Valerie Denning," Marvin said in the exhilarated tone that only Marvin could manage without sounding completely insincere. Valerie smiled and shook the older man's hand—it was rather dry, like old paper.

Dane Candlor smiled cordially and inclined his head as he patted the back of her hand before letting go. "Ah, a lawyer, right? Marvin said that you were pretty, but he didn't mention that you were quite so stunning. Very nice to meet you, m'dear."

"Likewise," she replied.

Marvin positively beamed at her. "Sorry, Val. I guess I was bragging on you," he murmured.

She laughed, wondering idly if it sounded as forced to them as it had to her. It must not have, though, because the men only chuckled as Marvin fired off a round of names, pausing between each one to allow Valerie time to shake all their hands.

Dane's watery blue gaze narrowed as he tilted his head back slightly and regarded her thoroughly—so thoroughly that Valerie had to temper the urge to fidget. "You're representing that reprobate rock star, aren't you?" he suddenly asked.

She stifled a sigh and gritted her teeth for a moment. "Zel Roka, you mean?" she corrected gently. "Yes, I am."

Marvin chuckled. "If anyone can help him out, my Valerie can!" he insisted.

There was a series of polite chuckles, and every last one of them grated against Valerie's already raw nerves. She forced a polite little smile and tried her best to look interested as the conversation shifted to politics. Ordinarily, such a conversation would have interested her, especially since she had a few things that she didn't mind saying about the republican that had been elected in 2072. At the moment, though, getting into a debate with men who thought that Robert Wentworth was doing a fantastic job, and Marvin's friends, at that, just wasn't exactly high on her list of priorities. She was working on one hell of a killer headache, among other things, and she murmured a few words to Marvin before excusing herself to scoot off to the nearby lavatory in hopes of downing a pain reliever or two before the festivities got underway.

It wasn't entirely surprising when the bathroom door slid back, seemingly of its own accord. The Fauustin Garden was touted as being one of the most technologically advanced hotels in the world since it opened its doors less than a year ago.

Crossing the floor—the tiles lit up when one stepped on them—she dug in her purse to locate the small bottle of Advil she'd hurriedly stuffed into the small bag she'd chosen for the night. It had been almost a second thought back then. Now she was glad that she'd done it.

A very pretty woman in a very electric blue silk dress stepped into the bathroom. She looked vaguely familiar, probably a model or something. She spared Valerie a momentary smile: one of those perfunctory ones that seemed to become second nature to those constantly in the limelight. Stepping over to the long counter to check her makeup in the mirror, she pulled a small compact from her purse and fiddled with the powder inside.

Valerie's hands were shaking as she fumbled with the child-resistant lid and popped it open. She managed to dump two capsules out of the plastic jar and popped them into her mouth. She took her time, swallowing the pills as she recapped the bottle and dropped it into her purse. The bathroom door—there were individual, soundproofed rooms to reduce embarrassment, Valerie supposed—slid open, and Charo Gucciano slipped out of the stall. "Ramona! I thought you said you couldn't make it!" she said to the other woman in the room.

' _Ramona?_ ' Valerie thought with a frown. ' _Oh, that's right . . . Ramona Consuela, the super-model-turned-actress . . ._ '

"Oh, I wasn't going to until I found out that Dave broke his leg," she replied with a bright smile.

"Hmm," Charo remarked with a censuring shake of her head. "What that boy did to you was just wrong . . . Weren't you about to be married?"

Ramona nodded. "Not exactly, but . . ." she shrugged, as though it were of no real consequence. "Don't worry. He'll get his," she predicted with a little shrug. "That girl he's been seen out and about with? She's nothing but a gold digger, anyway."

Charo giggled, rinsing her hands and dabbing at her eyes with the tips of her wet fingers. "Did you see the new programs?" she went on, looking at Ramona in the mirror.

"No, I didn't."

"Well, it looks like they've found a stand-in," she remarked lightly. "There's just a little snippet about him, so he has to be fairly interesting . . ."

"Interesting," Ramona echoed with a thoughtful frown though not one deep enough to cause untimely wrinkling. "I don't know . . ."

"I'm telling you, though; I've heard another interesting rumor . . ."

"Oh?"

Charo nodded and leaned toward Ramona. "I heard that her son's here."

"Her son?"

"Yes! Remember? A couple years ago or so, he escorted her? The songwriter . . .?" Rolling her eyes when Ramona shook her head in obvious confusion, Charo nudged her with her elbow. "You know! That sexy as hell one? The one with those blue eyes . . .?"

Ramona's eyes flared wide. Valerie nearly snorted out loud. There were probably seventy-five men out there with blue eyes. She fiddled with her lipstick, instead.

"Oh, my God! You're kidding!"

Charo's smile turned downright nasty. "Wouldn't ol' Dave be upset if you hooked up with him?"

Ramona laughed and smiled. "Well, now, I think I'm glad I changed my mind about coming," she decided.

Valerie dropped her lipstick into her purse and headed out of the lavatory. She just couldn't understand people like that: people who changed significant others kind of like real people changed their underpants. Zel was one of those people, wasn't he? The kind of guy who got fixated on one woman or another, only to change his mind in the morning with the rise of the sun . . . She'd met others like him, and she knew damn well that those types just didn't change.

Marvin was still standing with his group of new friends, laughing heartily at whatever they'd said, and for just a moment, she wondered if he'd find them as humorous if they weren't disgustingly rich.

' _Stop that!_ ' she scolded herself sternly, ashamed of her own catty thoughts regarding her fiancé. Marvin was a good man; he really was, and he really hadn't meant to make her upset by changing their plans at the last moment, either. It wasn't that he didn't care, and she knew that, too. It was simply that Marvin tended to be a little absentminded about things that might distract him from his ultimate goal.

The immense, fifty-foot in diameter clock mounted above them on the ceiling struck the hour just as the looming doors, crafted of a very heavy marble and painstakingly etched, opened, inviting the guests inside. Marvin gestured at her to follow them, and since she saw no other recourse, she did.

It was bright; it was light; it was beautiful. There was a wide stage off to the right with an orchestra warming up in the smallish pit to the left of the stage, almost hidden in a slightly darkened alcove, and the obsidian dance floor was lined in gold trim with inlaid mother-of-pearl that shone iridescent in the light of a myriad of floating fiber optic lights that dangled from the vaulted ceiling, swaying like stars high above. Tables were arranged in the runways on either side of the dance floor, covered in fine ivory silk cloths embroidered with 'ZF' in a shade darker thread with fresh ivory roses and Oriental lilies with sprays of greenery and baby's breath arranged as the centerpieces. The flowers' petals were still dampened with dew. The entire place was aglow with artificial candles and ambient lighting, and Valerie was so absorbed in taking in everything around her that she scarcely noticed whether or not Marvin was there.

"Valerie, honey, here you go."

Valerie blinked and dragged her eyes off the painting being displayed on an easel nearby. Cordoned off by royal blue velvet ropes dangling between shiny brass poles, a single spotlight was trained on it. The rear view of an indistinct woman holding a floppy straw hat in place as the wind blew her as she wandered along the beach with a small child running beside her; the picture was painstakingly rendered with a warmth that Valerie felt, just staring at it. "Y-Yes?" she stammered, unable to recover from her momentary lapse.

Marvin chuckled. "That's rumored to be a real Cain Zelig original that Mrs. Zelig's husband has decided to auction off tonight to benefit their foundation," he told her. "Should bring in a small fortune."

"Oh," she said, smiling just a little. "It's beautiful."

He laughed and nodded. "Hey, I'm going to go see if I can find out who Mrs. Zelig is," he said. "I'll be right back."

"Marvin, I—" Valerie gave up with a sigh and a shake of her head as she watched him weaving in and out of the gathering.

It was so like him, wasn't it? Part of the exuberance that she'd first noticed about Marvin back in college . . . Back then, it had been endearing, and now? She let out a deep breath, wandering toward the painting. Now . . .?

She still loved that about him, of course. She still enjoyed the fact that he was so enthusiastic, but sometimes . . . sometimes she wished that he'd stop and just listen to her every once in awhile.

"Evening, Ms. Denning."

Valerie's eyes flared wide at the sound of that voice, and she whipped around to face him, only to frown and shake her head at the man before her: a man she didn't recognize . . .

Or did she . . .?

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Wo-o-ow," Gin breathed as she let her golden gaze roam from the top of Evan's head to the toes of his immaculately polished black shoes. She clapped her hands and gave a happy little squeal. "I'm going to the gala with the most handsome boy in the world!"

Evan chuckled and shook his head. "No way, Mama. You're far hotter than I'll ever be," he assured her. "I mean, look at you! Has good ol' Cain seen you in that?"

She heaved a sigh and shook her head though her smile didn't diminish. "Your father's been in meetings all day," she said simply. "But he did tell me to have a good time tonight, and he gave me a handheld Taser gun in case you didn't behave. I have no idea why."

Evan's chuckle escalated into a full-out laugh. "Is that so?"

Gin rolled her eyes and nodded at the table near the door where the aforementioned Taser gun lay. "Come on. Give us a spin, will you?"

Gin giggled and held her hands out to her sides as she spun around to give Evan the full effect. The slinky little silver satin dress hugged her curves nicely and was easily lower cut in the front than Gin's normal purchases, but the way it accentuated her lithe little body was enough to make any other man drool, Evan knew. The dress was held up by spaghetti straps that hooked around the back of her neck. Hell, he could see it, himself, even if she was his mother. He caught her hand and held it up, twirling her around a couple more times. She stared at him for another long minute then slowly frowned. "Did you have to cut your hair off, sweetie?" she asked with a disapproving shake of her head.

"I wanted to look respectable," he told her with a wink. "Don't worry, Mama. It'll grow back."

"You always look respectable," she countered with a shake of her head.

He grinned and glanced at his watch. "Not to rush you, but we should probably get going," he told her. "You did want to make sure that everything's in order before you open the doors for your guests, right?"

She giggled and nodded and grabbed the small silver-threaded purse off the stand beside the discarded Taser gun then let Evan escort her out of the house and down the street to the silver stretch limo waiting for them.

"I feel like one of your women," she insisted as she settled into the vehicle, scooting over to let him sit beside her as the chauffer closed the door.

Evan leaned forward to pour Gin a glass of sparkling water. "Like one of my women, eh?" she teased. "You know, Mama, you really should go on tour with me sometime. You'd like it."

She twittered happily and waved a hand. "Your father wouldn't like that, I'm afraid," she said.

"That's because he's got that weird overprotective thing going on," Evan countered, offering her the glass.

Gin took it and carefully sipped. "Could you check the painting when we get there? Security said that they'd set up an unobtrusive barrier around it, and I really didn't want to post guards to watch it—I thought that'd look a little severe, given that it's there to be auctioned off, you know . . ."

He slipped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry, Mama," he told her. "Nothing's going to happen to it."

She heaved a sigh and nodded. "I know," she replied. "All the same . . ."

"Don't worry. I'll make sure that nothing happens to it," he told her.

It didn't take long to reach the back of the hotel where they would be able to enter the establishment without having to deal with the hubbub and madness that was already starting at the front entrance. Evan whisked her out of the limousine and into the hotel without any incident where the concierge was waiting to escort them to the top floor of the facility where the gala was to be held.

The caterers were already there, arranging the champagne fountain and seeing to the service staff: inspecting uniforms, making sure that everyone had all the equipment they'd need for the duration of the evening. The orchestra members were just arriving, and the head of the security team was checking the various alarms they'd set to assure that the guests felt safe enough to enjoy themselves. Gin hurried off to speak with the florist who, apparently, was having some sort of crisis regarding the centerpieces for the tables.

Evan wandered over to the painting that had been set up off to the side. Arranged on an antique easel that Evan recognized as one of the ones that Cain always used in the mansion back home, the lighting tech was fiddling with the spotlight that was trained on it, and while Evan knew that there were laser security wires in place, he wondered, as his mother had, if that really was enough. After all, it was a heretofore 'undiscovered' Cain Zelig original, and while Evan knew that the painting was probably done in the last thirty or so years, the rest of the world thought that it was one of the heirloom pieces that the reclusive artist had created before his death years ago.

He smiled just a little. It was a painting of Gin and Jillian, wandering along the shore near the mansion, but it was done in such a way that one couldn't rightly discern the subjects, hidden as Gin was under a huge and floppy straw hat, and it was from the rear, so their faces weren't showing anyway, but Evan knew. Cain rarely considered giving up his work when it featured his wife or family, and that he was willing to part with this one in the name of charity spoke volumes about exactly how guilty he felt for ditching his wife tonight, in Evan's estimation . . .

He frowned. He could hear the gathering people outside in the lobby though it was very faint, enough so that human ears would never have discerned it. Sparing a moment to give the painting another once-over, Evan turned on his heel and headed toward his mother, who was busy giving last minute instructions to the orchestra's conductor.

"Oh, this is my son, Evan," she said happily, leaning to the side to slip her hand under Evan's elbow.

Evan nodded. "Pleased to meet you," he said with an easy smile, extending his hand in welcome.

The conductor grinned and shook his hand. "The pleasure is mine. Your charming mother was just telling me that you're a songwriter."

He chuckled and shook his head. "Mama brags on me a little too much," he quipped.

The conductor laughed and nodded as he turned back to his orchestra to lead them through a few warm up drills.

"Gin? Are we ready?"

Gin turned to smile at Haley Comstock, her secretary for the Zelig Foundation. "Oh, I think so," she said, glancing quickly at Evan.

Evan gave his mother's hand a reassuring squeeze and shot Haley a lazy grin. The woman blushed and giggled. "You ready for the madness?" he asked.

She shrugged and smiled. "Sure. I hear you're our mysterious Eligible Bachelor Number Ten."

"Well . . ."

She winked as she turned to go. "Flash 'em those baby blues of yours, and you might just break your brother's record."

Evan sighed and shook his head, shifting his gaze to meet his mother's as Haley hurried over to open the hulking doors. "Ready, Mama?"

Gin laughed and scrunched up her shoulders. "I have a good feeling about tonight," she told him.

He smiled. "Do you?"

"Yes! And you know, I don't think I'm wrong about this."

Evan chuckled and started to shake his head again, but stopped abruptly at the one scent that reached out to him through the tangled mass: the scent he'd know anywhere, no matter what, no matter when or how or why.

His chin snapped up as his gaze raked over the influx of arrivals. Fast on the heels of the scent was the presence—her presence, and he frowned. ' _She's here . . .? But_ . . .'

Closing his eyes for a moment, he focused on the scent of her. It was unmistakable. The warmth of her, the very proximity . . . ' _Valerie Denning_ . . .'

His frown deepened as he opened his eyes once more. Gin was busy talking to some men that Evan didn't recognize. "Mama," he said, touching her hand. "Excuse me a moment."

She smiled up at him and nodded. "Don't forget that you promised you'd dance with me," she reminded him.

He chuckled and nodded. "As if I'd forget that," he told her.

She kissed his cheek and laughed as he turned away. Making his way through the crowd, his senses intent upon her, and unsure exactly why the hint of anxiety in her aura was enough to make him hasten his step, he let his gaze sweep over the crowd, ignoring the few greetings called his way as he continued to make his way through.

Why couldn't he see her?

As he moved through the throng of people, he frowned. A rather small man was talking to a blonde in a red dress, and while he might have ordinarily ignored them since he didn't recognize either of them upon first glance, he stopped, eyes widening, as he slowly started to understand.

' _V_ . . .'

"Valerie, honey, here you go."

The blonde stopped and quickly turned around, and Evan felt his heart lurch wildly, painfully. It was her, wasn't it? The dress that clung to her drop-dead gorgeous figure, the swell of her breasts rising provocatively above the low rise of the sleeveless slip of a garment . . . Blood red satin that clung to her in a perfect symmetry of motion, flowing around her body like the froth of waves on the ocean . . . The color emphasized the light tan of her skin, the delicate shadows of her collarbones . . . the honey golden hair that was piled atop her head, only to cascade down from the pearl clips that secured the mass of loose curls in place, touching her skin in an intimate brush of softness, closer than any man would dare. The delicate curve of her ankles, wrapped in the flirty straps of the blood red slippers with the four inch spike heels . . . That she could walk on them without any trouble at all was amazing enough, but the entire effect was almost more than Evan could take . . . Those hazel eyes, the vulnerability that she was fighting to hide, and maybe she could from someone else— _anyone_ else—but Evan . . . he could feel it, couldn't he? "Y-Yes?" she stammered. Evan nearly groaned.

The small man beside her couldn't seem to contain his enthusiasm, and for the briefest of moments, Evan had to wonder if he was going to wet himself or something. "That's rumored to be a real Cain Zelig original that Mrs. Zelig's husband has decided to auction off tonight to benefit their foundation. Should bring in a small fortune."

Valerie shook her head and forced a little smile. "Oh . . . It's beautiful."

The little man nodded vigorously. "Hey, I'm going to go see if I can find out who Mrs. Zelig is," he said. "I'll be right back."

"Marvin, I—"

Evan's eyes widened. ' _Marvin?_ That's _Marvin . . .?_ '

' _Oh, my God_ ,' his youkai voice chimed in.

Evan nodded vaguely. ' _Oh, your God_ ,' he agreed. ' _Oh_ , damn . . . _Exactly_ why _did I choose to be respectable now . . .?_ '

She turned away, staring at the painting with a very definite sense of longing in her gaze. Evan stuffed his hands into his pockets, trying to get his raging senses back under control as he continued to gawk at her. He wanted to touch her, damn it. He wanted to touch her, to yank her into his arms and—

' _Knock it off, you damned fool!_ ' his youkai voice chided sternly. ' _Remember, will you? You're Evan Zelig, for God's sake! And you're here for your mother!_ '

He winced at that reminder. He'd almost forgotten, hadn't he? It was enough to temper the emotions that were running through him unchecked. Reaching over to snag a glass of champagne off the tray that the waiter hurrying past held, he took a moment to clear his throat, to move in just a little closer—close enough that he could feel the emotions that resonated within her. "Evening, Ms. Denning," he said.

Her back stiffened upon hearing his voice, and she whirled around to face him, her eyes flaring wide as a gentle flush of color rose to stain her cheeks, and she slowly shook her head, her confusion evident despite the hint of recognition that lit her gaze from somewhere deep within . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' _Stranger in this Town' originally appeared on Richie Sambora's 1991 release,_ **_Stranger_** **_in_** **_this_** **_Town_** _._ _Song written by and copyrighted to Richie Sambora and David Bryan_.
> 
>  _Advil and its trademark belong to Wyeth Heathcare_.  
>  _Valerie is human, so she, as does the rest of the human world, believes that Sesshoumaru is his own great-grandson_.
> 
>  _This chapter as well as the next few are the timeframe in which_ [**_Potentate:_** **_A_** **_Purity_** **_Oneshot_** ](http://www.mediaminer.org/fanfic/view_ch.php/111115/525634#fic_c)_fits into the storyline_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final Thought from Valerie:  
> _ ** _… Zel …?_


	19. 018: The Wrong Foot

' _You cried, I died_ ...  
' _I should have shut my mouth, things headed south in_ ...  
' _As the worlds slipped off my tongue, they sounded dumb_ ...  
' _If this old heart could talk, it'd say you're the one_ ...  
' _I'm wastin' time when I think about it_ ...'

 

-' _Misunderstood'_ by Bon Jovi.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

" _Z . . . Zel . . .?_ "

The man shot her a deprecating grin and a halfhearted shrug. "Zel?" he echoed, apparently deciding on playing the 'dumb' card.

She narrowed her eyes, glowering at the man in question. "Don't feed me that, Zel Roka . . . What the hell did you do to your hair?"

"My hair?"

She snorted. "Yes, your hair."

He looked blank for a moment then shrugged. "I cut it."

"You . . . You what?"

He rolled his eyes. "It's just hair, anyway."

"Just hair," she echoed with a shake of her head. "Why on earth would you cut it?"

"Because I wanted to look respectable."

She snorted again. "Yeah, well, it'll take more than a haircut to accomplish that, Mr. Roka."

"You look like you could use a drink," he said, pointedly ignoring her question as he offered her the untouched glass of champagne.

She eyed it but didn't take it. "Just what do you think you're doing?" she hissed from between clenched teeth, mindful of the other guests, some of whom were migrating over to stare at the painting.

"I assure you, Ms. Denning, my actions are strictly on the up and up," he told her with a reassuring smile. That smile, damn it . . . She'd seen it before, and if there had been any doubt in her mind as to who, exactly, he was, it was gone.

"My ass," she growled. "Listen, Mr. Roka—"

"Evan," he interrupted.

She snapped her mouth closed and blinked at him. "What?"

He chuckled and slipped a hand under her elbow to gently lead her over to the side, effortlessly shielding her from being jostled by the milling crowd that was drawing closer. "Evan," he stated once more.

She stepped away from him, her eyes flashing as she glowered up at him. Hair so light that it seemed almost silver in the light—that had to be her mind playing tricks on her—he stared at her with such a strange intensity that she felt an odd, fluttering sensation deep in her chest. Standing off to the side where they were, though, she couldn't rightfully see his eyes; couldn't discern the color . . . A strange sense of vulnerability lurked just beneath her carefully constructed calm: a vulnerability that she was fighting desperately to hide.

And just why did this man seem entirely familiar to her, as though she'd seen him somewhere before, Zel Roka notwithstanding . . .?

Her mind was too befuddled to think, though, too clouded and confused to make sense of anything in particular as everything about the man overwhelmed her. That he didn't seem to realize exactly what he was doing didn't matter. She did, and that was more than enough to send her hackles right back up. "Need I remind you of the conditions of my representation of you, Mr. Roka?" she gritted out, crossing her arms over her chest stubbornly.

Something flickered behind his gaze as he casually pushed the wire rimmed glasses up with his knuckle. It was gone before she could discern it. "I regret to inform you that there is no 'Mr. Roka' here tonight, Ms. Denning," he said, leaning toward her close enough to say it without having to raise his voice much over a whisper. "Besides, I'm here on a very special date."

Valerie very nearly growled at the fierce irritation that shot to the fore at the mere mention of his 'date'. So special that he would jeopardize her representation of him, was she? Valerie snorted indelicately, tossing her head in a completely haughty sort of way. It wasn't that she cared who the woman was. Of course not. What Valerie did care about, though, was Zel Roka's avant-garde attitude, especially when it came to things like whether or not he wanted to listen to her. He could not ignore her, damn him, and the sooner he figured that out, the better off he'd be . . . With that in mind, though, she leveled a no-nonsense look at him and slowly shook her head. "I don't care if you escorted the Queen of England here tonight, Zel Roka. Must I remind you of the terms of our agreement?"

His chuckle was husky and dark, almost like a physical caress. She rubbed her forearms to chase away the rise of gooseflesh that surfaced on her skin. "Evan, Valerie. My name is Evan. It's not that tough, you know. I'm reasonably certain that you can say it, can't you?"

Caught off guard by the near playfulness in his quiet tone, Valerie blinked and didn't reply.

"So tell me . . . that . . . gentleman you were talking to . . .? Am I to assume that was the illustrious Marvin? The man who is . . . how did you put it? Ah, yes . . . bigger than me."

That snapped her out of her reverie quickly enough. "Marvin," she repeated, unable to keep the suspicion out of her tone.

Zel—Evan—nodded. "Yes, your fiancé."

Valerie bristled at the condescension she heard just below the conversational tone, though if she were being completely fair, she'd have to admit that it could have just been her imagination, too. Too bad she wasn't feeling particularly fair. "Of course," she said. "He was invited."

He nodded, but he didn't comment on whether he believed her or not. "Here," he said, slipping the glass of champagne into her hand with a smile.

Valerie opened her mouth to protest but heaved a sigh, figuring that it would be damn near impossible to get him to listen to her, anyway. "Look, your act is pretty convincing," she said slowly, carefully, "but you know damn well that you're violating the terms of our agreement."

He rolled his eyes, and for the briefest of moments, she almost saw a hint of the Zel Roka that she'd come to know. "Can't you just make one exception?" he prodded.

She shook her head. Give a guy like him an inch, and he'd run with a mile . . . "No, I can't."

He sighed. "Then I'm sorry, Valerie. I guess I'll have to violate your terms. Punish me tomorrow, if you want."

Gritting her teeth, she counted to ten before she dared respond to him. "What I'll do is drop your case," she bit out quietly. "This is not negotiable."

"Neither is this," he insisted with a shrug. His tone was light, but she could see the definite stubbornness set into the lines of his body.

"Why is she so important?" Valerie demanded, resisting the urge to grasp her forehead in her hands and rub like crazy, unable to grasp exactly why the stubborn man was being so adamant about the situation.

He chuckled again. "Suffice it to say that she means the world to me."

Valerie snorted loudly. "Oh? Is she that good in bed?" she snapped.

She could feel him tense beside her. "I suppose you could say that," he replied tightly.

She shook her head. "Why doesn't that surprise me?" she muttered. "Zel—"

"Evan."

"Whatever!" She drew a deep breath and leveled a pointed look at him. "No women, no booze, and no drugs. Ring a bell?"

"You forgot the home by ten o' clock thing."

"This is not a joke!"

He was laughing at her, damn him. He really was. "I know the terms, Valerie," he told her calmly— _too_ calmly. "I promise I'll follow them, too—tomorrow."

"You will not pick and choose when you'll listen to me," she insisted. "I mean it!"

He ducked his chin and so that he was peering at her through his bangs. "So do I, V."

That was enough to give her pause, and for some reason that she didn't really want to consider, the use of the hated nickname was somehow reassuring, too. "So where is your hussy?" she demanded instead, ignoring the voice in the back of her head that told her that she was being catty for no good reason.

That stiffness was back in his stance. "My _date_ , you mean?" he corrected indelicately.

She gave a derisive laugh. "Potatoes, potahtoes," she spouted back.

Zel—Evan—narrowed his gaze slightly but shifted enough to scan the room. Then he chuckled. "See that flock of poor bastards over there? It's safe to say that she's in the middle of that."

"Poor bastards," she echoed, arching her eyebrow skeptically. "And why's that?"

He chuckled again, a strange sense of warmth entering the depths of his stare as he watched to catch a glimpse of the woman in question. Something fierce and vile twisted Valerie's stomach. "Because," he said simply, the affection in his voice a nearly humbling thing, "she's going home with me tonight."

"You are not— _not_ —violating the terms I set down, Zel Roka—"

"Evan."

"Shut up!" she snapped. "You're _not!_ And you're _not_ taking that floozy home with you, either! Do you hear me? If the press got a hold of this, they'd crucify you, and the last thing you need is more bad publicity right now!"

He pinned her with a fierce look that made her hesitate just for a moment. "Be careful, Valerie," he warned her coldly.

She recovered her composure quickly enough and glowered at him. "Truth hurt, _Evan?_ " she snapped.

"Valerie . . ."

"If the judge hears anything else negative about you, you won't have a chance in hell, and you should know that, too! Just keep it in your pants until after your trial, can't you? No woman is _that_ important."

"That's a matter of opinion," he muttered.

The crowd of men parted, and Valerie blinked. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't the tiny slip of a woman clad in a pretty silver satin dress. That it barely covered her was arbitrary. Somehow, Valerie hadn't really expected anything else from someone who'd be stupid enough to catch Zel Roka's wandering eye, and she didn't think about the surge of irritation that frothed inside her, either, when she also realized that the woman was absolutely stunning, too. "Hmm, no wonder she's surrounded by men," she scoffed.

"Valerie—"

"They're all hoping that she falls out of that damned dress—or bends over . . . So what is she? A stripper? Some groupie that gave you a good fuck after a show? _Playboy_ Bunny of the Month?"

"Stop it."

Valerie snorted again and shook her head, not bothering to take her eyes off the woman in question. "Women like her are a dime a dozen, aren't they?"

"Jealousy doesn't really become of you, he growled quietly.

Indignant color rose in her cheeks as she sputtered a few times. "Wh—You—I—Don't even flatter yourself, damn you! I am not jealous."

He shrugged candidly. "Might I suggest that you keep a tighter rein on your tongue before you say something you regret?"

She snorted, ignoring the blatant warning as she waved a hand at the woman—Zel's date. "So what's so special about that one?"

"Special," he repeated in a deadly quiet tone of voice. "You want to know what's so special about her?"

She finally glanced at him and stopped short, the next round of her tirade dying on her tongue. His expression was carefully blanked, yes, but his absolute rage lent an unearthly glow to his gaze.

"That woman is everything— _everything_ —that most women could never, ever be. She means _everything_ to me. There's nothing in this world that I wouldn't do if she asked me to. She asked me to escort her here, and I said that I would. If she asks me to go home with her, well, then I'll do it. If she asks me to sleep with her, then I guess that I'll do that, too. I would _die_ for her, Valerie. Tell me: would your precious Marvin do that for you?"

She blinked and stared as he turned on his heel and stalked away. Only after he was gone did she realize that her knees felt like rubber, and her burgeoning headache had blossomed into an all-out migraine . . .

"Valerie!"

Gritting her teeth, she managed a wan smile as Marvin scurried over to her with a shiny smile on his face. He was quite obviously having the time of his life.

' _Well, at least one of us is_ ,' she thought wryly. ' _Zel . . . Evan . . . What in the world . . .? And why is he acting so . . . so_ weird . . .?'

"I found her!"

Shaking her head in confusion, Valerie felt her feigned smile falter. "Found who?"

He rolled his eyes and laughed as though he thought she was trying to be funny. "What do you mean, 'who'?" he hurried to say. "Mrs. Zelig, of course!"

"Oh . . . right . . ."

He sidled up next to her, leaning one way then the other in an effort to see through the crowd. "There! See her!" he whispered loudly, pointing and shaking his finger in his excitement.

Valerie blinked and shook her head. "Where?" she asked, unable to see the woman in question.

Marvin laughed again and shook his hand to emphasize his point. "Right there! See her? In the silver dress . . ."

"That's not Mrs. Zeli—" she began.

"Sure! They said she was here with her son tonight!"

Valerie felt the room grow about fifty degrees hotter, or so it seemed, as her throat went dry; as Evan's words rang in her ears . . .

" _That woman is everything—_ everything _—that most women could never, ever be. She means_ everything _to me. There's nothing in this world that I wouldn't do if she asked me to. She asked me to escort her here, and I said that I would. If she asks me to go home with her, well, then I'll do it. If she asks me to sleep with her, then I guess that I'll do that, too. I would_ die _for her, Valerie_ . . ."

She swallowed hard. "H-H-Her . . . son," she stammered.

Marvin didn't notice Valerie's sudden pallor. "Yeah! They say he's a songwriter. Wrote a song for Bethany Lane last year that was number one for about six weeks . . ."

Valerie didn't ask Marvin how he knew that. No, she was having a difficult enough time trying to keep the room from spinning around her . . .

"That must be him!"

Valerie grimaced, unwittingly following the direction of Marvin's gaze. ' _Mother and son . . .?_ ' Why hadn't she noticed that before? They looked quite a bit alike, even from a distance: the same silver colored hair . . . Maybe it was because she was so used to seeing him with various hair colors that it hadn't struck her, but . . . "Oh, God . . ." she moaned under her breath. No doubt about it; she was going to owe him an apology, wasn't she . . .?

"Come on! Let's go introduce ourselves!"

Valerie uttered a terse little squeak as Marvin grabbed her hand and barreled forward. She tugged on his hand to gain her freedom. It didn't work. "Marvin! Marvin, wait!"

"They say she's really, really sweet—sweetest lady you'll ever meet!" Marvin went on, ignoring Valerie's pleas, or maybe he just didn't hear her.

"Marvin . . .!"

It was too late.

"Hello, Mrs. Zelig! I'm sorry to interrupt," he said, his cheeks reddening as he shot Evan an apologetic but enthusiastic smile. "I wanted to thank you for inviting us—well, actually, an associate of mine was invited, but he couldn't make it. I'm Marvin Pinkle."

Valerie couldn't even meet Evan's gaze though she could feel it boring into her skull. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch that," he said.

Marvin laughed. "Pinkle. Marvin Pinkle."

The diminutive woman's eyes rounded in wonder, and she giggled. "Oh, you mean like kosher dill?"

Marvin chuckled again. Evan leaned toward his mother. "No, Mama, not pickle: _Pinkle_."

Mrs. Zelig's cheeks reddened as her hands shot up to cover her mouth. "I'm so sorry! Please forgive me!" she insisted, making a low bow along with her apology.

"No, no! It's quite all right," Marvin insisted. "Happens all the time."

Evan smiled just a little, though she could hear the trace nastiness in his tone, even if she were quite sure that no one else would actually discern it. "I'm sure it does."

Valerie wondered if she stomped on his foot whether it would offend him more than she already had.

"Pinkle," Mrs. Zelig repeated, her face scrunching up in concentration. "Pinkle, Pinkle . . . Okay, I've got it now!"

"Anyway," Marvin went on with another smile, "thank you so much for your hospitality, Mrs. Zelig."

The woman smiled. "Oh, you're welcome, Mr. _Pinkle_ , and please, call me Gin . . ." Her gaze shifted to Valerie, who couldn't contain the blush at the things she'd just said about the bubbly and sweet woman. "And who is this?"

Marvin glanced at Valerie almost vacantly, as though he'd forgotten momentarily that she was with him. "Oh! This is Valerie Denning."

Gin reached out and took Valerie's hands in both of hers, giving her a warm squeeze. "Pleased to meet you," she said before turning toward her son. "Evan, have you . . .?"

He shot his mother that lazy little smile that made Valerie grit her teeth—why had she thought that he'd only made that smile for her . . .? Brushing aside the irritating thought, she forced a wan smile. "We've already met, Mama," he assured her.

Marvin blinked and shot Valerie a questioning look. "You have?"

"Just a few minutes ago," Evan went on with a tight little smile. "Enjoy your evening." He slipped an arm around his mother and abruptly headed her toward the dance floor. "Come on, Mama. You promised me a dance."

Gin giggled and tugged her son down to kiss his cheek. "Such a darling little man!" she said as they moved away. "You could fit him in your pocket!"

Marvin laughed and turned to face Valerie. "I didn't know you'd met him already!" he said.

She waved off his excitement. "I-I didn't know . . ." she replied weakly.

Marvin's smile widened as he quickly squeezed Valerie's icy fingers. "I have a good feeling about tonight, Val. Something great's going to happen; I can _feel_ it."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Misunderstood_** ' _first recorded by Bon Jovi on the 2002 album,_ **_Bounce_**. _Song copyrighted to Richie Sambora, Jon Bon Jovi, Andreas Michael Carlsson, Desmond Child_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _… He did say 'Pinkle', right …?_


	20. 019: The Skin Trade

' _Wider baby smiling you just made a million_ ...  
' _Fuses pumping live heat twisting out on a wire_ ...  
' _Take one last glimpse into the night I'm touching close I'm holding bright, holding tight_ ...  
' _Give me shudders in a whisper take me up till I'm shooting a star_ ...'

 

- _'Girls on Film_ ' by Duran Duran.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

His head was throbbing, intensified by every single thing around him, or so it seemed. Too many people in the vicinity, too many eyes watching him, too many emotions that he just wasn't used to hiding . . .

Making quick work of punching in a text message to go with the image of Gin that he'd just taken with his cell phone, Evan fired off a quick note to Cain Zelig and stuffed the device back into his pocket again.

His gaze sought out the blonde haired woman for what had to be the umpteen-millionth time thus far, and when he found her, he couldn't reconcile himself with the surge of anger that roiled up inside him. He couldn't quite make sense of the bitter wash of disappointment, either. He understood that, on some level, he'd really wanted her to love his mother just as much as he did, and while he was hard pressed to comprehend the why of it, the truth was that it bothered him terribly. Hard enough to deal with the unkind things she'd said—hell, she hadn't even been that abrasive when she talked about him, had she? Somehow, the outrage that anyone, especially Valerie, would say such things about Gin Izayoi Zelig . . . Well, it just didn't sit right with him; not at all . . .

It didn't make sense, damn it. No one could dislike his mother, and he knew it. Gin was very likely the sweetest woman alive, just like Kagome, Gin's mother—Evan's grandmother. All it took was a simple glance at her to see it. He knew that, but . . .

" _They're all hoping that she falls out of that damned dress—or bends over . . . So what is she? A stripper? Some groupie that gave you a good fuck after a show?_ Playboy _Bunny of the Month?_ "

" _Stop it_."

" _Women like her are a dime a dozen, aren't they? So what's so special about that one?_ "

He gritted his teeth, unable to deal with the blackest rage that frothed just below the surface. Anger wasn't going to help him, but he couldn't control it, either. Valerie . . . God, he'd thought that she was different, hadn't he? Or maybe he'd just _wanted_ her to be . . . The kind of woman who didn't put all of her worth in how she looked but who still gave a damn about her appearance, too, using her beauty to enhance what she was, overall, instead of relying upon it to get her places . . . The kind of woman who pulled no punches, who understood who she was and accepted herself for it. The kind of woman who could see through him if she really wanted to . . .

So why . . .?

Erupting in a low growl that he didn't quite realize that he was making, he narrowed his eyes as that tiny little shit she called 'Marvin' scurried over to her side. He was talking rather animatedly—waving his arms around and looking entirely like an overinflated balloon, ready to pop.

' _I'd like to pop him_ . . .'

' _Easy, Zelig. Do that, and your mother would be mortified_ ,' his youkai pointed out though not in a pleasant tone of voice.

' _Keh!_ '

"Hi . . . I'm Ramona . . . Ramona Consuela."

Evan blinked away the debilitating thoughts and turned to meet the darkened gaze of the woman addressing him. He almost smiled. She was an international supermodel, and she was introducing herself to him? ' _Interesting_ . . .'

He sighed. Not nearly as interesting as he might have liked it to be . . . Oh, she was pretty enough—damned gorgeous, really. Too bad she had that rather predatory look in her eyes: the one that told him louder than words that she wasn't looking at him, she was looking through him at whatever else it was that she thought he could give her. "Evan Zelig," he said, pasting on a rather tolerant little smile.

"Oh, I know who you are," she said with a flutter of her hand and a husky laugh meant to be sexy as she batted her smoky eyelashes at him and shot him an entirely rehearsed and very coy glance. "Care to dance with a lady?"

Mindful of his surroundings, he knew his part entirely too well, didn't he? The son of the great and powerful Cain Zelig? He knew the role—the one that he always rehearsed for these public appearances. It wasn't as though he cared whether or not he embarrassed his father, no, but he'd never do a thing to embarrass his darling mother, and for her, he'd learned the absolutely perfect manners; everything that was expected of him, and while he tended to misbehave at family functions, out here, in the public, when his mother was under the scrutiny of the world at large, he would damn well remember who he was and what it meant.

And with that in mind, he slipped his hand onto the small of her back and escorted her to the dance floor, reminding himself not for the first time that he really, really was better off to stop thinking about Valerie Denning . . . _and_ her damned Marvin . . .

"I hear you're a songwriter," Ramona commented as Evan pulled her into his arms and slowly swayed to the classical waltz— _The Blue Danube_ , composed by the younger Johann Strauss.

He smiled rather stiffly. "I guess you could say that," he replied.

"If you can write songs, why don't you perform them, yourself?"

He shrugged offhandedly. "I can't sing," he lied.

"Hmm," she drawled, leaning in a little closer, letting her body brush against his despite the rigidity of the dance. "Tell me why I've never met you before," she prodded.

He chuckled politely. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Valerie trade an empty champagne flute with the waiter for a fresh one. Another surge of anger hit him, and he gritted his teeth. "Oh, I don't know," he said. "I guess I tend to stay close to home."

She giggled prettily, tilting her head just so. Evan had seen it all before: giving herself the best angle, or so she thought, making certain that he only saw the parts of her that she wanted him to see. "You seem like the kind of guy I could spend some time, getting to know," she remarked.

He shrugged. "You think so?"

"Absolutely."

He didn't respond to that, one way or another. What was it worth, anyway?

She was dancing with that little pipsqueak she called a fiancé, damn it. Restraining the urge to growl in abject frustration, Evan couldn't stand the upsurge of absolute rage. "Excuse me," he said abruptly, stepping back and bowing curtly as he started to offer excuses. "Perhaps we can finish this later."

The quick flash of irritation crossed her pretty features, but she managed to cover it up just about as quickly as it surfaced. Evan didn't miss it, though. "You'd better," she purred.

Evan held the perfunctory smile until he'd turned his back and started to walk away. He sighed. Somehow, it felt as though the night was dragging on longer and longer and longer. He just needed a moment away, didn't he? Just a moment to reclaim himself . . .

Striding through the stifling crowd, he headed for the doorway that led to the balcony that overlooked Central Park. Drawing a deep breath as the brisk night air ruffled his hair, he stepped over to the railing and tilted his head back to try to find the moon . . .

Nothing had been right from the moment that he'd realized that she had come. From the very moment he'd smelled her, sensed her, he'd realized that it was just no good. She wasn't there for him; she wasn't there with him. She was there with a little mole of a man who looked about as wrong for her as Zel Roka was . . .

" _Women like her are a dime a dozen, aren't they . . .?_ "

Jaw clenching as he dug his claws deep into the polished teak railing, he shook his head. Damn it, it pissed him off . . .

' _Damned if you do; damned if you don't_ ,' his youkai remarked glumly.

Evan let out a deep breath and slowly shook his head. ' _Sounds 'bout right_ . . .'

' _And if you think she was bitchy now, just wait till she finds out about the fucking auction_.'

He grimaced. Yeah, he'd somehow managed to forget about that, hadn't he? ' _Well, suck my nuts_ . . .'

"What are you doing out here, young one?"

Evan didn't turn to face the owner of that particular voice. He didn't really have to, but he did offer a little shrug. "Nothing much, Uncle," he lied. Damned if he hadn't been doing that a lot tonight, too . . . "Just getting some air."

"Your mother looks exceptionally lovely this evening," Sesshoumaru Inutaisho remarked as he stepped up beside Evan.

"'Course she does," Evan rejoined. He could feel the Inu no Taisho's signature bored stare, and he knew well enough that Sesshoumaru didn't believe his excuses. Still, stubbornness reigned, and he sighed. "Mama _always_ looks exceptionally lovely."

"I never said that she did not," he replied. "Kagura tells me that you are to be . . . sold at auction?"

The overall disdain in Sesshoumaru's tone was more than enough to make Evan grin. "Well, you know," he drawled. "I told Mama that she ought to try to talk you into it, but she was afraid that you wouldn't draw enough money. Something about that patented 'I sucked a lemon' look of yours . . ."

Sesshoumaru didn't respond right away. "This Sesshoumaru would not deign to demean himself to the selling of his person . . . though I assure you, I could bring more money than the lot of you if I were of a mind to do so."

Evan chuckled. "Of course. So how 'bout it? Gonna let oba-san bid on some young stud? I hear Eligible Bachelor Number Four is hotter than hell . . ."

Sesshoumaru managed to blank his expression even more. "I think not," he replied tersely.

They didn't speak for awhile, and that was just fine with Evan. He was doing an admirable job of not looking back inside to find Valerie, though he had to admit, at least to himself, that it was taking every last ounce of his willpower not to do so.

"And how are things progressing with the charges that were levied against you?" Sesshoumaru finally asked.

Evan figured that was the real reason that Sesshoumaru had followed him outside, anyway. "Just fine," he assured him.

Sesshoumaru didn't look like he believed that, either. "I have an acquaintance here in the city that tells me he would be happy to speak with you regarding your case."

Evan's gaze dropped to the flickering lights of the city below. "I've got an attorney," he said in a quiet voice, unsure why, even now, even knowing exactly how angry he really was, that he simply couldn't let go of her, either.

"The reports I've heard have not been overly complimentary as to her skills, Evan," he pointed out. "Surely you understand the seriousness of the charges?"

"The reports were wrong," he bit out quietly, carefully. "She's a damn good lawyer, Uncle. Thank you for your concern, but I don't think it's necessary."

Sesshoumaru narrowed his eyes and slowly shook his head. "Recall who you are, if you will—not the son of the North American tai-youkai, and not my great nephew . . . not even the grandson of my baka half-brother. If you recall nothing else, you remember your mother. It would break her heart should you continue to demean yourself as you have been."

Evan winced inwardly. Sesshoumaru was entirely too good at figuring out exactly how to make his point, wasn't he? "I know that," he muttered.

"I do not presume to tell you anything that you do not already know," he went on.

"Did Cain put you up to this?"

Sesshoumaru stared at him for a long moment without blinking. "No, he did not."

"Then who did?"

An enigmatic little glimmer surfaced behind his calm façade, but it was gone before Evan could interpret it. "Your brother."

"Is that a fact?" he mumbled, shaking his head since that was the last answer that Evan had really expected.

"That's a fact," Sesshoumaru replied as he turned to go. "I trust you'll consider what I've told you?"

Evan nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets, listening to the sound of his uncle, retreating inside to rejoin the festivities.

" _Hey, Zel . . . You're outta beer_ . . ."

" _Am I? Shi-i-i-it_ . . ."

" _Check the rack in the kitchen. He's got some wine in there._ "

" _Tch! Wine's for pussies_."

" _Keh! Come to think of it, a pussy would make an_ awesome _wine goblet . . . C'mere, Maddikins_ . . ."

Evan frowned as the memory faded, shaking his head and letting out a deep breath. Thinking about it wasn't going to change a damn thing, and even if it could, what did it really matter?

' _Bubby . . . Hell, he's just worried about how it makes him look, ain't he? He doesn't give a great goddamn if they lock me up forever and throw away the fucking keys_ . . .'

' _Wishful thinking, Evan. No matter what you want to believe, he really isn't that much of an ass_.'

He snorted and frowned but didn't argue as he rubbed his forehead.

" _They're all hoping that she falls out of that damned dress—or bends over . . . So what is she? A stripper? Some groupie that gave you a good fuck after a show?_ Playboy _Bunny of the Month?_ "

Why couldn't he just brush off her words? When she'd made her scathing assessments of him, he'd let them roll right off his back, hadn't he? So why couldn't he do it now?

' _Because what she says about you is true . . . those things she said about your mother . . . They're not_ . . .'

He considered that then nodded. He supposed that there was some truth there. The thing was, he had earned the reputation that she disparaged, and he'd done it his entire life . . .

It hadn't taken long for him to figure out that girls dug him. The thing was, none of them ever actually thought that he was the kind of guy to be taken seriously, either. Good enough to fuck, but that was about it, and Evan . . . that had been all right with him, too, hadn't it?

The memory of his first glimpse of her, standing there in that gorgeous red dress with her cascade of honey blonde hair . . . the vulnerability in her eyes . . . was enough to heighten his confusion. To be honest, he hadn't expected the overwhelming overload to his system that she'd presented. All he'd wanted to do in that one moment was to slip his arms around her; to shelter her from those emotions he'd felt in her aura, and he might have; he really might have . . .

Until she'd opened that pretty little mouth of hers, that was . . .

Those things she'd said—hateful, ugly, judgmental things . . .

Maybe he had deserved them. Gin certainly had not.

His jaw tightened as a steely glow ignited behind his gaze. Valerie had stepped over the line; damned if she hadn't . . .

"Evan? Your mother's looking for you."

Pivoting slowly, he nodded once and moved to follow Kagura. "Sorry," he said, offering his elbow to escort her back inside.

She smiled demurely and slid her hand under his arm. "I heard that you suggested I trade Sesshoumaru for Eligible Bachelor Number Four," she said.

Evan smiled and patted her hand. "Well, hell yes . . . Oji-san's not quite as young as he used to be," he teased.

"Hmm, he wasn't my type," she replied, casting Evan a sidelong glance. "Now move it. I think your poor mother is running out of stall tactics."

He stepped back with a small bow before turning on his heel and navigating his way through the crowd.

Gin spotted him and smiled, looking quite relieved. "And now, I'm happy to introduce you to our final bachelor for the evening! He's very, very special, as I'm sure you ladies will agree! He's a composer who has written songs like, _'The Deeper End of Love'_ , performed by Thane Farland; _'Bits of Me'_ , performed by Kennedy Bissette; and _'A Man'_ , performed by Will Prescott—a song that also was won the Grammy for Song of the Year! Those are just a few examples of work, but the very best part is that he's not only my date for the evening, he's also my baby boy! Eligible Bachelor Number Ten, Evan Zelig!"

Evan smiled as he walked up the steps onto the stage, sparing a moment to take Gin's hand and kiss the back of it. There was a loud murmuring in the crowd as he took his place beside her.

Gin giggled. "All right, Mr. Zelig. Tell me: where will you be taking your special date?"

Evan laughed. "Oh, well, Mama, you know . . . I think . . . I think that it should be the lady's choice."

The ladies seemed to appreciate that answer, if the favorable ripple that surged through the crowd meant anything.

"Okay, ladies! We'll start the bidding at ten thousand dollars! Can any—?   Ooh! Yay! I see a lot of bid paddles! And let me take this moment to remind everyone that since this is a charity auction, all bids will be binding!"

"I like paddles," Evan quipped.

Gin giggled and waved a hand to fan her pinkened cheeks.

"Fifteen!"

"Twenty!" a man's voice called out.

Evan nearly frowned. That voice . . . It had sounded like Valerie's fiancé, hadn't it? Just what the fuck was he doing? Spending more of her money?

"Sorry," he said with a shrug. "I am not really into guys . . ."

"No, it's for her," he called back from the hazy darkness.

The amassed crowd laughed. Evan forced a chuckle, sure now that it really had been Marvin, after all. What the hell was he thinking? Damned fool . . .

"Thirty!" someone else called out amid the laughter still lingering from the men's verbal exchange.

"Seventy-five!"

"Oh, I heard seventy-five thousand!" Gin exclaimed. "Do I hear one hundred thousand?"

"Yes!" a woman in the back called.

"One twenty-five!"

"Two hundred thousand!"

Gin laughed. "You know, I'd pay much more for my Evvie," she remarked then leaned forward, cupping her hand near her mouth. "He can cook, ladies!"

Evan chuckled, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he ambled the length of the stage and back, shaking his head as the bid climbed higher and higher.

"Six hundred thousand! Anyone else?" Gin called out. "Anyone?"

No one raised their paddles despite the marked murmurs of approval that he could discern.

Gin skittered over to him. "Oh, I know! Take off your jacket, sweetie!"

Evan shot her a quizzical glance and chuckled. "My jacket, Mama?"

She nodded enthusiastically.

"Now, Mama, I don't think that these fine, upstanding ladies can be swayed by something as base as an impromptu strip show," he drawled.

"Sure, we could, honey!" someone called. Twitters of laughter broke out, and Evan smiled.

Slowly shaking his head, he relented, unbuttoning his jacket and shrugging it off.

"Seven hundred thousand!" someone hollered.

Gin giggled again. "I wonder how much you'd get if you took off your shirt . . .?"

Evan laughed and blinked at the abbreviated wolf-whistled that broke out. Not nearly as raucous as his shows, certainly, but rather impressive, considering the crowd. He quirked an eyebrow but reached up to tug his tie loose.

The women clapped their hands and waited as the murmuring in the crowd escalated. With a melodramatic sigh, he worked the mother-of-pearl buttons and slowly discarded the shirt.

The audience grew quiet for a moment before it roared to life again, apparently surprised and maybe a little fascinated by his tattoos.

"Eight hundred thousand!"

"Nine hundred!"

"One million dollars!"

Evan blinked and chuckled, shaking his head at the commotion. Wandering over to Gin, he reached for the microphone and slipped an arm around her. "I tell you what, Mama. Since people are being so generous tonight, I'll match the winning bid with a matching donation, too."

Her eyes grew wide and round just before a delighted squeal slipped from her. "Really? Yay! Such a sweetie!"

"One million, two hundred fifty thousand!"

Gin smiled brightly and shot Evan an affectionate smile. "Okay, I heard one million, two hundred and fifty thousand! Anyone else . . .? No? Okay, going once . . . Going twice . . . sold to Arabella Gascony for a grand total of one million, two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, all to benefit the Zelig foundation, along with a matching donation from my son, Evan! Why don't we give him a round of applause . . .?"

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Girls_** **_on_** **_Film_** ' _first recorded by Duran Duran and appeared on the 1981 release,_ **_Duran_** **_Duran_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to Duran Duran_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Evan_** :  
>  _In your face, Bubby_ …


	21. 020: Anything

' _You're running through my veins you feel like a freight train_ ,  
' _I'm trying everything to keep my hands off of you_.  
' _Just give me something_ ,  
' _Please just give me anything_ ,  
' _Cause I want you._ '

 

-' _Give Me Anything'_ by The Maine.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie sipped the glass of champagne as she glanced once more at the man—the one she knew and yet, she didn't. Zel Roka? Evan Zelig? Just who the hell was he?

Currently dancing with his mother with that thoroughly besotted expression on his face, as though he had won the greatest prize of them all, he smiled down at the woman with absolute affection, unquestioned devotion, and his words made sense . . .

" _That woman is everything—_ everything _—that most women could never, ever be. She means_ everything _to me. There's nothing in this world that I wouldn't do if she asked me to. She asked me to escort her here, and I said that I would. If she asks me to go home with her, well, then I'll do it. If she asks me to sleep with her, then I guess that I'll do that, too. I would_ die _for her, Valerie. Tell me: would your precious Marvin do that for you?_ "

She meant everything in the world to him because she so obviously adored him. Even Valerie could see it, shining in the woman's eyes every time she looked at him: her son. A sad little smile twisted her lips; one that didn't even come close to reaching her eyes. ' _What is that like, really?_ ' she couldn't help but wonder. To have such a doting mother . . .? He'd been raised by that kind of woman? No wonder he had such a devil-may-care attitude . . .

Valerie had been sorely mistaken, and she knew it. Thing was, the couple of times she'd tried to approach him since the altercation to apologize, he'd turned away, pretending that he hadn't seen her when she knew damn well that he had.

And she deserved that, too. There wasn't a question about whether or not she did; she _knew_ she did. Still, all she wanted to do was apologize for jumping to conclusions. If he'd just let her, that was . . .

The song ended—an old-fashioned waltz—and Valerie clapped politely along with everyone else. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Marvin, engaging one of his associates in some sort of banter, and it felt like some sort of messed-up dream.

Still, there was an odd sense, too, that she'd seen him before, wasn't there? A sense that she _knew_ this Evan—he was a stranger, and yet, he wasn't. She'd seen him before; of that she was certain . . .

 _The glint of faux candle light from the table decorations caught her eye, and Valerie frowned, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Veiled in the dusky shadows in a booth toward the back of the dining room all she could see was the yellowish glow of the electric candles reflecting off the pale hair of the booth's occupant. Clipped short and tidy, he didn't seem out of place in the restaurant, yet there was something about him—about his presence—that seemed to fill the spacious room. He had his face buried behind_ The Wall Street Journal _, but he seemed to sense her perusal. Darkened eyes slowly rising, locking with hers for the briefest of seconds, he nodded curtly, the candle light shining off his wire-rimmed glasses before lifting the paper once more, covering his face more completely as he reached around the paper to retrieve the cream colored bone china coffee cup_ . . .

An audible gasp slipped from her, as her gaze unconsciously darted around to locate the man in question. That was . . . was him? That day in the restaurant . . .? ' _B . . . But_ . . .'

It was just too much to take in, too much to make sense of. First things first, though, she really needed to apologize to him . . .

"Val! Hey, Valerie!"

Turning abruptly, she couldn't even summon a token smile as she spotted Marvin heading for her. Still too angry over the entire auction incident—he'd spent a lot of money a little too impulsively, in her estimation—it was just something else to add to her growing list of reasons why she'd have been better off to stay in bed today.

"You having a good time?" he asked as he grasped her elbow gently and gave her an affectionate little squeeze.

She nearly choked. "Uh, fine," she lied. If he hadn't noticed that she most certainly wasn't having a good time, then she wasn't going to point it out, either.

He grimaced. "Look, I'm sorry about the auction," he admitted sheepishly. "I just figured that it was for charity, right, and we always donate to charities, anyway."

Valerie waved a hand, unable to trust herself to respond to that. "Marvin, I think I might go home," she blurted, unsure exactly where the sentiment had come from but understanding that she meant the words as soon as they left her mouth.

"Wh-What? Why?"

Stifling a sigh, she managed to summon a weak smile. "Nothing. I just, um . . . I have a headache . . ."

"Did you take some Advil?" he asked, concern evident in the depths of his gaze.

"Yeah, I did," she said. "It's not helping much . . ."

"O-Oh . . ."

The sigh she'd been trying to stave off slipped out, and she shook her head as his expression registered his disappointment. "You could stay," she told him with a little smile.

He shook his head and shrugged, trying to put a good face on whatever he was thinking. "It's not that," he told her.

"Then what is it?"

He forced a smile and shook his head again. "Uh, nothing."

"Marvin . . ."

He grimaced, hearing and interpreting the tone in her voice for what it was: a warning. "I was just thinking . . . I mean, you've met Evan Zelig, right? He seems like a pretty decent guy. He participated in the auction, so he has to be all right. So I was just thinking that if you could dance with him, you could, you know, put in a few good words for me."

"I-I don't think—"

"The Zelig Foundation is huge, Val, and they love to donate to anything that helps children especially. If they knew about my research, maybe they'd help underwrite it—heck, they might fund the entire thing, they're that big . . . And then . . . and then I could come home, and we could get married, and . . . and that's what you want, isn't it?"

She grimaced, hating the hesitant tone in Marvin's voice—hating herself for making him feel as though he had to walk on eggshells around her. He was a good man—a _very_ good man—and he didn't deserve her antagonism. "Of course I want that," she told him, her smile finally genuine even if it were a little weaker than usual. "You know I do."

Marvin perked right up. "Yeah? So what do you think? You look good—well, you look fantastic. How could he possibly say no to you, right?"

Her smile faltered slightly. "R-right . . ."

"It can't really hurt to ask him, can it? I mean, just ask him to dance. Anything; _anything_ . . . just get him to talk to you, maybe."

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she really didn't think that Zel—Evan—would go for it, but he looked so hopeful, so pleased, that she simply didn't have the heart to put a damper on it for him.

"That's my girl!" he said as she nodded and turned to walk away.

" _And then . . . and then I could come home, and we could get married, and . . . and that's what you want, isn't it . . .?_ "

She winced inwardly. ' _It's not that simple, Marvin_ . . .'

And that was the entirety of the problem, wasn't it? Absolutely nothing had been 'simple', not since the day that Zel Roka had walked into her life . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Will you be staying in the city long?"

Evan chuckled and shrugged noncommittally as he danced with a woman who had introduced herself as Mina Brannigau. "Unfortunately, not too long," he said. "The city's a bit too crowded for my tastes."

She frowned in a pretty moue, twisting a long lock of kinky-curly yellow-blonde hair around her finger. "Oh, that's a shame," she told him. "I love the city! It's so exciting!"

"Is that what you call it?" he teased. "I can think of a thousand things I'd rather be doing."

"Oh? Got anyone in mind to do those . . . _things_ . . . with?" she asked rather breathlessly.

Evan smiled. "Not at the moment."

He could sense _her_ approach long before she made her presence known, and for once, he wasn't inclined to make things easier for her, either. But with every passing second, her ambivalence grew, reaching out to Evan and nearly making him falter— _damn_ her for making him feel bad when she was the one who had jumped to conclusions—when she had been unwilling to even listen as he'd tried to tell her . . .

She finally cleared her throat. "Um . . . hi . . . excuse me. I wondered . . . I wondered if I could . . . could cut . . . in . . .?"

Flicking an entirely calculated, cold look over her, Evan deliberately took his time in answering. "I'm a little busy right now, if you please," he informed her brusquely.

She blushed but stubbornly refused to back down. "Just—Just one dance, please," she said, lowering her voice to a near-whisper.

Evan neatly shrugged off the hand that she'd placed on his forearm to stop them. "Maybe later . . . Ms. _Denning_ , was it? Or would you prefer . . . _Mrs_. Pinkle?"

Her blush darkened furiously and she nodded jerkily. "Just . . . just Valerie is fine," she added for good measure.

For some reason, her reaction was enough to put a sore strain on the already temerarious hold he had on his temper. ' _So she wants to play it like that, does she?_ ' He snorted. "I don't believe that I have anything to say to you," he replied tightly. As far as he was concerned, that should have been warning enough.

"Zel, _please!_ " she hissed, grabbing his arm again as he started to turn away.

He narrowed his gaze on her, shifting from her face to her hand that was clutching his sleeve and back again. She must've figured out that her actions were entirely out of line, and she yanked her hand away though she still made no move to back down. "Excuse me a moment, Miss Brannigau?"

The woman didn't look pleased, but she nodded and forced a little smile as Evan turned to face Valerie. "I've told you, Valerie. There is no Zel Roka; not really. I'm Evan—Evan Zelig."

She flinched but nodded. "O-okay, Evan," she amended. "Please. Just one dance—please."

He slowly shook his head. "And why would I want to do that?" he countered quietly.

She didn't respond right away, but her gaze did slip to the side for just a moment—toward the little man who was standing in the small circle of men admiring his mother. Evan's eyes widened. "Is that so . . .?" he muttered. "I guess I should have known that it had something to do with him."

Valerie sighed though she neither confirmed nor denied the charges. "Just one dance," she murmured just loud enough for him to hear her though he doubted that anyone else dancing nearby could. "Please . . . I'll do your laundry for a week or a month or . . . or I'll . . . I'll owe you." Seeing the impassiveness on his features, she blundered on. "Just one dance . . . I'll . . . I'll do anything . . . just _please_ . . ."

He cocked an eyebrow and frowned at her. "Anything? Is that your offer or his?" he asked, jerking his head toward Marvin.

She understood his question and grimaced, wringing her hands a little in her nervousness. "Mine," she blurted quickly— _too_ quickly.

An entirely familiar sort of irritation ignited deep inside him; one that he'd thought he'd gotten over years ago—irritation spawned by the unintended feeling that he was never good enough, that he was just being used for his face, his body, for whatever reason and whatever rhyme . . . and that Valerie had brought that back to him now, of all times, and in this place . . .

"Anything," he repeated flatly. "Is that right? For just one dance, you'd promise me anything."

She nodded emphatically, ignoring the foreboding tone in his voice and latching onto his words, alone. "Yes, that's right," she agreed.

"Well," he replied stiffly, angrily, "how could I possibly refuse an offer like that?"

Valerie said nothing as Evan pulled her into his arms, hating himself for the momentary satisfaction that ebbed through him as her acute anxiety abated. She was turning him inside out, and she didn't know it—and at the moment, he highly doubted that she'd even care . . .

' _Anything . . . Anything_ . . .'

What was it about that word that pissed him off? He clenched his jaw tighter. Because she made the offer just to satisfy that little fucker she was engaged to, wasn't it . . .?

She tried to talk to him. He could hear her voice, but her words were blunted by the anger that just kept growing deep inside him. She couldn't reach him . . .

" _Well, you know, I just broke up with Mitch . . ." and a week later, "Oh, we got back together . . . uh, Evan? Could you, you know, not mention last weekend to him . . .?_ "

" _Evan Zelig? Oh, he's a great guy, but he's just not 'boyfriend' material_ _. . . Who'd be dumb enough to be his girl? Guys who look as good as he does? They're never faithful_ . . ."

" _Oh, come on . . . I'm sure if you got her tickets and backstage passes, she'd give you a good fuck for them_ . . ."

It was harmless, right? It was all in good fun, and no one got hurt. Everyone knew from the start, didn't they? Just a good time, and no strings attached . . .

And somewhere along the way, he'd just accepted it, hadn't he?

' _Damn_ . . .'

The song ended, and Evan stepped back. Valerie started clapping politely, along with the rest of the people on the dance floor. He didn't wait for her to stop. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her through the crowd so quickly that she nearly stumbled, catching herself on the back of his jacket. He didn't stop moving, either.

He could hear her voice, calling out to him. She didn't understand where he was taking her, did she? Evan didn't really think about it too much, either. All he knew was that he couldn't stand it; couldn't take that one last insult on top of everything else; not tonight . . . Dragging her along the perimeter of the room until he located one of the side rooms, he pulled her inside and let go long enough to close the door.

"Zel . . .?" she squeaked, rubbing her wrist where he'd held onto her.

Evan slowly turned to face her, careful to keep his expression completely blanked as he stared at her. "Evan," he stated once more.

She swallowed hard. He could see her throat move. "E-Evan . . . What—?"

His scathing glower cut her off abruptly. "Anything, Ms. Denning—your word, right? Anything?"

She blinked and shook her head, unable to grasp his meaning though he could feel her trepidation climbing higher. "I-I-I don't . . . understand . . ."

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he shrugged, affecting a bored stance, a monotone. "Anything, by literal definition: noun—at least, in this case—meaning any thing whatsoever, any such thing, no matter what, according to the _Merriam-Webster Unabridged Dictionary_. Your word, correct?"

She shook her head again, playing dumb or really confused; Evan couldn't discern which and didn't really give a damn.

"Come now, Ms. Denning. You're really not that stupid. Or rather, your fiancé isn't, is he? I mean, he is the one who put you up to it, right? To garner my support for his cause?" Her cheeks paled, and he chuckled nastily. "I see."

"M-Marvin's research," she stammered, her cheeks pinking with acute embarrassment at having been found out so easily. "He's trying to find a cure for neuroblastoma—a rare and often fatal form of childhood cancer," she blundered on.

Evan narrowed his eyes slightly though his expression remained impassive. "Save the speech, Valerie. You sound like some pamphlet I've already read before."

She flinched but fell silent as the tension inside her rose just a little higher.

"So now that you've made your pitch, I suppose I ought to tell you that the Zelig Foundation is my mother's cause; not mine. I just happen to share the same last name; that's all. Now, about Marvin's offer . . . Willing to sell you cheap, isn't he?"

"He didn't sell me," she argued though her tone lacked any real conviction.

Evan's eyebrows shot up in a mock display of feigned surprise. "'Promise him anything, _Val_ —anything' . . . Isn't that what he told you?"

"That's not what he—"

"I hardly think that you possess the ability to read one's mind, do you, _Val?_ How could you possibly know what it is that he meant? ' _Anything'_ . . . That was the word you used, so I will assume that it's the one he used. 'Anything'."

He could see it on her face, couldn't he? He was right, and she . . . "You're taking it out of context," she blurted, her cheeks reddening as she struggled to rebuff him. "That's not—"

"Anything for just one dance," Evan repeated, narrowing his eyes. "Well, I _did_ dance with you, didn't I? So now it's time to pay the piper."

She swallowed hard and forced herself to meet his gaze. "What . . . What do you . . . want . . .?"

He chuckled. "Maybe you _are_ a bit stupider than I thought," he replied with a mocking shake of his head. "What, indeed?"

She shook her head, her eyes even darker next to the stark pallor that had leeched her skin of color.

"A blow job, Valerie, and given that your . . . _fiancé_ . . . is so lenient with you, I would suppose you're probably pretty damned good at giving them, right?"

She sucked in her breath sharply, recoiling as though he'd struck her. Evan steeled his resolve, his anger growing instead of waning . . . "N-No!" she choked out.

"No? Really."

"N-No," she insisted once more.

He chuckled nastily. "Oh, so you really expect that you can demand that people do what you say when you cannot make good on your own word? Rather hypocritical, if you ask me, Ms. Denning," he said.

"I never said I'd . . ." she swallowed hard, her eyes brightening as a very definite air of panic ignited. "I didn't say that," she whispered.

"Oh, but you did," he argued. "You said 'anything'. Well, my idea of 'anything' is a blow job—nothing personal. Nothing that means anything at all. You do it, and I promise you, neither it nor you will mean a damn thing to me an hour from now."

She flinched at his derisive tone, and she shook her head again. "I . . . I can't."

"Sure you can," he told her coldly. "You can, and you will, and do you know why?"

She smashed her hand against the bottom of her nose miserably.

Evan ignored the dull hum in the back of his mind; the one that gained momentum like a freight train. " _Anything_ , Ms. Denning. Those were your terms. I didn't twist your arm, now did I? Unless you're not a woman of your word, in which case . . . Can you really expect anyone else to abide by your terms?" he goaded.

"I-I'm trying to keep you out of trouble," she pointed out though her voice lacked any real conviction. "This isn't—"

"Think of it as a business deal," he interrupted coldly. "A verbal agreement is no less binding than an actual contract; am I correct, Ms. Denning? You're the lawyer. You tell me."

She nodded once, her eyes filling with just a little more worry; a little more trepidation. "Y-Yes . . ."

He considered that and finally nodded slowly. "You wanted something from me—to dance with me so that you could pimp Marvin's research to me, right?" He held up a hand to silence her answer. "So you bought that dance with the promise that you'd do—and I quote—anything."

She opened her mouth to argue with him. He narrowed his eyes, effectively silencing her protests, and she jerked her head once in a nod. "Y-Yes . . ."

"That's right," he agreed thoughtfully—mockingly. "Now I've decided that I want a blow job as your payment. Now get on your knees and do what it is that you willingly promised to do. After all, all I'm interested in are whores and hussies, right? So I suppose that you'll have to do, Ms. Denning."

That barb struck home, didn't it? He could see it in her eyes. Tears washed into her gaze. Evan gritted his teeth as she slowly, clumsily, sank to her knees. When she did nothing else, though, he sighed. "It's just a blow job, _Val—_ think of it as repaying a debt. I'm not going to help you."

She sniffled as the scent of her tears hit him hard. Evan scowled. "Stop it," he commanded quietly, rage seething just below the surface of his contrived calm. "This is what _you_ wanted, Valerie. I never asked you to offer me 'anything'. Do it your damn self."

She choked back a sob as her cheeks reddened again, as she slowly, shakily, reached out to unfasten his pants.

Evan bit down on the inside of his cheek hard and shook his head. It's what she wanted, wasn't it? ' _Anything_ . . .'

" _Just one dance . . . Please . . . I'll do your laundry for a week or a month or . . . or I'll . . . I'll owe you . . . Just one dance . . . I'll . . . I'll do anything . . . just_ please . . ."

She started to tug on his belt. He yanked away for a moment. "There's really no need for that, is there? Just pull it out and suck it. No big deal, right?" he scoffed.

She bit her lip, as though she were gathering her courage. Just why did that piss him off even more? Her icy fingers slipped into his pants, faltering as she grasped him, and for one excruciating moment, he closed his eyes, hating the fact that his body was responding to her, hating the scent of tears: hating himself—and just for the moment, hating _her_ . . .

She pulled his penis out of his pants, blinking quickly, blinking back tears that rose to the surface. Lips quivering as she forced herself to open her mouth, she rose up slowly, leaning toward him, her cheeks reddening even more with every passing moment . . . The heat of her stunted breaths baiting him even as he knew somewhere deep down that it was wrong— _this_ was wrong.

She choked on a sob that she was struggling to hold back, as two fat tears seeped out of the corners of her eyes and slipped down her ashen cheeks. Somewhere deep down, Evan could feel something within himself breaking wide open, as though the last bit of decency he had was somehow obliterated in the space of an insular heartbeat . . .

And then he pushed her hands away and stepped back, zipping his pants as he started for the door.

"Zel . . ." she murmured between quiet sobs.

Evan paused with his hand on the door but didn't look back at her. "On second thought, I don't think I want _or_ need your fiancé's whore."

And he slipped out of the room with the sound and the scent of her tears digging into his soul . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Give_** **_Me_** **_Anything_** ' _first appeared on the 2007 debut EP release, **The**_ **_Way_** **_We_** **_Talk_** _and is performed, written, and copyrighted to The Maine_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Advil, please_ …


	22. 021: Bastard

' _Take a photograph_ ...  
' _It'll be the last_ ...  
' _Not a dollar or a crowd_ ...  
' _Could ever keep me here_ ...'

 

-' _Rain'_ by Breaking Benjamin.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie didn't know how long she sat in that room all by herself after Zel had left her there. Struggling to get her tears under control, she covered her face with her hands, hating everything about him, about Marvin, about the entire night—but about herself the most.

The headache she'd been fighting all night was back with a vengeance, and she wanted to go home, wanted to be alone, wanted not to think about anything. She wanted to forget . . . She just wanted to forget.

Drying her eyes with the back of her shaking hands, she cast a despondent eye around the room and spotted a utility sink near the door. At least something was working for her . . .

She rinsed her face with water, uncaring whether or not she'd mussed her makeup. There was a small mirror above the sink, but, given the circumstances, she just didn't feel like messing with it. Drawing a few steadying breaths, she fished a tissue out of a box on the small table and dabbed at her face.

How ironic was it, really? She didn't look like she'd been crying—at least, that's what she told herself. Taking a moment to smooth her dress, she squared her shoulders and wondered how difficult it'd be to get out of the building without having to face anyone . . .

And she tried to skirt around the perimeter of the ballroom without drawing notice. She figured that she could pull over a waiter and have him tell Marvin that she'd gone home. An entirely humorless smile broke over her features, and she slowly shook her head. She'd arrived in a taxi, hadn't she? She could damn well take one home, too . . .

Or she could take her car and let Marvin take a taxi . . .

She sighed and shook her head. No, she really, really didn't feel like driving . . .

She just wasn't that lucky, she supposed. Before she could make her escape, she spotted Marvin, moving through the crowd. He hurried over to her and smiled. "Hey, Val! How did it go?"

She blinked and rubbed her forehead. Her hand was still shaking. "Oh, uh, fine, fine," she lied. "Marvin, I'm going to go on home."

His smile faded, only to be replaced by a late show of concern. "But I thought we were having fun," he argued.

She shot him an incredulous look that he managed to miss completely. "I have a headache," she told him weakly.

He glanced back at the party that was still going on strong. "Well . . . okay . . . Let me just say goodnight and thank Gin . . ."

She grimaced. "No, no," she said hurriedly. "Why don't you stay? I'll just get a taxi . . ."

His smile was back full-force. "If you're sure . . ."

She waved a hand and tried to smile. It felt more like a wince, but it was enough to fool him. "It's fine," she said, realizing as the words came out that it really was.

"Okay, but maybe you should at least go thank them," he prodded.

"Why don't you do it for me?" she muttered. Her head was pounding worse with every passing moment, and the very idea of talking to _him_ again . . . She just couldn't do it.

He blinked and shot her a completely befuddled sort of look.

Shifting her gaze over his shoulder for a mere moment, she froze. Though he was standing across the room from her, Zel's eyes were locked on her, his expression completely impassive.

She felt her face redden, and without another word, she turned on her heel and fled the ballroom as another wash of tears filled her eyes, clouding her gaze as she hastily retreated.

She was so intent on her escape that she didn't see where she was going, gasping quietly when she smacked against an unforgiving form.

"Oh, I'm sorry," a man's voice said as she barreled into him in the blessedly empty foyer. He held onto her arms and gently steadied her. "Are you . . .?" He sighed. "Of course you aren't," he said quietly. "Were you leaving?"

She couldn't even speak as she nodded miserably, hating herself for her deplorable lack of self-control.

"Here . . . Let me help you," he offered, leading her toward the elevator.

For some reason, the gentle compassion in his voice only served to make her feel just a little bit worse.

But she let him escort her downstairs, anyway, as she struggled to control her emotions. She'd gotten a grip on the sobbing, but not on her tears by the time the cubicle stopped and they'd stepped out of it. "Do you have a ride home?" he asked her.

She shook her head, dabbing at her eyes with the fine linen handkerchief he'd given her as the elevator doors closed. "I was going to take a t-taxi," she stammered.

"All right," he said, slipping a hand under her elbow and leading her outside.

A myriad of flashbulbs disoriented her as they stepped onto walkway. The paparazzi had not waned at all. To her dulled surprise, the man slipped an arm around her shoulders, turning her just enough so that the cameras wouldn't get a good angle of her face, maybe, as he hurried her past the glaring cameras and reporters, who were calling out questions that she just couldn't discern.

But he said nothing as he stepped onto the curb and raised a hand, careful to keep her shielded from the press the entire time. A passing taxi pulled to a stop, and he opened the door for her to get in. "Take her wherever she wants to go, please," the man said, dropping a few folded bills through the window.

The cab driver picked up the money and chuckled. "No problem, sir!" he called out. "Where to, Miss?"

She didn't remember giving him her address though she must have. A moment later, the man—her savior—stepped back, smacking the roof of the cab a couple times, and the cab pulled away from the curb.

 

 

- ** _Cain_** -

 

 

Cain Zelig stuffed his hands into his pockets with a thoughtful frown as he watched the cab merge into traffic. That poor woman . . . He sighed, waiting until the cab turned the corner and disappeared from view before turning around to head back inside.

It never sat well with him; women having to travel alone anywhere in the city. It was too dangerous a place, and a woman who was already upset? That was worse, in Cain's estimation. He let out a deep breath as he turned to go back inside. She'd get home all right, wouldn't she?

He ignored the reporters who called out to him; ones asking him about the 'mystery woman' he'd just seen off. He made a habit of ignoring them, and since he'd arrived via the back entrance in an effort to avoid this sort of thing, it was more than a little nerve-wracking.

But the trip back up to the top floor didn't take long, and by the time he'd reached the foyer, he managed to brush off the unsettling feelings. Digging his cell phone out of his pocket, he pulled up the picture that his youngest son had sent him: a smiling Gin, replete in a shimmering silver dress that was much, much slinkier than anything she would have chosen for herself, surrounded by a gaggle of besotted-looking fools who were trying to gain her attention . . .

And it wasn't surprising to find her still surrounded by those damn men, either. He frowned and stalked toward his mate.

Her eyes flared wide as he approached, and with a happy squeal, she hurried over to meet him. "Zelig-sensei! You did make it!"

Cain smiled and kissed her cheek. "I told you that I'd try," he replied.

Evan wandered over, his hands in his pockets and a strange expression on his face—anger, at least at first, but Cain could also sense an underlying anxiety that the pup was trying his best to hide. For some reason, the woman he'd just put into the cab flashed through his head, and he had to wonder whether Evan knew her—whether Evan had something to do with her upset . . .

"I take it you got my message," Evan remarked in lieu of a proper greeting.

Cain nodded. "Of course I did," he replied. "Hey, Evan . . . There was a woman who just ran out of here pretty upset. Could you make sure she gets home all right?"

A flicker of recognition lit his gaze, and the younger man shot his father an almost nervous sort of glance. "Where'd she go?"

Cain shrugged, sure now that Evan did know something. "I paid a taxi to take her home."

Evan nodded. "All right." He kissed Gin's cheek. "Breakfast tomorrow, Mama?"

She giggled. "Absolutely!" she said.

He forced a little smile and nodded at Cain before striding past him and out of the ballroom.

Cain watched him go and sighed, unsure what to make of the whole situation and completely unsure whether or not he really needed to know anything. He finally sighed and shook his head, letting his gaze shift back to his wife as she giggled and slipped her arms around his waist. "I'm so glad you came, Zelig-sensei!" she whispered.

He cocked an eyebrow and very deliberately let his gaze roam up and down her frame. "Is that so, baby girl?"

She nodded.

Making quick work of scanning the area, he didn't miss the doors situated off to the side of the room. Cain leaned to the side and cleared his throat. "Gin?"

She was watching the crowd, enjoying their party and didn't notice the odd glimmer that had entered his gaze. "Hmm?"

He chuckled. "One."

She gasped, eyes flashing open wide. "C-Cain!"

"Two."

"But why?" she argued.

"Do you have to ask? Three."

"I-I think I do," she countered, glancing around nervously.

"That dress, Gin. Four."

"But we're in public," she reminded him though her tone was quite breathless.

Cain chuckled again. "Five."

She tried to protest for all of thirty seconds as he slipped an arm around her waist and deliberately led her off toward one of those back rooms—the closest one . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Staring up at the building she called home, Valerie rubbed her bare arms to chase away the lingering chill that had set in when she'd stepped out of the taxi. She'd had every intention of coming home and hiding away, nursing her bruised pride and trying to forget that she'd ever gone to that damned fundraiser, to start with. In the end, though . . .

She just didn't want to go inside, did she?

Turning on her heel, she wandered down the street, ignoring the odd looks she garnered from passers-by. She blinked rapidly as yet more tears clouded her vision. Those things he'd said . . . Damn him! He'd known well enough that she hadn't meant that. He'd _known_ . . .

Yet her anger wasn't convincing, either. As though she simply didn't have the right to maintain it, it lessened despite her resolve, and as she moved along, she couldn't help but listen to his words—hurtful yet containing a certain truth, even if she wanted to ignore it . . .

She'd been unfair, yes. Her harsh assessment of his mother deserved an equally scathing rebuttal. But the things he'd said to her . . . The things he'd said . . .

" _On second thought, I don't think I want_ or _need your fiancé's whore_ . . ."

She stumbled as a fresh sheen of tears glossed over her vision. Those words . . .

" _It can't really hurt to ask him, can it? I mean, just ask him to dance. Anything;_ anything _. . . just get him to talk to you, maybe_."

Was . . . was that what it was? Had Zel—Evan—been right . . .? Maybe not in whole, but in part—in theory . . .?

Stifling a low groan with the back of a shaking hand, she shook her head and kept walking.

"Hey, sister. Can you spare a dime?"

She didn't respond to the bum hunkered in the filmy shadows, blundering further along the street, past the darkened windows of stores and businesses as the ramble of traffic and the cadence of nameless, faceless people merged into the white noise.

"Lookee here . . . Hey, pretty lady! Out lookin' for a party?"

"There's a party in my pants, honey. Wanna come?"

Unconsciously quickening her pace, she paid them no mind as she kept moving. The sharp rush of footsteps in her wake stopped abruptly. She was too deep in her own thoughts—her own private hell—to register it.

" _On second thought, I don't think I want_ or _need your fiancé's whore_ . . ."

' _But . . . but it's not . . . not true_ . . .'

Too bad she knew deep down that it was, and while she knew that Marvin didn't mean it that way, what did it matter when the end result was the same . . .?

Wandering deeper and deeper into the city—the buildings blending into a murky haze—she couldn't feel the chill in the night air anymore, yet the welcome numbness in her body didn't alleviate the gnawing ache that tormented her very soul, either.

The consuming sense of sadness was an overwhelming thing. The agony, the pain . . . It grew larger and deeper and uglier . . .

' _M . . . Marvin's . . . whore_ . . .'

She flinched, suddenly collapsing onto a bench that was cracked and weathered and peeling layers of paint.

A dull sense of realization ebbed over her, obliterating the anger that had been driving her onward as a low, bitter surge of loneliness shot to the fore. Absolute desolation—that's what she felt. How was it possible to feel so entirely isolated in one of the largest cities in the world?

It wasn't the first time in her life that she'd felt that way, and she was pretty sure that she'd feel it again, too. Still, she couldn't quite shake the emptiness that settled over her, either—the underlying knowledge that her entire life was nothing but a huge sham, and while she'd tried so hard to hide those things in her past, those things that were best left forgotten, they were never very far away . . .

She really wasn't any better than a whore, was she? Whether it was by accident or design, did it really matter when the end result was invariably the same? Marvin . . . he hadn't said that he expected her to do any such thing; of course he hadn't. That didn't really change a thing, did it? Zel . . . Zel was right, and as a lawyer, she knew it. She should have realized it at the time, shouldn't she? 'Anything': that was what she'd said, wasn't it? 'Anything . . .'

The spring air was chilly with a certain misty quality that loomed thick around her. For the first time, she blinked and frowned as she glanced around herself. She vaguely recognized the area though she couldn't rightfully say she knew where exactly she was, either. Ramshackle buildings that were decaying slightly with age—a tired part of the city that never appeared in tourist guides or anything like that, but the area still held onto a quiet dignity that was lost in those areas most commonly considered 'slums': not the best part of town by any means, but certainly not the worst.

' _Kind of like . . . me_ ,' she thought wanly as a humorless little smile twisted her lips. Kind of . . . almost . . .

' _Valerie_ . . .'

Her name floated to her from somewhere deep inside, and she blinked, shaking her head, she turned to look around, knowing deep down that she wouldn't see the owner of the voice she'd heard, unable to place it, though it sounded entirely familiar, too . . .

But it was that voice that gave her the resolve to stand up once more, gave her the will to turn back the way she'd come, and to put one foot in front of the other and walk . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan crouched in the shadows cast by the looming apartment complex, completely hidden from view as he watched the woman quietly moving around inside. He'd followed her from the moment she'd decided to take an impromptu walk after the taxi that his father paid had dropped her off.

Damn it, it wasn't supposed to have been like this; not at all, and even though he'd been there the entire evening, Evan still wasn't entirely certain, just what had happened, in the first place.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. She'd caught him by surprise in her overly harsh assessment of Gin, to start with, and he knew well enough that nothing else she might have said would have made any difference at all, in the end. He hadn't wanted to listen to her. He was too angry to be unbiased, and . . .

He winced, letting out a deep breath as he wondered for the thousandth time or more just why he'd wanted to lash out at her so badly. That's exactly what he'd done, wasn't it? He'd hurt her because he'd wanted to—lashed out at her in an attempt to completely humiliate her, to hurt her because she'd hurt him, first—and that was absolutely inexcusable.

She strode back into the living room from the short hallway—he figured she'd gone to change clothes, and she had. Somehow, the oversized, pale pink sweatpants and baggy sweatshirt she was wearing was a little more welcome than the figure hugging dress she'd just removed—now dangling limply from her hands, along with the shoes she'd worn, and he wasn't entirely surprised when she stalked through the living room into the open air kitchen, where she dumped the both into the trashcan next to the counter.

He'd seen her the very moment she'd stepped out of the back room where he'd left her. To be honest, he'd started feeling bad about it before he'd ever managed to get out of there, in the first place. Seeing her on her knees with those damned tears in her eyes . . . It was just a little more than he could stand.

The long and short of it was that he'd acted like a complete and utter bastard, and he knew it. After all, she hadn't known that she was inadvertently insulting him, had she? No, all she'd wanted was one dance, and it didn't really matter, what her reason was. He knew that, too. Still . . .

And he'd just stood there, watching as she hurried toward the exit, only to be intercepted by that little fucker she called a fiancé. Evan wasn't sure if he was just that dense or just that uncaring, because the miserable shit hadn't even noticed her upset, had he? It hadn't taken Evan long to figure out that Marvin didn't seem to notice much of anything unless it involved his project, which was the main reason that Evan himself wasn't too keen on recommending him for any such thing. Maybe he was just as smart and everything that Valerie had claimed, but there were other things that were important, too, and the main thing there being one's fiancée.

But no, Evan had only watched as Marvin had conversed with her, and while he wasn't close enough to overhear what was being said, Evan wasn't stupid, either. He'd been trying to talk her into staying, even knowing that she obviously didn't want to be there, and as much as it bothered him since he was the cause of it, her mood didn't seem to register at all to the one man who should have given a great goddamn.

He shook his head. If that hadn't been enough, the little fuck had squared his shoulders, staring after her as she'd hastily dashed out of the ballroom with a perplexed sort of expression on his face. Then he'd turned around, pasted on an idiotic smile, and had proceeded to continue annoying the other guests with his very presence.

He sighed. All right, so that was a little unfair. Marvin had seemed personable enough, and Evan might actually have liked him all right had he not showed up with Valerie—and had he not been a complete and utter douche bag, in Evan's estimation, too.

So, Evan had followed her all over the city during her impromptu walk with her little red satin purse in hand. She'd forgotten it in her rush to leave. Evan had checked on a whim as he'd headed out to follow her, and he was glad that he had when the cloakroom attendant had returned with the tiny red bag. Of course, it hadn't really interfered too much, even when he'd had to put the smack-down on a couple of punks who thought they'd follow her, too. He'd slammed one against a wall then tossed him at the second one, and they'd both decided that they'd do well to find someone else to bedevil. It hadn't been until he was watching them run off down a narrow alley that he'd remembered the purse that was still hanging off his arm . . .

And if regret and recrimination were hard things to swallow, the absolute misery that had cloaked her as she slumped onto that rickety old bench was even worse, reminding Evan all too clearly that he was the reason she felt like that—his anger and his indignity . . . As her feelings deepened, he'd leaned against the wall, hidden in the deepest shadows of a nearby jewelry store, closing his eyes and wishing that he could have those hours back; that he could change everything, just for her— _only_ for her.

So he'd reached out with his youki, let it brush over her, to soothe her, even if she didn't really understand what it meant, telling her without words that she really wasn't as alone as she thought she was, and while he knew damn well that he was just being a coward, maybe . . . Maybe that was all right, too.

Even now, he knew well enough that she was safe, and yet he still couldn't leave her. She'd washed her face and masked the lingering hurt that he could feel despite the closed windows and manmade materials that separated them. The despondence in her aura, though . . . ' _I'm . . . I'm sorry, V . . . I'm sorry_ . . .'

The door opened as she was filling a glass with wine, and that little wanker strolled inside. He, of course, was nothing but smiles and excitement, waving his arms like a damned lunatic while he told her what she missed after she'd left. A violent surge of rage welled up inside him, and Evan grimaced, digging his claws into his palms, issuing a low growl that was cut off abruptly when the stench of his blood hit him. Forcing himself to loosen his grip, he drew a deep breath and slowly shook his head.

If Marvin-the-Great noticed Valerie's mood, he made a damn good show of ignoring it. She said nothing, nodding now and again in a half-hearted show of feigned interest. He talked for a few minutes before pushing up the sleeve of his rented tux and grimacing at the hour. He kissed her on the cheek and hurried down the same hallway, which only served to draw another low growl from Evan at the very idea that the two of them might actually share the same bedroom.

She slowly drank the wine and rinsed the glass, setting it, upside down on a clean towel beside the sink. After a moment, she wandered over to the touchpanel near the door, securing her home for the night, before following Marvin down the hallway and out of view.

Evan gritted his teeth. He had to see her, didn't he? He had to see her, to know that she was going to sleep. Creeping to the edge of the balcony, he scowled at the narrow fire escape nearby. The light was on inside, making it impossible for Evan to move over there just yet since the light spilling out of the window was too bright to keep him safely hidden, and after what seemed like forever, he muttered a low curse when the light was finally extinguished. The leap to the escape wasn't far, and he settled himself under the window with a marked scowl. She'd left the window cracked open. He could hear the rustle of the couple as they got comfortable for the night.

"Did I tell you? That painting sold for a hundred and seventy-five million," the little snake said in a hushed tone.

"Did it?" Valerie echoed in a mildly interested way.

He laughed then yawned. "Totally worth it," he went on. "I mean, I don't know much about art, but if it benefits charity, then that's even better, right?"

"Mm."

Gritting his teeth hard when he heard the definite sound of a very chaste kiss, Evan tried to remind himself that it was perfectly all right to kiss one's fiancée. It didn't work too well as his anger grew.

"You looked really pretty tonight, Val," Marvin said.

"M-Marvin . . . Not tonight, all right?"

More rustling that grated even more on Evan's nerves. "Okay," Marvin said in mid-yawn. "Night."

For reasons that he didn't want to consider, the surge of relief that shot through Evan was welcome and almost pleasant.

' _You know why_ ,' his youkai muttered.

Evan nodded slightly. ' _I guess I do_.'

'. . . _We could go home now_.'

' _We could_ ,' Evan agreed, though he made no move to stand up.

No, he'd rather just sit there under the window, trying not to think about why Valerie had the power to harness such control over his emotions . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie lay in bed, listening to the sound of Marvin's breathing, listening to the sound of herself as she blinked in the stifling quiet. She'd left the window open a crack since the sounds of the city tended to lull her to sleep most nights. Why was it so quiet tonight, of all nights?

Glancing at the glowing numbers on the clock beside the bed, she bit her lip. Nearly four in the morning, and she was still wide awake, still berating herself for her part in the night that she wanted so desperately to forget.

She sighed. Marvin had rolled over and gone right to sleep after she'd fended off his advance. Why did it just make her a little angrier?

Pushing the blankets aside, she swung her legs off the bed and stood up, unable to stay there any longer. Pausing in the living room just long enough to turn on her computer, she headed for the kitchen once more, sloshing more wine into the glass she'd rinsed out before trying to go to bed.

She owed Zel an apology, didn't she? Her behavior was absolutely intolerable, and really, after the things that she'd said about his mother, she couldn't really blame him for being nasty to her, could she? She didn't have an actual excuse, either, aside from the idea that he'd just seemed so very different tonight, so completely unlike his normal self. To be honest, the man she'd encountered tonight . . . He was a little intimidating, wasn't he? And Valerie . . . She just didn't know how to deal with him; not like that. Too used to his outrageous flirting and joking, the standoffish and aloof man who had called himself Evan Zelig . . .

But she'd brought it all on, herself, hadn't she? Why?

Rubbing her face as she wandered over to her desk with a glass of wine in hand, Valerie let out a deep breath. She knew why. It was because . . . because she had to keep him at a distance. Zel Roka . . . she'd met guys like him before—pretty boys who thrived on the wild lifestyle, who insisted that spontaneity was everything, professing their undying love and passion one moment, only to decide a week or a month or a year later that they had to have their freedom . . . She'd tried it before, and maybe that was the real reason why the security that was Marvin appealed to her so much. She'd had more than enough instability in her lifetime, hadn't she? After all, that had been her entire existence for the longest time.

And maybe it was that sense of restlessness that made her type in the website she wanted, clicking through links until she found the page she was looking for. She'd missed the junior high commencement ceremony, but they'd uploaded it to their website, too.

Sipping the wine as the media player opened and loaded the streaming video, she leaned back in the chair and waited . . . She hadn't been able to make it, but at least she could see it, anyway, and that helped to make her feel just a little better, though not very much.

She never noticed the darkened figure lingering just outside on the balcony.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_'Rain'_** _first appeared on the 2005 album,_ **_We_** **_Are_** **_Not_** **_Alone_** **_Here_** _as recorded by Breaking Benjamin. Written by and copyrighted to Aaron Fincke, Jeremy Hummel, Billy Corgan, Ben Burnley, Mark James Klepaski; Breaking Benjamin Music; Seven Peaks Music_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _What's she watching?_


	23. 022: The Hardest Word

'" _Everybody_ _needs_ _a_ _little_ _time_ _away,_ " _I heard_ _her_ _say_ , " _from_ _each_ _other_..."  
" _Even_ _lovers_ _need_ _a_ _holiday_ _far_ _away_ _from_ _each_ _other_ …"  
 _Hold_ _me_ _now_ …  
 _It's_ _hard_ _for_ _me_ _to_ _say_ _I'm_ _sorry_ …  
 _I_ _just_ _want_ _you_ _to_ _stay_ …'

 

-' _Hard_ _to_ _Say_ _I'm_ _Sorry'_ by Chicago.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie bit her lip as she slowly, hesitantly, raised her fist to knock on the door. She couldn't bring herself to do it right away, though, and she shook her head.

No, she had to do it. She really did owe him an apology for her behavior, and she knew it. There was nothing left but for her to swallow what was left of her already tattered pride and do it, right?

She hadn't even bothered to try going back to bed. It was almost six in the morning by the time she'd finished watching the recording of the commencement ceremony. Marvin had hurried out of the bedroom fully dressed with his suitcase in hand, paused long enough to kiss her cheek, and then had rushed off to catch his plane. She'd gone for a run then had cut over to see Madison just after seven.

 _It didn't surprise her that Madison was still in bed, no, but what had surprised her was that the normally vivacious woman had looked very much like she'd just been caught in a windstorm or something, and her low groan that greeted Valerie was more than a little strange; strange enough that Valerie had ignored her reasons for stopping by in lieu of demanding to know what had happened to Madison, instead. "Maddy? Are you all right?_ "

" _Coffee," the woman croaked, rolling over in the large bed and huddling a little deeper beneath the covers. Valerie hadn't said anything as she'd hurried off to the kitchen to retrieve a cup, though she was surprised that the coffee in the pot was still very, very hot. She made quick work of filling a mug and dumping a couple sweetener packets into it before carefully hurrying back to the bedroom once more_.

 _Maddy sat up and reached for the drink with a low groan and a rather spacey-looking smile. "Much, much better," she approved after she'd slurped down about half of the coffee. "Thanks_."

 _Valerie shook her head as she sank down on the edge of the very rumpled bed, rubbing her arms against the chill in the morning air that blew through Madison's opened windows. "So are you going to tell me why you look like you were hit by a Mack truck?_ "

 _The enigmatic little grin on her face widened as she tipped the cup of coffee to her lips once more. "He was a helluva Mack truck," she murmured_.

 _Valerie's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "He?_ "

" _Hmm," Madison intoned with a secretive little smile as she flopped back on the bed and heaved a contented sigh. "I have been well and truly fucked," she said_.

 _Valerie laughed despite herself. "But I thought you were going out with Bugs last night," she remarked with a shake of her head_.

" _I did," Madison agreed, tugging the sheet up over her still-naked body. "It didn't last long. Of course, I'd have been surprised if it had_."

" _Why's that?_ "

 _Shifting her violet eyes to the side to meet Valerie's gaze, Madison giggled. "Because Bugs is never that interested in me, lovey. He found something that caught his attention more—he was probably wearing really tight pants or something—and he ditched me_."

 _Valerie's lips twitched. "You don't sound like that was a bad thing," she pointed out_.

 _Madison shrugged. "It wasn't. He ditched me with one of the_ sexiest _men living and breathing_."

" _Oh_ , really?"

" _Oh, really," Madison quipped_.

 _Valerie shook her head again, but couldn't help her smile. "Do I know him?_ "

 _A strange sort of expression filtered over Madison's features, and she laughed. "I don't think so, but you may know_ of _him_."

" _Oh? Who?_ "

". . . _Gunnar Inutaisho_."

"The _Gunnar Inutaisho? As in, the filthy rich Gunnar Inutaisho? Really_. . ."

 _She nodded then made a face. "V, swear to God you won't tell Evan," she insisted_.

" _Oh, I won't tell—wait . . . You just called him 'Evan'_."

 _Madison rolled her eyes and waved a hand. "Of course I did. That's his name. I mean, you_ did _see him last night at the gala, right?_ "

 _Valerie narrowed her gaze as the vivid reminder of the events of the night before inundated her with a ferocity that nearly made her blush. "So you knew that he was going to be there, too? Why didn't you warn me_ before _I stuck my foot in my mouth?_ "

" _For the same reason I didn't warn him," she retorted airily. "How much fun would that have been, I ask you?" She sat up suddenly, her eyebrows drawing together in a marked scowl. "What do you mean, '_ before _you stuck your foot in your mouth'?" Valerie grimaced. Madison winced. "That bad?_ "

 _Valerie sighed. "Worse, actually," she admitted quietly, unable to meet her friend's probing expression as her eyes fell to her hands, folded in her lap. "I . . . I i-i-i-insulted . . . his mother_ . . ."

 _Madison gasped. "No, you didn't_ . . ."

" _Yeah, I so did_."

" _But . . . But Evan_ . . . loves _his mama_ . . ."

 _Valerie heaved another sigh and shot Madison a scathing glower. "Well, I know that_ now _," she grumbled. "I didn't know who she was last night, and he was all, 'She's_ special _; I_ adore _her', and I was all, 'Why? Is she that good in bed?', so he said, 'I suppose you could say that', and not once—_ not once _—did he say, 'Oh, by the by, she's my_ mother'!"

 _Madison's lips twitched despite the otherwise seriousness in her expression at Valerie's impromptu and horribly bad impersonation of the man in question. "Does Evan really sound that stupid when he talks?" she deadpanned_.

" _Mad_ dy!"

" _How could you not know she was his mother? He looks just like her—well, he does have his father's eyes, though . . . Sexier than holy hell, if you ask me_ . . ."

 _Valerie snorted then sighed, effectively putting an end on her own tirade. "And just how was I supposed to know that? The woman didn't look old enough to be his mother! She looked like she might have been his sister—his_ younger _sister, damn it!_ "

 _  
She laughed again then finally groaned. "So you're telling me that you two didn't have a good time last night?" she asked, a hint of very definite worry creeping into her tone_.

" _Oh, don't worry," Valerie muttered, scowling at the toe of her running shoe. "Zel—Evan—whoever . . . He got back at me in spades . . . and I completely deserved it, too," she added quietly_.

 _Madison grimaced and sucked in a harsh breath. "Oh, no . . . What did he do?_ "

 _Valerie gave a little shrug, as though the situation didn't bother her nearly as much as it really did. "He . . . Well, see . . . Marvin, he . . . He wanted me to dance with Zel—you know, after he figured out that he was Mrs. Zelig's son, you know? Wanted me to sort of . . . I don't know, put in a good word for him about the research and stuff . . . So, I told Zel that I'd do . . ." she trailed off for a moment and swallowed hard, blinking fast to stave back the tears that still rose whenever she thought about that awful moment. ". . . A-A-Anything_ . . ."

 _Madison shook her head in confusion. "Oka-a-ay_ . . ."

 _Valerie sighed and bit her lip. "After we finished dancing, he . . . He tugged me into this side room, and he . . . he said that he wanted a . . . a blow job_."

" _He say wha-a-a . . .?" Madison demanded, a spark of complete incense in her demeanor— incense at Zel for having said any such thing. "That little dick! I swear to God, I'll_ —"

"No!" _Valerie interjected quickly. "Maddy, no! He . . . He was right. He was . . . Marvin told me to do 'anything', and Zel was right. I should have . . . I should have thought about what I was saying—offering. I didn't, and I deserved it after what I'd assumed about his mother . . ." She tried to smile. It looked more like a grimace. "He was right. I . . . I was Marvin's whore_."

" _The_ hell _he was right," Madison growled, her eyes flashing with indignant fire. "He's_ never _right, damn it! Valerie_ —"

 _She let out a deep breath and managed a trembling smile. "Seriously, Madison, he was, and even then, I . . . I do owe him an apology_."

" _Okay, fine. Apologize to him for what you said about his mother, but you make sure that bastard apologizes to you first! You are no one's whore, and even if you were, you'd be_ mine _, not his!_ "

 _Valerie laughed weakly and shook her head. "I'm going to go over there," she said, inflicting a lot more resolve into her tone than she was actually feeling, given the circumstances_.

 _Madison snorted but didn't try to stop her. "Fine, then, but I'm serious. Just because you made a mistake doesn't mean that he had the right to be so shitty with you . . . and don't you dare tell him about Gunnar, either_."

 _Valerie felt a little better, though she would have been hard-pressed to put a finger on why as she stood up to leave. "Why's that?_ "

 _Madison finally smiled, though the expression held a little more animosity toward her friend than Valerie could credit. "Because he's Evan's cousin," she replied simply_.

" _He is?_ "

 _Madison gave a quick nod and rolled her eyes. "Evan's mother's Gunnar's father's cousin_."

 _And just why didn't that little gem surprise Valerie at all, either_ . . .?

And which was neither here nor there. Shaking herself out of her reverie, Valerie let out a deep breath, garnering her courage before it fled her completely. Telling Evan she was sorry—that was far more important at the moment, and she wasn't really one to procrastinate, anyway. No, best to just get it over with, wasn't it? Of course it was . . .

' _Just do it, Valerie. Swallow your pride and do it. The worst he could possibly do is close the door in your face, and if he did that, then at least you'd know that you'd tried to apologize. Just do it. Just do it_ . . .'

The sound of her knock echoed through her head, and she grimaced, but the doorbell had been just a little more than she really could manage at the moment. Wishing that he'd just open the door while the smallest part of her hoped to God that he wasn't home, she waited for what felt like an eternity before she turned on her heel and started to go.

The door opened behind her, and she swung around with a smothered yelp of surprise, her heart thumping erratically in her chest as she glanced at him—and stopped short—every breath, every thought, every last bit of her sanity fleeing her in that instant.

Lounging in the doorway with the rumpled white shirt he'd worn under his tux hanging open and his bowtie undone and dangling from the tabs of his collar, his face still held onto the slow sleepiness of lingering dreams. Eyes heavily lidded, a light sheen of silvery stubble clinging to his cheeks, he stared at her for a moment as though he just didn't recognize her before the slightest of smiles quirked his lips. "Oh, hey, V," he said, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand.

Of all the receptions she figured she'd get, that simply hadn't been one of them. Still caught up in her absolute bemusement, though, she could only nod when he stepped back and gestured for her to come inside.

"I, uh . . ."

"Shit . . . What the fuck time is it, V?" he interrupted, idly scratching the shallow vale in the center of his chest.

She swallowed hard, blatantly staring at the exposed flesh that somehow seemed that much more intimidating when she saw him up close, especially when coupled with the overly sleepy drawl that could be discerned beneath his words. "T-Time?" she squeaked.

The scratching hand moved from his chest to the back of his head as he yawned again. "N'er mind," he mumbled.

Forcing her gaze off his chest, she cleared her throat, her hands shaking pitifully as she drew a deep breath. "I . . . I just wanted to apologize a-about last night," she blurted quickly, unable to staunch the flow of blood that surged into her cheeks. "I never should have said those things about your—your mother, and—"

"Don't worry about it," he said with a shrug. "Guess I never told you that she was my mama . . . Yeah, I shoulda told you she was, huh?"

Valerie shook her head, feeling just a little worse since he was being so damned nice about everything. "All the same, you were . . . were right . . . about a lot of things . . ."

Evan snorted and rolled his eyes, but his smile widened and remained good-natured. "Don't say _tha-a-a-at_ . . . I'm _never_ right . . ."

"No, you were right. I _should_ have known exactly what I was saying, and you . . . I'm really sorry, Ze—Evan," she corrected before he could.

He blinked and stared at her, a very slow smile quirking his lips as he carefully regarded her. "Stop apologizing, will you? No harm, no foul, right?"

She heaved a sigh and shook her head. "No. I . . . I still owe you a favor, don't I? So . . . So, just name it."

She couldn't quite help the trill of foreboding that rumbled through her, either. Unable to do much more than fidget and wait, she chanced a surreptitious peek at him, but blinked when she saw that he wasn't even really paying attention to her. Rummaging through his pockets for something, he seemed intent on his mission instead of what she'd said to him. "Evan? Are you listening to me?"

"Yeah, you owe me, blah blah . . . V, you don't owe me shit. If anyone owes anybody anything, it's me. I was just being an asshole last night, and I'm sorry. Forget about it."

She narrowed her eyes and stubbornly shook her head. "No, that's just it. You were right. You really were, and—"

He stopped and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back just a little as he carefully regarded her. "Is this gonna take awhile?"

"It wouldn't if you'd just let me speak," she muttered.

Evan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay. Know how to use a knife?"

She shook her head in complete confusion. "What?"

He yanked off his shirt and chuckled as he grabbed her hand and started toward the kitchen. "Mom and Cain are coming over for breakfast, so if you wanna keep apologizing when it's not necessary, then the least you can do is chop while you're doing it."

She snapped her mouth closed on whatever she was going to say, caught off guard by the thing he was suggesting. "You . . . You really can cook?" she asked, remembering a moment too late that his mother had said as much during the bachelor auction.

"'Course I can! Almost as good as my mama . . . _almost_."

The idea bemused her enough that she said nothing else as he led her into the kitchen and let go of her beside the long counter in the middle. She watched in silence as he sauntered over to the shelf where he kept some fruit that he hadn't put into the refrigerator. "Knives are in the drawer beside you," he said, grabbing three good sized melons and tossing them into the air to juggle them. "Catch, V."

She barely had time to react, catching the first of the melons with a low 'oof' before he launched the next one. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?" she muttered as she set the last one aside and pulled the drawer open.

"Sure," he told her with a wink. "But who do you think taught me how to juggle, anyway?"

She smiled despite her still self-conscious thoughts as he pulled open the refrigerator and disappeared inside. He was back a few minutes later with his arms laden with a few butcher paper wrapped parcels and some other odd items.

She worked carefully, but efficiently as he headed out of the room again, reasonably pleased with her own culinary skills. She wasn't a chef, by any means, but she knew how to handle the knife well enough, and she was about midway through chopping the second melon when he strode back into the room a few minutes later, having changed out of his dress pants into a very ragged pair of ripped and faded blue jeans. The snap was actually missing, she noticed as a foreign sort of warmth seeped into her cheeks. "So, who's Cain?" she heard herself asking as she forced her attention away from Evan's well-shaped ass.

"Cain? Oh, he's my father," Evan replied, reaching high overhead to pull down a very large frying pan that he spun in the air and caught with one hand as he turned on and adjusted the flame on the cooktop with his other one.

"You call your father by name?"

He shrugged. "It's the _nicest_ of my names for him, sure."

She shook her head and rinsed her hands in the nearby sink. "I need a bowl," she told him.

"In that cupboard," he said, nodding at the row of them in front of her as he pulled a couple of the wrapped packages open, dumped the ground sausage into a bowl and reached for a plastic container of some kind of unlabeled spice mix and proceeded to mix it all with his hands before forming them into patties at a speed that made her blink.

She found a bowl easily enough and carefully scooped the cut up melon into it. "Wouldn't it be easier to call him, 'Dad'?"

"Maybe," Evan agreed with a careless shrug. "Who the fuck cares?"

She watched as he quickly placed the patties into the pan and grabbed the bowl to dump it into the sink before washing his hands. "Anyway, your mom . . . She seems really, really sweet."

The grin he shot her made her catch her breath for a dizzying moment. As though he'd just won the greatest prize of them all, he absolutely beamed at her in complete and utter boyish delight. "Yeah? You think?"

She opened her mouth to reply but snapped it closed as she narrowed her eyes. She'd been so preoccupied in her own upset that she hadn't noticed it before, but . . . Without a second thought, she reached out as he passed her, grabbing a fistful of his long hair and yanking to bring his head down to her level so that she could inspect it.

" _Ow-w-w!_ " he exclaimed, his back bending severely when he didn't stop walking quite fast enough. "Attached, V! That's attached!"

"How did your hair grow back so fast?" she demanded incredulously.

He snorted and carefully straightened up when she finally let go of his hair. "Haven't you ever heard of a wig, woman?" he countered.

She snorted. "I saw your hair last night, Zel Roka. That couldn't have possibly been a wig."

"It totally was a wig, V Pinkle. Shows what you know, dunnit?"

Her mouth fell open at his retort, and she quickly shook her head. "That is so not funny," she argued, chagrined in the extreme that she couldn't quite hold back the little grin that surfaced on her face. "Besides, I never said I was taking his last name when we get married."

He snorted, too. "Yeah, I wouldn't either, if I were you . . . but I know damn well I told you that my name's Evan Zelig."

"Whatever, whatever. Don't you try to derail the topic, Roka. I'm on to your tricks."

"Hmm," he drawled with an enigmatic little shrug. "I had Maddy do it last night after the party," he said.

"Impossible!" she scoffed.

"What? It doesn't really take that long," he argued.

"It's impossible because last night Maddy was busy doing someone else, not you."

He sighed and rolled his eyes but kept smiling. "Then I guess you'll have to buy my story about wearing a wig."

"A wig," she echoed, her voice rife with dubiousness.

"Tha-a-a-at's right, baby. Like it or lump it, but you'll have to accept it."

She heaved a sigh designed to let him know exactly what she thought of his claims. "So when are your parents going to be here?"

He mashed his hands into a bowl of flour and what looked to be . . . lard . . .? "In an hour or so," he replied.

She made a face. She really ought to apologize to his mother, too, shouldn't she?

Evan must have seen it on her face, though, and he sighed softly. "V . . . I said, don't worry about it, okay?"

She shot him a reluctant glance but didn't reply.

"Look, it was as much my fault as it was yours, maybe more. I really should have told you that she was my mama. I just figured you'd know it when you saw her. It's all right."

She shook her head then shrugged, reaching into the bowl of fruit stationed in the middle of the counter and carefully paring a strawberry. "All the same, you were right. A promise is a promise, and I did tell you 'anything' . . ."

For the briefest of moments, he actually looked irritated before he managed to mask the emotion behind a half-hearted smile. "Aw, forget about it. You don't have to—" He cut himself off abruptly as an altogether worrisome sparkle ignited behind those deep blue eyes of his. "Well, I mean, if it would really make you feel better," he began slowly.

Valerie shifted her gaze to the side to give him the critical eye. Yep, definitely something going on in that brain of his, and for reasons that Valerie didn't really want to think about, it frightened her a lot. "Wha-a-at . . .?"

He stepped around her to wash his hands off in the sink before turning an entirely too-innocent look on her. "See, it's like this . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_'Hard_** **_to_** **_Say_** **_I'm_** **_Sorry_** _'_ _was_ _first_ _released_ _on_ _the_ _1982_ _album,_ **_Chicago_** **_16_** _by_ _Chicago_. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _David_ _W._ _Foster_ _and_ _Peter_ _P._ _Cetera_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _… Now what …?_


	24. 023: Borrowed Girlfriend

' _My darling believe me_ …  
' _For me there is no one but you_ …  
' _Please love me too_ …  
' _I'm in love with you_ …  
' _Answer my prayer_ …'

 

-' _I_ _Say_ _A_ _Little_ _Prayer_ ' by Dionne Warwick.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"See, it's like this . . ."

No doubt about it, she definitely looked nervous. "What's like what?"

Evan tamped down the surge of guilt that he really was about to suggest what he was thinking. "You have to understand that my mama—my wonderful, lovely, brilliant, gorgeous mama—Well, she has a problem."

Valerie shook her head. "A problem?" she echoed. "What kind of problem?"

Evan shrugged and dumped a half of a bottle of buttermilk into the biscuit dough he was making. "Not so much a problem as an . . . unhealthy preoccupation, if you will . . ."

"Cut to the chase, Roka," she demanded. "And how do you get 'Zel Roka' out of 'Evan Zelig', anyway?"

He grinned at her. "Evan . . . Roka . . . Zelig," he told her.

She shook her head. "What? Did your parents want to make you into a rock star before you were even born?"

He laughed. "Roka is Japanese. It means 'white crest of the wave'."

"Japanese," she repeated.

He nodded. "Mama's Japanese, not that you could really tell, right?"

Valerie sighed and shook her head then waved her hand quickly. "Never mind that. Just tell me what kind of favor you want."

He smiled to himself, unable to hide his amusement at Valerie's impatience. "Oh, yeah, that . . . See, Mama likes to visit, and, while I love her visits, she has a rather bad habit of regaling me with the current list of eligible bachelorettes she knows, and I . . . Well, I'm not ready to be tied down just yet, right? But I hate to hurt her feelings . . ."

Valerie was either trying not to understand or just really didn't get it. Either way, she shook her head and frowned in confusion. "And . . .?" she prompted when he trailed off.

He chuckled. "And so it would help me out a lot if you were to—I don't know—be my girlfriend for the day."

She blinked and stared at him for about thirty seconds before her hazel eyes took on an entirely suspect glow, and she shook her head. "Your . . .? Oh, no . . . That is _such_ a bad idea . . ."

Evan shrugged. "Yeah, you're right . . . Besides, I already told you that it doesn't matter, didn't I? Don't worry about it."

She stiffened. He could feel it, and he could appreciate her dilemma, even if he didn't rescind the offer. On the one hand, she really did feel as though she owed him. On the other? He almost laughed—almost.

"Just . . . Just for one day, right?" she finally asked, suspicion rife in her voice.

Evan nodded. "Yeah."

She looked like she couldn't quite believe she was actually considering it. "No funny business?"

"Totally serious boyfriend," he quipped.

His response didn't seem to make her feel any better, and she heaved a sigh. "And then we're even?"

"Even-Steven."

She sighed again. "And you _really_ think your parents will buy it?"

"Well, it would help, maybe, if you grabbed my ass from time to time."

She snorted but giggled, tucking a wayward lock of honey blonde hair behind her ear. "Don't push your luck, Roka."

"So you'll do it?"

She heaved a longsuffering sigh and stared at him for a moment. "All right," she agreed, "but remember: no funny stuff."

"No funny stuff. Got it." Evan grinned. "Hey, V . . ."

"What?"

He shot her a sidelong glance and chuckled softly, appreciating the way the morning sunlight shone in her hair. "Is that your real color?" he asked quietly.

She looked startled for a moment, but her cheeks pinked prettily as she shot him a fleeting smile and ducked her head back toward her task again. "Y-Yes," she mumbled, paying an inordinate amount of attention to her fruit cutting. "Why?"

"It suits you," he said.

"Oh, does it?" she countered, a hint of amusement in her tone. "And you? What's your real hair color?"

He chuckled. "You're looking at it."

She did a double take at that, narrowing her eyes as she slowly shook her head. "Okay, seriously," she insisted.

"I am being serious," he countered. "This is the color I was born with."

She still didn't look like she believed him, but she must have figured that he was going to keep insisting that it really was his natural color. "Okay, fine, if you really don't want to tell me," she breathed in feigned resignation.

"Yeah, yeah, if you don't believe me, just ask my mama when she gets here," he quipped. "Anyway, why the fuck would you color your hair brown?"

She shot him a droll sort of glance and shrugged. "I don't know; why would you?"

He laughed. "Easy," he told her. "I don't want people to recognize me; that's all. Is that what you're doing? Hiding your deep, dark past?"

Hardly," she retorted. "I'd just rather that people listen to me instead of drawing the conclusion that I'm an airhead because I had the misfortune of being born blonde."

"Nothing wrong with being born blonde," he argued. "So where did you grow up?"

"What is this? Twenty questions?"

"Well, it stands to reason that I ought to know a few things about my girlfriend, right?"

She snorted. "Kentucky."

He glanced at her, pressing his lips together in a thin line. "Oh? So you're inbred."

Her knife paused in mid-chop. "I am not!" she insisted.

He laughed. "I thought everyone in Kentucky was their own grandpas."

She turned and whipped a blueberry at him. He caught it in his mouth and grinned unrepentantly. "You're kind of a jerk, did you know?"

"Yeah, I've been called worse," he replied. "Okay, so you're from Kentucky, and you're not inbred. Got it. Any brothers or sisters?"

"Do you have any?"

Evan shrugged. "Yep . . . got an older half-sister, Bellaniece—she lives in Japan with her husband, an absolutely _perfect_ older brother, Bas, and my baby sister, Jilli."

"Perfect? How so?"

He shrugged as he cut the biscuits and arranged them on a baking sheet. "Aww, you know: _perfect_ —perfect son with his perfect wife and their perfect kids. _Perfect_."

She frowned. He could feel her staring at him even if he didn't turn to verify it. "And you're not?"

He laughed. "Hell . . . I'm the fuck up . . . You couldn't tell?"

"Hmm, you're the black sheep; is that what you mean?"

"You savvy pretty well, babycakes," he replied.

She snorted then giggled, pressing the back of her wrist against her mouth to stifle the sound. "All right, then . . . Did you graduate high school?"

"Yup . . . Well, I tested out early, if that's what you mean."

She blinked in obvious surprise, unable to hide the incredulity on her face at his claim. "Really? Then . . . Then you're smart."

"Nah," he scoffed and shrugged, making quick work of cracking about a two dozen eggs into a clean bowl. "I just really hated school."

She shook her head. He could feel her gaze still locked on him, and again, he didn't turn around to verify it. "No . . . You have to be smart to test out early," she said. "I've seen the test before, and I know I couldn't have passed it if I'd had to."

"Yeah, well, you can 'pass' just about anything when your daddy's filthy fucking rich," he quipped.

She didn't believe him. The intensity of her stare was enough to convince him of that easily enough. "So you really do read the _Wall Street Journal_."

Evan shot her a coy grin and rolled his eyes. "What? Oh, that?" he said, catching sight of the newspaper that was lying on the counter exactly where Bone had left it for him yesterday. "That's not mine. It's Bubby's."

"Bubby?"

"My perfect brother, remember? Bubby. Jesus, V, no one's going to believe you're my main squeeze if you can't remember that much."

"I can remember just fine, you know," she argued. "You hadn't mentioned this 'Bubby' before—at least, not like that. Anyway, why are you getting his newspaper?"

"Ehh, he doesn't live here in the city, but he doesn't like to cancel his subscription, either, since that's kinda a pain in the ass."

She really wasn't buying his explanation. It amused Evan more than he cared to think about. "'Sides, I only like newspapers like the _Star_. You know, it's got _pictures_."

"The _Star_ is hardly a newspaper," she argued with a very loud snort. "It's a gossip rag that isn't worth the money spent to buy it."

He chuckled. "You're right," he agreed. "So you didn't answer me about siblings. You got any?"

Her answer was a bit long in coming, but she finally shot him a vague sort of nervous little smile. "I've got a brother and a sister. They're a lot younger than I am, though."

" _Ni-i-i-ice_ . . . Is she as hot as you are?"

That earned him a decisive snort, but she blushed and quickly shook her head. "She's too young for you, you nasty debaucher."

"Ahh, the words of true love," he breathed.

She rolled her eyes and laughed.

' _Damn, I love that laugh of hers_ ,' he thought with a grin as he set the bowl of beaten eggs aside and reached for the spatula to flip the sausages.

' _Absolutely,_ ' his youkai intoned. ' _That woman . . . Girlfriend for the day, eh? That kinda blows_ . . .'

Evan was inclined to agree. ' _One thing at a time . . . One day for now_ . . .'

"So how long have we been dating?"

Blinking as he snapped out of his reverie, Evan grinned. "We-e-ell . . . lessee, here . . . At least a month or you wouldn't be my girlfriend," he suggested.

She shook her head, frowning in concentration as she examined the bowl of fruit. "No more than two months or they'll ask why you haven't mentioned me before . . ." She whipped around suddenly, waving the paring knife in the vicinity of Evan's chest. "Why haven't you told your parents about me? Are you ashamed of me? Are you? Are you?" she demanded.

"Of course not, bay-bee," he drawled. "And have you told your inbreds—I mean, family—about me?"

Her face shifted into a strange sort of grimace, but she laughed and shook her head. "Hell, no," she retorted lightly. "I _am_ ashamed of you."

"Now, V, that smarts," he pouted.

She giggled and dropped a sliced peach into the fruit salad. "Well, you are a long-hair."

"List'n here, girly . . . When I 'uz a youngun, we all knowed how to wear our hair and be respectful toward our elders, nnn? We didn't wear no no-account clothes with our asses hangin' out fer the almighty God an' sundry t' see, you hear? Waitaminnit whiles I gets me m' cane . . ." he spoofed.

Valerie's giggles escalated into a full-blown laugh. "You're so bent. Why are you so bent?"

"Life on the straight and narrow never was my thing," he commented, enjoying the way her eyes lit up when she laughed. "All right, so, where did we meet?"

"I don't know. I think we probably ought to play it close to the truth, don't you think?"

"Okay, so, we met when you came up to me on the streets of downtown Manhattan and grabbed me by the balls, right?"

She giggled but groaned. "When pigs fly."

"Hmm, look out there. They're sprouting wings."

She tossed a towel at him, and he laughed. "I met you when you barged into my office and demanded that I save you from yourself."

"Or that," he agreed with a shrug. "And our first date?"

She got the barest hint of a smile on her face as her cheeks pinked just a little. "We freed the fishies," she murmured.

That gave Evan a moment's pause. It had more to do with her expression than it had to do with what she'd said, really. ' _Our . . . Our first . . . date_ . . .' For some reason, that thought pleased him. "Oh, yeah . . . That was a date?"

"Close enough," she replied with a shake of her head. "Besides . . . I had a lot of fun that night."

"Me, too," he allowed quietly.

She turned her head to stare at him, and in that moment, he could almost read her thoughts. For that one instant, she was entirely unguarded, wasn't she? And just for that instant, he could tell. Somewhere deep down, and even if she didn't really understand it, herself . . . She wanted more, didn't she? She wanted as much as he did . . .

But a moment later, the expression was gone, hidden by the brusque façade that she tended to favor. "So . . . anything else I should add to this?" she asked, changing the subjects, both spoken and unvoiced.

Evan stifled a sigh and let her have her way. "Nah, looks good. 'Sides, I doubt anyone but you'll eat that, anyway. Speaking of eating, here."

"What—? Oof!" She grunted as he shoved a hunk of sausage into her mouth and grinned. "I 'on't eat 'au'age," she mumbled.

"That whole weight thing again?" he scoffed, making a show of leaning back to admire her ass. "Hell, you could stand to gain a few pounds in the ass-end, if you know what I mean."

She shot him a scathing look that dissipated as she slowly chewed the sausage. "Oh . . ." she breathed, her eyes flashing open wide then slowly closing as she gave up and savored the bite. "O-Oh-h-h-h-h-h . . . Mmm . . ."

He swallowed hard and tried very desperately not to think about the fact that she was moaning and groaning in near-ecstasy. "Good?"

She nodded slowly but didn't open her eyes. "Oh, my God . . . This is better than sex . . ."

"Keh!" he snorted as he scooped the sausages out of the pan and onto a plate. "Depends on who you've been having sex with."

The tolling of the doorbell preempted whatever Valerie had been about to say, and Evan shot her a cheesy grin before loping out of the kitchen and toward the foyer. "Mama!" he greeted, grasping Gin Zelig and swinging her around in an exuberant hug. "How's my best girl?"

Gin giggled and held on, lest he should lose his grip. "My baby!" she gushed. "I'm so hungry, I could eat a horse!"

"Your mother isn't a toy, Evan," Cain pointed out with a frown as he grasped Gin around the waist and pulled her out of Evan's arms.

"Morning to you, too, Cain," Evan greeted pleasantly. "I made something special for you," he informed his mother.

"Oh? What?"

He grinned. "Peanut butter cup pie."

She squealed. "Really?"

Cain grimaced since he was closest and had taken the brunt of the sound attack. "Pfft, son. You shouldn't have."

"Bite your tongue, Cain! Mama loves her peanut butter pies."

"Oh, I know it, Evan, and would it kill you to call me, 'Dad'?"

"Come on," he said, ignoring the chiding in his father's voice as he headed back toward the kitchen. "There's someone you two need to meet . . . Well, Mama met her last night, of course . . ."

Valerie wiped the palms of her hands on her faded blue jeans and smiled a little reluctantly. Evan could tell that she'd probably hurriedly washed her hands and ran her fingers through her hair, and he could discern a trace nervousness in her demeanor. He stepped over to her and slipped an arm around her shoulders. "This is my girlfriend, V. V, this is my mama—you met her last night—and Cain."

Cain shot Evan a chagrined sort of scowl as he stepped forward to shake Valerie's hand. "I'm Evan's father," he said. "You're feeling better, I take it."

She blinked and stared at Cain for a moment, and as a slow sense of recognition came to her, so did a very livid blush. "Oh, uh . . . Y-Yes," she stammered. "Th-Thank you."

"You were there last night, weren't you?" Gin suddenly exclaimed as she reached for a sausage patty. "With that darling little man . . . Mr. Pickle, right?"

Evan chuckled. " _Pinkle_ , Mama."

"Dear _God_ ," Cain said before he could stop himself. "His last name is ' _Pinkle'?_ "

Gin snapped her fingers and grimaced. Valerie casually jabbed Evan in the ribs to keep from making any disparaging remarks regarding Marvin's last name. "Oh, that's it. I'm sorry."

"Yeah . . . V went with him. He's an old friend of hers, you know," Evan went on. "I mean, after I told her that I was going to escort my mama, she figured she'd go with him so that he didn't have to show up alone like a complete and utter loser."

He didn't miss the warning glance Valerie shot him.

Gin smiled and hurriedly hugged Valerie, who looked rather shocked at the exuberant welcome but recovered quickly enough to hug Gin back. "Oh, you have to tell me how the two of you met!" she exclaimed, grabbing Valerie's hand and tugging her off toward the other side of the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

Valerie shot him a reluctant sort of glance. He nodded at her.

Cain was silent for a moment, watching the women as Gin started launching questions at the poor woman. "Evan, tell me something."

Evan didn't take his eyes off Valerie, who was doing her best to answer the rapid-fire inquiry. "Hmm?"

"Were you the reason she ran out of there in tears last night?"

"She had a headache, Cain," he replied.

Cain considered that then slowly shook his head. "How'd you get her to pretend to be your girlfriend for the day?"

Evan shrugged offhandedly. "Call it a favor."

"But isn't she your lawyer?"

"Is that really a problem?" Evan countered mildly.

Cain narrowed his eyes and sucked in his cheeks as he thought about it. "It could become one, couldn't it? I mean, if she really were your girlfriend."

Evan shrugged. "Mama thinks she is."

"Of course she does. You told her she is. Your mama always believes whatever you tell her."

He didn't miss the hint of warning in Cain's voice, though for once, he didn't antagonize him for it, either. "That was the plan."

Cain let out a deep breath. "Evan?"

"Yes?"

"Don't make her cry again."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _I_** **_Say_** **_A_** **_Little_** **_Prayer_** ' _was recorded by Dionne Warwick in 1967 on the album_ **_The_** **_Windows_** **_of_** **_the_** **_World_** _. Song written by and copyrighted to Burt Bacharach and Hal David_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
> … _Girlfriend for the day … Nice_ …


	25. 024: Quiet

'" _If you like Pina Coladas and getting caught in the rain_...  
' _If you're not into yoga; if you have half-a-brain_...  
' _If you like making love at midnight in the dunes of the cape_...  
' _You're the love that I've looked for; come with me and escape_..."'

 

-' _Escape_ _(The_ _Pina_ _Colada_ _Song)_ ' by Rupert Holmes.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Evan leaned against the closed door and shot Valerie a lazy grin, head tilted back, eyes half closed. "They liked you," he said simply and in a tone that implied that he'd figured that they would.

Valerie rolled her eyes but blushed just a little. "They were nice," she told him. "You have your father's eyes."

A strained little smile quirked his lips, and he shrugged. "Yeah, well," he drawled then shook his head. "It's about the only thing I got from good ol' Cain."

She frowned and slowly shook her head. She'd known, hadn't she, that their relationship was a little tense, and to be honest, she'd really thought that Evan's father would be a jerk or something. He wasn't, and that confused her even more than Evan's strange behavior in regards to the man, to start with. No, in her opinion, Cain Zelig was warm and friendly, and, while his sense of humor seemed to be a little understated, just from having had breakfast with the man and his wife and son, Valerie had seen enough glimpses of it to know that he had one and that it was almost— _almost_ —as off the wall as Evan's was.

It also hadn't taken her long to figure out that Gin Zelig . . . Well, she was even sweeter and bubblier than Valerie had thought. The woman was completely amazing, and Valerie just couldn't quite understand how such a kind, almost naïve woman could have possibly given birth and raised the miscreant she'd come to know, and to see Evan interacting with his mother? Valerie sighed and almost smiled. It was quite obvious that he absolutely adored her, and no wonder when it was doubly obvious that the woman positively doted on her boy.

At one point, Gin had started singing one of Evan's songs—bad, if one thought about it since all Zel Roka's songs were blatant vocal porn—and Evan had laughed. The thing was, Gin had used much, much different lyrics—must cleaner lyrics—which had greatly amused Valerie. Cain hadn't bothered to correct her, but Evan had, and Gin, in her wide-eyed sort of way, had asked what certain phrases meant. Evan had somehow managed to explain them in such a way that Gin obviously hadn't understood the sexual innuendo, and when Valerie glanced at Cain, he'd peeked at her and smiled a little shyly. " _It's not really bad . . . yet_ ," he'd said in explanation as to why he wasn't trying to stop them.

No, Evan's parents really were great, and even though she knew damn well that they were some of the richest people on the planet, to boot, she couldn't say that there was really anything even remotely stuffy about them. They were cute, they were fun, and it was obvious, too, that they adored one another.

It was strange, though. Neither of them looked old enough to have a full-grown son in his thirties, and even then, Evan had said that he had an older brother and a half-sister, too. If she hadn't known better, she never, ever would have thought that they were his parents, not by a long shot. Gin just didn't look like she was more than maybe twenty—maybe—and Cain? His demeanor was that of an older guy, sure, but looks-wise? He looked like he might have been around twenty-five, tops. She frowned. Then again, Evan didn't look like he was in his thirties, either. ' _Talk about good genes_ ,' she thought to herself.

And as the morning had progressed—she still couldn't quite believe the sheer amount of food that both Evan as well as the really tiny woman, his mother, had ingested—Valerie had felt increasingly bad for her negative assessment about her, to start with. Still, Evan had winked at her whenever she caught his eye, and he'd prodded her into eating far more than she really ought to have, and that, coupled with her marked lack of sleep the night before, had her yawning despite her best efforts not to.

Evan intercepted the yawn and smiled gently as he pushed himself away from the door and held out his hand. "C'mon, V."

She blinked at his hand and shook her head. "Where are we going?" she asked a little dubiously.

Evan chuckled. "Nowhere untoward. I'm tired. Big breakfast, you know," he said.

"Tired?" she echoed dumbly.

He nodded and grasped her hand, tugging her along behind him, out of the foyer and toward the staircase. "Yeah, tired. I want a nap, and you look like you could use one, too. By the way, remind me. I've got your purse."

She stopped short, tugging her hand out of his grasp and frowned at him when he stopped, too. "Why do you have my purse?"

He shot her a rather apologetic little grin that sent a shiver of something altogether nice right up her spine. "You forgot it last night," he told her with a shrug. "V . . . About what I said . . ."

She waved a hand, knowing that he was going to apologize again. Knowing that he felt bad . . . it unsettled her. "If I don't have to apologize anymore, then neither do you," she said.

He stared at her for a long moment as his smile widened into something far more dangerous. "Yeah?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Okay. Now can we go take a nap? I'm exhausted," he maintained.

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't think—"

"Keh! You're my girlfriend for the day, right? It'd be perfectly normal for me to take a nap with said-girlfriend after a hellaciously large meal like the one we just enjoyed, so come on . . . I'm exhausted, wench."

She blinked, bemused by his choice of words as he grabbed her hand again and started tugging. "Wench?"

He nodded. "It's a term of endearment in my family," he told her.

She wasn't entirely sure that she believed him, but she did let him drag her off toward the stairs. "I like your family," she mused, stifling another yawn with the back of her hand. "Are you sure you're not going to try anything funny?" she pressed.

Evan rolled his eyes and shot her a chagrined sort of look. "Nothing funny, swear to God," he promised again. "Anyway, don't tell me you're not tired, because I won't believe you, anyway."

"Hmm . . . You know, right? I have a black belt in taekwondo, so if you do _anything_ even _remotely_ bad . . ." she informed him.

He chuckled. "Do you, really?"

She grinned despite herself, proud of her achievement. "Yes, I do. They said I had . . . anger repression issues when I was younger, so they thought that I should channel them into something more constructive."

He laughed outright. "Anger repression issues? Aw, hell . . . Isn't that just a nice way of saying that you have a helluva temper?"

She blushed but laughed, anyway. His laughter seemed to be infectious. "Something like that, I guess."

"You? A temper? You don't say," he teased.

She rolled her eyes and pushed him with her free hand. He turned long enough to shoot her a cheesy grin before pulling her along behind him down the hallway. "You're kind of a jerk, Zel Roka—Evan Zelig."

That grin just widened. "Yeah, maybe a little." He pushed the door at the end of the hallway open and gestured inside. "The den of iniquity."

Valerie stepped past him, only to stop short as she looked around the room. Den of iniquity fit the description quite well, all things considered. She slowly shook her head. "Oh, my God . . ." she breathed, unable to wrap her head around exactly what she was seeing.

She wasn't sure what was worse: the stripper pole in the center of the room, the ninety inch television that was flattened against the ceiling—it dropped down when he wanted to watch something, she supposed—the mirrored floor and ceiling, the disco ball that bespoke strange lighting effects from the myriad of tube lights that ran the perimeter of both floor and ceiling, or the heart-shaped, luridly red silk covered waterbed with curtains that extended around the fattest part of the heart. The headboard of the bed was a mirror with Zel Roka's likeness etched into it, and she could only shake her head in utter disbelief at the small wetbar that rose out of the mantle surround just under that.

"You're kidding, right?" she couldn't help asking, frowning at the soft black suede that covered the walls on the three sides that sported huge windows and a glass door that led to a balcony, she supposed. The windows were currently half-covered by equally appalling red velvet vertical blinds. Not surprisingly, the solid wall was mirrored, too.

"Wicked, huh?" he asked her proudly.

Valerie shot him a quick glance to see whether or not he was joking. He didn't seem to be, and that was even more disturbing, really. "This is the tackiest thing I think I've ever seen," she mused.

Evan laughed outright at that. "Nah, it rocks!" he insisted, grabbing a remote control out of the basket hanging on the wall beside the door just underneath the house monitoring station. "You want to change into something a little more comfy for sleeping?"

She glanced at him and slowly shook her head. If she thought this was a bad idea before, she really was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, she ought to haul ass for the front door. "Evan . . ."

He turned around and grinned at her, poised with the remote control raised at the wall of mirrors. "I like it when you say my name," he murmured in a low, gravely tone that made her heart skip a beat for one dizzying moment.

"I-I think I'm okay," she said, unable to contain the blush that filtered into her cheeks, though she wasn't entirely sure if it was because of the entirely appreciative way he was looking at her or because of his tone of voice.

He snorted, completely shattering the idyll she'd been trapped in. "Oh, come on, V . . . Who the hell can sleep decently in jeans and a blouse like that?"

She blinked and glanced down at her clothes. She'd ran back home long enough to shower and change before she'd come over, and she was just wearing a regular pair of jeans and a pretty blouse, nothing fancy. Still, considering she normally wore sweatpants to sleep in, she supposed that she couldn't really argue with him. However . . . "You swore—" she began dubiously.

Pressing one of the buttons on the remote control, Evan cut her off with a chuckle. "That's my closet, V. I'm sure I've got something you can wear in there."

She stared in surprise as the middle sections of the mirrored wall drew back, opening up to reveal a 'closet-slash-dressing room' that was easily bigger than her living room. Completely arranged in very neat order, Valerie wasn't entirely sure what to make of it, really. ' _Evan Zelig is nothing but one surprise after another, isn't he?_ ' she mused as she shot him a quick glance then headed toward the walk-in closet.

No sooner had she stepped inside then the closet doors slipped closed behind her. She jumped and looked back, almost afraid that he'd managed to lock her in. After a moment of inspection, though, she realized that there was a release button hidden in one of the panes of glass, and she smiled.

And ordinarily, she might have just picked something at random, too, but for some reason, the idea of looking at Evan's clothes . . . Well, it was just too good to pass up, really.

Sure, he had the prerequisite rock star garb—torn t-shirts, flashy button down shirts, ripped jeans, and, of course, the all-important leather pants . . . Leather jackets and boots and a pair of really obnoxious hot pink suspenders. No doubt about it, he was a bit of a strange one, wasn't he? Her gaze narrowed as she moved down the line. Nondescript dress shirts? Neat and tidy jeans, and a couple of Hawaiian shirts thrown in for good measure . . .? She snorted indelicately. Damn that man, he actually did have a couple suits—not many—two to be exact—but they were very nice ones, too: an Armani and a Gieselolm . . .

All in all, his collection was fairly eclectic, but it was the contents of the large bureau's top center drawer that drew a low snarl from her as she eyed the very eclectic collection of women's underpants with a very, very menacing scowl. "That dog," she muttered, slamming the drawer closed as a bright flush stained her skin, as much from having been snooping as it had to do with the very idea that the man collected that sort of thing.

It didn't take long for her to snatch a very large un-torn Zel Roka tee-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants that were likely to be a good three sizes too big off a hanger, and change clothes. Her irritation was still riding high when she pressed the button to let herself out of the changing room.

Evan was fiddling with the house monitoring panel when she finally reemerged, tugging at the drawstrings of the pathetically large pants to secure them. "You're so gross," she muttered in lieu of a proper greeting. " _Why_ are you so gross?"

"Gross?" he echoed with a raised eyebrow. "Gross: slang, meaning 'nasty' or 'disgusting' or German for—" the idiot grinned, "—really, really big?"

She snorted, crossing her arms over her chest and refusing to let him have the satisfaction of making her laugh. "Disgusting applies," she insisted.

"Oh?"

She nodded stubbornly. "Yes . . . Is there a reason you're collecting women's underpants?"

He chuckled. "They're not just underpants, V. Consider them . . . souvenirs of the places where I've been."

"Ugh . . ." she moaned, pinching the bridge of her nose as she closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. "You really are sicker than I thought . . ."

He laughed, of course. She'd have been surprised if he hadn't. "Tell me something, V," he drawled, cutting her off before she could demand that he get rid of his sordid collection. "How warm do you like the bed to be?"

She opened her mouth to demand that he stop trying to change the subject but was completely derailed by his frank question. "You . . . You can adjust that?" she ventured slowly, grudgingly moving in closer to peer around his broad shoulders.

"Yeah," he replied with a shrug, as though it were of no real consequence. "You get cold, right?"

Somehow, the heart-shaped, tacky as hell bed had gained a few notches of respect in her estimation. She didn't like it, of course, but . . . but climate control was a very nice thing . . .

He adjusted the setting and shot her a grin. "C'mon," he said, grasping her hand and tugging her toward the bed. "You lie down and get comfy while I go change."

"Into what?" she demanded in a slightly tighter voice than she'd meant to use.

He grinned. "Sweats, V. Have a heart, will you?"

She snorted but gave a curt nod, eyeing the bed a little warily as he headed for the closet to change. "I don't know," she called out, unable to completely let go of the idea that maybe, just maybe, this was a really bad idea. "If you have a guest room . . ."

"Sure, I got one," he replied, his voice muffled by the closet though he hadn't bothered to close the door. "But my babies use 'em, so I can't be held responsible if you wake up with, you know, dogs all over you. That and they haven't been cleaned in a while, either, come to think of it . . . I don't usually ask the cleaning lady to do much to them aside from the usual unless someone's coming to visit." He shrugged, as though it were of little real consequence. "I don't know that any of the beds are even made up—well, aside from the one the dogs use the most."

She didn't miss his wink as he strode out of the closet, clad in a pair of heather gray sweatpants. It didn't really reassure her, though. "You mean to tell me that you live in damn near a mansion, and you don't have a guest room other than the ones that you've let your little monsters take over?"

"You can go look if you want to," he told her with a shrug. "Just don't open the first door on the left or you might be sorry, and it won't be my fault because I warned you. 'Sides, I swear, I'll be the most chivalrous boyfriend, ever. Cross my hard-on and hope to fry."

She sighed and shook her head, figuring that if he were really willing to let her check out the rest of the rooms, then he probably was telling the truth. ' _Well . . . he did promise_ . . .'

Evan saw the reluctance on her face, and he sighed. "Girlfriend for the day, and I agreed to your terms that I would behave, remember?" he said gently. "Now, come on . . . I'm done in."

Valerie bit her lip but watched in silence as Evan tossed back the covers and crawled into bed. He seemed innocent enough, didn't he? He seemed almost . . . ' _Don't finish that thought, Valerie_ ,' she told herself sternly. Even still, as much as she couldn't help the feeling that she really was letting the whole 'girlfriend for the day' thing go a little too far, she really was tired, and though the bed looked entirely garish, it also looked damned comfortable . . .

So she slipped into the bed on the other side, curling up on her side and facing away from Evan. Nervous, maybe, but she had to admit that it was even more comfortable than it had looked . . . and it was warm—heavenly warm, really—so comfortable, in fact, that she couldn't quite help the happy little sigh that slipped from her as her eyes drifted closed.

In a vague sort of way, she felt Evan pull her close, and while it registered somewhere in the back of her mind that she really ought to stop him, she just couldn't summon the will to do it, either. The sleepless night before . . . the complete chaos and upset . . . It was all finally catching up with her . . .

And as she drifted off to sleep, she smiled. She thought she'd felt the brush of lips on her temple, but she just might have been dreaming, too . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _Damn, she's beautiful_ . . .'

Evan heaved a sigh and smiled to himself in an entirely self-satisfied sort of way as he stared at the sleeping woman cuddled against him. ' _Yeah . . . yeah, she is_.'

Funny, really. Evan couldn't remember ever having thought that a woman in oversized sweatpants and an overly large tee-shirt was sexy as hell, but he thought so now. Then again, maybe it had more to do with the idea that Valerie was wearing his scent like a second skin that did it . . .

Go figure.

Or maybe it was Valerie, herself . . .

Entirely possible, really. There was just something about her, and after having seen how she interacted with her mother and Cain? Well, it was kind of like icing on the cake, so to speak.

Gin really liked her; damned if she didn't, and Valerie? Well, he could tell that she'd liked Gin, too, which was exactly how it should be, wasn't it?

She sighed in her sleep and huddled a little closer.

What was it about her that made him feel so . . . so good? Why was she so very different from the other women he'd met?

It didn't make sense, not at all, and yet there really was something, wasn't there?

He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. He was tired, too—just as tired as she was, probably. Having spent the night outside her window, he'd followed her when she'd gone for a short run, and he hadn't left her until she'd disappeared into Madison's building, where he figured she'd be safe enough. Only then had he headed home, where he'd stopped long enough to kick off his shoes and lose the jacket before crashing out on the sofa to catch a few z-s before his mother and Cain showed up. At least, that had been the plan. In the end, though, he'd only dozed fitfully, realizing in a dazed sort of way that he wouldn't be able to sleep in his clothes but too damned tired to do anything about it aside from unbuttoning his shirt. Somehow, though, he must've managed to actually fall asleep, because the next thing he knew, she was knocking on his door . . .

So why couldn't he go to sleep now?

He snorted to himself and shook his head. That was an easy question, wasn't it? He couldn't sleep because she was there, with him, beside him, and he . . .

All he could do was stare at her, to savor the feel of her—the absolutely perfect way that her body seemed to mold against his. The familiarity that whispered to him, even if he didn't really understand it . . . She was the one true thing that he knew, wasn't she? The one—the _only_ one . . .

' _My mate_.'

His youkai didn't respond though Evan could feel the reassuring peace that resided deep inside him and figured that was good enough.

She wasn't wearing makeup. Then again, she didn't have to. Eyes fringed in sooty, dark lashes—thick and lush as they fanned over the tops of her rosy cheeks in her sleep . . . Lips blood red and slightly parted as she breathed softly . . . Even her hair that spilled around her in the softest blanket of liquid gold seemed to glow in the sunshine spilling through the half-opened windows . . .

Her skin seemed to invite his touch, and without a second thought, he did, brushing the backs of his knuckles over her cheek. She uttered a low moan and turned toward him a little more, her sandy brows furrowing just for a moment before they smoothed out of their own accord.

The beat of her heart beckoned him, drawing him closer than he'd ever been before. In those moments, it was a beautiful thing, and in those heartbeats, he couldn't help but understand the whispered promise of it.

' _What about Marvin?_ ' his youkai chimed in, breaking through the pleasant inebriation of his very proximity to her.

Evan deliberately tried to brush that off with a mental shrug. ' _What about him?_ '

' _Well, for starters, they're engaged_.'

Evan frowned and concentrated instead on gently touching Valerie's face, needing to imprint the very feel of her somewhere deep in his mind. ' _He's not the right one for her_ ,' he maintained stubbornly.

' _Maybe not, but that hardly matters when she's engaged to him, not you_.'

' _You're just a barrel of laughs, aren't you?_ ' he grouched, leaning down to brush the softest kiss over her closed eyes.

' _Aww, come on, Zelig. I wanna fuck her as badly as you do._ '

Evan pulled her a little closer and sighed. ' _She'll figure out that she belongs with me, not him_ ,' he thought.

' _Yeah, maybe. So how do we help her figure that out?_ '

Evan's optimism wavered slightly, but he brushed the worry aside. Better to concentrate on the here and now, wasn't it? Better . . . and a lot more interesting . . .

Because what it came down to was that he wanted to show her everything, wanted to present her with the world, all wrapped up in a neat little package with a pretty yellow bow on top. Somehow he'd make her understand, and then she'd realize that what she'd been looking for was the same thing that Evan wanted, too.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Escape_** **_(The_** **_Pina_** **_Colada_** **_Song)_** _'_ _was recorded by Rupert Holmes on his 1979 album,_ **_Partners_** **_in_** **_Crime_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to Rupert Holmes_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _She's in my bed_ …


	26. 025: Grand Inquiry

' _He drinks a whiskey drink_ …  
 _He drinks a vodka drink_ …  
 _He drinks a lager drink_ …  
 _He drinks a cider drink_ …  
 _He sings the songs that remind him of the good times_ …  
 _He sings the songs that remind him of the better times_ …'

 

-'Tubthumping' by Chumbawamba.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Please state your name."

"Zel Roka."

"Please be advised, Mr. Roka, that I am recording this meeting regarding the circumstances occurring on the night of March 18, 2073. Could you please tell me what you were doing that night?"

He grinned at her and shrugged offhandedly. "Hell, I don't remember. Oh, wait . . . I was getting shitfaced with my buddies."

"Mr. Roka, could you please keep in mind that I'm conducting an inquiry here, and in the interests of your case, I'd appreciate it if you'd answer the questions as plainly and concisely as you can."

His grin widened as he slouched down a little lower. "Damn, you're hella sexy when you're tryin' to be all strict," he drawled.

Valerie sighed and shook her head. "Can you name everyone at your house on the night in question?"

His expression shifted into one of exaggerated thoughtfulness, and he shrugged. "Well, lessee . . . I was there . . . Maddikins, of course . . . Bone, Dieter, Bitches—she and her main squeeze had a fight, I think—and Bugs. Yeah, I think that was about it."

"Is that right?" she asked, making notes on the computer touchpad. "Was anyone else there?"

"No one important."

She leaned back in her desk chair and slowly nodded. "All right. Tell me what all was going on, please."

"We were drinking beer and all that good shit . . . I smoked a couple-few joints . . . nothing major."

"And whose idea was it that you go out to acquire more beer?" she asked almost absently.

Evan shrugged again and tried to look duly attentive. Still exhausted from the weekend before, he wasn't doing a very good job of it, judging from the look on Valerie's face.

She'd gone back to her regular brown hair rinse, much to Evan's chagrin, and when she'd called him earlier to ask him to stop by her office, he had to admit that he'd been hoping for something a little more interesting than the current line of questioning. Still, he had to hand it to her. She was a damn smart woman, and even if he didn't care what the hell the court really did to him, he could appreciate that she seemed to. "I don't rightly remember," he said with a shake of his head.

"Okay, so you and Madison Cartham decided to go on a beer run; do I have that right?"

"Ye-e-e-e—yes!"

She scribbled something else down. "And no one else was with you?"

He cocked an eyebrow at that, his grin returning in cheesy abundance. "Nope."

She peered over the rim of her glasses and nodded slowly. "But you did not cause the accident."

"So they say," he replied.

"But you were under the influence of both marijuana and alcohol."

"They say that, too."

"And you realize that because you were found to be under the influence, the accident is your fault."

"They say a helluva lot, don't they?"

She frowned at him, willing him to play it her way for once, and Evan nearly relented. "Mr. Roka, do you understand the seriousness of the charges levied against you?"

Leaning forward, he steepled his fingertips together between his spread knees and nodded. "Yes, Ms. Denning. I understand completely."

She actually seemed a little taken aback by that. Blinking her surprise away quickly enough, she pressed her lips together and sighed. "Good . . . Now . . . Could you please tell me if you were injured in the collision?"

"Eh, a few scrapes; nothing big."

"And how did you incur those scrapes?"

He sat back and shrugged. "Hit my head on the window, was all. Didn't hurt the ol' moneymaker, if that's what you mean."

"The windshield or the side pane?"

Evan rolled his eyes and let out a deep breath, designed to let her know that he was rapidly tiring of her line of questioning. "The side pane."

"And was your passenger injured?"

"Maddy? Nope. She was sleeping in the back seat."

Valerie wrote another note and nodded. "All right, Mr. Roka. That's all the questions I had for you at the present time. I do, however, reserve the right to ask you to come back in, should I think of anything else."

"Right, right," he replied, slowly getting to his feet. "Hey, V? You still filming me?"

Valerie blinked but nodded. "Yes, why?"

He grinned yet again. "Good, good . . . Will you marry me?"

"When donkeys fly," she intoned smoothly and without as much as batting an eyelash.

Evan chuckled and headed for the door, wondering why it was that he thoroughly enjoyed hearing her refuse him—almost as much as he'd enjoy it if she were to suddenly agree to it. That was all right, too, wasn't it? After all, the best things in life were definitely worth waiting for, weren't they, and Valerie Denning? Well . . . somehow he knew damn well that the wait would absolutely be worth it.

' _Game on, V . . . game on_ . . .'

 

 

- ** _Madison_** -

 

 

"Please state your name."

"Madison Cartham."

"Please be advised, Ms. Cartham, that I am recording this meeting regarding the circumstances occurring on the night of March 18, 2073. Could you please tell me what you were doing that night?"

Madison chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully as she considered the question. "March eighteenth? Hmm . . . I was hanging out with Zel Roka."

"And could you define 'hanging out', please?"

Madison smiled. "Oh, you know . . . Just relaxing and having a good time."

Valerie nodded slowly, tapping the end of the stylus pen between her teeth as she pondered her next question. "Who all was there?"

"Well, I was . . . Zel was, of course . . . Hmm, let me think . . ." She tapped a long, tapered claw against her cheek and considered the question as Valerie jotted a few notes on the computer touchpad. "Bone was—he's always at the house. Head of security, you know. Umm . . . Bitches was there, looking fabulous, as always . . . Dieter was there . . . He'd just gotten out of the big house a week or so before, and if I remember right, we were celebrating his parole . . . Oh! And Bugsy. Yeah, I think that was all of us . . . I mean, there might have been a couple girls there, but no one that I'd remember . . ."

"So it was just a small gathering, then," Valerie intoned, frowning at her notes.

Madison nodded slowly. "Yes, that sounds about right."

"Hmm . . . Okay . . . Ms. Cartham, do you recall whose idea it was to go on the beer run?"

Leaning to the side in the comfortable chair across from Valerie, Madison mulled over the question. "Whose idea was it . . .? I don't recall exactly whose idea it was, but Dieter was the one who mentioned that Zel was out of beer."

"I see . . . Dieter . . . all right."

"Is that important?"

Valerie shrugged in a slightly offhanded sort of way. "Everything's important. Did you accompany Zel Roka to the liquor store to buy beer?"

Madison smiled. "Yes, I did."

"Did anyone else go with the two of you?"

Shifting slightly, Madison took a moment to examine her well manicured nails. "I don't recall. I fell asleep in the back seat of the car."

"But you walked out to the car of your own volition, yes?"

She nodded. "Yes, that's right."

"But you can't recall whether or not anyone else was with you?"

"Yes, that's right, too."

Valerie scowled but nodded, taking a moment to write down a few more things. "Thank you, Ms. Cartham. You've been quite helpful."

Madison stood up and winked at Valerie. "No problem, sweetie."

 

 

- ** _Bitches_** -

 

 

"Please state your name."

"Bitches."

Valerie blinked and pressed her lips together in a thin line. "Your legal name, please."

"I changed my name to Bitches about four years ago, all legal and whatnot."

"Please be advised, Ms . . . Bitches, that I am recording this meeting regarding the circumstances occurring on the night of March 18, 2073. Could you please tell me what you were doing that night?"

"We-e-e-ell . . . If memory serves, I spent that evening at Zel Roka's house."

"And how do you know Mr. Roka?"

Bitches giggled and fluttered a hand at the attorney. "Zel and I go way back," she replied almost evasively.

"How far back?" Valerie asked.

"Oh . . . ten years? More? We met just after he moved to the city. Such a sweetie, but such an outrageous flirt."

The attorney seemed to grit her teeth, but it might have just been her imagination, too. "I see. It's my understanding that aside from you and Mr. Roka, Bone, Bugs, Madison, and Dieter were there, as well. Does that sound right to you?"

"Yes, it does—Madison had _the_ most delicious boots on—said she got them on sale at Cavenaughs on Fifth Avenue."

"Is that so?"

Bitches giggled. "That's right."

Valerie nodded slowly. "Were you privy to the conversation about Zel having run out of beer?"

"Hmm," she intoned, shifting her eyes toward the ceiling. "No, can't say that I was."

"And why weren't you?"

"Well, I was playing strip poker with Bone."

"Is that right?"

She nodded. "Yes."

Valerie made a few notes and sat back, frowning in concentration as she watched Bitches closely. "And do you remember who all left to go get more beer?"

"You know, that completely slipped my mind," she replied smoothly.

The woman narrowed her eyes as Bitches blinked innocently. "Really."

"Sorry," she apologized with a bright smile.

Valerie didn't look as though she believed Bitches' story. "You're telling me that you cannot remember who all left to go get beer, but you can remember the shoes that Madison Cartham was wearing?"

"Honey, a woman _never_ forgets a pair of Vaz Gordon patent leather thigh boots."

A completely chagrined sort of expression filtered over Valerie Denning's features. "I see. Thank you," she remarked. "If I have more questions, I'll call you."

Bitches stood up and winked at Valerie. "You know, darling, I could work wonders in here," she said as she glanced around the entirely too-businesslike office. "Open your Zen right up."

Valerie smiled rather tolerantly and slowly shook her head. "I think my Zen's just fine, Bitches."

She smiled then laughed and let herself out of the office . . .

 

 

- ** _Bugs_** -

 

 

"Please state your name."

"Burney Bugstaff, but everyone calls me 'Bugs'."

"Please be advised, Mr. Bugstaff, that I am recording this meeting regarding the circumstances occurring on the night of March 18, 2073. Could you please tell me what you were doing that night?"

"Hmm, oh, ah . . . let me see . . . I have such a busy schedule, you know . . ." he drawled, waving his hands in an airy gesture. "March eighteenth? Was that the night that my Zelicious got into that dreadful accident?"

"Yes," Valerie clarified. "That's the one."

"Yay for me!" Bugs gushed, clapping his hands quite happily. "That's easy, hon. I was at Zel's house, of course!"

"Was Mr. Roka throwing a party?"

Bugs leveled a no-nonsense look at her. "Honey, ain't no party a _party_ without me."

"What do you remember about the party, Mr. Bugstaff?"

Bugs rolled his eyes and scrunched up his nose. "The party . . . the party . . . Well . . . hmm . . . Oh-Oh-Oh! I remember that Bone and Bitches were playing strip poker—and I remember that she was winning, more's the pity . . ."

She blinked but didn't smile. "That's a pity?"

Bugs giggled, waving a hand in front of his heavily makeup-ed face. "Listen, V, if you'd ever seen the man naked, you'd know _why_ he's called 'Bone'."

She stared at him for a moment, and Bugs had to wonder exactly what a man like Zel Roka could possibly see in such a cold fish. "I see. Did you overhear the discussion regarding Mr. Roka running out of beer?"

"Hmm," he intoned, pouting just a little as he thought about the question. "Oh, yes! Dieter said that Zel was out of beer, and Maddy said that he had wine, so Dieter said that wine was for pussies, and Zel said something about pussies making good wine goblets or something—you know, I so don't get that! I mean, who doesn't like wine?"

For the barest of moments, the attorney's lips twitched, but she didn't smile despite the idea that Bugs figured that she might. In the end, though, she cleared her throat and slowly shook her head. "And did you see who, exactly left the house?"

Bugs sat back and held his hands up at his sides. "Sorry, honey. I just . . . can't really remember."

Valerie stared at him for another moment then slowly nodded. "You don't remember," she repeated.

"Nope."

"Okay, I see. Thank you for your time, Mr. Bugstaff. I'll call you if I have any more questions."

 

 

- ** _Dieter_** -

 

 

"Please state your name."

"Dieter Reichardt."

"Please be advised, Mr. Reichardt, that I am recording this meeting regarding the circumstances occurring on the night of March 18, 2073. Could you please tell me what you were doing that night?"

"Don't 'member," he muttered, slumping a little lower in his chair.

"But you were at the party that Zel Roka was throwing that night, weren't you?"

"Guess so."

"Do you recall the discussion in which you informed Mr. Roka that he was out of beer?"

Dieter scratched the back of his neck and scowled at the desk. "Yeah."

"Could you elaborate on it, please?"

He shrugged. "I said, 'You're out of beer'," he replied almost sullenly. He hated lawyers' offices. He hated them with a passion, almost as much as he hated courtrooms and police stations . . .

Valerie stared at him for several seconds before jotting some notes down. "How's your son?" she asked without looking up. "Daniel, isn't it?"

He blinked and broke into a wide grin. "Aw, he's the best!" he replied. "His birthday's coming up, you know? So I wanted to get him one of those Jeep things that runs on a battery? But Miss—she's my girl—she said that they're too dangerous, so we're going to get him an indoor swing set, instead."

She smiled at him and nodded. "Sounds very nice."

Dieter grinned and leaned forward a little. "You know, I bet I could build one better than those ones you can buy."

"You probably could," she agreed. "So about the night in question—is there anything else you remember? Anything at all?"

He considered that then nodded. "Yeah . . . Bitches had a fight with her girl, I guess. I just remember because she was crying. It was scary."

"Scary? How so?"

He shrugged. "Well, Bitches never cries, and . . ." He grimaced and slowly shook his head. "I don't like it when women cry."

Valerie nodded. "No, I don't suppose you do. Mr. Reichardt, did you see who all left with Mr. Roka when he went on his beer run?"

He frowned and shifted his gaze to the floor once more. "I . . . I don't remember."

Somehow, Valerie didn't seem surprised at all by his answer. "Right. Okay, you can go. I'll call you if I have any other questions."

He nodded and started to stand up, striding quickly toward the door, but he stopped with his hand poised on the knob. "Uh, Ms. Denning?"

"Yes, Dieter?" she replied in an absent tone of voice. She was writing on that tablet again . . .

He clenched his jaw for a moment then cleared his throat. "Zel . . . you can keep him out of jail, right?"

She paused. He could hear the slight scratch of the stylus pen stop. "I doubt it," she replied quietly. "But I can see if I can get him a reduced sentence."

Dieter nodded slowly. "He . . . He shouldn't have to do time," he said. "I mean, it was just an accident."

She hesitated before responding. "Of course it was."

Dieter nodded once more and let himself out of the office.

 

 

- ** _Bone_** -

 

 

"Please state your name."

"Bone."

"Is that your legal name?" Valerie asked, not willing to assume anything after her questioning of Bitches.

"That's all you need to know," he drawled, settling back in the chair and casting her a very wide grin.

She stuck her tongue in her cheek and shook her head, figuring that she might as well get the deposition over with before she figured out whether or not Bone should be asked to take the stand. "Please be advised, Bone, that I am recording this meeting regarding the circumstances occurring on the night of March 18, 2073. Could you please tell me what you were doing that night?"

"Aw, you know: a little bit of this, a little bit of that . . ."

"Anything in specific?"

He shrugged. "Nothing that was legal."

"You work for Mr. Roka; am I correct?"

"Yep."

"In what capacity?"

"Head of security."

She nodded. "And as head of security, you have to pay attention to details a lot, don't you?"

"Guess so."

"And on the night in question? Were you working or were you enjoying a night off?"

He chuckled. "I enjoy my work," he replied simply.

"Okay . . ." She took a moment, scanning through her notes. "What do you remember about that night?'

Settling back in his seat, Bone shrugged offhandedly, crossing his ankle over his knee and shaking his foot in a release of nervous energy. "What do I remember? Hmm . . ." He suddenly grinned. "I remember seeing Bitches' bitches."

"Her breasts, you mean?"

He nodded. "Hell, any red-blooded man would remember seeing those," he remarked.

She didn't look entirely amused by his assertion. "Were you privy to the discussion about Mr. Roka running out of beer?"

Bone shook his head. "That? Nope."

"And did you see who all left the residence to go for beer?"

He thought that over, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Leavin' . . .? Nope, can't say that I did."

For the briefest of seconds, she honestly looked like she might well explode. He couldn't rightfully blame her for that. He had a feeling that she hadn't gotten far with that particular line of questioning with anyone . . . "Sorry, V," he said with an unrepentant sort of shrug. "That it?"

The woman let out a deep breath, her expression completely dubious. "You know, I find it incredibly ironic that all of you can remember the majority of the night in question with so much clarity, yet not one of you can remember seeing who left with Zel Roka, either. Tell me, why do I get the feeling that you're keeping something from me?"

Bone forced a grin and shrugged candidly. "Dunno."

"You do realize, right? Mr. Roka is going to go to prison for his carelessness that night. Covering for him won't really help him."

Bone nodded slowly and then pushed himself to his feet. "An' you're forgetting that Zel's a big boy now. Ain't no one can change his mind once it's made up . . . Leastawise, not none of us. Now you have a nice day, Ms. Denning."

He tipped his hat to her and let himself out of the office.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie rubbed her temples as she stared at the notes she'd jotted during the meetings she'd held with each of Evan's closest friends, as well as with the errant rock star, himself.

' _Just what the hell did I think I was going to prove here?_ ' she fumed. ' _Just what did I think I was going to find out?_ '

She sighed. She thought she could get some answers, hadn't she—something to explain exactly what had happened that night.

That was what she'd hoped, wasn't it?

And maybe she'd hoped to gain a better perspective of it all. Sure, people made stupid mistakes all the time, but . . .

But Zel Roka—Evan Zelig . . . He wasn't nearly that stupid, now was he?

She'd come to a strange sort of understanding about the man—he wasn't nearly as dumb or as uncaring as she'd wanted to think, to start with. His treatment of her was proof enough of that, wasn't it? After all was said and done, he really had been sorry, and she knew it. She _knew_ it.

' _A stupid mistake_ . . .'

There was more to it, and maybe she didn't have proof, but she did have a feeling. Still, if there really was more to the story than he was telling, why was he hiding it? Why didn't he just say so?

Tapping the end of the stylus pen against the touchpad, she let out another deep breath.

' _Or maybe . . . maybe you're letting your own feelings cloud the facts_ . . .'

With a frown, she slowly shook her head. No, that wasn't it, at all. Granted, it was entirely unsettling, waking up in the man's bed last evening after such a long 'nap', and the distorted sense of reality had been hard to comprehend at the time. She wasn't sure what had woke her up, though she suspected it was the marked lack of warmth that had lulled her to sleep, in the first place. He wasn't in the bed with her, and she'd discerned his voice slowly fading away as he moved off down the hallway, so she had a feeling that might have been what had initially woke her up, to start with.

Still, she wasn't sure what to make of it; not really. It was easier to berate herself for her lapse once she was well rested. How she'd ever let him talk her into napping with him was completely beyond her, and yet . . . and yet more disturbing than that was the very thought, however unwelcome, that she hadn't really minded it nearly as much as she probably should have.

And fast on that was the sense of guilt; guilt that she'd allowed herself to give in so easily, knowing somewhere deep down that it had been entirely too welcome. After all, what about Marvin?

' _But . . . Marvin's the reason I'd said 'anything', wasn't he?_ '

She frowned. It occurred to her that she sounded like she was trying to absolve herself from any sense of guilt that she was feeling.

That wasn't it; not at all. Marvin and she . . . They understood one another. Both of them were driven—working on their careers before anything else, putting their own goals in the forefront, and that was what they both wanted. Marvin had his research, and Valerie had her ambitions to become a junior partner, then partner, and finally to have her name on the letterhead at her firm. It was something that had always been understood—neither of them 'needed' the other to feel a sense of fulfillment, and they really did enjoy each other's company. Maybe that wasn't something that was easily understood—God only knew that Madison never had—but for her, their relationship gave her a sense of stability—something she'd always lacked in her life.

With a frustrated sort of sigh, she shoved those thoughts aside and tried to focus her attention on the notes she'd taken during the interviews. ' _Maybe I'm reading too much into this_ ,' she thought suddenly. ' _Maybe that's really all there is_ . . .'

All there was . . . A stupid mistake on one insular night . . . and if that's all there was . . .

She frowned, staring dully at the latest offer faxed over by the DA's office earlier. It wasn't really any better than the first one, and the attached letter stated that it would be the final one Evan would be offered before the case went to trial. Too bad she knew damn well that he wouldn't even consider it. The man was entirely too stubborn for his own good, wasn't he . . .?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Tubthumping_** ' _by Chumbawamba first appeared on the 1997 release,_ **_Tubthumper_** _._ _Song written by and copyrighted to Chumbawamba_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Just what the hell is going on …?_


	27. 026: Mr. Zelig

' _Unforgettable, that's what you are_ …  
' _Unforgettable though near or far_ …  
' _Like a song of love that clings to me_ …  
' _How the thought of you does things to me_ …  
' _Never before has someone been more_ …'

 

-' _Unforgettable'_ by Nat 'King' Cole.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Where are you going?"

Evan pulled his hair out of the collar of his shirt and flicked a glance at Valerie in the mirror without pausing. "Sorry, V. Some things are just private."

"Private?" she echoed? What do you mean, private?"

He chuckled and slowly worked the closures of the rust-colored button-down shirt. "I mean 'private'," he stated, shaking his head at her as though he couldn't believe her preoccupation. "Don't worry; I remember the terms," he said before she could try to remind him.

She felt her cheeks heat in a painful blush but stubbornly held her ground. "I wasn't done talking to you," she pointed out with a shake of her head.

Evan tucked in the shirt and shot Valerie an apologetic sort of grin. "Sorry, baby. It's not really something that I can get out of. Anyway, you can stay here as long as you want, but I gotta go. And don't try to follow me 'cause I'm too fast for you to see," he warned, almost as an afterthought. Sparing a moment to wink at her, he slipped out the door and onto the porch.

' _That was kind of ass-ish_ ,' his youkai pointed out indelicately as Evan loped down the steps, across the yard, and slipped out of the side gate that led into an alley between his property and his neighbors.

' _Maybe. I could lose her if I wanted to_.'

' _Well, why would we want to do that?_ '

He grinned. That was true, wasn't it? ' _Why, indeed . . .?_ '

Deliberately slowing to a fast gait, he checked his watch as he stepped onto the street. He'd left a little early; he had plenty of time to get there. Still . . .

' _Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . Ah, there she is_ . . .'

He was so attuned to her that he didn't have to turn around and look to see if she was following him or not. He could feel her, sense her, and he'd known damn well that she wouldn't be able to leave well enough alone. Oh, no, not his V . . . She was entirely too damn curious for her own good, wasn't she?

And so he slowed his pace, wandering along the sidewalk toward the one of the more modest areas of this part of the city. It was a decent walk, but he liked to do it. It gave him time to clear his mind before he got there, and it gave him an opportunity to put Zel Roka back on a shelf for awhile. Once, he turned to look over his shoulder, only to see her duck behind a grocer's cart in an effort to elude him. He almost smiled but managed to keep his expression blanked as he kept walking.

He stepped into a small flower shop he knew well enough, blinking for a moment as he let his eyes get used to the dimmer light of the ambient little place.

"Afternoon! They're all ready for you—the usual, right? Thirteen white carnations?"

He smiled at the middle aged woman named Kathy and nodded. "Well . . . could you add one more to that, please?"

Kathy winked and nodded, hurrying away to wrap up the extra flower before returning with fourteen white carnations, each one nestled securely in bright green tissue paper, and a nondescript brow paper sack. "How's that?"

"Add it to my tab?"

She chuckled and waved a hand in his direction. "Such a charmer," she scolded as he headed for the door again.

"See you next week," he called as he stepped back out onto the street once more.

Valerie was holding up a newspaper, pretending to read it at a nearby stand. Evan almost laughed as he stared walking once more.

' _Damn, she's cute_ ,' he thought as he kept moving.

' _You know, you could have just told her what we were doing_.'

' _Sure, coulda . . . Wouldn't have been nearly as much fun, though_.'

His youkai chuckled. ' _True 'nough_.'

Rounding the corner, his grin widened as he caught sight of the kids playing basketball behind the chain-link fence of the YMCA. Slipping through the open gate, he set the bag and flowers on a nearby bench. "Hey! Looks like you're one short," he called.

The three boys stopped in their tracks and grinned at him. "Aww, but you suck, Mr. Z!"

Evan laughed and held up his hands to catch the ball that came whizzing at his chest. "Well, then, I suppose that it'll be a short game, eh? First team to score thirty?"

The boys glanced at each other, and Malcolm, the unspoken leader, nodded. "All right," he said. "Bring it in, man."

Evan tossed the ball to Avery—better known as Corky in the neighborhood—and dashed in, bumping Malcolm with his hip and getting bumped back in return . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie hid in the long shadows of the building beside the fenced yard, biting her lip as she watched Evan play with the children. Of all the things she'd expected him to be doing, this just hadn't been it . . .

She frowned. All right, to be completely honest, she'd expected him to be trying to sneak off to meet some woman or something like that. Stranger, though, was that those kids . . . They knew him?

It didn't take long for the game to end. Evan hadn't scored a point, though she had very little doubt in her mind that he could have if he had wanted to. No, she had the distinct feeling that he was participating without actually doing anything to hinder the boys' game.

By the time it ended, all the children in the yard—there were about thirteen of them—were gathered around Evan, and all of them seemed to be talking at once. Children of all ages, ranging from a couple little girls who looked like they might be about five, to the oldest boys that he'd just finished playing basketball with—teenagers, certainly—maybe fourteen or fifteen, and Evan? He laughed and smiled and joked with them all, catching the smallest girl around the waist and tossing her into the air, only to catch her and flip her upside down where she landed on his shoulders with a very loud giggle.

"Okay, I hope you guys practiced," Evan commented as he nodded at the things he'd deposited on the bench. "Malcolm, can you grab those for me?"

Malcolm loped over and retrieved the parcels as Evan led the way toward the front door of the youth center.

Valerie waited until they'd disappeared inside before skulking out of the shadows. Taking a moment to debate whether or not she really ought to follow him inside, she snorted. Sure, she could wait for him outside, but . . .

But curiosity was gnawing at her insides, and with a resigned sort of sigh, she quickly slipped through the gate and hurried up to the building.

"Hey, can I help you?"

Valerie nearly shrieked when the man called out behind her. She'd barely gotten through the door and was trying to close it as quietly as possible. Grasping at her chest, she quickly turned to face the man who had spoken. Leaning out of what looked to be the office, he shot her a friendly smile.

"Uh, yes," she blurted, hoping that the man didn't sense her discomfort. "I-I just moved here recently, and . . . and I thought I'd check this place out."

"Oh? You looking for family plans or just you?"

She blinked, ready to tell him that she was alone, but remembering the children that Evan had met up with, she hesitated. "Well, my . . . my daughter and me."

The man's grin widened. "How old?"

Valerie shook her head. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your girl. How old is she?"

"Oh-h," Valerie exclaimed quickly. "She's . . . she's seven."

He nodded. "They're fun at that age. Mine are twenty-five and nineteen."

Valerie smiled uncomfortably. "Would you mind if I took a look around?"

"Nope, not at all. In fact, I think there are a couple classes going on right now. I'm sure that the teachers wouldn't mind if you looked in on them. Just stop back by here if you need anything," he told her.

She nodded and heaved a sigh when he turned and headed back into his office again.

Grimacing since her heels resounded like gunfire on the clinical linoleum floor, she bit down on her lip and tried to step a little quieter, even as discordant sounds of someone tapping on piano keys echoed through the hallway from somewhere just ahead. She could see what looked to be a gym at the end, but along the short corridor were a few doors. One of them stood open, and she paused beside it, leaning to the side to peer through the doorway.

Evan sort of half-sat, half-sprawled in a bright orange beanbag chair near the piano with the rest of the kids in similar fashion as one little boy—maybe ten or so—plunked the keys. Beside Evan was the little girl who had sat on his shoulders. She kept glancing at him and smiling. Valerie almost smiled, too.

"Okay, Marc. Let's see if you practiced," Evan said.

The boy shot him an entirely cocky grin and played the opening of a song that Valerie thought she ought to know but couldn't place. It was slow and a little clunky, but not bad for a child.

"Good, good," Evan remarked when the boy was finished. "You did practice!"

"I can play more," he replied.

"Can you? Okay."

The child played a little more then swung around on the bench before the upright piano and grinned.

"Ni-i-ice," Evan approved. "How about you practice the next page or two for next week, then?" The boy nodded happily and hopped down. Evan dug a candy bar out of the bag and tossed it to Marc. "Don't forget your flower," he said when the boy started to flop down in a vacant beanbag. With a happy laugh, the boy ran over and snatched up a tissue-wrapped flower and plowed back for the chair again.

"I'm next," Malcolm said, pushing himself to his feet and fairly swaggering forward. He shot Evan a cheeky grin as he sat down to play.

She didn't recognize the song that he played, but it was unmistakably jazz. Evan nodded as the song ended, tossing a candy bar to him, too.

"Man, I don't need no flower," Malcolm muttered when Evan held one out to him in passing.

Evan laughed and tossed it into the boy's lap when he'd sat down again. "Don't be dumb, Malcolm," Evan drawled, leaning on his elbow. "You trying to tell me that your mama doesn't like the flowers?"

Malcolm snorted but carefully set the flower before him on the floor.

Evan chuckled again. "What about you, Trista? Did you practice?"

The little girl smiled and slowly, bashfully nodded. "Yeah," she whispered loudly.

"Oh? You want to show me?"

She pondered that then nodded, standing up and reaching for Evan's hand. "You gotta work the pedals for me, Mr. Zelig," she informed him in a high-pitched, sing-song voice.

"Absolutely," he agreed, sitting on the piano bench and pulling Trista into his lap. "Ready whenever you are."

She shot him a look full of childish admiration and giggled.

Valerie couldn't help but smile when the very familiar sound of ' _Mary Had A Little Lamb_ ' chimed in the air. It faltered a couple times, but there were no mistakes, and Evan chuckled when the song ended. "Wow, Trista. That was fantastic. You really did practice, didn't you?"

The girl nodded and seemed to snuggle closer to Evan's chest.

"Well, you keep that up, and you'll outshine everyone at the recital next month," Evan remarked.

Trista's round cheeks pinked as she hopped down and skipped back over to her beanbag chair again.

Valerie wasn't entirely sure what to think. Every time she thought that she had him figured out, Evan changed the rules, didn't he? Just when she thought that she understood something about him, he'd do something entirely different; something entirely unexpected.

She watched the rest of the music lesson in something akin to awe. He was good with kids—damn good, really—and she hadn't expected that, at all. They all tried their best, too, and Evan made sure that he praised them all, even when he had to correct them. He had a way of making them feel as though they'd accomplished something without belittling them or making them feel bad or singled out.

She smiled, crossing her arms over her chest, content to observe the lesson.

One of the boys—the one who had told Evan that he sucked at basketball—played surprisingly well, and though Valerie didn't really know much about music, she could tell just from hearing the piece that it was a more difficult one. After the boy was finished, though, he shook his head, his cheeks reddening as he frowned at the floor. "I don't want to play the piano," he finally said when Evan asked him what was wrong.

Evan blinked and nodded. "Okay . . . is there something else you want to try?"

The boy shrugged, his ears reddening, too. "I want to play the guitar," he finally admitted.

Malcolm snorted. "You just wanna play guitar 'cause you think you'll get a girlfriend—Shoot, Corky, a guitar ain't gonna get you no girlfriend—you're too dang ugly!"

Another basketball player laughed and the two slapped hands. Corky's face reddened a little more.

Evan rolled his eyes. "All right; all right. Shut up, you two. Tell you what, Corky. You want to learn how to play guitar? I'll bring in one of mine next week—and don't listen to them," he remarked with a grin and a wink. "Playing guitar does get you girls."

"I-I don't want a girl!" Corky insisted hotly, though his expression did seem to lighten up just a little.

Evan chuckled and tossed Corky a candy bar. The boy loped over and grabbed a flower before heading back to his chair.

Valerie shook her head but smiled.

' _Evan Zelig . . . what am I going to do with you . . .?_ '

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan stepped outside the building, holding onto Trista's hand as the other children hurried on ahead. The sun was disappearing, leaving everything veiled in a smoky grayish hue. The boys called back their hurried goodbyes as they ran out of the yard and down the street. A couple of the girls ran toward their rides, waiting beside the curb while the rest of them were met by parents who had arrived on foot to pick up their charges. Within minutes, they were all gone. Trista sighed and shuffled her feet in the dirt beside him.

"Mommy working late again today?" he asked gently.

Trista shrugged and shot him a sad sort of look. "I don't know," she replied.

"You want to give her a call?" he offered, digging his cell phone out of his pocket and holding it out to the child.

She shot him a bright smile and took it, making quick work of dialing the number and waiting. "This is Trista. Is my mommy busy?" she asked.

He waited while the child paused, then greeted her mother. "Hi, Mommy . . . Mr. Zelig's here with me . . . Yeah . . ." She covered the end of the phone and frowned up at him. "Mommy wants to talk to you," she said.

He chuckled and took it. "Hey. How's it going?"

"Uh, hi . . . Listen, I'm sorry. I got held up here. We got a rush order, and the boss kind of demanded that we stay and finish it."

"That's okay," he said. "I'll walk her home and all that jazz."

"Really? I'm so sorry . . ."

He laughed. "Nope, it's fine. Don't worry about it."

The woman sighed. "Thanks so much. You're a life saver."

He hung up the phone then grinned down at his young charge. "How 'bout it? Feel like hanging out with me for awhile?"

Her little face lit up as her cheeks pinked, and she giggled. "You're going to walk home with me?"

He nodded. "Sure . . . Do you want to swing or something first?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the bright green painted swing set nearby.

She dropped her book bag and took off at a run. "Push me!" she hollered happily.

"You know, this is pretty one-sided," he complained jokingly as he picked up her bag and followed her. "You're always the one who gets to swing, and I'm always the one doing the pushing."

Her little face scrunched up in a thoughtful scowl, and she hopped off the swing. "I can push," she insisted finally.

Evan chuckled again and set her bag down, along with the last flower that he hadn't given to the children. "Oh, yeah? You think you can push me?"

She nodded and sped around behind him as he sat in the swing. His legs were ridiculously long in the child's contraption, but he let Trista give him a good shove, holding his feet out to the sides to keep them from dragging in the dirt. That lasted all of five minutes, tops, before Evan hopped out of the swing and caught the chain to stop it. "Okay. Your turn."

She giggled and hopped up into it. Evan waited until she had a good grip on the chains before giving her a very good shove. She screeched in laughter, pumping her feet to keep the momentum going. Evan watched her for a long moment before letting his attention wander just a little.

He grinned and shifted his gaze to the side. Valerie, it seemed, was trying to hide in the shadows behind a few very tall bushes just outside the YMCA. She honestly thought that he didn't know she was there? He cleared his throat. "V . . . what is it about bushes that you like so much?" he drawled.   "Lemme guess: you dropped your necklace this time?"

He heard her suck in a sharp breath seconds before she scooted out from behind the bush, her face a lovely shade of red that bespoke her acute embarrassment at having been caught spying. For the vaguest of moments, she seemed to be trying to decide what she really should tell him. She must have decided that she didn't need to explain herself, because she quickly shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest in a blatant show of stubborn defiance. "I don't know what you're talking about," she retorted haughtily. "I was just making sure that you weren't out . . . getting into trouble or something."

He chuckled and nodded slowly. "Okay, I'll give you that one," he allowed. "You wanna meet my girl, here?"

Valerie blinked then rather grudgingly stepped forward. Evan reached down to retrieve the final flower. "So you found me out, did you?" he teased, holding out the tissue-wrapped parcel.

She stopped short and stared at the impromptu gift. "W-What's this?" she demanded, her reluctance echoing in her voice.

"It's a flower, V. Hasn't anyone ever given you a flower before?"

She continued to stare at it then quickly shook her head. "N-No."

Repressing the surge of anger that shot up inside him, Evan forced a smile. It didn't matter, though; not when she was still eyeballing the flower instead of looking at him. Her damned darling fiancé hadn't ever bought her a flower? He snorted inwardly. "Aww, take it," he coaxed gently.

She swallowed hard but reached for it, gently folding the tissue back before smiling just a little as she buried her nose in the blossom. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Who's she?"

Evan chuckled as he turned in time to see Trista's little scowl as she eyed Valerie. "Trista, this is a friend of mine, Valerie. V, this is Trista. She's my girl."

Valerie glanced at Evan but smiled. "I heard you playing. You're really good."

Trista smiled bashfully. "Is she your girlfriend?"

"Yes," he said before she could answer. "One day, she's going to marry me."

Trista's eyes grew huge and round, and Evan wasn't stupid enough to think that Valerie wasn't going to try to beat him for that one later. "My mommy was married to my daddy," she said with a solemn little nod. "My daddy's in heaven, but my mommy says that he loves me."

"He was a security guard. Killed in a hold-up before she was born," Evan murmured just loud enough for Valerie to hear.

"Oh . . . I'm sorry," she said.

Trista smiled. "It's okay. He went to heaven; mommy said."

Valerie smiled, too, though hers looked a little strained. "I'm sure he did," she allowed quietly.

Trista suddenly giggled. "You can push me, too!" she decided.

Valerie laughed and obliged the child while Evan stood back with a little grin on his face and watched. ' _She's good with children,_ ' he thought as he observed.

' _A natural, huh?_ '

Evan chuckled. ' _Something like that_ . . .'

Valerie pushed her for another few minutes before grabbing the swing when Trista hopped off to dart over to a couple girls who had just come outside from the art class that was also letting out. "She's sweet," she commented, watching the girl talk with her friends.

"She is," he agreed easily enough.

Valerie smiled. "You're good with kids."

He shrugged but didn't really comment.

"You know," she began, her gaze taking on a peculiar little sparkle. "You should let the press in on this."

He blinked then glanced at her to see whether or not she was joking. She didn't appear to be. He snorted. "No."

"Why not? Zel Roka, doing a good deed? They'd eat it up with a spoon, and it'd be great for your image right about now," she pointed out reasonably.

He shook his head. "For starters, Zel's got nothing to do with this. I'm Evan, V, and secondly . . . no. The minute you drag the paparazzi into something, it gets ugly, and if that's the only reason you've got for doing something good, then you're not really doing a damn thing, are you?"

His response seemed to give her pause, and she frowned as she contemplated it. "I guess you have a point," she allowed though she didn't sound entirely pleased about it.

He let out a deep breath and slowly shook his head. "V . . . I do this for me; not to show off or to say, 'look at how good I am'. I do it for me . . . and for the kids. Most of their schools have cut funding for band and choir and even music in the elementary schools, so for them, this is about the only chance they've got. I made damn sure that the lessons I give here are free, and just what do you think would happen if it got out that Zel Roka came down here every week to teach these kids?"

"I get that," she replied at length. "But you know, your reputation could stand a little polishing."

He shrugged. "Nah . . . If I did that, I wouldn't be the fuck-up anymore."

He shot her a grin then started over to get Trista. He could feel Valerie's gaze following him, though.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Unforgettable_** ' _was first recorded in 1951 by Nat 'King' Cole. Written by and copyrighted to Irving Gordon_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Evan Zelig or Zel Roka, huh_ …


	28. 027: Thinning

' _All day starin' at the ceilin' makin' friends with shadows on my wall_ …  
 _All night hearing voices tellin' me that I should get some sleep_ …  
 _Because tomorrow might be good for somethin'_ …  
 _Hold on – feelin' like I'm headed for a breakdown_ …  
 _And I don't know why_ …'

 

-' _Unwell_ ' by Matchbox Twenty.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Shit."

"Where?"

Heaving a sigh, Evan glanced up as Dieter strode into the room with a can of beer in one hand and a cigarette hanging from his limp fingers of the other one. He'd come over to drop off the painting that Evan had commissioned, and, while Evan had every intention of looking it over better, at the moment, he was trying to fix a song that had been haunting him all evening. "Smart ass," he muttered, pulling the acoustic guitar over his head and leaning it against the empty rack nearby. "You look a little peeved."

Dieter shrugged and slumped onto a box amp. "Aw, it's nothing," he said.

Evan nodded. Dieter looked like he had something on his mind, and Evan had a feeling that he already knew what it was. If that was the case, he didn't want or need to hear it, did he? "Let me play something for you," he said suddenly, reaching over to hit the 'play' button on the small recorder he'd been tinkering with.

Dieter scowled as he listened to the song Evan had been working on, thoughtfully puffing on the cigarette as he considered it. He didn't comment until it had ended. "Dude. That sounded like a ballad or something."

"Yeah, kind of," he admitted. "Figured I'd add a 'Zel Roka' twist, though."

"It was all right," Dieter remarked almost apologetically, "just . . ."

Evan grinned. That was high praise coming from him . . . "I don't know," he said slowly, scratching the back of his neck. "I thought maybe it was a little too . . . commercial for my tastes."

Dieter shrugged again, downing half of the beer without coming up for breath. "Maybe. So sell it."

"Well, I thought about that, too, but if I did, I'd have to rewrite the lyrics, and that would sort of defeat the purpose, don't you think?"

"So let the critics shit their drawers. It isn't the first time you've pissed 'em off."

Evan's grin widened since he rather enjoyed doing exactly that himself. They loved to try to label him, and Evan? Well, he liked to make them sorry that they tried.

Dieter straightened up quickly, his gaze flashing as sudden inspiration hit him. "Wait . . . You know, it could start off like that then, get heavier . . . Gimme that guitar."

Evan started to hand him the acoustic guitar he'd just set down. Dieter stuck the cigarette between his lips and waved a hand with a grimace. "No, man, the Strat."

Rolling his eyes, he reached for the old-school black and white Stratocaster and handed it over, instead. It was already plugged in, and after making a few minor adjustments, Dieter shot Evan a grin and began to improvise.

It didn't take long for Evan to figure out where Dieter was going with the song, and he chuckled as the sound reverberated around him. He had to admit that most often, he did the writing of songs by himself, but it was good— _damn_ good, and he reached for the acoustic guitar, mimicking the riff that Dieter had first played so that he could memorize it.

Dieter grinned as he smashed his fingers over the frets to staunch the sound. "Not my best, but you know, something like that."

Evan played the riff a couple more times, just to get the flow of it down. "I like it," he said. "Why don't you play it in the studio?"

With a snort, Dieter shook his head. "Nah, I'll stick to the bass," he mumbled.

"Thanks," Evan said with a grin.

Dieter shrugged it off. "So . . . How's it going?"

Leaning over to erase the notes he'd scribbled onto the music composition paper he'd been working on, Evan frowned. "Not so bad," he replied almost absently. "Why?"

"Uh . . . no reason," Dieter replied though there was a certain hint of ambivalence in his tone. "Maddy said you got another court date next week?"

"Yeah . . . Got some shows comin' up, and I have to ask them if I can cut out of here for them."

Dieter cleared his throat. "Your attorney . . . She, uh . . . She said that you . . . You'll have to do some time."

"Did she?"

"Zel . . ."

Evan straightened up and grinned at Dieter. "Hey, don't worry about it. It's all good."

He didn't look relieved. Tugging on the white v-necked tee-shirt he wore, he chewed on his bottom lip and slowly shook his head. "It's not right," he finally stated, quietly, almost as though he were concerned about Evan's reaction. Shifting his feet, he fiddled with the Stratocaster, his gray eyes darting around in a nervous sort of way. "I mean, hell . . ."

"Nah, it's fine," he lied with a shrug. "'Sides, at this point, it'd look pretty damn convenient, don't you think?"

That earned him a darkened scowl as Dieter adamantly shook his head.

Evan set the guitar aside once more and pushed himself to his feet. "C'mon, man. Let's get outta here and do something," he prodded.

Dieter looked irritated at the abrupt change of topic, but he stood, too. "Like what?"

Evan grinned at the unwilling interest in the artist's tone. "Hell, I dunno . . . We could do what we were planning on doing before . . ."

"Fucker! You mean, before you ditched me for your attorney?"

Evan's grin widened since he recalled that particular night fondly enough. ' _Free the fishies_ . . .' He shrugged. "Something like that."

Dieter pondered that for a moment, as though he didn't particularly want to go along with the idea but was compelled to do so anyway. "All right," he finally allowed.

Evan didn't figure that he would get that much of an argument out of him. He grabbed his leather jacket, foregoing the shirt since he rather disliked wearing them and shrugged it on as the two of them headed for the doors.

"We could call Maddy," Dieter suggested as he stepped up beside Evan on the wide porch.

Evan shook his head. "Nah . . . You said before that this was a guy thing, and Madison lacks the one crucial bit that makes a guy, a guy."

He felt Dieter smile more than saw it. In the inky light of the half-formed moon that was barely visible under the hazy glow of countless city lights, he could hear the hum of traffic, could feel the current of electricity that rose off the millions of inhabitants of the city. It still invigorated him as much as it had when he'd first moved here years ago. He'd been so young then—just a pup, really—and he'd thought that he knew it all . . .

They set out at a sprint, leaping onto the roofs of nearby houses, lighting on the thick edges of high privacy fences as they made their way across the landscape. Evan's cell phone beeped in his ear. He ignored it as the two kept moving.

The night was brisk despite the underlying smells of the city that just never quite went away—clean and as clear as it could be—better than it had been years ago, or so he'd been told. Ordinances against pollution were strict but effective, and the overall glow of the city added a certain ambience to the night. He felt as though he were balancing on a precipice, staring down over the origination of everything in the world. Dashing past the cars dotting the bridge, he deliberately let his mind clear, leading him away from everything in the world; letting it lead him away from the pressures of his life, of his choices.

Dieter ran beside him and at times, slightly behind him as they crossed the bridge, leaving the perplexed humans in their wakes. They thought that maybe they'd seen a blur of something; a flash of motion, and maybe they felt the unnatural breeze created by the moving bodies, but they couldn't be sure, and in the end, they'd believe that it was just a sudden gust off the water far below, if they thought anything at all. The artificial lights seemed both gentle and completely harsh at the same time, yielding blacker shadows than the moon, lending a fake sense of warmth that was little more than illusory.

It was the night that welcomed him, invited him—called to him in the quietest of voices. Something about the millions of people who called the city home lent him a feeling of excitement. As though he could feel all of their emotions, as though he were taking them into himself and making them his very own, the surge of abandon that raced through him was exhilarating and entirely frightening, all at the same time.

Dieter suddenly laughed beside him, glancing at Evan with a sparkle in his gaze that Evan understood. Dieter felt the same way, didn't he? It was one of the things that Evan had noticed way back when the two had first met: there was something inherently similar in Dieter, and while they weren't the same by any stretch of the imagination, they were in complete sympathy with one another.

" _The idiot savants_ ," Madison had once joked. Evan understood what she'd meant. Evan strove hard to obtain and create the illusion that best suited him: the ne'er-do-well son who got bad grades, not because he was stupid, but because he chose to. Dieter? Dieter just hadn't ever really been interested in those things that made up the fabric of conventional education, and if it didn't interest him, he wouldn't be able to retain the knowledge. But Dieter excelled in art, using sculpting as a release for his emotions while Evan's vice always was and probably always would be his music.

Still, the two of them were friends, and that was the bottom line. Friends did whatever they could for one another. That was the way of it, and Dieter . . .

"Sometimes," Dieter said, silvery eyes aglow, as the two of them leapt to the top of a nearby building and scanned the city mapped out before them, "I feel like a king or something," he murmured.

Evan nodded slowly, his gaze taking on a knowing sort of light as the sounds of the streets so far below drifted up to meet them. "I know what you mean," he agreed quietly.

Dieter grinned then shrugged, as though he thought that whatever he was thinking wasn't worth stating out loud. "I brought Miss up here awhile back," he admitted at length. "She . . . She couldn't believe the view."

"Yeah, I can get that," Evan allowed. "It's pretty fantastic, isn't it?"

"Hey . . . You sure you like that painting?"

Evan's grin widened as he glanced at Dieter then back at the city below. "It's awesome," he said. "I swear to God, I'm going to hang it over my bed."

Dieter grimaced though Evan could feel the resonating sense of happiness at Evan's high praise. Dieter normally didn't have the patience to paint too much, and that he did it this time spoke volumes, as far as Evan was concerned. "Yeah? Well, I don't know about that. Doesn't seem quite right; not really."

Evan chuckled. Okay, so that was probably true. Of course, he could always hang it in the living room . . . "I think it rocks."

Dieter opened his mouth to say something, but his cell phone rang, and he scowled as he glanced at the illuminated screen. "Uh, I'd better take this," he said almost apologetically. "It's Miss."

Evan gestured for Dieter to do so as a brisk breeze lifted his hair—a nice, hideous shade of bright carrot orange. Up as high as they were, the smells of the city were less invasive, and he could even make out the underlying mineral scent of the water.

"Hey, baby," Dieter greeted.

"Dieter? Where are you?" she asked. The artist had the volume of his phone turned up enough that Evan could hear the conversation, too.

"Oh, I'm just runnin' around with Zel."

". . . Oh . . ."

Evan's eyebrows lifted at the very real disapproval in the woman's tone.

"What's the matter?" Dieter asked.

She sighed. "Well . . . I just . . . Dieter, do you remember what today is?"

"Uh . . . W-Wednesday . . .?" He covered the phone receiver and shot Evan a rather panicked sort of look. "It is Wednesday, right?" he hissed.

Evan nodded. "Yup."

Dieter nodded and uncovered the phone. "That's right. It's Wednesday, Miss."

"I-It's our _anniversary_ ," she mumbled. Evan had to strain to hear it.

He grimaced inwardly. Dieter grimaced outwardly. "W—I—Y-Yeah, I know," he lied, scratching his head as he cast a feverish eye around and winced. "I was just . . . uh . . ."

"Don't tell her, man, or you'll ruin the surprise," Evan drawled, thumping Dieter on the back for good measure.

"Oh?" His eyes widened when he intercepted the slow nod from Evan. "Oh! Yeah! Ruin it!"

Evan stifled a sigh. ' _Poor bastard_ ,' he thought as he dug out his own cell phone and punched in the fourth number on speed dial. "Just tell her to be watching for a delivery, and when it gets there, tell her to get ready, and you'll be home in awhile to pick her up."

"Hello?"

"Jilli-bean!" he greeted, artfully stepping away so that Miss wouldn't hear what he was about to say. "How's my girl?"

"Evan!" Jillian Zelig Jamison gushed. "I haven't heard from you lately!"

"Well, you know how it goes," he breezed. "The life of a rock star, right?"

Jillian giggled. In the background, Evan could hear the blipping sound of a video game and figured that his baby sister was probably enjoying an evening, snuggling on her mate's lap while he was absorbed in gaming. "Sometimes I think you're avoiding me," she pouted.

"Never," he insisted then chuckled. "Hey, I got a favor to ask you."

"Anything for my Evvie!"

He grinned. "Well, see, it's like this. Dieter forgot his anniversary tonight, and I was wondering if you knew someone who could hook her up with something nice for a night on the town?"

"Hmm," Jillian considered then snapped her fingers. "I know! I just met this woman—Brittani—who is going to be the next Jioni Raphaella, or so they say. I'll bet she has something perfect, and she did say that if I ever need anything at all . . . Dieter's wife, Miss? What is she? About a zero? Size one?"

Evan considered that then shrugged. "If the design runs small, I'd say a one. Otherwise, I'd say she's a zero, easy."

"When do you need it?"

"As soon as possible."

"Okay," she replied then giggled. "How positively _Cinderella!_ "

Evan laughed. Leave it to Jillian to think as much. "Let me give you their address."

She waited long enough for Evan to send over the address via text. "All right, I got it," she told him. "I'll have her send over something that'll be absolutely perfect! All my love to Dieter!"

Evan hung up and shook his head with a smile. After a quick succession of calls, a few favors that he had to pull, and a couple minutes of general schmoozing, everything was in order, and Evan pocketed the cell phone with a satisfied smile after he answered a final call from Jillian, who wanted to let him know that the dress was on its way.

"Hey, Deet," he called as he wandered over to his friend. "Listen, okay?"

"Shit, shit, shit, _shit!_ " Dieter muttered, shaking his head, scratching nervously at the back of his neck as he paced the rooftop. "I can't believe I forgot something that important! I just can't believe it! I'm a fucking moron! Shit, shit, _shit!_ "

"Knock off the histrionics, will you?" Evan drawled, catching Dieter's shoulder and pulling him back around to face him. "Now, listen to me. Jilli had a friend of hers send a dress over for Miss, so you swing past Della Contessa's Flowers to pick up a dozen or so roses and go home to get her. I sent Bone over with the limo, and he'll meet you there and take you for your night on the town. Got that?"

Dieter blinked slowly. "Flowers then home . . . Got it." He started to grin then quickly shook his head. "What about Danny?"

Evan chuckled. "Danny's gonna hang with Bitches tonight."

He brightened up instantly. "Miss likes Bitches all right," he allowed. "But—"

Evan rolled his eyes and gave Dieter a little shove. "Don't worry 'bout it." He smiled a little sardonically. "At least the Zelig name's good for something."

"You're the best," Dieter insisted. "I owe you."

"Are you kiddin'? You didn't charge me for that portrait."

Dieter made a face. "Yeah, well, that was kinda . . . fun . . ."

Evan laughed as Dieter sprinted away, traversing the rooftops that would bring him to the flower shop—his destination—in a matter of minutes instead of the half-hour or more that it would take if he'd caught a cab, instead.

He watched him go and heaved a sigh. To be honest, he'd been looking forward to hanging out with Dieter since the two of them didn't really get a chance to do that much anymore. Never mind that they were fully intending to hang their bare asses from the highest point on the Statue of Liberty for all of New York City to see . . . Of course, he knew damn well that there was a good chance that one Ms. Valerie Denning, esquire, might not have thought too highly of the venture, but it was all in good fun, and besides: they'd never actually been caught doing it before, now had they . . .?

Still . . .

' _Taking care of his mate is far more important than waving the white orbs for the delectation of the city_ ,' he decided with a wry smile. ' _If I had a mate_ . . .'

' _If you had a mate, you'd drag her along to hang her assets for the world to see, too_.'

Evan pondered the truth in his youkai voice's claim. ' _Yeah, okay. I'd do that_.'

' _She's gonna kill us . . . if she can find us_ ,' his youkai remarked almost wanly.

He smiled since he'd seen that the phone call he'd missed during the sprint over the bridge was, in fact, the lawyer in question. ' _She won't kill us_ ,' he retorted airily. ' _Well, maybe she'll maim us . . . a little bit_.'

His youkai snorted indelicately, probably because of the hint of relish evident in Evan's thoughts. ' _Damn, she's hotter than fuck when she's mad, isn't she?_ '

' _Damn straight, she is_.'

They both heaved a collective sigh as Evan checked his watch. ' _A quarter till nine_ . . .'

Slumping onto a nearby cinderblock beside the low ledge of the roof, Evan shifted his gaze over the craggy outline of buildings, windows illuminated like a thousand fireflies. Somewhere far away, he heard the pronounced yowl of an alley cat . . .

He could call Madison—or not. With a grimace, he remembered just a little too late that she'd gone back to Maine to attend her mother's birthday party. Of course, Bugs was always around, but as much as Evan liked him, he had to admit that he just wasn't in the mood for the rabbit-youkai's silly antics, either. He considered dropping by Jillian and Gavin's apartment, too, only to discard that idea a moment later. Those two, as much as he adored his sister . . . Well, they were just too fucking happy for his comfort, weren't they?

No, really, he supposed that he was well and truly dumped for the night: a rare thing for Evan Zelig and an even more unprecedented thing for Zel Roka . . .

And the next thought that crossed his mind was almost an afterthought: one that normally landed him in more trouble than he'd like to think about . . .

"Damn it . . . I'm _bored_ . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Unwell_** ' _was_ _recorded_ _by_ _Matchbox_ _Twenty_ _on_ _their_ _2002_ _release,_ **_More_** **_Than_** **_You_** **_Think_** **_You_** **_Are_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Rob_ _Thomas_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Oh, he didn't just say he was bored, did he ...?_


	29. 028: Boredom

' _I don't know just what to do with myself_ …  
 _I don't know just what to do with myself_ …  
 _Baby, if your new love ever turns you down_ …  
 _Come on back, I will be around_ …  
 _Just waiting for you_ …  
 _I don't know what else to do_ …'

 

' _I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself_ ' written by Burt Bacharach and Hal David.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

The strangest sound woke Valerie from a semi-catatonic sleep: an odd sort of buzzing-slash-rattling-slash-shaking that almost became an earthquake in her slumber-hazed mind. With a quiet, albeit plaintive moan and a muttered curse, she tried to bury her face deeper into her pillow in an effort to evade the sound.

It didn't work.

The buzzing-slash-rattling-slash-shaking somehow managed to grow louder, and to her dismay, it sounded as though it had sucked a sheaf of paper into the shuffle, to boot.

' _It's . . . my phone . . .?_ '

She reached out, groping for the device—she'd set it on 'vibrate' before she'd gone to bed, hadn't she? With a tumultuous sigh of complete exasperation, she grabbed the phone and blinked rapidly as she tried to make out the caller ID. ' _The_ . . . what . . .?' she thought, shaking her head as she blinked again and forced her eyes open a little wider. ' _The hEVAN_ ', it said—little 'h' and capital 'E-V-A-N'.

She snorted and flipped open the device. "This had better be good, Roka," she snarled, glancing at the clock and stifling an inward groan since she was quite sure that the numbers read ' _1:56 a.m_.'

"Well, hey, V! You still awake?"

She considered chucking the phone across the room, but figured she'd regret it—eventually. "Why does my phone say 'The hEVAN' when you call?" she demanded.

He chuckled. How the hell he managed to sound that sexy at such an ungodly hour was entirely beyond her. She snorted at her own ridiculous thoughts. "I fixed it when you left it on my coffee table," he replied a little too innocently.

"Oh, my God," she half-moaned, half-whined. "You're demented."

"So . . . whatcha doin'?" he asked suddenly, his voice dropping an octave to a husky drawl.

Valerie shivered, telling herself that it was because of the slight breeze filtering through the two-inch crack between her window and the frame. "Sleeping, Evan, and you're not invited."

Damned if he didn't chuckle again. "Well . . . I've got a . . . little problem . . ."

She stifled a sigh. "You've got _big_ problems," she corrected mulishly. "I'm tired!"

"Yeah, but it won't take long . . . See, I got a little bored . . ."

"Oh, God . . ."

". . . And, well . . . Hey! Why don't you look out your window?"

"Because I'm in bed. Sleeping. Alone. And I don't want—" She sat up suddenly, her eyes flashing open as another thought intruded. "Why do I want to look out my window, Evan?" she demanded sharply.

And, of course, he chuckled yet again. "Did I mention that I got bored?"

She grimaced, uttering a strangled little whine as she tossed the warmth of the blankets aside and stumbled out of bed and slowly padded toward the window.

She frowned. All she saw was the brick wall of the apartment building beside her; the darkened and opaque windows of her neighbors. As she approached the window, she could feel her own sense of foreboding rise. "There's nothing out— _A-a-a-ah-h-h-h-h!_ " she shrieked, springing back, waving her hands, her feet pistoning up and down as she felt her heart stop for one dizzying second before it slammed back into overdrive when the blasted idiot sprang up on the other side of the pane of glass.

He was laughing—almost crying, actually—as he wedged his fingers through the crack and forced the pane up then crawled inside. No sooner did his feet hit the floor than she stomped forward, smacking him with the flat of her palms against his back: a barrage of hits that didn't even faze the man. "What are you doing? Why are you such a jerk? How did you get up here? Do you know how far off the ground this is?" she hollered.

Evan tried to stop laughing, which only irritated her more. "So-Sorry, V," he gasped out, wiping his eyes as he grinned unrepentantly at her. "Holy Jesus God, your _face!_ "

She growled low in her throat as she glanced around wildly for something—preferably something heavy—to heave at the odious cur. Then she spotted her cell phone, lying in a broken mess near the wall where it had impacted when it had flown out of her grip moments ago. "Oh, I _hate_ you!" she snarled.

He pushed the window closed once more then suddenly made a face at her. "Ugh, V . . . How fucking hot is it in here?"

She sniffed haughtily, lifting her chin a notch in defiance. "It's only around seventy-eight degrees," she replied. "I like it just fine."

He snorted. "Keh! It's enough to boil your balls off."

"Good thing I don't have balls, then, isn't it?" she retorted rather dryly.

Evan grinned, jerk that he was. "Well, damn, baby . . . Spoken like a true smart ass. _Nice_."

She didn't take the bait. Rubbing her face rather furiously, she indulged in a moment to count to twenty before leveling a formidable glower at him. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

She didn't miss the way he stared around at her bedroom, either. "Simple. Elegant. Totally you, V," he finally said with a satisfied grin.

"What are you doing here?" she asked once more, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her toes in a completely expectant sort of way.

"Relax," he told her with an offhanded shrug. "I was just out, bummin' around, and I figured I'd stop by to see why you were calling me."

Valerie blinked and slowly shook her head since she'd called him hours ago, mostly to make sure that the deviant was at home, like he was supposed to be. He wasn't, but she'd given up when he hadn't answered his phone, mostly because she really didn't have a clue where to find him, anyway. "Are you kidding?"

He shrugged again. "Nope."

"How did you get onto my balcony?"

Planting his hands on his hips, he frowned in a completely exaggerated sort of way. "I climbed," he deadpanned.

"Climbed?" She shook her head. "Climbed what?"

"Your fire escape, V."

Letting out a deep breath, she could only stare at him. "The fire escape is a good fifteen feet away," she pointed out.

He grinned. "So I jumped."

"Have you lost your mind?"

"I don't know. Have you lost your earring in my bushes again?"

"Evan, I'm serious!" she hissed. "You could have fallen! Don't you ever use your brain?"

Evan laughed. "Have I told you how hella sexy you are when you're being all pissy?" he countered.

Furious that he simply wasn't going to acknowledge the kind of risk he'd so carelessly taken, Valerie still couldn't help but blush at his words. "Why can't you listen to me?" she grumbled. "You just don't think about anything at all, do you?"

She gasped suddenly when he stepped forward and drew her against his chest into a warm hug. "It's okay, V. I'm fine. Sorry if I worried you."

"You . . . You jerk!" she snarled, shoving against his chest in an effort to put him off. He didn't budge, and that only served to irritate her even more. "I wasn't worried, damn you! Let go of me!"

Evan swept her off the floor and into his arms before moving off toward the bed, effortlessly ignoring her struggling to regain her freedom. Only when he'd reached the bed did he let her down long enough to settle himself next to her before pulling her down beside him. "If you keep wiggling around, I'm not going to promise to be good," he warned her in a somewhat husky tone.

She craned her neck to glower at him. He had his eyes closed, as though he were trying to concentrate on something that she was better off, not considering. "Get out of my bed, Evan Zelig," she insisted through clenched teeth.

"I'm tired," he replied, tossing a leg over hers for good measure. "Night, baby."

' _One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five_ . . .' She heaved a sigh and shoved at his arms, to no avail. "I'm not your baby, and I don't think—"

"I think I'll really like this sort of thing once we're married," he continued in a slow drawl.

She snorted and tried to shove him away again. "We're not getting married," she bit out.

He smashed his hips against her butt with a low groan and an unmistakable shiver. "Sure, we will," he murmured quietly, huskily, in her ear. "It's just a matter of time."

She heaved a sigh and grimaced, entirely too aware of exactly how close his body was to hers—and entirely too aware of the fact that, unlike Marvin, Evan had the power and the stature to make her feel just a little vulnerable. She was almost six feet tall, and she had to admit that it wasn't easy to make her feel blatantly overwhelmed or even remotely fragile. So what was it about Evan Zelig that had the ability to do exactly that, and then some . . .?

' _Don't be stupid, Valerie_ ,' she told herself sternly. ' _It doesn't matter what his real name is. He's Zel Roka, remember?_ '

"You smell nice," he remarked, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling deep.

She heaved a sigh, as much from the trill of indefinable emotion that roiled through her as from the haze of his breath on her ear. "Evan . . . you need to go home."

"You are my home, Valerie," he replied.

Valerie shook her head and gave one last push against the soft but complete hold he had on her. "This could be considered forced entry," she pointed out reasonably, calmly, despite her tumultuous thoughts and trying in vain to ignore the impropriety of it all, given the fact that she was only wearing the oversized sweatshirt she'd worn to bed and a flimsy pair of silk panties.

Evan chuckled. "It could be," he agreed easily enough. "But I'm warm, right?"

She sighed again: a longsuffering sigh designed to let him know that this particular discussion wasn't over; not by a long shot. Too bad he was right: he was warm, and that warmth . . .

It was entirely too welcoming.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _She feels . . . perfect_ . . .'

Evan smiled wanly, pulling Valerie just a little closer—as close as he dared—and breathed in the scent of her. ' _Yeah . . . she does_.'

' _Do you think she noticed that we were staring at her? Actually, more like leering at her_ . . .'

He shrugged inwardly. No, he really didn't think she had noticed that, not at all, especially since she was busy screaming her beautiful head off at the time. But the memory of her, standing there in that ungodly large sweatshirt—it was either gray or light purple or something—he couldn't rightfully tell in the shadowy darkness—was enough to make him want to moan. Damn, but the woman had a hell of a shake to her . . .

He'd tried to stay away from her; honest, he had. Wandering the streets of the city, he'd ended up standing outside her building about five times before he'd finally given into the urge to see her. There was something about her that just compelled him, wasn't there? Something that he simply couldn't ignore . . .

' _Better redirect those thoughts, Zelig_ ,' his youkai pointed out ruefully. ' _If you don't, there's a good chance that she's going to try to maim you for real_.'

Evan grimaced, carefully shifting just enough to keep from poking the woman in the ass with the very blatant result of the memory. ' _Point taken_ ,' he allowed. "So tell me something, V," he murmured, his eyes drifting closed as the absolute silence, broken now and again by the intermittent sounds of the city that managed to permeate the quiet, lulled him, "why did you want to be a lawyer?"

She sighed quietly. "For the money. Why else?"

He chuckled. "You mean you didn't want to change the world or some odd shit?"

"Hardly," she replied. "If I wanted to do that, I certainly wouldn't be working at a firm that caters to spoiled rock stars, now would I? Besides . . . I'm not nearly as noble as all that."

"So you're in it for the money?" he reiterated.

"Isn't that as good a reason as any?" she countered mildly, almost defensively—and quite groggily, too. "Why did you want to be a rock star?"

' _God . . . she really does feel perfect_ . . .' he thought with a wince and the sudden realization that he had never, ever felt quite this way before. Every contour, every angle of her body fit against him perfectly: absolutely completely. "Wasn't so much that I wanted to be a rock star," he remarked with a shrug. "I just wanted to play my music."

She snorted half-heartedly. "So it wasn't for the women or the money or the legions of fans?"

"Well, those are more like perks," he quipped. He could feel her pulse resonating through him, and he smiled just a little. "Nah, I wanted to change the world and all that happy shit."

"You're so full of crap," she chided. Her voice was staring to take on the hazy fog of sleepiness.

He chuckled quietly, unable to resist rubbing his cheek against the downy softness of her hair. "Yeah," he allowed. "I am."

"I don't understand you," she ventured at length, unconsciously snuggling a little closer to him.

"What don't you understand?"

She yawned and burrowed a little deeper into the warmth of the blankets and his arms. "Anything about you," she replied as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

"Me? I'm easy to figure out," he said.

"You're not," she countered. "You're . . ."

He smiled as her voice trailed off, the unmistakable sleepiness in her voice hard to ignore. "Go to sleep, V," he told her.

She frowned slightly, as though she were fighting off the side-effects of sleepiness. "Evan . . .?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you . . . Did you sing to me before? When I . . . was sleeping . . .?"

His smile widened, unaccountably pleased that she remembered the last time she'd fallen asleep with him: the day she'd pretended to be his girlfriend . . . "I suppose I did," he admitted.

"Mm," she intoned. He could feel her slipping away as waves of sleepiness crashed over her. "Nice . . ."

"Nice," he repeated, leaning in to kiss her temple. He could feel her breathing, could sense her unabashed surrender to the welcoming oblivion. "Yeah . . ."

The darkness invoked a quiet sense of awe, a lethargic sort of magic that clung to her and shrouded her in a timeless beauty, and somewhere in those moments, he could feel himself slipping further away, into her, around her, until everything converged deep within, and the song that rose to his lips was little more than a hushed promise that would fade away with the first rays of the sun's light.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _I_** **_Just_** **_Don't_** **_Know_** **_What_** **_To_** **_Do_** **_With_** **_Myself_** _'_ _was recorded by a number of artists, the first being Tommy Hunt on his 1692 album,_ **_And_** **_I_** **_Never_** **_Knew_** _. It has also been recorded by Dusty Springfield, Isaac Hayes, Marcia Hines, Elvis Costello, Demis Roussos, The Photos featuring Wendy Wu, Linda Ronstadt, Steve Tyrell, Trijntje Oosterhuis, Tina Arena, Smokey Robinson, Nicky Holland, and others. Song written by and copyrighted to Burt Bacharach and Hal David_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Bored, huh?_


	30. 029: Benevolence

' _Doing it all for my baby_ ...  
 _Because she's as fine as she can be_.  
 _Doing it all for my baby_ ...  
 _For everything she does for me_ ...'

 

' _Doing it All for My Baby_ ' by Huey Lewis and the News.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan ran a hand through his freshly cut hair with a grimace and a sigh as he glanced at his watch and headed for the stairs. Running late was never his idea of a good time, and it didn't sit well with him that he'd gotten delayed in a meeting—a meeting that he hadn't actually wanted to attend, in the first place—when he had other things on his mind, to start with. After all, what did he care about the business side of the music industry? He didn't, damn it, and wasting a whole afternoon, sitting around with a bunch of old bastards who lived with the illusion that they weren't really as old or bastardly as they wanted to think just wasn't his idea of fun, after all.

Besides that, he was finding it increasingly difficult, not to point out the obvious to them: they were old, and they weren't cool, and the only reason that women tended to flock around them was because they liked to flash their net worth on their sleeves, as it were, and honestly, how much were women like that really worth, anyway? Even so, the bigwigs in those meetings were always chuckling nervously, telling Evan that he 'sure knows how to get attention' while wagging their fingers in abject disapproval with their hands on their wallets, greedily pocketing the cash that Evan brought in for them, in the first place. After that had come the lecture—the overdue chastising for his recent legal problems. The powers that be were worried that Evan was going to end up in the brig for an extended stay, thus adversely affecting his recording contract. Mike had talked fast to reassure them that there wouldn't be a problem, but Wicked Soundsations wasn't entirely sure that they bought into it, either.

Normally, he tried to avoid those meetings like the spawning grounds for the Plague. Damn that Mike for tracking him down before he'd had a chance to escape . . .

Madison had even started to give him the third degree when he'd finally wandered into his house a little while ago. He'd told her to be there no later than four p.m., and he was the one who had been late. Good thing it hadn't taken her long to cut his hair. Still, the damned meeting was more than enough to rankle his nerves, and the last thing that he wanted to do was to start off the benefit date on a bad foot, so to speak.

But he'd agreed to the date, hadn't he? And all because of his sweet and precious Mama . . .

Evan let out a deep breath and slapped his hand against the panel that opened his closet and stomped inside, grimacing at the very idea of willingly donning one of those obnoxious suits that he so abhorred. "Respectable, my ass," he muttered.

He'd just finished pulling on a pair of slate gray slacks and a white button down shirt when he heard the unmistakable voice call out from downstairs. "Evan?"

He broke into a slight smile as he grabbed the matching dinner jacket off the hanger and stopped long enough to grab a pair of black leather shoes and thin nylon socks before heading out of the closet and toward the hallway once more.

"Hey, V. Sexier than hell, as always," he greeted as he loped down the stairs.

She didn't even glance at him as she stared with abject horror at the painting that had just been hung over the sofa in the living room. "Oh, my God," she murmured. "What the hell is that?"

"Oh, you like that? It's called ' _Death of a Rock Star'_." He chuckled and dropped the shoes and socks onto a nearby chair, slinging the jacket over the back as he sauntered over to stand beside her. She was eyeing the painting with a very real air of disgust. Evan supposed he could see why, given the subject matter . . . "Wicked, isn't it?" he said, his grin widening as he took in the visage of Dieter's painting once more.

She spared him a rather menacing glance and sucked in her cheeks as though she were pondering something. "You're not serious," she asked slowly.

Evan shrugged. "Hell, yeah! It's me!"

She snorted and waved a hand to shut him up. "I _know_ it's you, you dork! You're . . . you're . . ."

"Dead?" he supplied when she faltered.

Valerie nodded and waved a hand at the painting in question. "Yes!"

He laughed. "Yeah, I am! It totally _rocks!_ "

She affected a shudder. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded, though her tone had taken on a more plaintive twang. "Why on earth would you want to hang something that . . . that . . ."

"Awesome?"

Her hazel eyes narrowed dangerously. "That _disgusting_ in your _living room?_ "

Evan sighed dramatically and slowly shook his head. "Why you gotta be such a ball-buster, V?"

She blinked at him, snapping her mouth closed on whatever it was she'd been about to say, then let out a deep breath. "Do you really want your mother to see something like that? Don't you think that it'd give her nightmares or something?"

Taking his time as he worked the buttons on the front of his shirt, Evan shrugged offhandedly. "My mama would think it's fantastic," he replied glibly, knowing damn well that Gin probably wouldn't think any such thing, but unwilling to concede, either. "She's very liberal, my mama."

"No mama is that liberal," she argued, turning away from the masterpiece with a very loud snort. Only then did she frown at him fully since she'd finally gotten a good look at him, he supposed. "What did you do to your hair?" she blurted.

Evan glanced up from his cuffs to cast her a quizzical glance. "What do you mean?"

"It's _short_ again!"

"Well, yeah," he replied, smoothing the long sleeve of the shirt with his fingertips. "Benefit date, you know."

She snapped her mouth closed, the wind apparently taken right out of her sails at that. "Oh, that," she muttered, shaking her head as she strode over to the table where she'd deposited her attaché case earlier. The fact that she still looked less than mollified did not go unnoticed, though Evan did manage to hide his amusement before he laughed outright and ended up getting his ass kicked for the trouble. "Arabella Gascony, right? Don't do anything to give the old woman a heart attack."

He laughed. "I dunno, V . . . Older women, you know . . ."

She almost smiled—almost. "She's old enough to be your grandmother," Valerie pointed out reasonably.

"I could dig them old family jewels," he quipped.

Valerie didn't look like she found him nearly as amusing as he did. "What does that mean?"

Evan rolled his eyes as he tugged on his slacks and sat down to don the socks and shoes. "I mean that there's something special about every woman, and it doesn't matter if she's old enough to be my grandma or not—By the by, V, I'll have you know that my grandma is hotter than hell, too . . ."

"Ugh, you can't take anything seriously, can you?"

He shot her a wide grin. "And where would the fun be in that?"

Valerie sighed. "Twisted," she muttered under her breath as she turned back to eye the painting yet again. "God, that's just hideous . . ."

"I kind of like that I'm lying in a pile of trash," he ventured.

She sighed again. "With about fifty needles sticking out of your arms . . . Seriously, Evan, that's enough to give _me_ nightmares . . ."

"Aww, V, so you really _do_ care."

And she snorted yet again. "In your dreams, rocker-boy."

"You know, if you asked Deet nicely, bet he could do one of you, too."

"Why would I want a picture of me, lying dead in an alley?" she countered.

Evan wiggled his eyebrows. "I could be your Angel of Death, baby," he offered.

Valerie shook her head and made a show of blustering, but not before Evan had discerned the hint of a blush that had filtered into her cheeks.

' _I love that woman_ . . .'

' _Me, too_.'

"Will you marry me, V?"

"No," she replied without missing a beat. "Why don't you quit asking?"

"Ah, you don't really want me to do that," he insisted airily.

"You know, even this benefit date goes against your agreement with me," she pointed out.

"Oh, come on . . . It's for charity," he replied. "V?"

"What?"

"Are you jealous?"

"Wh—I—Y— _No!_ "

Ah, her irritation was certainly a sight to behold and definitely worth the mischief she could direct at him, Evan figured. Eyes sparkling as indignant color blossomed in her cheeks, she was positively seething in all her haughty glory, and because of that, he just couldn't help adding, "Don't worry about it, V. I'll still come home and sleep with you."

She buried her face in her hands at that reminder, mostly because she was the one who had been completely wrapped around him this morning, lured close by the warmth of his body, he supposed. "You're such a jerk," she complained, her voice muffled by her hands. " _Why_ are you such a jerk?"

"I don't know, V. Why were you hiding in my bushes?"

He barely managed to duck in time to avoid being hit by the remote control she'd snatched off the coffee table and launched at his head in one fluid motion. His laughter did nothing to alleviate her frustration, and in the end, he had to grab his jacket and make a break for the foyer, dodging whatever the woman managed to find to throw at him. "Later, V!" he called, slamming the door behind himself as Bone pulled up with the limo . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

It occurred to Valerie that this was probably not her brightest moment as she carefully lifted her gaze and shifted it around the dimly lit bar. It wasn't the best place to be, but it was as close as she could get since the restaurant where she'd followed Evan and his date was completely booked—for the next month. They did allow her to sit in here, though, which was good enough since she could see the table where the undercover rock star was.

' _That liar!_ ' she fumed, narrowing her gaze on the couple seated in the posh restaurant. ' _Old woman, my ass!_ '

It didn't matter what Valerie had thought, the woman seated with Evan was anything but 'old', and for some reason, that irritated her even more. If the girl was more than twenty-five, Valerie would eat her purse, and judging from the way the woman kept staring at him, she wouldn't have a single complaint, no matter what Evan suggested that the two of them did after dinner . . .

" _Are you jealous?_ "

The very memory of that question was more than enough to elicit a low growl from her, and Valerie gritted her teeth. ' _Jealous? Really . . . That's just . . . just stupid,_ ' she fumed, grabbing the glass of white wine in front of her and draining it in one gulp.

' _Yeah, but if you're not jealous, why are you following him?_ ' her conscience prickled.

Valerie snorted inwardly and motioned at the waiter to bring her another drink. ' _I'm making sure that he behaves himself; that's all. God only knows that he can't be trusted any farther than I could throw him_ . . .'

' _Admit it. He's really not that bad_.'

She tapped her fingernails on the small, high table where she sat. Evan leaned to the side and said something that made the ditzy looking ash blonde laugh prettily, which, in turn, made Valerie grit her teeth harder.

He was completely insufferable, wasn't he? Okay, sure, he had his moments when he even bordered on sweet, but after last night, Valerie had to wonder. The man had climbed the fire escape and leapt to her balcony because he was bored? Just what on earth had he been thinking? She lived on the twenty-fifth floor of a thirty-story building. If he'd slipped or fallen . . .

And that was the crux of it, wasn't it? He never did think, never stopped to consider what his actions might mean. Too impetuous and far too handsome . . . She'd dated a couple guys like him a long time ago, well before she'd met Marvin. Selfish: that was what they were, and it wasn't because they were necessarily bad people, either. It was purely because they'd always been given exactly what they'd wanted whenever they'd wanted it because no one had ever told them otherwise, and they'd always thought that women would just go along with whatever they wanted, just because of the way they looked.

Never mind that he'd actually put on a real suit for this occasion, too. Valerie tried to tell herself that she didn't care, that she understood that it was because he was out representing his family, and that was the difference. Still, if he could stand to wear that sort of thing for this so-called date, why couldn't he wear one to court where it might help to make a difference?

All in all, she just didn't understand him. The same man who could be so entirely infuriating could also be soft and gentle—she knew that from last night, and as much as she was loathe to admit it, she knew well enough that there really was more to him than she'd initially thought.

Frowning as he stood up and reached for the woman's hand, Valerie couldn't help the rise of irritation as he led his date toward the dance floor. There was nothing untoward in the way that he held her, either; nothing even slightly less than upstanding at the attentive way he listened as she spoke to him. He'd pulled out her chair to seat her, had stood up when she'd excused herself to use the powder room, and there wasn't a doubt in Valerie's mind that the man actually possessed impeccable manners, and yet . . .

And yet, something unsettled her, too: something about the cut and trimmed visage he presented. The last time she'd come face to face with _that_ man, in particular . . . well, she didn't really care to dwell on that; not at all. Even so . . .

There was an entirely unapproachable quality to him when he looked like that, wasn't there? The kind of self-assured aloofness that she couldn't quite understand. He wasn't two different people, and she knew that well enough. Just how good was he at hiding the one persona or the other to fit the situation at hand? Which one of them was truly the real Evan Zelig, anyway?

Biting her lip as she ran her fingertips lightly around the edge of the fresh glass of wine that the waiter had silently delivered, Valerie was no closer to making sense of him than she had been at the very beginning. She'd thought that he was easy enough to read back then, and maybe things would be simpler if he'd continued to be the obnoxious rock star that had swaggered into her office in the beginning.

There was more to him than that, wasn't there? The sweet man who smiled like a little boy whenever his mother tousled his hair . . . the man who spent one afternoon each week teaching children how to play the piano . . . the man who said outrageous things simply because they occurred to him . . . the man who sat in a quiet and darkened corner of a small New York City eatery buried behind the _Wall Street Journal_ with a cup of herbal tea . . . the man who sported more hardware on his person than anyone else she'd ever met . . .

And what was it about all of those things that seemed so very contradictory and yet somehow in accordance with the overall personality of Zel Roka and Evan Zelig?

She didn't understand him. She rather thought that she never would. Then again, she didn't really have to, did she? No, she just had to represent him in court . . .

The thing was, the more she looked over the information she'd been able to gather regarding the night in question, the more it didn't make sense. Okay, so he was a self-professed reprobate, and maybe he was a little loud sometimes, but . . .

But Evan wasn't an unkind person, and even after the fiasco of a fund raiser, she knew instinctively that his reaction hadn't been calculated or contrived. It was instinctive, she supposed, the way he did everything in his life: spontaneous and maybe a little cruel, but then, she'd been cruel to him first, hadn't she? As much as she hated to admit it, she was a royal bitch that night, and Evan's response, however cold, was entirely deserved.

The couple returned to their table in time for their dinners to be served. Valerie heaved a quiet sigh and checked her watch. She had no idea how long this 'date' was supposed to last, but she didn't like it; not at all. Evan might be behaving, at least for the moment, but that didn't mean he'd continue to be as upstanding as the night wore on, and even if it did, what, exactly, was she supposed to do? The man didn't want to have his wayward tendencies curbed. He'd protested them mightily enough.

She snorted indelicately as she stared at the two sitting at the table, casually enjoying their meal. She knew damn well that Arabella Gascony was an old woman. She'd seen her at the fund raiser. She had to be at least seventy-five, and that woman sitting with Evan? That most certainly was not her.

In fact, the only thing that had saved Valerie's temper from soaring right off the charts was the very real look of surprise on Evan's face when the door to the stately townhouse in downtown Manhattan had opened to reveal this girl. Unfortunately, Valerie hadn't been near enough to actually hear the explanation that Ms. Gascony had given when she'd gently pushed the girl closer to Evan. He'd recovered from his apparent shock quickly enough, sparing a moment to kiss the old woman's hand before offering the girl his elbow to escort her to the waiting limo.

"You know, don't you think you're being a little obvious?"

Valerie jumped and glanced up in time to catch the very broad grin on Bone's face as he slipped into the high stool across from her. "Oh, uh . . . I-I was just having a drink," she lied.

Bone nodded though the expression on his face was one of complete disbelief. "So you weren't out spyin' on Zel?"

Casting a surreptitious eye around to make sure that no one else was listening, Valerie shrugged and leaned forward just a little. "Of course not," she barked. Did her voice really sound that rough and edgy? She certainly hoped not . . .

"Eh, he ain't interested in her," Bone said, nodding toward the dining couple. "It's all for charity; that's all."

Valerie barked out a terse laugh as her cheeks shot up in flames. "I don't care!" she retorted. "I just wanted a glass of wine!"

"Yeah, anyway, he won't do anything that might look bad on his mama, you know," Bone pointed out.

Valerie wrinkled her nose. She'd figured as much. Then again, if she'd known that, just why had she followed him? ' _Don't answer that_.'

The bodyguard gestured at the waiter and pulled out a platinum credit card. "Coke," he said, handing over the plastic, "and put all the lady's drinks on this, too, would you?"

The waiter nodded and hurried away. Valerie shook her head. "Really, Bone, you don't have to do that."

Bone chuckled and shook his head. "Sure I do," he argued mildly. "Orders from the boss, after all."

"That's ridiculous! I have money! In fact, I—" Cutting herself off abruptly as her eyes widened, Valerie gasped as the underlying meaning of Bone's words sank in. "He knows I'm here?" she almost squeaked.

Bone shrugged though his grin widened. "Not much gets past him," he replied. "He also said that you should probably order something to eat, too, because you don't hold your liquor well, especially on an empty stomach."

Valerie's mouth dropped open as indignant color flooded her skin. Snapping her mouth closed, she snorted loudly. "I can hold my liquor well enough," she argued haughtily. "Tell your boss that he can drop dead."

Bone only laughed at that as Valerie grudgingly reached for a package of Saltine crackers nestled in a small wire basket in the center of the table. "They serve damn good wings here," Bone offered.

Valerie opened her mouth to tell him that she wasn't at all interested. A moment later, though, her stomach growled, and she gave up with a longsuffering sigh. "How good?"

Bone slipped off the silly hat he always wore and set it on the table. "Baby, they could make your mama cry for shame."

"That good, huh?"

He nodded. "I tell you what: if you insist on following Zel around all night, the least you can do is let him pay the bill, right?"

For the first time that evening, Valerie broke into a very small smile. "Right."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Doing_** **_it_** **_All_** **_for_** **_My_** **_Baby_** ' _was originally recorded by Huey Lewis and the News on the 1986 release, **Fore!**. Song written by and copyrighted to Cody and Mike Duke_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :
> 
> _So she's hangin' with the Bone, eh?_


	31. 030: Darkness

' _Oh, signs, signs, everywhere there's signs_ …  
 _Blocking out the scenery, breaking my mind_ …  
' _Do this', 'Don't do that', can't you read the sign …?_ '

 

-' _Signs'_ by Five Man Electrical Band.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Mr. Roka, let me begin by telling you exactly how reprehensible this court finds your actions to be: not only those in relation to the charges that you face—very grave charges that you simply refuse to take seriously—but your actions on the whole. Being seen out cavorting with art gallery owners and generally flaunting your person in the public is, quite frankly, in poor taste. Let me remind you that you are facing _very_ serious charges, and you do not seem to care in the least that everything about you is being scrutinized, not only by this court, but by the world at large. If you continue to behave in such a deplorable manner, I can and will revoke your bond and have you remanded into custody of the State until such time that your trial is over. Do I make myself clear?"

Evan blinked at the old man presiding over the court and shrugged a little self-consciously as Valerie stood, completely sober, beside him. "Yeah, okay," he mumbled.

Judge Lister narrowed his eyes menacingly, drawing himself up straight in the high-backed chair atop the raised dais in the middle of the head of the room. "Perhaps I did not make myself clear enough. Mr. Roka, you will start showing this court more respect, and you will show the victim of this entire misadventure the proper respect, as well."

"Absolutely, your judge-ness," Evan muttered, trying his best to look at least a little contrite.

The judge didn't look like he believed Evan's half-assed promise, but he slowly nodded.   "Counselor Denning, as for your motion to allow your client to leave New York for his . . . rock and roll tour . . . I will allow him to travel to destinations relevant to this tour, providing that he seeks written and sworn affidavits from the proper authorities in every city that he remains in for longer than twenty-four hours—in person, mind you. He may not send someone else to get the required affidavits for him. Is this understood?"

Valerie nodded, pushing her glasses up with one hand and jotting notes onto the legal tablet in front of her with the other. "Yes, Your Honor," she replied without looking up. "And about the international dates provided in the motion?"

Lister glanced at the paperwork and shook his head. "Mr. Roka is most assuredly a flight risk, and so saying, I will not grant him leave to cross US borders."

"Understood, Your Honor," Valerie said smoothly.

Evan snorted. Valerie shot him a warning glance that he summarily ignored.

"Furthermore, Counselor Denning," Judge Lister went on, "I will grant that Mr. Roka be allowed to tour, however . . . because of his track record of blatant disregard for authority figures, I will impose one more condition. You will accompany him on this tour, and I highly suggest you do your level best to curb his negative behavior—and ensure that he does return here for any and all court appearances."

Evan perked up at hearing that particular clause and absently wondered whether or not the good judge had any idea just how much he'd just helped Evan out. A few weeks on a mini-tour with V? ' _Ni-i-i-ice_ . . .'

Valerie, on the other hand, didn't seem nearly as impressed by Judge Lister's edict. Sparing a moment to glance at her, he wasn't surprised to see the completely dumbfounded expression on her face, and to be completely fair, he had a feeling that she was trying to figure out exactly how to voice her objections to the arrangement without finding herself in contempt of court. "Your Honor," she began in a paper-thin voice, "I hardly think that Mr. Roka needs me to babysit him."

Judge Lister cocked an eyebrow. "Are you questioning my judgment on this?"

"No, sir," she replied. "I do think that it's a little simplistic to believe that Mr. Roka would behave himself better if I were with him than he would otherwise, and his fans—"

Lister nodded as he considered that. "Should you choose not to accompany him, then he will not be permitted to leave the state under any circumstance, and his tour will have to be cancelled. To be blunt, I don't rightfully care about Mr. Roka's 'fans'. That is my decision."

Valerie snapped her mouth closed on whatever she'd been ready to say as a completely chagrined sort of expression slammed down over her features. The last thing she wanted to do, Evan supposed, was to accompany him on his tour, but . . . but she also felt bad for those who had already purchased tickets to every one of Evan's shows that had sold out in record time.

' _Playing on her conscience? That guy's almost as big of a jackass as you are_ ,' his youkai pointed out.

Evan nodded sagely. "I don't have a problem with that," he piped up.

Beside him, Valerie groaned quietly.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Tossing her purse onto the table with a very loud sigh, Valerie pivoted on her heel to glower at Evan, who was already in the process of stripping off the hideously purple crushed velvet smoking jacket he'd been wearing when he showed up for court.

"That old man really hates me, doesn't he?" he drawled almost mildly.

Valerie gritted her teeth, dangerously close to losing her temper. "You think?"

"If I didn't know better, I'd think he wanted me to fuck up so he could toss me right into the big house."

She slowly shook her head, fighting a futile battle for control over her rising irritation. "Zel?"

He shot her a quizzical, almost lopsided little grin. "C'mon, V. I thought we were past all that 'Zel' horseshit."

She wasn't about to be sidetracked. Crossing her arms over her chest, she shook her head again. "Just so you know: I'm so _not_ going on tour with you."

Evan's eyes widened, and so did that damned grin. "Aw, now, V . . ."

"Don't you 'V' me, Zel Roka! I'll have you know that I am far too busy to run off for . . . for God only knows how long—"

"Four weeks," he supplied pleasantly.

She nodded once. "Thank you. Four weeks, then. That's still too long. I have responsibilities, and—"

"You really gonna make me cancel the tour?" he drawled quietly, frowning as he pondered the very idea.

She narrowed her eyes on him, her cheeks blossoming in healthy color. "Listen, buddy. My life is a lot more complicated than yours is. Unlike you, I don't get to play all day, every day."

"Play?" he countered almost incredulously.

She waved a hand at him to shut him up, ignoring the fact that he'd already removed his black satin shirt, too, at least for the moment. "I have to work _like a grown up_ —you know: a big person."

"I'm a grown up," he told her.

She snorted. "Anyway, as much as I'd love to just drop everything to gallivant all over the United States with you—" Her sarcasm made him smile. "—I can't."

Planting his hands on his hips, the idiot rock star shot her a superior grin. "V . . . Are you saying that you don't think I actually work?"

"Hmm, yeah . . . Something like that."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, that's so."

"Hmm . . ."

She suddenly heaved a loud sigh and grimaced, her knees buckling as she flopped into a nearby chair and covered her face with her hands. "Why didn't you wear one of your real suits to court?" she demanded in a plaintive wail that was muffled by her hands.

He chuckled. He actually chuckled, blast him. She could hear him moving around though she didn't bother to look to see what he was doing. "I don't think it'd matter if I showed up in a suit, Armani or birthday. That old bastard isn't going to cut me any slack, or didn't you notice?"

"But you don't _know_ that," Valerie insisted, letting her hands drop to her lap as her shoulders slumped in defeat. Despite his playful tone, there was something else there; something belying his words: darker, jaded, completely cynical. "You just assume, and . . . and you draw the wrong conclusions."

"V, I've dealt with enough people like old man Lister to know I'm right. They see a guy like me, and they hide their sons and lock up their daughters. That's just how it goes. Besides . . ." He managed a very thin smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Didn't you do the same thing?"

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie frowned at him. "No, I didn't. You walked into my office with that rock star persona you have in place. You showed me nothing but your absolute worst, and you expected me not to pass judgment on you? And isn't that exactly what you did to me? You looked me over, and you made up your mind about me, all in the space of a moment, and the one thing that you have never, ever taken into consideration is the idea that I am here to help you."

"Is that it?" he asked with a candid shrug. "So we judged each other; that's what you're saying."

"Maybe I am," she allowed. Why did the look on his face bother her? There was a certain sadness that lingered beneath his bravado: a sadness she'd sensed from him before that she just couldn't quite comprehend. "Why don't you just try?"

He glanced at her, his dark brown eyes giving nothing away beyond the starkness of his gaze, and suddenly, viciously, Valerie missed the blue eyes she'd seen a precious few times—eyes that didn't hide much, and it struck her once more exactly how easy it was for Evan Zelig to hide the very essence of who he was behind the mirages and illusions that he'd mastered long ago. "I'll cancel my tour," he finally said, "if you admit that your schedule isn't the reason you don't want to go; that the real reason you're objecting is because you're afraid of spending that much time with me."

She blinked quickly and stared at him. "Wh—What?" she barked incredulously.

Plopping down on the nearby sofa—the one situated beneath the ghastly painting of him, lying dead in an alley—Evan shrugged. "You like me," he said simply. "You don't want to, but you do, and you hate to admit it. Hell, you like me more than you like that wussy little Morgan—"

She narrowed her eyes. " _Marvin_."

"—But you're so damned stubborn that you refuse to admit that you do," he finished without missing a beat.

"You're so full of yourself," she shot back. "I'll have you know that I don't—and you're just being obnoxious."

He went on as though he hadn't heard her outburst at all. "What I can't figure out is why? Why is a woman like you with a little worm like him? I mean, I could get it, maybe, if he were at least . . . I dunno . . . hung like a fucking horse or something, but I've seen him, V, and I gotta tell you, I have to admit that I feel kinda sorry for him and his puny little . . . _Pinkle_."

"For your information, Marvin is a very good man," she retorted hotly. "And it's not the size; it's how you use it, or haven't you heard?"

Evan snorted. "Yeah, and whoever said that very obviously had a tiny piss-pole, too."

" _Oh-h-h!_ " she fumed, shooting to her feet and stomping over to retrieve her purse. His laughter followed her, taunted her, as she strode out of the room and through the foyer, and it lingered in her head long after she'd slammed the front door of the mansion closed in her wake.

Haughty exit or not, though, the nagging feeling remained as she tossed her purse onto the passenger seat of her car and started the engine. She didn't feel at all as though she'd won that round; not in the least . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"What do you mean, you're not sure whether you can do the US tour or not?"

Evan made a face at the entirely irritated tone in Mike's voice. "Look, it's not my fault," he argued calmly enough. "The old bastard said that V has to come with me or it's a no-go; that's all."

"So convince her to come along," Mike insisted.

"Yeah, well, I'm trying," he said. "Cut me some slack, will you?"

"Hmm, now I realize that it's all just fun and games to you, Roka, but this is business to me. Cancelling your European tour is bad—really bad. You might not give a great goddamn, but I do, okay? You need to consider stuff like this before you do something else really stupid. Capische?"

"I get the message, Mike," he muttered, shaking his head as he stalked around the living room. "I'll do what I can, but she swears she won't go."

"You know, forget about it. I'll give her a call, myself," Mike retorted. A moment later, the connection died, and Evan tossed his cell phone aside with a very pronounced grunt.

All right, so he should have known that good ol' Mike wasn't going to be very pleased with the idea that Evan might well have to cancel the entire tour instead of just the European leg of it, which, because of planning that had been done months ago, accounted for the majority of the planned dates. Then again, it wasn't like Evan was trying to back out of them, either. He'd much rather be out there than stuck here. Of course, he'd much rather that a certain lawyer was stuck with him. That wasn't really the point, though, was it? Everything would work out in the end, right? After all, it couldn't really get much worse . . .

' _Mike's gonna be a whole lot more irritated if you don't convince V to come along on the US tour, you know_ ,' his youkai pointed out reasonably.

Evan nodded. There was that, too . . .

' _So . . . Any ideas on how you're gonna do that? I mean, she made it pretty clear that she didn't wanna spend that much time out on tour with you_ . . .'

' _Hmm, let me give it some thought_.'

He sighed, dragging his fingers through his hair as he stomped over to the doors that overlooked the back yard of the property.

" _I think it's a bad idea_."

 _Evan didn't answer as he continued to methodically tune his guitar_.

" _Come on, Evan. It was an accident, right? Accidents happen_."

" _Eh, it'll be fine, Maddy. You'll see," he replied mildly_.

" _You make it sound a little easier than it is," she pointed out almost tentatively_.

" _And you make it sound a helluva lot heavier than it is," he countered_.

 _She heaved a leaden sigh in response but didn't say anything else, but he could feel her gaze weighing on him for a long, long while_ . . .

"Zel?"

Snapping out of his reverie, Evan slowly turned in time to watch as Bitches and Madison stepped around the divider wall. The two were a welcome sight for him, and he managed a little smile. "He-e-ey," he drawled, making a concerted attempt to shove the far less pleasant thoughts aside, "so, what are you up to?"

Madison grinned and winked at him. "Barnham's was having a sale."

He chuckled since he knew well enough that Barnham's was one of Madison's very favorite shoe stores. "Find anything good?"

She nodded. "Of course! An absolutely gorgeous pair of Van Kleins that are absolutely to _die_ for!"

Bitches frowned, leveling a no-nonsense scowl at him as she crossed her arms over her very formidable chest and slowly shook her head. "Zel Roka! Why is your chi so convoluted? Haven't you been meditating?"

He couldn't help the cheesy grin that surfaced. "Well, no," he admitted with a shrug. "Been feeling it, too."

She wrinkled her nose and gave a quick toss of her head though not nearly hard enough to muss her hair. "Come on," she said, extending a hand toward him and rotating her wrist in a tight circle. "We simply _must_ open you up."

Evan made an exaggerated face, designed to let her know that he was merely humoring her—which, of course, was a complete and utter fabrication. "If you insist . . ." he drawled as he unfastened the leisure slacks and let the fall to the floor.

Bitches shot Madison a long-suffering sort of look. "If you please, Maddy . . ."

Madison giggled but made quick work of shedding her clothing, too, as Bitches stripped off the gauzy dress she'd chosen for the day. "I suppose it's all for a good cause," she allowed.

They sat cross-legged on the floor, with their feet on their knees, backs straight, hands resting on their feet, eyes closed. Well, the women closed their eyes, and Evan did, too, at least for a moment. Midway through their round of cleansing breaths, though, he gave in and cracked one eye open just enough to peek. True enough, Bitches' girls were absolutely fantastic and definitely deserving of a good, long look . . . and Madison's? Well, Madison's breasts were second to none—with the notable exception of one Valerie Denning, anyway . . .

He heaved an inward sigh, trying not to think about the answer to the obvious question: just why wasn't he even remotely turned on? He ought to be, right? Four fantastic mams, and not even a slight stirring in the nether regions . . .

He sighed again. ' _Don't think about it_ . . .'

"Concentrate on the cleansing," Bitches said quietly. "Breathe . . . breathe . . ."

They did. Breasts rose. Mountains fell broken. The world shook, and Evan? ' _Absolutely_ nothing,' he thought mournfully.

"Feel the air purging your body of all things polluted and unnatural . . ."

He let his eye slip closed again. As novel as the idea really was, it was also enough to make him just a little sad. Was it the end of an era? The epilogue to a really great novel? The final leg of the Tour de France?

' _Talk about melodramatic horseshit,_ ' his youkai snorted indelicately.

' _Shut up before you constipate my chi even more_.'

' _Oh_ , ri-i-i-ight . . .'

Evan's cell phone rang, and he considered ignoring it for a few moments—at least, until he realized that it was the ringtone he'd programmed in just for Valerie, anyway. Leaning back, he nabbed the device off the coffee table where he'd tossed it after he'd talked to Mike, but he didn't miss Bitches' disapproving scowl, either. "Sorry," he told her with a grin. "Hey, V. What's up?"

"Cut the crap, Roka. Was it your idea to make Mike call me?" she demanded.

He almost laughed, but managed to keep from doing so. "'Course not," he replied honestly since he didn't do any such thing. "Just told him what the ol' judge said."

Valerie sighed. He figured that if she wasn't gripping her forehead yet, she wasn't far from doing it, either. "You'd better start being a little more respectful toward Judge Lister," she warned. "Didn't you hear what he said?"

"Yeah, yeah. If I left it up to that old bastard, he'd lock me up and throw away the key," Evan pointed out.

"It'd be no more than you'd deserve," she informed him. "Now, listen—"

"Zel, you need to put the phone down and concentrate," Bitches interrupted brusquely. "Cleansing your chi is a very important process."

"I know, Bitches. Just a minute, okay?"

"What's _she_ doing there?" Valerie demanded sharply.

"Aww, she's just cleansing my chi. Didn't you hear her?" Evan asked.

Valerie heaved a very loud sigh. "I'll just bet she is," she muttered.

"There's something blocking your flow," Bitches went on with a thoughtful frown. "Has your creativity been stunted?"

Evan grinned. "Well, maybe just a little," he allowed.

Bitches considered that then nodded. "I see . . . Madison, maybe you could help him."

"A blow job?" Madison asked.

"A hand job might do it," Bitches replied, but only after considering it.

"I _love_ opening my chi," Evan quipped.

"There will be no opening of chi, Zel Roka! Do you hear me?" Valerie growled.

Madison quite obviously heard Valerie's comment because she winked at Evan and shot him a conspiratorial grin. "Just a hand job? I suppose I could do that . . ."

A moment later, the phone connection died, and Evan chuckled as he set the device aside. Somehow, he had a feeling that it wouldn't be long before Valerie came storming into his house . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"You know, I thought Madison was your friend. How can you treat her like that?" Valerie demanded, pacing the floor in front of him with all the rigidity of a drill sergeant.

"She _is_ my friend," Evan replied, lounging casually on the sofa, content to listen to his attorney's tirade.

She snorted indelicately. "And that's how you treat your friends? Turning them into your own personal sex slaves?"

He rolled his eyes but grinned. "You make it sound like fucking me is a fate worse than death."

"Sounds about right," she shot back. "Madison's such a nice girl! How the hell did she get messed up with someone like you?"

"Madison's not nearly as nice as you'd like to think," Evan informed her with a shake of his head. "Did you have to make them leave?"

She stopped abruptly and pivoted on her heel to glower at him. "Yes, I did," she said flatly.

Evan heaved a sigh.

True enough, Valerie had demanded that the self-proclaimed Zen guru get dressed and get out, though maybe not in those exact terms. When she'd walked in, only to find the three of them—Evan, Madison, and Bitches—bare-assed naked and sitting on the floor—she'd clapped a hand over her eyes and demanded that they all get dressed, despite Bitches' assertions that Valerie ought to join them. " _In fact_ ," Bitches had said, suddenly struck by inspiration, or so it would seem, " _why don't you two make love? It'd help the both of you open up your chi!"_

Evan, of course, had been on board with that idea. Valerie had nixed it very quickly, very adamantly, and with a very, very red face.

"You know, V, just because you don't understand Maddy and me doesn't mean that it's wrong," he pointed out reasonably, almost seriously. At least she'd been able to talk him into pulling on a pair of faded and frayed blue jeans, even if he had refused to button them more than halfway up.

She narrowed her eyes at him, as though she were trying to discern what he was thinking. He wasn't stupid; she knew he wasn't. Why couldn't he seem to understand that what he and Madison did just wasn't right? Sex . . . it should mean something, shouldn't it? It wasn't something that should or could just be broken down to self-gratification, no matter what he might like to believe. There was no real fulfillment in such an empty act, and Valerie knew that from her own personal experiences. "Evan . . . all you're doing is using her," she said quietly.

He stared at her for a few moments. "Not really," he replied.

Valerie sighed and shook her head, rubbing her forehead in a completely exasperated sort of way. "Just because it doesn't mean anything to you doesn't mean that it is like that for her," she explained, wondering absently, exactly why she was bothering, in the first place. "I realize that all your excesses come easily to you, but you have to understand that you're the exception, not the rule. You might not think that you're hurting anyone, but are you sure? Do you think that Madison would tell you, even if you were?"

He considered that, but finally shook his head, a strange look filtering over his features as he stared at her—that same sort of sadness she'd sensed in him before. "I'd never hurt Maddy," he said quietly, "and Maddy . . . She probably knows me better than anyone. Anyway, you're wrong. There aren't many people who have ever understood me or even tried to. Maddy's one of the few."

"I don't know why I bother to even try explaining things to you," she muttered. "You just don't want to see anything that goes against what you want to believe."

"Maybe," he agreed with a shrug as he stood up and headed toward the kitchen. "Then again, maybe you're the one who doesn't want to admit that maybe you're wrong, after all."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Signs_** ' _first appeared on the 1970 release,_ **_Good-byes_** **_and_** **_Butterflies_** _by the Five Man Electrical Band. It was covered in 1990 by Tesla. Song written by and copyrighted to Les Emmerson_.
> 
>  _And don't miss Melzilla's birthday oneshot_ _,_[ ** _Golden_**](http://www.mediaminer.org/fanfic/view_ch.php/111115/554085) _._
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _The jerk_ …


	32. 031: Betting the Devil

' _The devil bowed his head_ …  
' _Cause he knew that he'd been beat_ …  
 _And he laid that golden fiddle_ …  
 _On the ground at Johnny's feet_ …'

 

-' _The Devil Went Down to Georgia_ ' by The Charlie Daniels Band.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Here," Evan said, handing a cold soda over Valerie's shoulder as she concentrated on the open file in her lap. She took it without a word and held onto the can while he quickly and efficiently popped the top for her.

"Thanks," she murmured, reaching up with her free hand for the glass of ice that she knew well enough he'd have for her.

He grinned and handed that over, too. "Welcome," he said nonchalantly.

She set the slim-file aside and shook her head. "Just so you know, I'm not buying this whole thing."

"What whole thing?" he countered mildly, twisting off the cap of the beer bottle in his hand.

"Why won't you really tell me exactly what happened that night?" she countered smoothly.

Evan chuckled and shrugged as he dropped onto the sofa. "I did, V. You're the one who keeps insisting that I'm not, but honest Injun, I am."

She blinked quickly, those magnificent hazel eyes of hers flicking up to meet his gaze over the top of the slim-file. "Did you just say 'honest Injun'?"

He nodded slowly since he had a good idea as to what was coming next. Good ol' V and her PC-ness.

"You realize, right, that if you said that in public, you'd be offending anyone with Native American ancestry."

He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth wide, tipping the beer to drip into his waiting maw before forcing a somewhat pathetic belch and slamming the bottle on the table. "It's just a phrase, Miss Manners. Give it up, will you?"

She snorted and shook her head in complete and utter dismay. "Whatever, Roka." Pausing, she shot him a studious glance before continuing with her line of thought. "You know, it occurred to me, the judge might like you a little better—and I do use that phrase loosely—if you were to do something to show contrition."

"Like what?" he challenged, reaching over to spin the bottle in place.

"Like going to see Mr. Matthis in the hospital? Like telling him how sorry you are about the accident? Of course, you'd have to make it look like something you chose to do instead of something that your lawyer browbeat you into, but if we could keep your visit from seeming like a press-circus, then it would look entirely genuine . . ."

Evan snorted loudly and shot Valerie a rather condescending sort of look. "What? _Hell_ , no! He ran the red light! _He_ can damn well be sorry!"

She was pissed. He could sense it in her aura, and he didn't need to glance at her to verify it. He did anyway and almost laughed out loud. Eyes narrowed, skin burning with an entirely indignant flush, she was holding onto the slim-file so tightly that her knuckles and fingertips were leeched white. "Why are you fighting me? You say you want my help, but you don't. You act like you'd be just as happy to go straight to jail, but then you say you've been set up! Do you want my help or not?" she demanded.

Evan stared at her for a moment before swinging his legs off the sofa and pushing himself up, trying his hardest to look at least somewhat contrite. Judging from the look on her face, though, it didn't seem to be working so well. "That damned old bastard isn't gonna like me, no matter what you do. Hell, you could wrap me up in pink paper and slap a bow on my head for his birthday, and he still won't like me. No matter what I do, it wouldn't be enough to change his mind, and even if it were, then it'd be the wrong reason for doing it, in the first place."

"And what does that matter if the end result is that you come out looking less like a spoiled brat and more like a compassionate human being?"

"Listen, if I wanted to go see him, I would, but I certainly wouldn't do it just to make nice to a grouchy old man who sorely needs to get himself laid."

Valerie snapped her mouth closed, and for a moment, Evan had to wonder if he hadn't pushed her just a little too far. A moment later, though, she cleared her throat conspicuously, looking very much like she was struggling to keep her humor in check. Shaking her head when she intercepted the knowing look on his face, she let out a deep breath. "You're entirely incorrigible."

"But that's why you love me," he countered.

She snorted but didn't comment.

"Hey, V?"

"What?"

He grinned. "Will you go on tour with me?"

She didn't even glance up from the slim-file. "No."

"But—"

"No."

"Why?"

She slipped her eyes to the side, staring at him for several moments before she deigned to respond. "Because you're a pain in my ass. No."

He heaved a longsuffering sigh. "That's not really an answer, V."

She heaved a sigh very much like the one he'd just done. "Look, Evan, I realize that you really don't understand the concept of 'working', but I do, and I have to. Not everyone makes a living by playing all day, and I happen to like going to work in the morning and doing my job—at least, I do when it doesn't involve digging you out of trouble that you brought on all by yourself."

He started to laugh then thought better of it since she'd probably start removing crucial bits of his anatomy for the slight.

"Needless to say," she went on airily, "I'm too busy to drop everything, just to go running around the countryside with you."

" _'Listen, honey, can you see? Baby you would bury me . . . If you were in the public eye . . . Givin' someone else a try_ ' . . ." Evan said rather earnestly.

Valerie blinked and stared hard at him for a moment. He had the distinct feeling that she was trying to figure out whether or not she recognized those words. He schooled his features for good measure. "Wh-What?"

He cleared his throat. " _'And you know you'd better watch your step . . . Or you're gonna get hurt, yourself . . . Someone's gonna tell you lies . . . Cut you down to size_ ' . . ."

She snorted. Loudly. Then she rolled her eyes and uttered a terse little 'hrumph'. "You're such a jerk," she muttered under her breath.

"Are you sure you don't want to tour with me? Could be lots of fun," he coaxed, waggling his eyebrows for good measure.

Snapping the slim-file closed with a decisive motion, Valerie dropped it onto the table and took a very long sip of her soda. "Listen, rocker-boy," she said as she placed the glass back on the coaster and turned her attention to him, "I would be bored stupid if I went on tour with you," she predicted, fluttering a perfectly manicured hand in his general direction.

"You think so?" Evan couldn't resist asking. "So you get in trouble when you're bored, too?"

She narrowed her gaze just for a moment at him. "Hardly, Roka. I have more than enough real work to keep me busy—unlike _some_ people I could name, but won't."

He chuckled. "V?"

She reached for a _Hit_ _Parade_ magazine and started to leaf through the pages. "Hmm?"

He stuck his hand out, smacking it down dead center on the page she was trying to read. "You couldn't keep up with me; not in a million years."

Brushing his hand aside, she laughed: not just a giggle, either, but a full-blown belly laugh—one that sent Evan's senses into a whirling tizzy. "Oh, _ri-i-i-ight_ , because you do so much all day, every day," she countered, sarcasm fairly dripping from her words.

"Sounds about right," he agreed earnestly.

"Oh, please! In the length of time I've known you, you haven't done a whole lot of anything! Not. A. Damn. Thing. Roka."

He grinned. "Well, that wasn't entirely my fault," he told her with a shrug. "Mike's been dealing with Wicked about a few things, but those are straightened out now, so no sweat. Didn't you look at that itinerary you demanded from Mikey?"

She rolled her eyes yet again, but fished out the document in question. "Oh, so you're recording this week. Big hairy deal. You go in, and you sing for a little while. How tough can that be?"

He stared at her and slowly shook his head. "Uh huh . . . Okay, V, if you think I'm such a joke, then I contend that you could not deal with my schedule for a week."

"A week? Is that all?" she tossed back carelessly.

"Be careful, V. You might hurt my feelings."

She tossed her ink pen at his head. He caught it in his teeth and spit it out on the table. "And just to make things interesting, if you are able to keep up, then I swear, I'll be nothing but good from here on out—and I'll take a full page ad out in the _New York Times_ , proclaiming that I'm a lazy, good for nothing bastard. How's that?"

Her eyes were sparkling though she looked dubious, at best. "Who said anything about me actually following you around for a week?"

"What's the matter, V? Chicken?"

She knew he was goading her, and quite childishly, too, if her expression meant anything at all. Too bad that Evan could also see very well that she hated— _hated_ —to be called 'chicken'.

"I'm not chicken. Don't be stupid," she grumbled, her cheeks pinking at the perceived slight.

"And if you lose and have to admit that you cannot keep up with my schedule, then you have to take out a full page ad where you will admit that you—Valerie Denning, esquire—are a wuss and that you were wrong—you really hate to admit that you're wrong about anything, don't you, V?"

She snorted again. "Like it'd happen," she countered. "Keep up with you, Roka? I could run circles around you."

He grinned. "And . . ."

She shook her head. "And?" she prompted when he trailed off.

" _And_ . . . you'll also agree to do the mini-tour with me. Wouldn't want to let my fans down, would you?"

She stared at him somewhat blankly for a moment before she let her head fall back in laughter. "That's it? That's your deal? If I can keep up with you—and I assure you, I _can_ and _will_ quite nicely—then you'll leave me alone about the tour?"

"Cross my hard-on and hope to fry."

She snorted. "Can I get this in writing?"

"You sure you want to commit this to hard copy?" he goaded.

"Oh, you're so on, rocker-boy. Better start drafting that full page ad because I want you to make sure that it runs in the Sunday edition."

Evan chuckled rather ominously and very deliberately checked his watch. ' _Four p.m_.,' he read with a mental shrug. "All right, then. If you're sure."

"I'm sure," she retorted, a certain level of competitiveness rising in her gaze. "This is going to be too easy."

Evan let her enjoy her perceived victory for a few minutes, content to sit back and watch as she laughed and positively crowed to herself. He almost felt sorry for her—almost. Then again, she didn't have to accept his challenge, either, now did she?

"Hey, V?" he said at length after her humor had finally wound down.

"What?"

He cleared his throat and tried not to look too smug. "You should probably go home and get in some sleep before my day starts."

She stared at him rather incredulously. "It's only four in the afternoon," she told him.

He shrugged, the absolute picture of innocence. "All right," he drawled, "but don't say I didn't warn you, because I totally did."

"Of course; of course," she said, though her expression remained overly confident. "You're just trying to psyche me out, and you know, it's just not going to work."

Evan grinned and slowly shook his head. "All right, but don't blame me when that pretty little ass of yours is dragging tomorrow."

"Oh, please! You're so full of it! What time do you have to be at the studio?"

"Four," he replied.

She paused just for a moment. "Four?"

"Yep, four. Oh, that's a.m., not p.m. . . ."

She pressed her lips into a thin line as she considered that, probably trying to decide whether or not he was just trying to pull her leg. She even tugged the itinerary out to verify what he'd told her. "So you've got to go into the studio tomorrow for what? A couple hours? Not a problem. Then what? Oh, an interview. _Wo-o-ow_ . . ."

Evan let her have her moment, ignoring the pang of guilt that assailed him. He watched in silence as she gathered her things, stuffing them into the attaché case she seemed to carry with her everywhere. "Okay, Roka," she called over her shoulder as she headed for the door. "Do you think I've got time to schedule some spa time tomorrow afternoon?"

Evan didn't answer, but he did smile at her. That smile faded when the emptiness that seemed to engulf his home whenever she left flooded over him.

He couldn't figure her out. Well, he could, sort of. Just not as much as he'd like. She really did believe that he didn't do much of anything, didn't she, and while it was true that he hadn't actually done a lot since he'd met her, that was only because Mike had cleared most of his schedule so that he could deal with the lawsuit. Of course, Mike had also hoped that Evan could get the entire thing cleared up before he started laying down tracks for the new album, too.

Letting out a deep breath, he pushed himself to his feet, retrieving Valerie's glass and his empty beer bottle before heading toward the kitchen.

Okay, so he really wasn't playing fair, and he knew it. Valerie really didn't have a clue, what the life of a rock star really did entail, and he knew that, too, and while he should be glad that he'd just assured that his US tour would go on, he couldn't help but feel just a little, well, _mean_.

Hell, how many times had he been told that his schedule was hard for anyone to keep? Madison had bitched about it often enough, back in the days when she used to travel with him almost everywhere. The last couple years, though, she'd been so busy with her shops that she hadn't been able to do that, and while he missed her when he was away, she was pretty good at showing up here and there, and she had hand-picked her replacement hair specialist who toured with him, but whenever he was home, he preferred to have Madison around, instead.

Jillian had traveled with him for a little while, too, years ago, and she'd remarked more than once that she didn't know exactly how he could stand it, which was pretty funny since she was pretty high profile herself. Now a retired super-model, Jillian knew the constant pressure of public scrutiny all too well, and it wasn't at all surprising that she much preferred the relative quiet that her retirement had afforded her.

Yeah, he knew well enough that his life wasn't for everyone, but it was something that he loved. The business side of it was a joke, of course, but the shows and the fans? That made it all worth it. The electricity he felt every single time he stepped out on stage . . . that was the rush he craved, equaled only by the absolute satisfaction that he felt whenever he nailed down a new song, when he created a three minute masterpiece that could either be beautiful or completely mortifying.

But V . . .

He had to hand it to her. The girl had bravado in spades. That wasn't really going to help her out much. She really had no idea just what she'd agreed to, and if he weren't desperate to gain her compliance with the impending tour, he might not have stooped to such a low.

Then again, having Valerie all to himself for a month on the road? He'd be damn stupid not to go for that, now wouldn't he?

' _Now if I could just convince her that her damned Marvin wasn't worth the time she spends on him_ . . .'

' _Yeah, but that might not be as simple as it sounds. For some reason, she thinks she belongs with that little dickweed_ . . .'

Evan frowned, making quick work of washing out Valerie's glass and setting it on a dishtowel to air dry. ' _But it doesn't make sense. A woman like her could have any man she wanted. Why's she settling for him, anyway?_ '

It didn't really make any sense, no matter how Evan considered it. That little fucker . . . what, exactly, was it about him that made a woman like V think that she had to settle for the likes of him? ' _Damn it_ . . .'

' _So first you convince her that that little runt-fucker isn't nearly good enough for her, and then_ . . .'

A determined little grin surfaced on Evan's features. ' _And then I convince her that I am, right?_ '

' _Something like that . . . At least, you could pretend that you're good enough for her, anyway_.'

' _Pretend, huh . . .?_ '

His youkai voice chuckled. ' _Sounds about right_ . . .'

Now if he could just figure out exactly how to convince her of that, he'd be one step ahead, wouldn't he? Or maybe . . .

He was going to get to her, one way or another. It was just a matter of time . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _The_** **_Devil_** **_Went_** **_Down_** **_to_** **_Georgia_** ' _first appeared on the Charlie Daniels Band 1979 release,_ **_Million_** **_Mile_** **_Reflections_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to Willian Joel Digregorio, Charles Fred Hayward, John Thomas Crain, Jr, Fred Leroy Edwards, James Wainright Marshall, Charlie Daniels_.
> 
> ' ** _Don't_** **_Do_** **_Me_** **_Like_** **_That_** ' _is written by and copyrighted to Tom Petty_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Keep up with Zel Roka? Not a problem_ …


	33. 032: Seven Days of Hell

' _Follow me – everything is all right_ …  
 _I'll be the one to tuck you in at night_ …  
 _And if you wanna leave, I can guarantee_ …  
 _You won't find nobody else like me_ …'

 

-' _Follow Me_ ' by Uncle Kracker

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

She was dying. She knew she was.

' _Just . . . put . . . one foot . . . in front of . . . the . . . other_ . . .'

Oh, it sounded like good advice, didn't it? Not even two hours into it, and she already wondered if she hadn't bitten off more than she could chew, so to speak.

But no, it couldn't possibly be this bad all week, could it? It was just the ungodly hour that was making the jog to the recording studio seem endless . . .

As if it weren't bad enough that she'd awoken with that despicable man in her bed—he'd let himself in through the window, much to her chagrin—he'd rather unceremoniously announced that it was time to head out. She'd glanced at the clock with a groan since it was only two a.m., and had opened her mouth to tell him exactly what he could do with that idea when he'd grinned—damn him—and reminded her that if she refused to go, then she'd be calling it quits and that he'd appreciate a nice scroll-y border around her full page ad, thank-you-very-much.

He had to be joking; there was no other logical explanation. He was just being an ass and trying to make her cry uncle. Her brow furrowed belligerently as she quickened her pace a little. ' _Yeah, that_ so _isn't happening, big boy_ . . .'

And if that weren't enough, then, too, were the pants, or rather, Evan's hideous choice of jogging attire. Neon orange, skin tight shorts with a white upside down triangle, complete with red reflective border and the word, "yield" written across his rear end . . . Those damned shorts were downright indecent and entirely appalling, and that man only grinned when she'd insisted that she wasn't going anywhere with him wearing those. That he wasn't wearing shoes or a shirt was arbitrary, at best. No, her main complaint was those ungodly shorts—and his incessant goading, too.

Then he'd made it quite clear to her that he would consider her reluctance to be seen anywhere near him as a forfeiture on their wager, and didn't that just figure? He was trying to embarrass her, and she . . . She had no choice but to go along with his brand of insanity.

And she desperately wanted to believe that the jogging thing was just his way of being a jerk; she really did. Too bad that she couldn't ignore the voice in the back of her head that kept insisting that he was entirely too physically fit for it to be a fluke, after all. If he had broken a sweat yet, she'd eat her jogging shoes . . .

Sure, she tried to jog every day, and yes, she was rather proud of being in shape.   Then again, she wasn't used to running around anywhere at this time of day, either. There was a certain level of clammy moisture in the spring air that was compounded by the darkness, settling in deep as a chill within her very bones that she just couldn't shake off. Unable to concentrate on the steady rhythm of her feet hitting the pavement as she did her level best to ignore whatever commentary that diabolical hoodlum was tossing back over his shoulder at her, she found that the very sound of her movements was drowned out by the soft but steady hum of the limo that was trailing just behind her, complete with flashing lights and a widely grinning black man behind the steering wheel . . .

"You know, V, if you'd rather, you could just hop into the limo with Bone and follow me to the studio," Evan called, turning around and running backward without missing a beat or slowly his pace.

She lifted her chin a little higher and doggedly increased her pace in response. "Turn around and keep moving, Roka," she managed without sounding too out of breath.

He chuckled, the noxious cur . . . "But the view is _mu-u-u-uch_ nicer this way 'round."

Under the weak and watery lights of the sporadic lamps that lined the bridge they were running over, she could see his face well enough to know that he'd just let his gaze fall to her breasts and resisted the urge to reach up to cover them. "You're an ass," she very nearly wheezed. ' _Jogging, nothing! This is more like a morning_ sprint . . .'

"Well, if you're cold, baby, why don't you get into the nice, warm limo?"

She bit down hard in an effort to keep from literally growling at him. "Turn around before you run into a pole," she gritted out.

He chuckled. "Hardened nipples are such wonderful things," he quipped with an exaggerated wink. "Shit! Running with a boner—not comfy!"

She heaved a sigh as she fought down a very livid blush, but he turned around at last, making a show of hunching forward and altering his gait to a half-lurch, half-stride in a very pronounced effort to get her to feel bad for him, or so she figured. ' _Like that would ever happen_ ,' she scoffed and kept moving.

" _'If you want my body, and you think I'm sexy, come on, sugar, let me know_ . . .'" he sang. " _'If you really need me, just reach out and touch me; come on, honey, tell me so, tell me so, baby_ . . .'"

Valerie gnashed her teeth and recited her mantra a few more times. ' _I hate him; I hate him; I hate him; I hate him_ . . .'

Later, she would have sworn that the route to the recording studio had taken forever, and she couldn't rightfully remember too much about the last half of the 'jog'. By the time they'd reached the state of the art facility just over the border in New Jersey, she was dripping with sweat—odd, since she was still feeling quite chilled—and ready to drop, not that she'd ever, ever admit as much to Evan, who, for the most part, still didn't look like he was even breathing slightly hard, much less broken a sweat.

"Roka, where the hell have you been?" Mike demanded as he pushed through the retracting glass doors and stomped down the steps to glower at Evan.

Evan shot his manager a cheeky grin. "Took my time today," he explained.

"Ever heard the phrase, 'time is money'?" he asked pointedly.

"Ever heard the phrase, 'go get fucked?" Evan challenged with a good natured chuckle.

Valerie was still trying not to wheeze as she struggled to regain her breath.

"Anyway, why don't you send someone to Klein's for some breakfast?"

Mike did a double take. "Breakfast?" he echoed dubiously.

Evan nodded. "Yup, and make sure that they get lots of fruit, right, V?"

Only then did the manager seem to realize that she was standing just behind Evan, and he slowly nodded, as though something made sense to him. "Fruit, eh? All right . . ."

"Coffee," Valerie rasped out, not trusting herself to try a complete sentence as yet.

"Coffee, eh? There's some inside," Mike said. "Anyway, Dieter's been in there for the last hour and a half doing his tracks and bitching up a storm. You'd better get in there before he has a conniption."

"Eh, Deet's fine," Evan drawled with a shake of his head. "I'm gonna take a shower first."

Mike stared at him for a long moment then finally nodded. Valerie had the sneaking suspicion that Evan wasn't acting quite like he normally would, though she had no idea why. Even so, Mike didn't comment on it as he slowly turned to eye Valerie once more. "Zel," he finally began in a warning sort of tone, "I know she's your attorney and all, but you don't usually let anyone in the studio when you're laying down tracks."

"Figured I'd make an exception this time," he said, taking the wide steps two at a time. "C'mon, V. I'll show you where you can get cleaned up."

She couldn't help the loud sigh that slipped from her as she stubbornly reshouldered the gym bag she'd packed earlier when she was still half-asleep. Her pride almost made her say that she was just fine. She tamped that down quickly enough since she knew damn well that she really needed that shower, even if she did hate to admit it.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Fucker! Where the hell have you been?"

"Mornin', Deet," Evan said when the artist-slash-bassist stomped into the dressing room with a thorough scowl on his face and a completely nonplussed air about him.

"Don't you 'morning' me, fucker," Dieter grumbled, shaking his shaggy hair as he continued to frown at Evan. "I been here since four! If I'd have known that you weren't gonna show your ugly mug till now, I'd have stayed at home in bed."

"Now, Dieter . . ."

"Yeah, fuck off, Zel . . . Aren't you the one who hates being late?"

Evan grinned as he pulled a ragged pair of jeans out of the closet. "All right; I get your point."

Dieter snorted. "Damn slacker . . . I work for a damned slacker . . ."

Evan chuckled as Dieter stomped out of the room. Besides, Dieter wasn't really as irritated as he sounded. Evan knew damn well that the only reason that he was pitching a fit was because he really would rather be at home in bed with his mate, not that Evan could blame him. Even then, Dieter had never been what one could call a morning person, either, and even if Evan had been on time, there was a good chance that the bassist would be in a bad mood, anyway.

But the percussion tracks had been done last week, and Evan would be working on the guitar and vocal tracks this week. Dieter was the only studio musician that Evan ever brought in, and it was more because it guaranteed Dieter a paycheck than because Evan needed him. Nowadays, it didn't matter as much. Dieter's art was drawing critical acclaim, and he was well on his way to fame, in his own right, but it used to be that the studio work and the off and on touring lent him a steady income—enough to offer his mate and son a much better life than Dieter had growing up.

All in all, Evan figured that Dieter wouldn't be working 'for' him much longer, and that was all right, too. Then again, as much as he bitched and moaned about the ungodly hours, Dieter did enjoy making music, so maybe he'd keep on working, just for shits and grins.

Making a face at the atrocious orange shorts he'd worn just for the jog in this morning, Evan swiped up the offending garment and chucked it into a nearby trashcan as he strode out of the room and down the hallway.

White Wave Sound Station was a small facility, but it sported state of the art equipment, and though Evan had built it for himself, when he wasn't using it, Mike rented it out to other acts that he managed. In fact, this was only the second release that he'd have done here since it had taken so long to build the place, but if there was one thing that Evan had learned over time, it was that doing something half-assed just wasn't worth doing, at all. It was widely known in the business and the time slots were pretty coveted, as far as that went. Mike had even suggested building onto the studio. Evan had refused, maintaining that something was lost every time something went too commercial.

He was surprised to see Valerie sitting in a chair off to the side in the small sound booth. She was sipping a cup of coffee and wearing a very comfortable looking pair of jeans and fleece sweatshirt, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, he figured, and looking completely adorable in the process. He caught her eye, and she narrowed her gaze just a touch. He figured that it had something to do with the grin he shot her, but then, he couldn't be positive, either . . .

' _I think she might be considering whether or not she'd be in trouble if she scooped out my liver and ate it with a spoon_ . . .'

' _Mm, just add salt_.'

He heaved a sigh. ' _I'd eat her raw if she'd let me_ . . .'

His youkai laughed. ' _Down, boy_.'

Evan grimaced. No one seemed to notice, and that was probably for the best. ' _In more ways than one_.'

"Oh, so you _did_ decide to grace us with your presence today," Buzz Marleighvaughn remarked dryly.

Evan grabbed a Styrofoam cup of coffee and flipped the renowned producer the finger as he headed for the doorway that separated the booth from the studio.

Buzz uttered a gravely, rumbling laugh as he pulled a slightly smashed cigarette from a rumpled pack of Marlboro Reds. "Bend over, sweet pea."

Evan drained the coffee and chucked the cup toward the trashcan nearby before grabbing the headphones off the music stand and yanking them over his ears. "Those things'll kill you, Buzz. What a damn shame . . ."

Buzz's voice was distorted by the speaker situated high up in the corner of the room. "Yeah, yeah, pretty boy. Workin' the intro to ' _Wide Open_ ' whenever you're ready, Your Highness."

Evan shot him a shit-eating grin as he pulled the electric guitar—a replica of the great Eric Clapton's classic Fender Stratocaster—over his head and waited for the sound cue.

About five bars into it, though, he let his hands drop from the instrument and turned a scowl at the mixing booth. "Hey!" he called, effectively putting an end to the playback in the earphones.

"Something wrong, Roka?" Buzz drawled.

"The bass is off," he replied with a shrug.

Dieter's head snapped up on the other side of the glass. "What?"

"It's off," Evan stated once more.

"The fuck it is!" Dieter grumped, lumbering to his feet and shoving through the doorway. "You're off, fucker!"

Evan chuckled at Dieter's disgruntled tone. "Nice comeback," he intoned.

Dieter snorted, jamming his cigarette between his lips as he reached for the bass he'd set aside. He played the first few bars before casting Evan what could only be described as a smiting glower. "Just like that!"

"Yeah . . . if you were playing ' _V_ ', but you're not. It's like this," he said, playing a mock-up of the bass line on the guitar in his hands.

"The hell it is," Dieter argued, shaking his shaggy mane of hair adamantly. "That's just how I . . ." Dieter's eyes widened. "Oh, well, fuck . . . I guess you're right."

Evan laughed and clapped Dieter on the shoulder before pulling off the guitar and setting it aside since Dieter would have to record his part all over again.

"You don't have enough bass in that mix," Evan remarked as he pushed through the door.

"I'll tweak it later," Buzz promised without looking up from the sheet music in front of him.

Evan nodded and shot Valerie a quick grin, only to pause when she hefted an articulated eyebrow at him. "' _V_ '?" she questioned in a completely nonplussed sort of way.

He grinned at her. "Well, sure!"

She looked a little alarmed. "You didn't . . ."

His grin widened. "Oh, but I did."

She groaned and slumped to the side, propping her elbow on the arm of the chair and letting her face fall into her hand. "I _hate_ you!" she whined.

Evan's grin widened even more. "Yeah, I know, baby."

She groaned again, and to his credit, Evan really did try not to laugh.

It just didn't work.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

He did it.

He really did it.

He'd actually written a song called ' _V_ ', and to her absolute horror and chagrin, it was completely, wholly, unequivocally about nothing but sex: raw, raunchy sex.

By the time he'd finished recording the guitars and vocals to that one somewhere around six in the evening, her face had been scarlet red since he'd made damn sure that everyone in the mixing booth knew that she was the 'V' in question, too. The jerk had even gone so far as to tell Buzz, the producer, that she was his—quote— _bitch_.

' _I'm so going to kill him_ ,' she thought as she tried to sink a little lower in her chair when Buzz turned to stare at her yet again. The way the man kept looking her over, one might think that she'd sprouted an extra head or two . . .

"Now stop your staring, Buzzy-boy. You're making V nervous," Evan said, his voice echoing in the room through the speaker situated on the sound board. "Yes, yes, she likes to ride the bony-pony. Jesus, ain't you ever seen a straight woman before?"

Buzz laughed and shook his head, though he didn't seem at all embarrassed for having been caught blatantly staring. Valerie only wished that she could say the same for herself. "Ain't that, Roka," Buzz drawled lazily. "Just can't feature how a classy woman like her would waste her time on a hoodlum like you."

"Well, see, she likes my big, fat dick."

And she'd actually thought that she couldn't be any more embarrassed than she already was . . . She'd been so very, very wrong . . .

' _He is_ so-o-o-o _dead_ . . .'

The miscreant intercepted her murderous scowl and laughed.

'Beyond _dead_ . . .'

Of course, if she hadn't been so damned mortified, she'd have to admit that the entire recording process was quite interesting to watch.

Buzz punched a button and played back a portion of the song with a thoughtful frown on his face. "Hey, Roka. The last pass of the chorus isn't bad, but why don't you do it one more time? It's a little too . . . clinical, maybe? Too clean."

Evan snorted indelicately, probably at the allusion that the song in question was in any way 'clean'. "Too clean," he repeated. "Right."

Valerie grimaced as Mike sat down next to her.

"You know, not many people can say that Zel wrote a song for them," he remarked, looking suspiciously like he was ready to burst out laughing.

"Hmm, and somehow, that's just not nearly as flattering as it probably ought to be."

"You don't think so?"

 

 

"' _V, V, she's comin' for me_ . . .  
' _She's screaming my name_ . . .  
' _She's down on her knees_ . . .  
' _She's a closet bad girl_ . . .  
' _Bitch of my dreams_ . . .  
' _An angel's smile_ . . .  
' _And a shaved pussy_ . . .  
' _You just have to love her_ . . .  
' _Baby darling bitch V_ . . .'"

 

 

She grimaced as Evan sang, and she could feel her already acute blush deepening even more. "Uh, no," she muttered from between clenched teeth. "No, I don't . . ."

Mike cleared his throat despite his twitching lips. "I'm going to assume that he doesn't _really_ know whether or not you . . . err . . . shave."

She didn't deign to answer that, either.

"So I guess I shouldn't tell you that this is the title track for the album," Mike remarked.

Valerie groaned. Somehow, that just figured, didn't it?

Mike grinned at her. "Okay, I guess you're not nearly as flattered as he was hoping you'd be—not that I don't understand. I do. I really, really do . . ."

Valerie just sighed and asked herself yet again, exactly what she'd ever done to deserve this kind of torment.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Follow_** **_Me_** ' _first appeared on the 2001 release_ , **_Double_** **_Wide_** , _by Uncle Kracker. Song written by and copyrighted to Matthew Shafer and Michael Bradford_.
> 
> ' ** _Do_** **_Ya_** **_Think_** **_I'm_** **_Sexy_** ' _written by and copyrighted to Carmine Appice, Jr, Rod Stewart, and Duane S. Hitchings_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
> … _He wrote a song about … me_ …


	34. 033: Keeping up Appearances

' _She's a dancer, a romancer_ …  
 _I'm a Capricorn, she's a Cancer_ …  
 _She saw my picture in a music magazine_ …'

 

-' _C'mon and Love Me_ ' by Kiss.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie groaned and rolled over in bed, unconsciously migrating toward the radiant warmth that compelled her. So warm . . . too warm . . . too incomprehensively inviting . . .

"V . . ."

She stubbornly tried to cling to the last lingering remnants of sleep that was fast slipping away, no thanks to that rotten Zel Roka. That was his voice, wasn't it? She uttered a whine of protest. Damned if he didn't chuckle, miscreant that he was.

"Come on, V . . . We've gotta get moving."

It was absolute desperation that brought her arm out from under the covers to swing madly, wildly, in the general direction of both the welcome warmth as well as the very _un_ welcome voice. "Shut up—shut up—shut up!" she half-whimpered as she smashed her hand over his overzealous mouth.

Evan chuckled and grasped her wrist in one of his hands. His fingers were long enough to curl over his thumb as he gently tugged her hand away. "All right; all right," he agreed quite amiably. "Don't worry about coming in with me. Tell you what: I'll catch up with you later," he offered a little too smoothly.

"R . . . Really?" she breathed, managing to pop one eye open to cast him a very blurry eye.

"Sure," he agreed with that damned lopsided grin that she was really starting to despise. "And I think I want a nice, big border around the full-page ad," he quipped. "Maybe some dynamite or something. That'd rock . . ."

She sat up abruptly, shoving the covers aside despite the wave of cooler air that hit her point-blank. "I'm up!" she exclaimed, fighting to hide the tumultuous shiver that the loss of warmth had inspired.

He really laughed at that, which just figured.

She glanced at the clock and stifled a low moan. It was a repeat of yesterday, wasn't it? ' _Two a.m.? He . . . He can't do this every day . . . can he?_ '

"Listen, why don't you just ride with Bone today? You can catch some z's in the limo on the way," he offered, sounding completely sincere.

She snorted. She had very little doubt in her mind that it was just a ploy: his way of tricking her into complying, only to be told later that it was against the terms of the bet or something. "Just give me a minute," she ground out from between clenched teeth as she stumbled out of bed and toward the dresser, determined to wear whatever she laid hands on first.

His laughter trailed after her as she scooped up what she thought was sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt and stomped off toward the bathroom.

It was unfathomable, wasn't it? After they'd finally left the recording studio for the night around seven, they'd headed straight to one of the local radio stations where Evan was doing a live interview for WTPE, and sometime during that, Bone managed to send someone off to a nearby deli to pick up a few sandwiches that the two of them had hurriedly eaten as the limo had sped them across town for another interview for Music Mania TV—Evan had graciously agreed to speak to them for a Zel Roka 'shockumentory' that was supposed to chronicle the rock star's life thus-far. Of course, Valerie had to wonder how much of the supposed 'background' was made up, since the musician strictly refused to discuss his family and therefore went along with whatever story his manager had tossed out there. According to the 'facts' given, he was the only son of a single mother whose father had died in a freak accident somewhere in the mountains of West Virginia—a concoction that had made Valerie roll her eyes as Evan had told the interviewer that he 'preferred not to talk about it' in a completely choked up tone of voice.

" _Can't really tell 'em the truth, now can we?" Mike had commented as he slipped into the chair beside Valerie. They were back in the shadows, out of the way of the cameras that were filming away: two of them, probably to get various angels of the rock star. Valerie wrinkled her nose when the interviewer—she looked entirely familiar though Valerie had no idea what her name was. "It's all a game of smoke and mirrors, anyway_."

 _She nodded silently_.

" _I think he gets off on the idea that he's telling everyone that his father's dead," Mike went on in a hushed tone_.

" _Isn't that a little twisted?_ "

 _Mike shrugged. "Maybe. Then again, there's a history there, you know. I don't think they've ever seen eye to eye about anything_."

 _She shifted her gaze to the side long enough to consider Mike's words. There was something behind the manager's tone, wasn't there? A sort of resignation, maybe . . .? "So you know his parents, too?_ "

" _Don't know if you could say that. I'm familiar with them, sure. Can't manage their baby boy without having met them, right?_ "

 _She nodded slowly. That made sense, she figured, especially after having seen exactly how much his parents seemed to care about him, no matter what he wanted to think. No, that one brunch with them had been more than enough for her to see it, first hand_.

All said, Evan hadn't dropped her off until nearly midnight with a smile and a wave—and a promise that he'd see her tomorrow that had sounded more like a threat than something to look forward to . . .

And she still had to think that as she followed along behind him as the two of them jogged along the same path that they'd taken yesterday morning. Sure, she was in good shape, but the lack of sleep was wearing on her more than she wanted to admit.

She heaved a sigh and shook herself out of her reverie, narrowing her gaze on the man jogging in front of her. Barefoot and wearing a pair of ragged, frayed jeans that looked like they were about ready for the trash, he didn't even seem to be breathing heavily, and that just figured. As much as she hated to admit it, he really was in phenomenal shape . . .

Still, she kept telling herself that he had to be putting on an act for her benefit, making things as difficult for her as he possibly could. There was simply no way that he could possibly do all of this stuff every single day . . . was there?

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _God, you're such a fucking bastard_.'

Forcing his gaze off Valerie, who was trying her damndest not to fall asleep in the comfortable chair in the corner of the sound booth, Evan flubbed the recording for the tenth time in as many takes.

"Sorry," he called out with a simple shrug. "My bad."

Mike shot him a nonplussed sort of glance. "Right, right, Roka."

Buzz Marleighvaughn heaved a sigh and tossed his headphones down on the soundboard with an air of complete disgust. "Why don't we take five and see if the _real_ Zel Roka's gonna join us any time soon?"

Rubbing his eye with an extended middle finger, Evan didn't even try to stifle a yawn, preferring to allow his body to do the talking for himself.

"Oh, real mature, Roka. You're such a little prick," Buzz muttered.

Evan chuckled and shot the producer a wide grin as he headed for the doorway that separated the two rooms. "Hey, Mikey, would you send someone out to get some chow? I'm dyin' here!"

"I ought to tell you to wait till you actually do something productive first," Mike complained but stood up. "The Crab Shack?"

Evan grinned, but caught sight of Valerie. She was blinking rapidly, forcing her eyes wide open as though she were afraid that they'd drift closed if she didn't. "Aww, why don't you just get something light?" Evan drawled, earning himself the strangest looks he'd gotten in a long while from the other people in the booth.

"No way, fucker!" Dieter commented as he shook his head and hunched forward in his chair. "Light is for pussies. I want meat."

Evan chuckled and held up his hands. "All right," he relented. "Meat for the men, but pick up something light for V, would you?"

"Wh-What? I'm awake," Valerie piped up suddenly, stumbling to her feet at the mention of her name.

Evan pushed Mike out of the way as he hurried over to Valerie's side when she tripped against the leg of the chair. "It's all right, V. Just sit back down for awhile," he told her in a gentle tone.

She gripped his forearm and lifted her sleepy gaze to meet his. She really wasn't used to keeping hours like he did, and it was starting to show. For the briefest of moments, Evan almost forgot about the others in the room as he stared at her. Yeah, he could definitely get lost in those eyes, couldn't he? The tired slant to them was nearly enough to make him groan out loud.

"All right: meat and light. Got it," Mike muttered as he pushed a button on the board to summon one of the studio grunts.

Evan stifled a sigh, silently cursing the fact that they were surrounded by far too many pairs of eyes that were all rather avidly watching, and he forced a little grin as he helped Valerie into the chair once more. "Don't worry about it, V. We're just breaking for lunch now."

"Lunch? Already?" she murmured with a rather confused shake of her head that Evan found completely disarming and absolutely adorable, besides. He'd watched her through the window all morning—long enough to have noticed that she'd kept dozing off in the chair where she sat, and while he'd pretended not to have seen it, he had to admit, at least to himself, that she was the reason he'd kept flubbing the takes.

He chuckled. "Yep," he told her with a glib grin. "Just doing some last takes on a couple things, and then we'll be ready to start mixing."

She nodded rather vaguely, and he didn't even try to delude himself into thinking that she had a clue as to what he was talking about. That was all right, too, though. She was getting a crash course on the recording industry, wasn't she? That was, when she could stay awake, anyway . . .

She rubbed her arms and shivered a little. She'd changed into a pair of jeans and a light sweater after her shower, but she was always cold, and he knew it. Nabbing a dark blue blanket off a shelf nearby, he shook it out and dropped it over her with a rather wolfish grin. "Wouldn't want to see you freeze, baby," he told her when he caught her rather dubious expression.

She snorted loudly, but her cheeks pinked up as her gaze cleared fast. "I'm not your baby," she reminded him tightly, unable to keep herself from glancing from one side to the other to see whether or not anyone else had heard him.

His grin widened, and he winked at her before turning on his heel and heading for the doorway once more.

It only took about twenty minutes to finish recording the retakes, much to Buzz and Mike's collective relief. Valerie had buried her nose in a magazine in an effort to keep herself awake, but her eyes kept straying off the publication to watch him, which was more than enough to keep him on track for the duration. There was something altogether exciting in knowing that she was so into what he was doing. He could tell by the way she was looking that she was absorbing absolutely everything, and for reasons that he didn't quite understand, that pleased him, too. That she found his work interesting was just an added bonus, he supposed. He caught the almost perplexed expression on Mike's face and ignored it. The poor bastard was having a hell of a time, trying to figure out just what Evan was thinking and doing, and Evan wasn't about to explain it to him, either.

No, it had been a gift that Mike hadn't really questioned Valerie's presence in the studio when Evan had never allowed outsiders in while he was recording. He knew damn well that the old manager desperately wanted to get him alone, to pose those questions to him in the hopes that Evan might actually answer them. Too bad he had no intention of doing so. After all, he worked for Evan, didn't he? Evan didn't really need to answer to him.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"And what do those do?"

Evan chuckled and tilted his head back to stare up at Valerie. She'd wandered over after she'd given up on trying to eat the gargantuan salad they'd brought in for her. To her surprise, he had yet to eat a thing despite the mountain of food that the kid, Brett, had toted in not long ago. After he'd finished recording, he'd sat down promptly, grabbed a pair of thick headphones, and started messing around with the buttons and sliders on the large panel that spanned the length of the room beneath the window that separated the recording booth with the room they were gathered in.

"These?" he asked, waving a hand at the softly glowing amber sliders. "These main ones control the recording tracks. You can make them louder or softer . . . and those—" he indicated some smaller ones further up on the panel, "—alter the overall sound of each track." He shot her a rather calculating sort of look and grinned seconds before he snagged her around the waist and hauled her into his lap.

"Let go, Roka," she insisted, pushing against him as she tried to regain her freedom.

Evan groaned. "Wiggle all you want, baby. Please."

She heaved a sigh but stopped squirming when he lifted his hips and ground them against her. "You're reprehensible," she pointed out, craning her neck to pin him with as scathing a glower as she could muster.

"Only for you, baby," he quipped.

"Smooth as sandpaper, Roka," Buzz muttered under his breath as he lifted a mug of coffee to his lips.

"Yeah, she's just shy and hates to sweet talk me around you bastards," Evan shot back without taking his gaze off her.

Figuring that it simply wasn't worth the effort to argue with him, Valerie heaved a sigh and gritted her teeth as she forced her attention back to the lights that were blinking harmlessly at her.

"Gimme another set of headphones," Evan said, leaning to the side long enough to slap Buzz' arm.

Buzz rolled his eyes but grabbed an extra pair off a shelf near him. Evan chuckled as he plugged them in and settled them carefully on Valerie's head. "Now here's what the raw sounds like," he said, punching a green button just to the left of the main set of sliders.

She frowned, concentrating on the song that she'd heard him sing but hadn't really grasped as an entire work until that moment. He'd called it the 'raw', but it sounded damn good, even if she really did hate to admit as much to him.

"If you want to hear, say, just the vocals, you can hit this button here, and it'll stop playback of the other tracks so you can tinker with it. If you want to add a few seconds' pause or adjust the treble or anything, you can do that, too. Just remember that if you adjust timing, you'll have to readjust it afterward, too, or the rest of the track will have that delay throughout."

She nodded vaguely and started to reach out to push one of the buttons with a masking tape label underneath that said 'lead guitar' in permanent black ink, but she jerked her hand back before she could push it. "I'm not going to mess up anything, am I?"

Evan chuckled then shook his head, his dark gray eyes—she missed his blue ones—taking on a lazy sort of glow. "Nope. All the tracks have already been downloaded onto hard storage, so do what you want, V."

It was more fun than she'd have thought. It also wasn't nearly as difficult as she might have believed before, either. She figured out how to alter certain parts of the recordings without actually changing the entire track, lowering the volume of the guitars in places while bringing them up in others. There was a very catchy sort of groove to the overall song that she couldn't help but love, and even if she never told Evan as much, she'd have to admit to herself that she really thought that this one was one of her favorite Zel Roka singles.

She also had to admit that it was rather fun, playing around with the track and fussing with this and that. She was even rather proud of the mix she was creating, and yes, she even thought that there was a certain level of satisfaction in having put the thing together. Almost absently, she noted the fact that he was slowly, almost idly, rubbing the small of her back, and she considered saying something to him to make him stop, but in the end, she was enjoying herself a little too much to ruin the moment.

' _Okay, so maybe it isn't as great as a professional mix . . . but it isn't bad_ ,' she decided at length as she listened to the end result with a critical little scowl. Evan was saying something to Buzz, but she couldn't really make it out since, and she was busy, anyway. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she could see Dieter leaning in the doorway with a thorough frown on his face. Head tilted forward far enough that his shaggy bangs fell into his eyes, she couldn't rightfully discern the expression, and to her irritation, it unsettled her.

"Can I listen now, V?" Evan asked quietly, tugging one of the earphones away from her head.

She slapped his hand away and straightened her back proudly, doing her level best to ignore Dieter's ardent appraisal. "In a minute," she told him. "I want to tweak this."

"I wanna tweak somethin', too," he drawled, letting his gaze slip down to her breasts as an entirely lecherous sort of grin broke over his features.

Valerie rolled her eyes and pushed him back. "You've been good up until now, Roka. Let's keep it that way; shall we?"

He chuckled. "You ruin all my fun, V."

"I-I want to paint you."

Valerie blinked and glanced at Dieter, caught completely off guard by his blunt statement. Was that why he was staring at her? She shook her head. "Me?"

He nodded and grabbed a metal chair, flipping it around so that he could straddle it. He sat down and crossed his forearms on the back of the chair and pinned Valerie with a very intense stare. "Yeah, sure! You could be part two of my death series!"

She clamped her mouth closed as an unwelcome flush stained her cheeks. She didn't exactly want to hurt the artist's feelings, no, but she wasn't about to pose for a portrait of herself, lying dead somewhere, either. "I don't think—" she began.

Evan cut her off with another chuckle. "V's not into the death scenario," he supplied easily.

Dieter scratched his head as though the very idea didn't make any sense to him. "She's not?"

"Sadly, no."

He considered that for a moment then shrugged. "Did you show her the one I did of you?"

Evan's chuckle escalated into a full-blown laugh. "Yeah, yeah, she saw that, all right . . ."

Dieter waved Evan's words off impatiently and held out his hands as though he were trying to get Valerie to see his vision. "But you'd die in a different way, like . . ." His eyes suddenly brightened as he sat up a little straighter. "Like you could get hit by a car or something . . . or the subway . . ." He shook his head quickly. "Nah, not the subway. Too damn messy. Saw this guy once, you know? He musta been pretty fucked up because he just sorta jumped out in front of the three-fifteen heading uptown? Man, there wasn't nothing left of that poor mother fucker!"

"Deet," Evan interjected with a slow shake of his head. "I'm not too sure that Valerie, here, wants to hear the grim details."

Dieter made a face that Valerie supposed was meant as an apology of sorts. "Sorry. Just that I think you'd look real good, all leeched out and that sort of silvery color that a corpse gets after rigor mortis sets in . . . Like a . . . gruesome sort of beauty, right?"

She didn't bat an eyelash, but she did take a moment before answering. "So . . . you think I'm . . . grossly beautiful?"

Dieter's grin widened. "Y-Yeah!"

" _Dude!_ " Evan cut in quickly, leaning forward and shifting Valerie to his off knee, further away from Dieter. "Stop before she rips off your balls!"

Dieter blinked, his expression blanking. "Was it something I said?"

"No way, man. Not at all," Evan quipped, wrapping his arms a little tighter around her waist despite the resistance she was trying to offer. He casually let go, only to catch her arms under his, and effectively ending her struggle.

Then he winked at her.

Damn him.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan glanced into the wide mirror that spanned the length of the room, not surprised to see Valerie sitting on the plush black velvet chair near the door with her earbuds in and a brand new silver ice Medialis that he'd downloaded her mix of _Wide Open_ with the strict rule that she was absolutely not allowed to leak that song anywhere for any reason until after the release date for the actual album. She'd rolled her eyes and demanded to know if there was something she had to sign in blood or the like, and he'd tried to whip down his pants . . .

But she was extremely proud of her mix, even if she wouldn't admit it. She ought to be, all things considered. She did a pretty decent job with it—good enough that Evan had teasingly told her that she could have Buzz' job if she wanted it. She hadn't believed him, of course, but that didn't mean that she wasn't entirely pleased with his reaction.

And, well, he might as well face it: if it pleased Valerie Denning, then it pleased him, too.

Glancing at her again, he frowned. Stifling a yawn with the back of her hand, she looked like she was about ready to doze off in that chair, and while he knew damn well that she'd made the bet willingly, he couldn't help but feel just a little bad, too. She really wasn't used to keeping up with someone like him, and even he got tired from his schedule. Being youkai helped a lot. He didn't need nearly as much rest as a human would. Still, there were times when he needed a break, too, and God forbid if she actually found out that he'd cancelled some of the things going on this week so that she could sleep for even a few measly hours at night.

This one, though . . .

He couldn't cancel tonight, anyway. He'd promised Bugs he'd stop by long enough to introduce the newest house band, Scrotia. It'd be nice to unwind a little after the last few days, anyway.

"What are you doing?"

Evan shot a quick glance over his shoulder and grinned as Valerie wandered over. She had that rather vacant sort of expression in her eyes, as though she wasn't entirely able to focus but was trying damn hard. "Putting on my tattoos," he said, holding up the largest one. It spanned the width of the small of his back just above his ass.

"Fake tattoos? You really are a poser, aren't you?" Valerie couldn't help goading.

He grinned. "Nice, but entirely unnecessary," he told her with a grin. "Remember, if you will, that I'm also Evan Zelig, and Evan Zelig doesn't have wall-to-wall tattoo-age, if you know what I mean."

She reached over and plucked the tattoo out of his hands. "Which way is up?" she asked with a frown.

He chuckled and turned it over for her before letting go. "That side is up. One dot on top, two on bottom. It's a tribal, so you gotta be careful."

She considered that and nodded. "Okay, so how do I do this?"

"Peel off the sheet of plastic and position the print on my skin, but you have to start in the center and work your way outward. When you've got it pressed down, spray on the activator, wait two minutes, and you're done."

She snorted but carefully positioned the tattoo. "Seems like an awful lot of work just for show. How long do these tattoos last?"

He frowned as he stared in the mirror ahead of him and positioned a mirror behind his back to watch what she was doing. "It's not so bad. They stay on for about a month unless I remove them myself, but I normally redo them after about three weeks so they stay real-looking."

"All part of the show," she mused.

He chuckled. "I've told you before, right? You savvy just fine, baby."

She heaved a sigh and shook her head but suddenly broke into a very cute round of giggles.

"Was it something I said?" he couldn't help asking.

She waved a hand in front of her face and held out her other one for the next tattoo. "Where does this one go?"

"Over the one on my shoulder. You position it so that the tree is covered up, but the guy under it isn't. Just line up the dots with the outline of the tree, and it'll be fine."

"I see," she replied, falling silent for a moment as she eyed the fake tattoo critically. "Anyway, I'm not your baby, and I'm going to beat you," she remarked as her laughter wound down, "just as soon as I'm coherent again."

' _Trading a beating for her laughter . . .? I can do that_ . . .'

He grinned. "Is that a promise, V?" he leered.

She shoved his shoulder so that she could position the tattoo. "You're so twisted," she pointed out though she sounded like she was pretty close to laughing once more.

"Only for you, V," he said quietly, almost reverently, unable to control the slight tremor that raced down his spine as her nimble fingertips smoothed the tattoo into place. "Only for you . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _C'mon_** **_and_** **_Love_** **_Me_** ' _first appeared on Kiss' 1975 release_ , **_Dressed_** **_to_** **_Kill_**. _It was covered in 1992 by Skid Row. Song written by and copyrighted to Paul Stanley_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Twisted_ … _completely_ _twisted_ …


	35. 034: The Fourth Day Part I

' _I've become so numb; I can't feel you there_ …  
 _Become so tired, so much more aware_ …  
 _I'm becoming less_ …  
 _All I want to do_ …  
 _Is be more like me_ …  
 _And be less like you_ …'

 

-' _Numb_ ' by Linkin Park.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Smacking the front door open with the flat of his palm, Evan stomped into the house, his teeth ground together to in an effort to keep his temper in check. Straight through the foyer and into the kitchen, he didn't stop moving until he'd grabbed a bottle of beer out of the cooler under the sink, twisting off the lid with a vicious yank and tossing the paltry bit of metal in the general direction of the trash can as he drained half of it in one very long gulp.

"E . . . Evan . . .?"

Whipping around at the sound of that voice, he could feel the rage burning deep within him suddenly falter, only to spark back to life hotter and brighter and far more volatile when his eyes met hers. She almost gasped. She did take a step back as though she needed a buffer between him and her, and maybe she did. All Evan saw was the mottled discoloration, the livid reminder that he . . . "God _damn_ it," he growled, slamming the half-empty bottle onto the counter with a heavy thud. Beer foamed up and spilled over his hand. He ignored it. Valerie flinched at the violent outburst.

Evan pinned her with a furious glower as he strode past her, back toward the foyer once more, wrenching open the door and slamming it back out of the way when it bounced off the wall with a resounding shudder that shook the windows.

"Bone!" he hollered, knowing damn well that the head of security was still nearby. "Get your _fucking_ ass in here. _Now!_ "

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

' _The club isn't one of those places that one might expect to find a man like Zel Roka_ ,' Valerie thought as she slowly glanced around. It was rather amusing, really. When she'd woken up from the unexpected but very welcome nap he'd insisted upon after they'd left the studio around noon, he'd mentioned that he'd be doing a small gig tonight at a local club, she had automatically pictured the place in her head as being a low-brow dive, crawling with almost scary-looking grungesters or worse.

What she hadn't expected was the posh and even classy Bunny Hole. Sure, it was owned by one of Evan's friends, the flamboyantly gay Bugs, and yes, she'd been told that he used to be the house act at the club years ago. Still, she hadn't been able to help the surprise or the smile that graced her lips when he'd shot her that sexy-as-hell slightly lopsided grin of his when the limo had pulled up behind it.

There were quite a number of people milling around the establishment, and she'd been there a few times with Madison, and the crowd, she had to admit, was just a regular one for a Thursday night. Most of the tables were occupied, but there were still a handful of empty ones. Would those fill up when it became apparent that there was going to be an international rock star performing here?

It had been explained to her that Evan had a habit of showing up for unannounced shows here, especially whenever he was trapped in a recording studio for days on end. She supposed that it was a bit of a release for him, and she even thought that she might be able to appreciate it. It wasn't that he minded being the rock star or the work involved in cutting a new album, but . . . But she had a feeling that he hadn't been lying before when he'd told her that the shows were what he loved about being a rock star: the immediate satisfaction of knowing that people appreciated what he did.

Even still, she couldn't deny the trill of excitement that raced up her spine as she watched a couple of the club's employees carefully push back the panel walls, opening the room and basically doubling the size of it. The stage was pretty much in the center of the one large area, and it was even more amusing, she decided, as she watched Evan, his black-for-the-day hair tucked up under a camouflage print baseball cap and wearing an ugly, shapeless gray sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over the cap hiding who he was quite effectively as he moved from instrument to instrument, tuning and fussing and adjusting volumes and generally tending to things that she figured he usually didn't have to deal with and without anyone suspecting, even for a moment, that he was _the_ Zel Roka . . .

And yet, even where she sat about ten feet from the front of center stage, she could sense his excitement, his overwhelming anticipation. It was a palpable thing, wasn't it . . .?

As much as she didn't want to admit it, she was really looking forward to seeing this show, wasn't she? Seeing Zel Roka—Evan Zelig—doing what he did best? Of course she was. She wasn't entirely certain what to expect, but something told her that it was going to prove to be interesting.

He'd also told her that Bugs never actually promoted Evan's little shows, either, partly because he didn't want Evan to feel badly if he couldn't make it when he said he might, and partly because of the drama that it caused. Bugs loved to say that one never knew who would show up at the Bunny Hole, and it didn't hurt the mystique in the least.

Evan loped off the stage, sparing a moment to look around, catching Valerie's gaze and casting her a quick wink and a little grin, before disappearing in the shadows.

Okay, so she had to admit that maybe there was more of a work ethic behind the playboy smile of his than she'd first thought. In the last four days since she'd taken up what he'd been calling the Roka Challenge, she'd barely been able to keep up with him, or so it seemed. Just this morning, she'd seriously considered throwing in the towel after being woken up after a mere two hours of sleep. In the last few nights, she might have garnered a grand total of six hours of sleep, if that. At least he hadn't wanted to jog to the studio this morning, as he had the last three. He said that he was a little tired, and while she had to wonder about the validity of that claim, she was grateful enough not to question it, either.

In fact, if Evan had accomplished nothing else in the last few days, he had done one thing: he'd completely confused Valerie: all of her preconceived notions, all of her prior beliefs about him . . . and yet he still maintained that he was nothing more than the deviant rock star, the icon that was entirely too recognizable.

And yet there was a quiet side of him, too; one that he tried to play down, one that he sought to hide. She'd seen it, hadn't she? As she'd helped him with his fake tattoos, she'd seen it . . .

" _So tell me about this guy under the tree," she asked as she carefully positioned the camouflaging tattoo under it. It was a strange sort of depiction, she thought. A man dressed in billowing red clothes that seemed somehow Asian in deviation, somehow a little archaic, but the man had long white hair that was very reminiscent of Evan's natural color, and for a moment, she'd thought that maybe it was a caricature of him. But the man had what looked like little dog ears atop his head_.

 _Craning his neck to look over his shoulder at the ink in question, Evan grinned. "Him? Oh, he's my jiijii—my grandpa_."

 _Her lips twitched. "Your grandpa? Really_."

 _He nodded. "Yep . . . InuYasha Izayoi, possibly the greatest being on earth._ "

" _And why's that?_ "

 _Offering a little shrug, his grin widened. "He's just done a lot of things in his lifetime_."

" _So why does he have animal ears?_ "

 _Evan chuckled and shrugged offhandedly. "Why not?" he countered carelessly_.

" _But it seems a little . . . well, weird, to be honest_."

" _Why? Because men don't have those, you mean?_ "

 _She nodded_.

 _Evan sucked in his cheeks for a moment as he considered that then shrugged again. "It's an old legend," he told her simply, as though it ought to explain everything. "There was once a hanyou—a Japanese word meaning half-human, half-magical creature—who saved the world from the evilest entity of his time, a being known as Naraku. That hanyou was half-dog-youkai, and he was said to have had ears just like those_."

 _She laughed at the oddly fanciful thought and shook her head slowly. "Is that right?_ "

" _Sure_ . . ."

 _Taking a moment to smooth the fake tattoo in place, Valerie tried to ignore the unsettling sense of electricity that she had to be imagining. To feel something like that just from touching someone? That was insane, wasn't it_?

 _But it was there, and she could sense it: a certain underlying tension that hummed in the air, crackled under her fingertips; an undercurrent that she reveled in despite the hint of warning being whispered in the recesses of her mind_. . .

 _And maybe she let her hands linger on his skin just a moment too long. Evan chuckled and peered back at her, that playful grin of his firmly in place. "Something wrong, V?_ "

 _Shaking herself, she tried to hide the fluster that the wide expanse of his bared skin had caused. "Wh—? Oh, no; no!_ "

His laughter rang in her head as the memory faded.

"Well, well, well . . . Just look at what the cat dragged in. Mee- _ow_."

Valerie blinked and glanced up as Bugs slipped into the vacant chair across from her. "Hello, Bugs," she said calmly, the hint of an amused little smile quirking the corners of her lips.

Bugs picked a bit of lint off his black velvet dinner jacket just before his eyes slid over her as though he considered her to be a rival. He must have decided that she wasn't a viable threat, though, because suddenly, he smiled and reached over to pat her hands. "Oh, I'm _so_ excited! _My_ Zelicious! Here! Tonight! How _win_ is that?"

Valerie couldn't help the burble of laughter that slipped from her. "Well, to be honest, I've never seen him perform before," she admitted.

Bugs gasped, his eyes widening dramatically, and while he had foregone the women's garb and makeup for the evening, he was wearing very long, very thick, very black false eyelashes that only added to the over-dramatization. "You're funning me, right? You've got to be, right? You've never seen Zel live? And you call yourself a fan?" he gasped.

She nearly laughed louder but contained it. "I'm his attorney, not his fan," she pointed out.

Bugs rolled his eyes and fluttered a hand dismissively. "Oh, _puh_ -leez! You're a woman, aren't you? And there _ain't_ a woman _or_ woman at heart alive who isn't that man's biggest fan, honey!"

"Is he that good on stage?" she couldn't resist asking.

Bugs broke into a titter of laughter, fanning his face with his hands in a furious sort of way. "Zel Roka is the total package, V: flash and glam and glitter and grunge with just the right amount of shimmy and shake. He can work a crowd like you've never seen and have them eating out of the palm of his hand with nothing more than one of his sexy-as-hell smiles. He's bigger than Elvis and the Beatles, combined. He might just be bigger than _God_."

"Bigger than God," she repeated, carefully lifting the glass of sparkling water she'd been sipping. "Is that so?"

Bugs nodded knowingly. "You'll see, V. He'll make a believer out of you, too . . ." His complacent little grin faded, only to be replaced by a completely suspect sort of expression. "Just don't get any weird ideas, hussy. Just because he's fascinated with you at the moment doesn't mean that you'll be more than a notch on his bedpost when it's all said and done."

She could feel her back stiffen at the implications of Bugs' words as the familiarity of her defenses rose. "I'm engaged, Bugs," she pointed out in a clipped little tone.

He sucked in his cheeks and regarded her for a long moment. "That's what they all say, isn't it, lovey? Just you remember that and keep your puss-puss away from him, hmm?"

She was saved from commenting. The house lights suddenly dimmed though they didn't go out completely as a single spotlight flickered to life, trained on the center of the stage.

Valerie blinked, narrowing her eyes at the man squatting down on a large amplifier in the center of the stage. His face was hidden by the brim of a very wide cowboy hat and wearing a strange sort of faded black poncho-like thing. Even the acoustic guitar he held on his lap looked like it had seen better days, and Bugs giggled madly at the spectacle.

"Who the hell is that?" Valerie heard someone at a nearby table demand.

But . . . But it didn't _look_ like Evan. Too squat, too diminished . . . none of the rock star hair . . . Even the presence that he possessed intuitively was lacking. She frowned, glancing at Bugs in a rather circumspect way while the flamboyant man clapped and looked completely dazed.

The man on the stage strummed a few notes, taking a moment to pluck the strings and listening to them fade away as the general hum in the air grew louder, more restless.

The song that he started to play, though, was familiar, something she'd heard before, and yet there was something entirely foreign about it, too. It took her a minute to figure it out, and when she did, she almost smiled.

It was one of Zel Roka's earlier songs, but the reason she had such a difficult time recognizing it was because of the conspicuous lack of the very loud electric guitar that had been replaced by the gentler tones of the acoustic guitar. It was a little slower in tempo, and while she was far from an expert on such things, it didn't take a genius to realize that the mastery of the instrument was most certainly on display.

A rustle seemed to ripple through the crowd; no one knew quite what to make of the lone man on the stage. To be honest, she wasn't even sure what to think. She almost thought that maybe Evan had brought someone in with him to get things going, and yet that just didn't seem like something he'd do. After all, he'd gone to the trouble of introducing her to every member of his road band. Wouldn't he have introduced her to the guitar aficionado, as well?

She shook her head in confusion when the man started to sing. Low, dry, whispery, like dry leaves skittering over the ground, his voice wasn't the same as the man she'd come to know; the one who had a habit of singing under his breath, even when he didn't realize that he was doing so. Evan's voice was rich, almost more of one that she would liken to that of a Broadway star. This guy . . .?

Just who the hell was he, anyway?

"Hey, old timer!" someone off to the side in the shadows beside the stage hollered. She recognized that voice, didn't she?

"Dieter," she murmured. It was lost under the general noise of the club.

The man on stage didn't miss a beat, and whether or not he'd heard Dieter was negotiable.

"Fucker, acoustic guitars are for _pussies!_ " Dieter yelled.

A second later, an electric guitar flew through the air directly at the man on stage. In a deceptively fast motion, he dropped the acoustic guitar and shot to his feet, kicking the instrument toward the other side of the stage in the motion and neatly catching the electric guitar in one hand. Somehow, in the space of about five seconds—conveniently enough, a five second pause that was written into the song he'd been playing—the man whipped his free arm up, yanking off the nondescript black poncho and the cowboy hat and tossing them away, too.

In the fluid motion of a breath, he flawlessly, effortlessly picked up the song on the electric guitar with a very cheesy, almost snide, grin that he flashed at the audience as his hair fell from where it had been gathered up under his hat—ripped jeans that she recognized since he seemed to favor them despite their deplorable state; no shirt, whatsoever . . . A definite sway in his lean hips as a round of high-pitched screams erupted from the women in the crowd, and in the space of a breath, he had them eating out of the palm of his hand with a flash of a smile, a catty little smirk, the heavy thump of his heel on the wooden stage below him . . .

And the ripple in the crowd was viable, the change in the general atmosphere a palpable thing. The laid-back ambience was gone, replaced by an audible buzz that sizzled in the air. Beeps from cell phones coming to life as people called their friends became a white noise beneath the steadily throbbing guitar. The backup band members dashed onto the stage with instruments ready to go as the drummer—a very stout guy who Evan had introduced as Frankie—slipped onto the stool behind the barebones kit, spinning his drumsticks as he waited for his cue. Dieter hunched low over the bass guitar, his hair falling over his face, looking ghastly and spindly and almost anorexic—completely ' _rock_ '—right down to the half-burned cigarette dangling between his knuckles as he strummed the bass guitar. A guy with another guitar—Evan had called it a 'rhythm guitar'—stood on the other side, his hands at his sides as he swung his hips behind the instrument to the beat of the music.

She saw all of this in a matter of moments before her eyes shifted back to the lone man in the spotlight, struck by the ease with which Evan held it, somehow seeming larger than life in the space of an instant—Zel Roka, the rock star—a complete stranger from the Evan Zelig that she had come to know . . . In that moment, in that place, the unbidden knowledge that he had somehow been lifted above her, just out of her reach, was understood, but why that idea bothered her, she had no idea; not really . . .

People got up from their tables, moving in closer to the stage. Valerie stood up, too, her eyes absolutely riveted on Evan. There was something about him; something that drew her to him, something that couldn't be seen or touched, but she could feel the immense draw. Could everyone feel it? Was that why he was so insanely popular? Was it more than the music, after all? ' _The . . . The man . . . behind it_ . . .' Something about him was able to reach out to every member of the audience, fooling them into believing that every little grin was just for the individual: a rare gift that she'd never actually seen before—an earnestness that came through in everything he did.

That was his magic, wasn't it? That innate ability to touch people; a warmth that he never, ever tried to hide. Even onstage, there was a certain level of openness, as though he were laying every single thing in his heart and soul out there for the entire world to see. As he strode to the edge of the stage without missing a beat, as he leaned down to clasp hands with as many people as he could reach—the rhythm guitarist had picked up Evan's riff for the duration of the unspoken greeting—as the craziness that spun in the air grew and spread like wildfire in a dry heat . . .

Women screamed, men cheered, and with every second that passed, more and more people squeezed into the club. The healthy crowd had doubled within the space of a minute, surrounding the round-robin stage. A sense of frenetic energy rose as bodies squeezed closer together. The first song came to an end, and Evan heaved a deep breath and slowly glanced around as his grin widened. "How the hell are you?" he finally called out, absently adjusting the earpiece microphone without breaking his stare or his smile.

The din that rose in response to the question was deafening. Valerie nearly smiled. That feeling . . . It was intoxicating, wasn't it . . .?

"Promised an old friend that I'd drop in. You know: do a few songs tonight," he went on, reaching for a clear plastic bottle of water that was hidden behind one of the stack amps. "So make sure you guys buy a drink or ten from the bar to thank Bugs for me, all right?"

He laughed as the audience called back.

"I love you, Zel!" someone screamed over the buzz of the crowd.

Evan leaned back, quickly scanning the audience for the face behind the voice. "Oh, yeah? Was that you, baby?" he asked, leaning forward and pointing into the darkness.

The woman giggled.

"Hey, hey! Help her up here, will you?" he said, gesturing for the crowd to make room for her to pass. They did, and the woman ran up to the edge of the stage. Evan held out a hand for her and tugged her into the spotlight. "Well, _da-a-amn_ ," he breathed, holding her hand up and letting her do a turn under his arm. He whistled. "Love _me_ , huh?"

"I've _always_ loved you," she said, her face as red as the dress she wore.

"Is that so?" Evan queried. Valerie rubbed her arms, idly stifling the goosebumps that rose to the surface of her skin. That drawl in his voice—she knew it well enough. Even if it wasn't directed at her, she could still feel it, just the same . . . "Gimme some sugar, baby, and you see the big guy over there?"

She turned to look in the direction where Evan was pointing. Bone waved. "You go talk to him, and he'll see if he can't hook you up with some good shit."

The girl looked like she just might cry—or pass out—as Evan slipped an arm casually around her shoulders, much to the delight of the crowd. All the same, she still managed to kiss him on the lips before bursting into tears—uncontrollable sobs brought on by her overwrought emotions. Evan kissed the girl's forehead before letting Bone slip an arm around her and lead her off the stage.

He watched her go before turning his attention back to the audience once more. Leaning back slightly, he threw his hands out to the sides and shook his head. "I dunno, people," he drawled slowly, "I realize it's only a fucking Thursday night, but . . . Whaddaya say we have a big damn party right here, right now?"

The crowd roared.

Evan laughed and called over his shoulder. "C'mon, Frankie. Lay some skin."

Frankie complied, executing a flawless drumroll before launching into a steady, unfaltering rhythm. Evan stomped his left heel. "You know the drill, guys. Get a lady on your shoulders, and let's see what you're made of!"

Valerie blinked. General chaos, maybe, and somehow not surprising at all as men lifted their girlfriends on their shoulders, as men who had arrived alone grabbed single girls to do the same. "Uh, no," she said, raising her voice to be heard above the dull roar as a man she didn't know turned to look at her almost expectantly.

The sudden feeling that she was being scrutinized made her stiffen, and she lifted her gaze in time to see Evan's eyes locked on hers, a secretive little grin on his face, and she knew— _knew_ —that he really was looking directly at her.

Then he turned back to face the audience again. "All right, ladies! Shake 'em if you got 'em!"

She very nearly clapped her hands over her ears despite the smile on her face when the women broke out in another round of screaming. Hands in the air, the collective mass of them like putty in his hands. It occurred to Valerie in a vague sort of way that he could have commanded them to do just about anything, and they would have. They really would have. It was hysteria. It was chaos. It was amazing.

It was Zel Roka.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Thank you," Evan said, catching a towel that Dieter tossed him and sparing a moment to dry off his face before chucking the bit of cloth into the surging crowd. "Let's hear it for the Philansoclantes, my backup band!"

The noise of the crowd rose in volume as he waved a hand toward his road band, and he couldn't help grinning as the mad scramble to catch the used towel broke out, followed by a shriek of "Oh, my _God!_ " from the lucky woman who managed to come up with the prize.

"That song makes you wanna go home and fuck the hell out of someone, doesn't it?" he asked. Then he chuckled and shook his head. "Well, if you're a guy, anyway. If you're a woman? Just go make someone's day. Give some lucky bastard a handjob on the freeway on the way home tonight . . . or in the subway, if you gotta . . ."

"Yeah!" someone hollered loudly amid the chorus of assent.

He chuckled. "Should I play one more?"

The roar from the crowd was absolutely deafening.

He shook his head. "I dunno," he mused noncommittally, turning long enough to wink at Valerie, who was standing off to the left side, her cheeks pinked though whether it was because of the pervasive heat in the maximum capacity club, or because of her enjoyment of his show, he wasn't sure, even if he did want to think that it was the latter. "I'm not too sure that I'm feelin' it . . ." The crowd combined into one low protest. "Maybe you can help me out. You know: gimme some inspiration . . ."

"Anything!" someone else yelled—someone female.

Evan grinned. That was the response he'd been hoping for. "Well . . . C'mon, ladies! Show me how much you want it!"

And he wasn't at all surprised when blouses fell away, either. First one, then another and another . . . His grin widened. ' _God, I love my job_ . . .' he thought. "All right," he agreed. "Check it out, guys! Mountains will crumble! Oceans will dry up! Breasts will _heave!_ " The women whooped. "And I think . . . I think I got my groove back . . ."

Whipping around, he waved a hand at Frankie, who fired off a three count and launched into ' _Overdrive'_ , one of Evan's first hit singles.

Bone loped onto the stage and grabbed Evan during the long intro. "Man, it's chaos out there," he said without preamble.

Evan nodded, pressing the 'mute' button on his earpiece mic and shot Bone a look. "No extra security?"

"The cops sent in a handful of off-duties, but not nearly enough. Kress says that traffic's backed up about five blocks perimeter. Chief Cole called to tell me to get you outta here ASAP."

Evan considered that then nodded again. He'd wanted to do about eight or ten songs, minimum, and so far, they'd only done three—four counting ' _Overdrive'_. "All right," he said, seeing no way around it. "Get V outta here first; will you?"

Bone nodded once and headed for the side of the stage once more as Evan unmuted his mic and fairly bounced back into the spotlight again.

 

 

"' _She don't like to tease_ . . .  
 _She just likes to please_ . . .  
 _She likes being on her knees_ . . .  
 _Cuz she loves it long and hard_ . . .'"

 

"' _In overdrive . . . overdrive_ . . .  
 _In the night she comes alive_ . . .'"

 

 

The electric feeling in the crowd was enough to make Evan feel almost giddy . . . He hated to leave and cut the show short, but damn it . . . If anyone got hurt at one of his gigs, he seriously doubted that he'd ever be able to forgive himself.

He'd lost track of Valerie in the confusion. He wasn't too concerned, though. After all, Bone was damn good at what he did. He'd find her and get her out of there safely.

It was a frenzy, wasn't it? The roar of the crowd, the unseen energy that flowed, only to lift him higher and goad him further.

Damn, but he was having a good time. Live shows always had been his bread and butter: the things he thrived on, and as much as he loved doing the road trips, too, he had to admit that the experience of playing in smaller venues was vastly different—better. In the larger arenas and such, there was always a wall between himself and the people—not a real one, no, but one created by a barrier of space. Rarely were fans allowed to squeeze against the stage—safety codes, of course—but it had never ceased to amaze Evan that he could get the same rush of excitement from a club with two hundred people as he could from an arena that seated fifty-thousand . . .

And he could see faces, too. The pretty girl in the front row who just kept sobbing because she'd never expected to be this close to him—overcome by the moment or something . . . The guy—little more than a kid who didn't actually look old enough to be in the club—maybe he'd sneaked past security at the doors—a couple rows back who looked like he'd died and gone to rock-star heaven . . . And the intensity of a certain woman's gaze that he'd felt all night long . . .

' _V_ . . .'

So why was it that the very thought of that woman was enough to send him into an absolute tizzy? Hands playing the notes of the song as though by rote, his eyes scanned the crowd . . . Insane to miss her that much when he knew damn well that Bone was doing his job by getting her out of there before him . . . Yet he could sense an underlying emptiness that had only come when he couldn't see her anymore.

Turning on his heel, he ran over to Dieter. "Gotta call it early, man," he muttered as the bassist executed a solo without incident. "Old man Cole didn't send in enough security."

"Fuckers," Dieter muttered, shaking his head since he, like Evan, lived for the live rush.

Tay Nash snorted indelicately as he strummed the rhythm guitar. He'd ventured over soon enough to catch Evan's statement. "Hundred bucks says it was intentional," he grumbled.

"Whatever, whatever," Evan mumbled with a half-assed grin. "Let's just wrap this up."

A minute later, and it was all over. Evan lifted his fists, punching the air in a silent salute to the audience as they whistled and cheered and stomped their feet. The air reeked of clean sweat and booze and there was an overall balmy feel to it. He committed it to memory as he grinned at the standing room only crowd. "Sorry, guys, but we gotta call it a night," he said when the noise had died down a little.

The boos were not unexpected, and he had to wait for them to subside, too.

"Anyway, don't let me ruin the fun! Why don't you all hang out for awhile? Show Bugs your appreciation? You guys have been great! Thanks for hangin' with me tonight!"

And he waved once more before he loped off the stage, followed by the rest of the band. Hal Menkin and Pete Henley, a couple more of Evan's security team, were on the right side of the way with a couple other guys on the left, pushing back the crowd as the musicians hurried through.

"Thank you, Zel!" someone off to the left yelled.

"You rock so hard, man!" someone else hollered.

"Zel!" someone on the right called out. "Don't go! Please!"

Evan grinned but didn't stop to chat as he made his way toward the black lacquered doors that bore a sign that read, 'Authorized Personnel Only'.

"That was an awfully short set," Valerie commented dryly as Evan pushed into the comparative quiet of the exclusive area. He stopped abruptly and glanced at her, but grinned when he saw the sparkle in her eyes that she just couldn't hide. She really had a good time, didn't she? "Good thing I didn't have to pay, or I'd have had to register my complaint."

He chuckled at her teasing and reached out to grab her into a hug—he always wanted to hug someone when he got offstage. She'd just have to deal with that, wouldn't she? She made a face and pushed against him, probably protesting his sweat-soaked chest. He only grinned wider. "I'll give you a private show later, baby," he offered.

She snorted and waved a hand, finally succeeding in dislodging his arms as she stepped away, though not before he could discern the trace pink in her cheeks that had nothing at all to do with irritation for once. "I think you need a shower before anything else," she commented.

"Yeah, first things first," he quipped.

"Come on, Roka. The cops are afraid that the crowd's not gonna go home unless you're gone, so they're insisting," Bone remarked as he strode into the area, letting go of the earpiece hooked over his head as he pushed the button on the belt pack strapped to his hip.

"Oi, I thought I told you to get her out of here already," Evan commented as he reached for his leather jacket and jerked his head toward Valerie.

Bone nodded then shrugged. "Had some trouble finding the little lady," he confessed. "Anyway, I had one of the guys bring the car around. All things considered, I figured that it'd be better to leave from the front. If the kids see you go . . ."

Then they'd leave, too, or so the cops hoped. Evan slipped the jacket on with a grimace—leather on sweaty skin was not exactly something that he cared for—and grabbed Valerie's hand. "Stay close to me, V," he said as he followed Bone toward the door on the opposite side of the room that led to the small hallway that ran around the back of the club. "Don't let go of my hand, okay?"

For a second, she looked like she was going to argue with him, and he didn't miss the tug on her hand, firmly held in his. As he increased his speed, though, she fell silent. He could feel the reverberations of the crowd, even through the cinderblock walls: the steady rhythm of the music playing over the stereo system in the club, the lingering electricity of the assembled people, and he glanced back at Valerie to see if she could feel it, too. Her pretty face looked a little pale, her eyes wide as she shifted her gaze from side to side. She could, and while she might not know exactly what to make of it, he could tell that she was a little leery of it, too. Four more security guards fell in step behind her, and Valerie unconsciously quickened her pace a step.

And yet, as misplaced as it was, Evan couldn't help but squeeze her hand a little tighter, trying to convey his pride at having her with him without actually saying a word. When he'd mentioned that he was going to be doing an impromptu gig, she'd stared at him for a long moment before asking him just what she ought to wear, and while he had been inclined to reply that she'd do well to show up in her birthday suit, he figured that he was already pushing it, as it were, all things considered. Still, she'd chosen a black skirt—too long to be a micro-mini; too short to be considered 'work' clothing—that wasn't at all uptight and a form fitting white silk blouse that she'd left untucked. The hem just barely brushed the waist of the skirt, with her hair cascading loose and freely around her face—dirty blonde since the brown rinse she normally used was something that she'd been forgetting to use the last few days. He'd have to admit that she really didn't look much like a lawyer these days, and the clunky, four inch heeled, strap-ankle black sandals that she'd chosen to go with the rest of her outfit? ' _Holy damn, she's hot_ . . .'

"We're ready," Bone said into his headset as he reached for the handle of the door that led to the side opening of the building. Not exactly out the front door, but close enough to allow for his exit to be seen, Evan figured.

Bone waited for a moment then shot Evan a grin. "Broadcast news, Roka," he said.

Evan nodded dutifully and pasted on 'the grin' as he followed Bone out the door.

The din of the crowd was deafening, growing steadily and rapidly louder as Evan stepped outside. Raising his free hand to wave as he shot the masses a wide smile, he pulled Valerie a little closer as the security guards closed ranks around them.

That was a good word for it. Screams and catcalls, sobs and incoherent jabbering all combined into one low resonance not unlike the roar of the ocean. The security team had set up barricades to allow about a ten foot walkway between, but those barricades were being pushed in fast despite the twenty or so security guards watching them. It happened every time, didn't it?

The crowd seemed more ardent, more desperate than usual, though, and that didn't sit entirely well with Evan. He could feel them pressing in on the right side, closer and closer.

"Zel! Just your autograph, please!" one girl screamed as she was being forced back by one of Bugs' very burly bouncers.

Ordinarily, he probably would have stopped and indulged the girl, but somewhere in the back of his mind, Evan realized that the situation was a little dangerous: a throng of kids as far as he could see, swarming the block around the club as the traffic lights flashed. The city authorities wouldn't stand for this kind of disruption for long, and he knew it. Best to get into the car and get the hell out of there . . .

"Sorry, honey. Maybe next time," he called, casting the girl an apologetic smile that he hoped would make her feel a little better.

"Get the fuck back!" one of the guards yelled, giving one of the barriers a warning shake as a swarm of kids fought to push against it. The man pulled out a straightstick and raised it, his meaning clear.

Evan scowled at that, letting go of Valerie's hand and smacking Bone's arm. "Stay with her!" he yelled to be heard over the din.

Bone glanced at Evan. "What?"

Evan didn't stop to wait for an answer as he pushed one of the bodyguards aside and reached out to grasp the man's wrist. "What the fuck are you doing, man?" he demanded.

The guard didn't look at all impressed by Evan's question. "They won't stay back," he replied carelessly.

"You trying to turn this into a damn riot?" Evan parried.

"Roka, goddamn it, you're gonna get yourself into even more trouble if you're not careful," Bone growled, grabbing Evan's shoulders and pulling him back. "C'mon!"

Evan shot Bone a fierce glower at the interruption then suddenly blinked. "Where's V?"

Bone shook his head. "What do you mean?"

Evan reacted without thinking, grabbing the huge buffalo-youkai by the front of the shirt and giving him a hard shake. "I told you to stay with her, damn it! Where the fuck is she?"

But no sooner were those words out of his mouth than the faintest trace scent caught in his nose: a bitter coppery sort of smell that he knew without having to verify it. No, it was the underlying scent that was carried with it that caused his heart to stop for one painful and dizzying second, and he shoved Bone away as he glanced around wildly.

And then he spotted her. No more than five feet away with three massive bodies of hired security guards between them—those sons of bitches were pushing her away from him—she was being forced back behind the barricades. In the chaos, she must've slipped or tripped. Either way, he could see in that momentary glimpse of her . . .

Shoving people aside—people who stood between him and Valerie, he couldn't think, could only keep moving, desperate to get to her. He could feel her rising panic as the security team ignored her pleas. With a frustrated growl, Evan shoved the remaining body aside and grasped Valerie's hand to pull her out of the crowd and ignoring the disappointed hisses coming from different directions around them. "Come on," he said, not trusting himself to say more to the guard who was staring at him from where he stood, slumped over the barricade, stunned. A moment later, he pulled off his jacket, carefully draping it over Valerie's shoulders as he reached for her hand and bit down hard on his cheek, clenching his jaw to keep his temper in check.

He pulled her through the obstacle course of people toward the waiting car, and he didn't stop as he brushed Bone's hand away as the youkai reached over to open the back door, opting instead to do it himself before shielding Valerie as she crawled inside.

He didn't dare look at her on the ride back to his house. If he did, he'd lose what was left of his temper, and he knew it. He'd told Bone to stay with her, hadn't he? And even if he hadn't, Bone ought to have known better. So why the hell had he left her?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Numb_** ' _originally appeared on Linkin Park's 2003 release_ , **_Meteora_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to Chester Bennington, Mike Shinoda, Rob Bourdon, Brad Delson, Darren Farrell, and Joseph Hahn_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Just what's gotten into him …?_


	36. 035: The Fourth Day Part II

' _Half_ _the_ _time_ _the_ _world_ _is_ _ending_ …  
 _Truth is I am done pretending_ …  
 _Too much time, too long defending_ …  
 _You and I are done pretending_ …'

 

-' _Love Remains the Same'_ by Gavin Rossdale.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Bone! Get your _fucking_ ass in here. _Now!_ "

Valerie flinched and bit her lip, wondering what, exactly, had happened. Yes, she was there. Yes, maybe she ought to know what had set Evan off, but the truth was that she really didn't have a clue. After all, he'd seemed happy enough after his gig, hadn't he?

It was easy to think that the threats made by the one security guard when he'd raised his bobby-stick at the crowd was the culprit, and yet she didn't really believe that, either. The thing was, she wasn't entirely sure what was bothering him, though, and that was even worse, really. Was he angry at her? And if that were the case, why? She hadn't done anything wrong—at least, she didn't think she had . . .

Against her better judgment, she followed him slowly, but stopped in the doorway that separated the kitchen from the living room. Evan was literally prowling the length of the room, opening and closing his hands as though he were fighting desperately not to come completely unglued. A moment later, she heard the front door open and close quietly seconds before Bone walked into view.

For once, the man wasn't smiling. He stared at Valerie for a long minute, then nodded tersely, as though he understood something that she really, really didn't.

Evan didn't turn to look at his head of security, though he had to know that Bone was there. Quickly, he strode over to the sliding French doors that led to the back yard, raising his arm, propping his elbow on the frame and leaning his temple against his forearm. "Give me one fucking reason that I shouldn't rip you the hell apart," he finally said in a low, gravely tone.

Bone didn't even flinch. Valerie did.

"I'm sorry, man," Bone said calmly and completely seriously. He offered no excuses.

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Bone," Evan growled, his anger spiraling outward: thick and heavy and ugly.

"Look, it was an accident," Bone went on in a rather placating sort of tone. "I didn't mean—"

Evan whipped around so fast that Valerie had to smother a gasp. Eyes positively glowing, snapping with an anger that she didn't understand and hadn't realized that he was capable of, Evan looked like he was about two steps from snapping completely. "I don't give a great goddamn what you _meant_ to do, Bone! What the fuck were you _thinking?_ You're there night after night! You know damn well what could have happened!"

Bone's stance shifted as he crossed his arms over his chest, as his expression hardened. "It was a mistake. What do you want me to do about it now?"

" _Damn it!_ " Evan exploded, slamming his fist back against the door. Valerie couldn't help the strangled cry that slipped from her as the tempered sheet glass cracked with an insanely loud 'pop' and shattered, raining down on the marble floor with a deafening crash. It didn't faze him. The crunch of his boots on the shards of glass was like nails on a chalkboard. Evan stomped across the room, pausing for a moment to glower at Bone before heading into the kitchen once more. Valerie ducked back into the kitchen, smashing herself against the wall and making herself as unnoticeable as possible before he ran her down. He stalked over to the cooler once more and retrieved another bottle of beer before returning to the living room in the same fashion as he had when he'd left it a minute before. "What do I want you to do about it?" Evan repeated, but only after quaffing down nearly half the bottle in one go.

Bone didn't back down. "Yeah, that's what I asked."

Evan snorted, draining the rest of the beer in another fluid gulp. "I want you to start with swearing to God you'll do your fucking _job_ the next time!"

"I _did_ my fucking job," Bone countered mildly as Valerie dared to peer around the doorframe again.

"Oh, you did?" Evan challenged.

"Yeah, I did. My job is to protect you."

"Keh! Your _job_ is to do what I _tell_ you to fucking do!" Evan contended, "And I _told_ you to stay with V!"

"And I didn't hear you," Bone went on with a shake of his head.

"So fucking what? You should have known—"

"Should have known, what?" Bone countered. "Look, man, you don't even know which way your ass is pointing, and yeah, maybe I should have known. Everything happened so fast, and my instinct was to make sure that your ass didn't end up in a sling again because you didn't stop to think before you reacted."

The beer bottle that flew out of Evan's hand barely missed Bone as it whizzed past him, only to shatter when it hit the wall behind him hard. A moment later, Evan advanced on the head of his security team, intent on some sort of physical mayhem, if the expression on his face meant anything at all. It was an ugliness that Valerie hadn't realized that Evan actually possessed, and she didn't like it; not in the least.

And somehow, Valerie had seen enough. Her feet didn't make a sound as she darted out of the kitchen. She didn't stop to think things through as she dashed over, planting herself between Evan and Bone, placing her hands in the center of Evan's chest to stave him back—a silly notion, if she had stopped to consider it. He could easily have pushed her aside if he'd wanted to . . .

But he blinked and suddenly glanced down, the anger—the rage—that she'd seen on his face dissipating fast, only to be replaced by something far worse in her estimation: something far more troubling . . .

Eyebrows drawing together as a trace sheen of moisture illuminated his gaze, he grasped her wrists, but didn't try to move them, his eyes roving over her face in a completely miserable sort of way as they came to rest on the bump on her cheek that was very likely starting to discolor just a little. "Baby, I'm sorry," he whispered, the thick twinge of guilt lending a certain huskiness to his tone.

' _He . . . He's mad about . . .? But_ . . ."

Shaking her head, she tried to smile but failed, late relief making her knees feel weak as she tried in vain to reassure him. "But I'm fine, you know? And Bone . . . He was just doing his job, right?" she murmured.

Evan closed his eyes for a moment, shook his head almost sadly. "Bone's job," he said just as quietly, "is to protect you when I can't."

"Evan—"

He shook his head stubbornly. "Like tonight. I'm used to that shit. You're not, and . . . and you got hurt . . . because of me . . ."

Valerie didn't know what to say. There was an underlying hint of something in his voice; something that she didn't understand; like he was trying to tell her more than what he was saying, but she couldn't quite grasp the meaning behind it. Her confusion must have showed on her face, because he heaved a sigh and gently pulled her toward the sofa, sitting down and tugging on her hands until she relented and sat, too.

"Anything else?" Bone asked a little reluctantly.

Evan glanced at him, but his anger didn't return. "Just make _her_ your priority the next time," he said.

Bone nodded and turned to leave.

"Let me see," Evan remarked as the front door opened and closed once more.

Valerie rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to tell him again that she was fine. The look on his face stopped her. He really was feeling badly, wasn't he? She sighed and let him inspect her wound.

Stupid, really. In the madness of that moment and the rush and electricity of that crowd, Evan had let go of her so quickly that she'd stumbled—easy to do with so many feet so close to her. She really hadn't been prepared for that magnitude of the masses, and she'd ended up bumping her cheek against one of the metal barriers. The guard who had been facing the assembly, had though that she was crawling over it, she supposed, and he was trying to force her back behind it when Evan had caught her. But the incident had stung, and only when they were in the car had she realized that she'd suffered a smallish scratch, and that scratch had bled a little bit, too.

"You know, I've been banged up worse than this when I was taking martial arts classes," she pointed out, tamping down the feeling that she was just a little girl having to explain how she'd gotten a bump or bruise to her teacher.

He touched the inflammation with gentle fingers. She sucked in her breath in a sharp hiss, and he jerked his hand away with a flinch. "Sorry," he murmured.

"Uh, no . . . I'm fine," she said once more.

Evan let out a deep breath and reached for his leather jacket. She'd draped it over the back of the sofa after she'd followed him into the house. Digging out his cell phone, he shot her a worried sort of glance. "I'm going to call my mama," he told her as he dialed the phone and held it to his ear. "She's got a recipe for a really good salve—a miracle salve, really . . ."

Valerie opened her mouth to argue then snapped it closed. It wouldn't matter, would it? That man was far too stubborn for his own good . . .

"Hey, Mama . . . It's nice to hear your voice, too . . . The benefit date? It was fine; very nice . . ." He stood up and started to pace the floor. He really couldn't sit still long, could he? "Listen, Mama, I was wondering if you have the recipe for that salve? The one you used to make up for Kurt after his training sessions . . .? Yeah, that one . . . Oh, nothing big. V got a little scrape, but I wanted to make sure that it doesn't scar . . . Right, right . . . Wicked! Let me get a piece of paper . . ."

Valerie let out a deep breath and relaxed back against the sofa. It was strange, just how comfortable the furniture really was, considering it was constructed out of solid steel. Then again, the thin pad that covered it kept it warm enough, she supposed, so it didn't really feel like she was lying on metal . . .

She watched as he strode off toward the kitchen again, probably to mix up this 'miracle salve' of his mother's. A wave of sleepiness crashed over her, and she stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. In the wake of the day's excitement, she had managed to forget for a time that she was utterly exhausted, but her body was reminding her of that quite clearly.

' _Three more days_ . . .' she thought with an inward grimace. No, it wasn't that she was having a bad time with Evan: far from that, in reality. Watching him put together the tracks for his new album was a fascinating process, she had to admit. She'd never really stopped to consider exactly how much real work was involved, and she knew that, too. She'd also like to know where Evan found his boundless stores of energy, as well. It seemed to her that he never really got worn out the way she did . . .

Just yesterday, she'd watched, mesmerized, as he sat in the sound booth to re-record a section of guitar that he hadn't liked during the playback. Situated between Mike and Buzz, she'd stared while he played the riff a time or two to 'get the feel of it' before nodding at the producer for the go-ahead. Buzz had given his approval, and Evan had played it once more, only this time, it deviated at the end—easy enough, she supposed, to cut the part that they needed, but . . .

But in her estimation, it'd be a shame to do that when the rest of the five minute piece he played was harsh and cynical, yet completely poignant and beautiful, too; full of raw emotion that she might not have believed one could hear in the voice of a musical instrument. Evan had proved her wrong. She'd glanced at Mike about midway through it, only to find the manager sitting back with a completely relaxed sort of smile on his face: one that Valerie wasn't used to seeing from him. When he caught her eye, his smile widened just a touch. "He's improvising," Mike had remarked, leaning to the side and speaking softly, as though he were afraid that he'd interrupt a rare and wonderful thing if he spoke too loudly.

Valerie hadn't completely grasped that. Sure, she knew what it meant to improvise, but there was a strange sense of utter contentment on Evan's face. Eyes closed, head tilted just slightly to the side, he seemed to be in a trance or something; as though his music had the power to draw him away, ensconcing him in a realm where no one could touch him, no matter how hard they tried, and Valerie had suddenly felt a little sad, a little lost, and maybe even a little lonely. It made no sense, did it? After all, he was right there, and she . . .

Frowning as she sat up a little straighter, she bit her lip as she tried not to finish that thought in her head. As though putting any sense of reason to it might make her feelings a little too hard to deal with, she stubbornly refused to do anything of the sort.

And still . . .

She really couldn't quite fathom just how one solitary person could possess that much emotion, could make others understand it and feel it, too, and she knew as surely as she'd ever known anything in her life that right or wrong, Evan Zelig was a rare being.

"Here, V," he said as he strode back into the room with a small plastic container of some really suspect-looking gray pasty stuff and an ice pack wrapped in a kitchen towel.

"What . . . is that?" she asked, trying not to wrinkle her nose when she caught a whiff of the concoction. It smelled like feet . . . or death . . . maybe dead feet . . .

"It's good stuff," he assured her with a half-hearted smile that she could see right through. "Works wonders. You'll see."

"Oh, no," she argued, pushing the container away when he held it under her nose for her inspection. "It's just a little scrape. It'll be fine."

"Come on. Mama swears by this stuff. Never leaves a scar, you know," he continued.

Valerie snorted, leaning away from him when he stuck the tip of his index finger into the jar and started to reach out toward her. "Your mama can swear by it all she wants," Valerie asserted. "It _stinks!_ "

Evan rolled his eyes and tried again. She avoided him, but he was persistent. "Humor me."

"No way."

"Just a little?"

"Not even for your mother."

"Break my heart, why don't you?"

She snorted indelicately. "Why's that? Because I won't let you put that gunk on me? Laying it on a little thick, aren't you, Roka?"

"I'm trying to," he agreed with a shrug. "You won't let me."

"It smells like . . . like dirty armpits!" she complained then shook her head. "No, wait. That's just you. You _absolutely_ need a shower, you know, but that stuff really _does_ reek . . ."

"Not surprising, considering what's in it," he mused with a shake of his head.

Valerie narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "What _is_ in it?" she hesitated to ask but forced herself to, anyway.

He opened his mouth to tell her then snapped it closed and shrugged offhandedly. "A . . . lot of stuff," he finally replied.

"Don't think I don't know that you were avoiding the question," she accused mildly.

Evan finally grinned, much to Valerie's relief. "You really don't want to know, V," he admitted. "Anyway, I'll take a shower after you let me put this on your cheek."

Valerie heaved a sigh designed to let him know how sorely put upon she felt, but she sat up straight and rolled her eyes to indicate that it was the most compliance he was likely to get from her.

His smile faded as he leaned in, carefully dabbing the nasty paste onto her cheek with the tip of his finger. He winced when she sucked in a sharp breath and jerked involuntarily. "It may sting a little," he apologized. "Sorry."

'A little' didn't really cover it. Whatever was in that salve was potent stuff, and it stung a _lot_ , in her estimation. To her own credit, though, she gritted her teeth and endured it.

"Here," he said, handing her the ice pack after wiping his hand on his tattered jeans. "Put this on your cheek, too."

She waved him off and reached for his hand. He shot her a quizzical glance that she summarily ignored as she inspected the fist that he'd smashed into the glass door. There was just the smallest scratch traversing a jagged path down the side of his hand though the damage might have been a lot worse had the glass not been tempered. Even still, she frowned at the disfiguring mark and, against her better judgment, she gingerly dipped her fingertips into the grayish goo.

He said nothing as she carefully applied the salve; just held still and allowed her to administer to his wound as though he understood her desire to make sure that he was all right, too. Giving the abrasion a thorough once-over, she finally let go of his hand and sighed. "You really shouldn't let your temper get the better of you," she pointed out rather acerbically.

He uttered a soft chuckle. "Probably not," he agreed easily enough before sticking the ice pack under her nose. "Now be a good girl and put this on your cheek, will you?"

For a split second, she considered arguing with him since she was never fond of putting anything cold anywhere on her person. Then she sighed, figuring that she might as well save her breath. For some reason, Evan seemed to think that her injury was his fault, and she knew well enough that he'd never listen if she tried to tell him otherwise. So she gingerly pressed the pack against her cheek and leaned back.

Apparently satisfied that she'd keep it there while he ran off to take a quick shower, Evan nodded then pushed himself to his feet. "I'll be back in a minute. Just relax, all right?"

She watched him go with a resigned sort of expression on her face. Easy for him to say that this stuff was good. He wasn't the one who felt a little nauseous every time he smelled it, was he?

With a scowl, she reached for the container that he'd set on the table before he'd headed upstairs to take a shower. No doubt about it, the paste was truly gross. It even looked gross. The grayish paste was speckled with tiny greenish-brownish speckles with a very strong odor of something fermented, and miracle cure or not, she really wasn't sure why she'd even let him put that stuff on her, in the first place.

Heaving a sigh, she dropped the ice pack onto the table and slowly shook her head before reaching for her purse and rummaging around for the small compact that she kept inside.

The damage wasn't that bad; not really. Okay, so there was a little swelling where she'd slipped against the barrier. Her cheek was slightly discolored, and the scratch was quite visible, but she had to admit, all in all, that it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. Evan was overreacting, of course. Still . . .

A small smile quirked the corner of her lips, followed in short order by a slight wince since the contortion only served to twinge just a little. He'd just felt responsible for it because she was under his care, so to speak, and that she could understand. It made sense, didn't it? She was at his gig because of that bet she'd made with him, so it stood to reason that his feelings had a lot to do with that, right?

' _Right_.'

And yet the absolute rage that she'd witnessed . . . The memory of the shattering window was enough to send a cold chill straight down her spine as surely as it had when she'd seen it happen. It replayed over and over again in her head—the shiver of the surface just before it gave, followed by the spindly lines akin to spider webs that spread from the central impact of his fist . . . The groaning crack that sounded more like a wail than it did like something shattering . . . Impossible to ignore, wasn't it? The entire thing, and the seething sense of the vilest emotions . . . and she honestly hadn't realized that a man like Evan Zelig was even capable of such things . . .

Snapping the compact closed, she let out a deep breath as she dropped it into her purse once more. Her head hurt, likely from trying to think too much though she didn't doubt for a moment that it was partially due to the ache that had lingered in the back of her head for the last few days, brought on by the lack of sleep, she was certain.

She'd spent the bulk of the day, feeling as though she'd been trapped inside a strange sort of dream where her senses were always two steps behind, and had it not to been for the bit of a nap that Evan had allotted her earlier in the afternoon, she'd been in a sorry, sad state now, she was sure. Over the years, Valerie had discovered that she simply wasn't one of those people who could operate well on very little sleep, so the toll the week was taking on her was higher than she suspected it might be for someone else. If she didn't get at least seven hours of sleep a night, she felt out of sorts for weeks afterward, and she could only imagine exactly how badly this last week would impact her overall schedule. With her luck, it'd take her six months to readjust herself.

Well, that would be rectified soon enough, too—just as soon as she managed to string together more than a few hours' sleep at a time, that was . . .

And with that thought in mind, Valerie curled up on the sofa with her hands tucked under her good cheek and let her eyes drift closed.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

" _But I'm fine, you know? And Bone . . . He was just doing his job, right?_ "

Evan shut off the shower taps and shook himself vigorously, sending a fine spray of water droplets all over the bathroom. Sure, he'd tried the traditional 'toweling off' method when he was younger. He had also found that it just didn't do as good a job of shedding unwanted moisture as a good, hard shake.

Still, the sound of Valerie's words still echoed in his head. Making excuses for Bone, was she? He sighed and slowly shook his head. Of course she was. That particular woman might not feel any qualms about jumping all over him when he stepped out of line, but she really hated it if she perceived that she was the cause of any real contention. She was kind of like his mother that way, wasn't she? And while that thought might normally have made him smile, in this case . . .

But every time he saw that cut on her cheek, every time he thought of how much worse it really could have been, it was enough to make him panic inside. He'd heard stories now and again about tragedies caused by overwrought crowds waiting to see their favorite celebrities, and he'd always been proud of the fact that he'd never had any such things happen at any of his shows or appearances. That Valerie might have been the one injured, in any capacity at all . . . Well, it was enough to make him sick to his stomach quite literally . . .

And the truth of it was that Bone, being who he was and, more importantly, _what_ he was, should have realized that Valerie's safety was the most important thing to Evan, too. Sure, Bone was Evan's head of security—a post that Bone had always taken very seriously—but Bone also knew well enough that Evan really didn't need protection. After all, he was youkai, and even then, he was the son of the North American tai-youkai, even if he didn't need or want that particular reminder. He knew damn well how to protect himself. Years of training had taught him as much. Valerie, however . . .

She was human. She was fragile. She was very, very breakable, whether she believed it or not. Bone should have known that, and even if he hadn't, he should have realized how much Evan cared about her wellbeing. Bone had always been pretty good at reading Evan, after all. He had to have understood that much.

To be blunt, Valerie's safety was more important than anything else in the world, and had Bone stopped to think about it, he would have realized that, too.

No, there simply was no excuse. Bone knew the chaos that followed Evan around, especially whenever he appeared somewhere as Zel Roka. He ought to have known damn well that Evan would want to make sure that Valerie was protected from things like that what had happened tonight.

With a sigh, he grabbed a pair of black hakama out of the small closet where he kept the clothes he normally wore after his shower and made quick work of tying them around his waist. The pants, however, were more of a modified style, more in line with his infamous grandfather's fire rat hakama that were bound at the ankles instead of hanging loose. They were the design he tended to favor whenever he was meditating or practicing—both of which he'd been neglecting a little bit of late. He could feel it, too, those things he'd overlooked. He knew well enough that he tended to feel a little restless whenever he skipped them. If there was one drawback to recording, that was it. He never had enough time for everything he normally did when he spent hours upon hours there . . .

But, considering Valerie's unnatural aversion to letting him run around naked, he didn't really have much of a choice, did he, and in it was his considered opinion that the hakama were almost as good as being naked, anyway.

At least his mood was somewhat improved as he headed out of the bathroom and through the master bedroom, down the hallway toward the stairs. The anger that he'd carried around with him for the last while was finally loosening its hold on him, which very likely had more to do with Valerie than it did with Bone's half-assed apology. There was just something about that woman that kept him from being able to hold onto his anger, anyway, though God forbid that she ever figured that one out . . .

It just wasn't good to let one person control one's emotions, or so he'd always thought. Well, sort of. He wasn't nearly as jaded as his cousin, Gunnar who seemed to believe that letting a woman get that close was some sort of weakness. Evan had never discounted the idea of eventually finding his mate. In fact, he'd always wondered what that would be like, and he'd rather looked forward to it, too, but then, he'd never imagined that he'd ever find someone quite like Valerie, either, and while a part of him wished that she'd just wake up and realize that they really were meant to be, he couldn't help but wonder about how much fun it might be to see what else lay in store before they reached that end—or beginning, depending on how he wanted to look at it. In any case, he couldn't complain. She was just way too entertaining to ignore, wasn't she?

He stopped short in the living room, a tender little smile tugging on his lips as he stood back, crossing his arms over his chest and watched the sleeping woman. Hair tangled and mussed, spilling around her, she lay, curled on her side with her hands tucked under her cheek. It was a little disconcerting, just how much he enjoyed watching her as she slept. Then again, maybe that was one of those simple things in life that he'd just never taken the time to notice before . . .

Expelling a deep breath, he let his arms drop as he wandered toward her. He seriously doubted that she'd wake up if he moved her, and sleeping on that sofa all night just couldn't be comfortable. Glancing at the clock, he grimaced. Nearly midnight now, and he'd planned on going into the studio in the morning for a few hours before his nine o'clock meeting with Wicked Soundsations . . .

He started to reach for his cell phone to call Mike and tell him that he wasn't going to make it to the studio, but he stopped. No, as much as he hated to do it, he really had to get Valerie to agree to go on the mini-tour with him, and the only way to do that was to stop deviating from his set schedule, even if it did bother him to put her through so much. She'd get a few hours' sleep, and that'd have to be good. Besides, he wasn't entirely sure that she was going to cave in. If anyone had said at the start of the week that Valerie would still be holding on now, he would have thought they were insane, but holding on, she was, and doing a damn fine job of it, too.

If his mini-tour didn't depend upon it . . .

He shook his head and gently lifted her off the sofa. She didn't stir, though she did cuddle against his chest, letting out a contented little sigh as she buried her face against his bare skin. Evan sighed, too, though his was caused more by her proximity than anything else, and he turned and headed toward the stairs again.

And she didn't wake up as he carried her up to his bedroom and shoved the blankets back with his knee. She uttered a little moan of protest when he laid her down, probably because the bed was a little cooler than she'd like it to be. He took his time adjusting the temperature control on her side then secured the house and turned off the lights from the terminal beside the door before he stepped over to the bed.

' _She . . . she feels 'right' here, doesn't she?_ '

' _Hmm . . . Yeah. Yeah, she does_.'

'. . . _Do you think . . . You suppose she realizes it yet?_ '

His youkai snorted. ' _If she realized it, would we really be having this conversation?_ '

Evan sighed. ' _Yeah, I guess not_ . . .'

' _But . . . she did enjoy the show, you know? I mean, she_ really _dug it_.'

That thought made him grin. Like a fool, come to think about it. His youkai was right. She really had enjoyed herself immensely, which pleased him more than he cared to think about.

But that smile faded when his gaze came to rest on that damned scratch. Okay, so it wasn't very big, maybe a half inch long, if that, and it really was more of a scrape than a real cut. Still, it bothered him more than he cared to think about. That she was in any kind of pain was absolutely intolerable, and the sooner that mark was gone, the happier Evan would be. The salve would help, of course. Gin's remedies—recipes she'd learned in her youth from her mother, Kagome—were absolutely the best things around, and on the rare occasion that Evan had hurt himself when he was younger, this was the one she'd used on him.

Of course, he was youkai, and that made a huge difference. If he had been the one scratched, it'd probably be gone by now. But Valerie . . . She was human, and therein lay the crux of Evan's concern. After all, the last thing he wanted was for her to experience any kind of discomfort, and humans on a whole took forever to heal, or so it had always seemed to him . . .

It wasn't even a concrete thought, really. No, it was more of a sudden and overwhelming instinct. Leaning down carefully, he lowered his lips over the injury and flicked out the tip of his tongue, bathing the area to soothe it, to clean it, ignoring the bitter taste of the herbal salve he'd just applied. The smooth warmth of her skin blocked out every other conscious thought in his mind, and he closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her as she snuggled a little closer to him in her sleep.

Only then did Evan lie down. Only then did he feel the first loosening of the unsettling emotions that had plagued him since the concert had ended start to subside, and only then did he start to feel the first waves of utter exhaustion filtering into his body and mind.

' _V_. . .' he thought as he pulled her nearer. ' _You'll be just . . . fine_ . . .'

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Love Remains the Same_** ' _originally appeared on Gavin Rossdale's_ _2008_ _release_ , **_WANDERlust_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to Gavin Rossdale and Martin H. Frederiksen_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _As if I could be sweet ALL the time … Keh!_


	37. 036: V

' _And I know who you are_ …  
 _It wasn't that hard_ …  
 _Just to figure you out_ …'

 

-' _Figured You Out_ ' by Nickelback.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _Ma-a-an, you know there's a damn good chance that you're gonna burn in everlasting hellfire for the rest of your days_.'

Evan blinked slowly as he stared at Valerie, who was dozing rather fitfully, huddled in the corner on the far side of the limo's back seat. At least the darkened circles under her eyes had disappeared shortly after he'd waked her up. Otherwise, she was starting to look just a little vampy. ' _Yeah, probably_.'

Day Six, and Valerie still hadn't broken. To be honest, he wasn't entirely certain that she was going to, after all. Despite the fact that she'd zonked out during the ass-long meeting yesterday and had, in fact, ended up snoring loudly enough to draw everyone's collective attention, she'd really done well to keep up with him as long as she had, and for that alone, Evan would be eternally impressed.

It hadn't really helped matters, either, that he really hadn't been able to allow her much more than a catnap last night. Having spent the bulk of the day in that infernal meeting, only to end up in the studio where he'd had to record a few more tracks for the bonus DVD release that would coincide with the album, _The Voxumentary_ , as it was tentatively called—he wasn't sure who came up with these titles, but he was pretty certain that they needed to be fired—they'd been there so long that, in the end, Evan had just stretched out on the sofa in his office upstairs with Valerie and had managed about a twenty minute power-nap before duty called once more.

If the photo shoot that was scheduled bright and early this morning hadn't been so damned important, he might well have cancelled it just to allow Valerie to sleep, but the delays in the recording sessions had cut the entire process a little close, especially if they wanted to release the new album before the tour dates scheduled in a couple months. He needed to do the cover, and while he had a few ideas, he'd given up creative control on the artwork for this one when he'd realized just how crunched for time he was going to be.

Of course, the main problem was that he wasn't entirely certain just how he was going to top the last one. The cover of _Shock Knocker_ had featured an extreme close up of a woman's nipple. He'd thought it was fantastic, especially since the censors hadn't actually figured out what it was until months after its release, and by then, so many units had been sold that it made no sense to reissue it because of the cover art.

Because of his legal troubles, compounded by the delays that had already plagued this album, the bigwigs had told him that he would do well to try for a more 'conventional' cover this time around, and while that might ordinarily encourage him to do just the opposite, he also had to admit that they had a point regarding the release and just what having to postpone it might do to potential sales.

No, the biggest bone of contention yesterday was the song, _V_. The bosses thought that the single had real market potential, but they wanted Evan to record a 'clean' version of it—something that Evan flat-out refused to do. Even if he wanted to, that would call for drastic re-writes, considering the song was most certainly about nothing but fucking. True, as they said, it could reach a broader audience if he did it, but he couldn't tolerate the idea that he'd be compromising his integrity as an artist if he gave in to their demands.

So they'd spent the better part of six hours arguing over that one, which was more than enough to irritate the living, breathing hell out of him. Valerie had actually been the one to have the final say in that, much to his amusement. She'd woken from her impromptu nap around lunchtime and had listened to the majority of the argument without comment. When the frustrated men had started to try to tell Evan that he had to do what they wanted, she'd cleared her throat quite loudly and informed them in no uncertain terms that they had no real legal grounds on which to base the assumption that Evan had to do whatever they wanted just because they desired it to be so. Citing a few landmark cases from the last few years where musicians had won out over their labels in the matter of creative control, she hadn't batted an eyelash as she'd sat back once more and pinned each of them with a very cold, very stony stare, and Evan had relished every moment of it.

' _Don't fuck with an attorney_ ,' he thought with no small measure of pride as he watched the woman huddle a little deeper into the apparently comfy corner. With a grimace, Evan bit his lip, reaching over to tug her over since she was turned just enough that she was leaning heavily on the wall instead of the back of the seat, and that had to be uncomfortable. She didn't notice the sudden shift as she snuggled against his side, drawing a rather goofy grin from him as he indulged himself in watching her sleep.

"Can't believe she's still hanging in there," Bone remarked without taking his eyes off the road ahead of them.

Evan grunted in acknowledgement. "She's tougher than you thought?"

Bone chuckled. "Something like that."

"Yeah . . . She's pretty damn amazing, isn't she?" Evan mused, grabbing a bottle of water situated in the holder on the narrow ledge across from him without disturbing the snoozing attorney.

Bone nodded slowly, allowing a comfortable silence to fall. It was a welcome change from the slight sense of unrest that had tinged the entire day yesterday whenever the two men were in the same vicinity. Bone finally cleared his throat. "Hey, Roka . . . I'm sorry about the other night," he finally remarked.

Evan nodded, too, as he considered Bone's words. "Yeah," he said then shrugged. "She's fine now, right?"

Bone suddenly chuckled. "Not much like Sydnie, is she?"

Evan grinned. True enough. Bone knew damn well that Evan had always maintained that he wanted a woman—a cat youkai just like his sister-in-law. Of course, that was more of a joke, really, and mostly designed to irritate the living, breathing hell out of his brother, Bas, but there was a measure of truth to it, too. The first time Evan had met Sydnie, he'd about creamed his jeans; damned if he hadn't. That woman really was something else . . . Talk about walking, breathing sex . . . How she'd ended up with someone as uptight as Bas was entirely beyond Evan, and as far as the latter was concerned, it was akin to a gross miscarriage of ultimate justice . . .

And, true, it had irked him to no end that Bas—lucky bastard that he was—had managed to snag such a prime piece of proverbial pussy. Even worse, Sydnie had always thought of Evan as little more than a 'baby', never mind that by the time he was fifteen, almost sixteen when he'd met her, he'd fucked more girls than his father and brother had in their lifetimes, combined . . .

But that was neither here nor there. Sydnie and Bubby were damned happy these days, and she'd just given birth to their second child—a daughter they'd named Olivia—last year to prove it. If Evan considered it, though, he would have to admit that it wasn't necessarily Sydnie that he had lusted after, but a woman _like_ her: one who was drop dead gorgeous and enjoyed a nice romp in between the sheets, too.

Sipping the water with a thoughtful scowl, his gaze returned to the sleeping attorney. Okay, so he really ought to wake her up. After all, she had to reach the point where she'd admit defeat if he had any hopes of keeping the mini-tour on schedule. Something stopped him from doing it, though. Maybe it was the absolute warmth of her body against his. Maybe it was the look of complete contentment on her face.

He heaved a sigh and slowly shook his head, resisting the urge to reach for her and pull her against him.

"You're a sucker, you know," Bone commented.

When Evan glanced up, it was to see his friend-slash-security guard staring at him in the rear view mirror. He was grinning, too; damned if he wasn't. "Am I?"

"She's never gonna cave if you let her get away with napping all the damn time," Bone remarked, completely ignoring Evan's question.

Evan didn't make a move to rouse her, though. "Eh, we're almost at the location, anyway. Might as well let her alone till we get there."

Bone slowly shook his head. "Whatever you say, boss . . ."

Ten minutes later, the limo pulled to a stop in front of the nondescript building where the photo shoot was to scheduled, and Evan rather reluctantly gave Valerie's shoulder a little shake. She jerked and started, blinking furiously as she shot a somewhat wild glance around, her disorientation a very viable thing. Evan smiled. "Come on, V," he prodded gently. "Don't wanna give out on me now, do you?"

It took another moment for her to discern what he'd said, and when she did, she snorted. "Right, Roka," she retorted though her voice still held a groggy lilt. "Let's go."

He chuckled as he got out, sparing a moment to wave to the paparazzi that always tended to follow him around before reaching back into the limo to help Valerie. Stifling a wide yawn, she stumbled. He caught her, wrapping his arms around her, and for the briefest of moments, she allowed him to pull her against his chest, entirely too sleepy to put up a fuss over their close proximity. "All right there?" he murmured into her ear.

She nodded though she didn't open her eyes. "Mmhmm," she murmured.

His grin widened as he reluctantly steadied her on her feet and let go of her. "C'mon, V. Time to take some pictures."

"Hmm," she intoned, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand as he dragged her toward the studio. "I like pictures . . ."

Ignoring the questions being rapid-fired at him by the reporters anxious to get the 'inside' scoop as well as the flash and 'snicks' of cameras, Evan hurried Valerie through the doors and breathed a good-natured sigh of relief when the quiet of the enclosed foyer blocked out the insanity.

"Looks like Cassie's put on a couple pounds," Bone mused, glancing out the glass door at the ragtag assembly—most notably, one of the paparazzi that had followed Evan around for years.

Evan grinned. "Oh, yeah? You gonna go out there and tell her that?"

Bone snorted but grinned, too. "Hell, no! She'd probably boot me in the 'nads with those pointy-assed shoes of hers." Crossing his arms over his chest, he turned to face Evan. "You'd better get her somewhere so she can lie down," he warned. "Want me to carry her up?"

"Keep your damn hands to yourself, Bone," Evan warned mildly. "Come on, V. Ready to go?"

"He can carry me," she slurred, waving a hand in Bone's general vicinity.

"Oh, no, he really can't," Evan quipped. "Not unless he wants his hands broken."

She stopped and shot him a truly baffled sort of look. "Who's going to break his hands?"

Evan rolled his eyes. "Me."

It took her all of fifteen seconds to digest that, and when she did, she dissolved in a helpless round of laughter. "You? Against Bone?" More laughter—so much that tears were spilling down her cheeks. "That'd be like . . . like a sumo wrestler going up against a baby . . ."

"Ouch, V . . . that's my ego you're stepping on," he mock-pouted.

She leaned against him. "I'm sorry," she relented though she didn't actually sound at all 'sorry'. Intercepting the thoroughly blasé expression on his face, she cleared her throat and tried a little harder to convince him of her sincerity. "Pictures . . . pictures . . . Yours or mine?"

He chuckled again. He couldn't help it. Valerie tended to be rather random when she was tired. "Mine. Album cover and promo shit."

She brightened considerably at that. "Does that mean I can sleep while you're posturing?"

He snorted. "I don't posture."

"You're a rock star. Of course you do."

He didn't really have a comeback for that, so he grabbed her hand instead and dragged her over to the elevator. "Sure, you can," he relented, sparing a moment to cast her a cheesy grin as he waited for the doors to open.

"I can?"

"Yup," he said, "as soon as you admit defeat."

She gasped loudly, her eyes flashing open wide as she stared at him. "That's so _devious!_ "

He laughed and dragged her into the elevator. "Save it for the jury, woman. All's fair in dares and touring."

She uttered a sound suspiciously close to a whimper but remained silent. Another twinge of guilt assailed him, and he brushed it aside. True enough, he wasn't exactly playing nice, but hell . . . "Like I'd ever give you the satisfaction of losing to you! This is nothing— _nothing_ —and—" She paused to yawn again. "—I'll prove it to you, buddy!"

"Just as soon as you catch up on your sleep, right?" he teased.

Her hand stilled as she carefully wiped her misting eyes. "Oh, I don't even have the energy to tell you to go to hell," she grumbled.

"Sorry, baby," he replied, sounding anything but sincere.

She heaved a longsuffering sigh designed to let him know exactly what she thought of his tongue-in-cheek rebuttal. "Jerk," she muttered, slumping against the wall of the tiny compartment. "Urgh, I _hate_ elevators . . ."

It lurched to a stop. Valerie clutched at her stomach and groaned as the doors slid open. "Let's go, Private. Don't give up on me now," Evan encouraged, slipping an arm around her waist and savoring the way she sort of slumped against him as he escorted her out of the cubicle.

"Ze-e-el!" Zaundra Kirkpatrick greeted as she swept across the studio to greet him. She'd shot the last three album covers for him, and when Mike had told him that she'd agreed to work with him again, Evan had grinned. Known for her risqué style and provocative eye, she was the perfect complement to Zel Roka's outrageous music.

"Hey, Zandi," he said as she leaned up to kiss the air on either side of Evan's cheeks.

"Just _look_ at you . . . you look like you just tumbled out of bed," Zaundra mused with a disapproving shake of her head as her sooty gaze flickered over Valerie's face. "Oh, I see why, don't I?"

Chuckling at the suggestive tone behind the teasing, Evan couldn't help but to go along with her. "Well, hells, yes! I mean, she's hot, isn't she? And not just hot, right? More like _damn_ . . . _fucking_ . . . _hot_."

Valerie yawned and blinked as she tried to look around the studio, her normally sharp gaze blunted by the effects of sleepiness she was still fighting. If she heard the exchange, she didn't react, and that was probably for the best, too.

"Just see if you can't hold onto this one a little longer than you normally do," Zaundra said, arching one of her eyebrows to emphasize her words.

Evan laughed and steered Valerie toward the curtained off areas where wardrobe, hair, and makeup were being done. Her sharp gasp stopped him in his tracks as she tugged on his hand to gain his attention. "Evan!" she squeaked incredulously. "Look—look—look—look— _look!_ A bed! A _real_ bed . . . Oh, and it looks so _comfy_ . . ."

Following the direction of her gaze, he chuckled softly. True enough, there was a bed set in the center of the white screen backdrop. It was obviously for the shoot, but she looked so entirely bewitched that he figured he'd wait to point that out to her.

"Finally! You're late," Madison said as she planted her hands on her hips and pinned Evan with a disgruntled arching of an eyebrow. That expression dissipated, though, when she glanced at Valerie. "What have you done to my V?" she demanded in a completely flabbergasted sort of tone as she tugged Valerie away from Evan's side and coddled her. "Aww, you poor baby!" she crooned.

"I _know!_ " Valerie whimpered against Madison's shoulder, nestling her face against Madison's neck.

Madison slipped her arms around Valerie's shoulders and crooned in her ear. "Poor V!"

Valerie sniffled in response.

"You two do that anymore, and I'll come in my pants," Evan warned, only half joking. Two of the hottest women he'd ever seen, basically snuggling right in front of him? Hell, he'd have to be a eunuch not to notice that, now wouldn't he?

"You'd better go get changed, Zel Roka," Madison warned, idly stroking Valerie's hair. "Come on, sweetie. You can stay with Maddy."

"I _love_ my Maddy," Valerie muttered vaguely.

Evan rolled his eyes but grinned. "All right," he grudgingly relented, "but no sleeping—unless you're doing it together, and if you do, I'd better get a copy of the video."

Madison threw a bright orange hair clip at him, and he laughed as he sauntered away.

Ducking into the makeshift wardrobe area, Evan spotted a girl he'd never seen before standing off to the side, fussing with a pair of shockingly white, patent leather pants. "Hey," he greeted with a grin. "Never seen you before . . . I'm—"

"Zel Roka!" she gasped, freckled face paling noticeably as her already large blue eyes widened dramatically. Blowing her unruly bangs out of her face, she shook her head, her impossibly kinky red hair bobbing almost comically as she stared at him in something akin to hero worship. "Wow . . ."

He chuckled and gave a little shrug. "So they tell me," he quipped. "And you are?"

"Uh, Trixie," she blurted with a nervous laugh. "Trixie Lee—I'm the wardrobe mistress."

"So I gathered," he said. "Whatcha got for me?"

Trixie opened and closed her mouth a few times like a fish out of water then squeaked out something akin to a squawk as she carted around and grabbed a pale pink . . . blouse . . . off a rack and shoved it out toward him. "Zaundra said she wanted 'fresh' and 'innocent', so . . ."

Evan snorted before he could stop himself as his eyes widened at the appalling garment. Pale pink was the right way to describe it, certainly, and even if the color weren't bad enough, the damn thing had a v-neck framed in full ruffles, billowing sleeves, and cuff ruffles, to boot. "Nice joke," he said. "Now seriously, where's the gear?"

"Oh, and these," she said, yanking the white patent leather pants around for his inspection.

There were so many things wrong with those pants that Evan wasn't sure where to begin. They looked like they were about four sizes too small—not a horrid thing, really, but they made him cringe and want to cover his balls just looking at it, and even if he were inclined to wear white— _white_ —leather pants, he sure as hell would never, ever be caught dead in patent leather ones. The damn things snapped up the sides, but that didn't matter, did it, when he had no idea just how they thought he'd be able to squeeze himself into those without giving himself a hernia . . .

"The shirt was specially made for you by Bettista Romanov, and the pants—well, they just _make_ the outfit, don't they?" Trixie asked, obviously very proud of the spectacle she was trying to create. "They're made out of the very latest in leather—stretch leather." Her very round eyes widened even more, lending her an owlish, almost spooky sort of expression. "They _breathe_."

Evan snorted. "Yeah, sweetheart, that's just not happening."

Trixie frowned, quite obviously in a great deal of distress. "I didn't bring anything else," she lamented.

"Fuck," he muttered, turning on his heel and stomping out of the area, intent on finding Zaundra to find out if she'd somehow managed to lose her damn mind. "Zaundra!" he hollered, striding straight toward her when he spotted her, checking her equipment.

The photographer glanced up and actually had the audacity to smile at him as he headed toward her. "Something wrong, Zel?" she deadpanned.

"Wrong? Hmm . . . Zaundra, have you seen what your wardrobe mistress brought in for me to wear?"

Zaundra's smile widened. "Isn't it just scrumptious?"

He considered that then slowly shook his head. "That's not exactly the word I had in mind," he muttered. "You realize, right? There's no way in hell I'm wearing it."

She didn't look like his bald statement surprised her. It shouldn't have, all things considered. Crossing his arms over his chest and tapping his foot on the utilitarian concrete floor, he pinned Zaundra with as formidable a glower as he could muster.

She sighed and slowly shook her head. "It wasn't my call, Roka," she explained in a slightly weary sort of tone. "Ramón called me and said in no uncertain terms that Wicked Soundsations wanted a clean cover—wholesome, I think they said . . ."

Evan snorted. "I'm about as fucking far from wholesome as you can get," he growled. "But I ain't wearing that outfit."

"Well, there's a little more to it than that," she went on, setting her camera aside to give Evan her full attention. "He mentioned that he'd promised Bettista that he'd use that shirt—I think he's trying to fuck her or something."

"Ramón can bite me," Evan grouched. "I am _not_ wearing it."

Zaundra heaved a long, drawn out sigh and rubbed her face. "Let me call Ramón and see what he says," she said slowly.

Somewhat satisfied, Evan whipped around on his heel and stomped off toward the makeup area again.

"So why are you raising Cain?" Madison asked as Evan tossed the curtain aside and strode inside.

He planted his hands on his hips and snorted once more. "Have you fucking seen the shit they think I'm gonna wear?" he asked hotly.

Madison blinked and held up a finger in front of her lips, jerking her head toward the uncomfortable chair where Valerie was settled. Leaning on a table with her elbow propped up and her cheek cradled in her hand, the attorney looked like she was about ready to zonk out. Evan rolled his eyes. "Have you?" he demanded again.

"Well, no," Madison admitted with a little shrug. "But I _do_ know what colors they ordered for your makeup . . ."

Something in her tone made Evan want to groan. He didn't. "What?" he drawled instead.

Madison's smile was very tight as she popped open her utilitarian case and tilted it so that he could see for himself. All pastels, it looked like—pinks and blues and purples. Evan shook his head. "Fuck, no," he stated flatly.

"Oh, he'll be pretty," Valerie giggled vaguely.

Evan grunted. "Go to sleep, V."

She yawned. "Okay . . ."

"I just do what I'm told," Madison quipped airily, waving a hand in the general vicinity of the makeup chair she'd toted along.

True, he didn't have anything against said makeup. One couldn't be in the entertainment business and refuse to wear makeup. It just didn't work that way. The thing was, he didn't mind it when it helped to add to the show—just look at the past masters like Kiss—those dudes did better when wearing the makeup than they did after they showed their ugly-assed mugs, didn't they? And Zel Roka didn't mind that, either, but when you took those damned colors—the pinks and shit—and added them to the outfit that they thought they could get him to wear? ' _Yeah, when donkeys fly_ . . .'

"M-Mr. Roka!" Trixie exclaimed as she burst through the curtain, very nearly colliding with a scowling Evan who still reached out to steady her on her feet, lest she go sprawling across the floor. "You've got to get changed," she insisted, her face reddening enough that the generous sprinkling of freckles were paler on her skin than the living blush. To emphasize her point, though, she thrust the hangers, complete with the absolutely unacceptable clothes, at him.

He waved a hand to flick them away. "I told you, I'm not wearing that," he explained brusquely but calmly.

Madison clapped a hand over her mouth as her eyes widened in abject horror. "Oh . . . _my_ . . ." she squeaked.

Evan shook his head. "You're wasting time, Trixie. You should be running downtown to find something better."

Trixie bit her lip and looked entirely uncomfortable. He could understand her dilemma. She really didn't want to be labeled as 'the one who argued with the famous Zel Roka'. Too bad he wasn't about to give in to make her life easier, either. "But . . ."

A sudden eruption of high pitched giggling cut Evan off before he could retort, and against his better judgment, he glanced back at Valerie, who was staring quite intently at the hideous garb. "Zel Roka, the pretty pink _Pirate of Penzance!_ " she choked between guffaws.

"Oh, ha ha, V," he grumbled. "I thought you were going to sleep."

"I was blinded by the pinkess," Valerie retorted, waved a hand in front of her rapidly reddening face as she struggled to breathe. "That looks so . . ."

Evan narrowed his eyes but remained silent. Valerie missed the expression completely.

". . . _Gay!_ Zel Roka, the _gay_ pretty pink _Pirate of Penzance!_ "

Heaving a sigh, Evan gestured at Valerie as he turned to pin Trixie with a full-on glare. " _See?_ "

Trixie swallowed hard. "I-It's not th-that bad—"

Too bad she didn't sound like she believed that, either. Evan grunted. "That is so far away from 'rock' that I don't even know what to do with it," he shot back. "Forget. It."

Trixie looked like she was ready to sob. "Zel, why don't you go take a quick shower, and we'll talk it over with Zaundra," Madison nearly purred. Evan glanced over his shoulder at her, only to curl his lip up in a marked snarl when he noticed the way Madison's cheeks were puffing in and out in her own herculean effort to keep from dissolving in laughter.

"You can all go straight to hell," he grumped as he strode past Trixie and headed for the bathroom.

The explosion of female laughter that taunted him as he slammed the door closed did nothing to pacify him, and Evan heaved another loud sigh as he yanked off his shirt and slapped his hand against the water control beside the door before reaching for the buttons on his jeans.

If they were smart, they'd have figured something else out by the time he got out of there or he was leaving, and if the label didn't like that? "Too damn bad," he snarled to no one in particular. It didn't really make him feel any better.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

The shower actually did serve to calm his irritation, at least a little—enough so that he didn't feel the insane urge to stomp out there and wreck something. Pausing a minute to stare at the clothes he'd left on the floor, he wrinkled his nose and grabbed a thick white towel instead, draping it around his hips and tucking in the corner to secure it. With any luck, they'd have figured out something else since he was sure he'd made it abundantly clear that he wasn't going to wear that outfit, come hell or high water . . .

' _Gay pirate, indeed_ ,' he thought with an inward snort as he extended his arm to thump open the door.

Zaundra was standing near the bed in the middle of the studio, adjusting some lights and frowning at the sensor in her hand.

"Figure anything out?" he asked without preamble as he strode over to Zaundra.

The photographer glanced at him before going back to her task. "Yep," she replied with a rather enigmatic little smile. "All set."

Somehow, he wasn't sure he liked her tone . . .

"You'd better go hit makeup," Zaundra went on airily. "We're already behind."

Evan still wasn't entirely certain that he trusted her, but he figured he might as well let it alone, at least for now. To his surprise, though, Madison and Valerie weren't in the makeup room, but Codie, one of Madison's assistants, was, and she smiled broadly as Evan stepped into the area. "Where's Maddy?" Evan asked.

Codie waved a hand dismissively. "She'll be back," she replied, patting the stool, indicating that Evan should have a seat.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Evan slipped into the chair. True enough, the shoot that should have started about an hour ago was running sorely late, and at this point, he just wanted it to be over with.

Someone must've gotten the message, though, because the colors that Codie had out were definitely more along the lines of Evan's usual, and for the first time since he'd seen that God-awful outfit, he started to relax just a little.

"You win, Roka," Mike said as he slipped into the partitioned off area with a shake of his head. "Spoiled brat . . ."

Evan shot his manager a questioning look since he hadn't expected to see him today. "Gay pink pirates are bad for the rocker image, don't you think?" he asked pointedly.

Mike heaved a sigh and shrugged. "Yeah, I told Ramón you wouldn't go for it. Shows what the hell I know, right?"

"Oh, so you _knew_ about all this?"

Mike grinned. "Not nearly as much gets past me as you seem to think," he rejoined. "Get off your ass and get moving, will you? You've got an interview in a couple hours, or did you forget?"

Evan pushed himself off of the stool and winked at Codie before following Mike through the curtain again. "So what am I supposed to wear?"

Mike didn't answer as Evan stopped short, his breath whooshing into his lungs in an almost painful gust when he spotted Valerie, standing near the bed and wearing that God-awful pink shirt that somehow didn't look nearly as bad on her as he knew it would have on him and those white patent leather pants. They were way too long for her, but that didn't matter since Trixie was on her knees with a pair of shears, mercilessly hacking off the extra length as Valerie yawned, trying to hold still as Madison touched up the pale pink lip-gloss she'd just applied.

"What the _fuck_ is going on?" Evan hissed, grabbing Mike by the shoulder and spinning him around to face him.

Mike half-grimaced, half-grinned. "Well, Ramón just said that he wanted the _blouse_ in the shoot; he didn't actually say who had to wear it . . ."

"V isn't a model, Mikey," Evan pointed out tightly.

Mike shrugged. "Maybe not, but she is hot, don't you think?"

Evan snorted. "Of course she is, and that is hardly the point."

"Don't worry about it, Roka," Mike went on, shaking off Evan's hand as he headed toward the gathering in the center of the studio, leaving Evan to catch up with him. "She signed the release."

Grinding his teeth together, Evan shook his head stubbornly. "And she's half-asleep, or didn't you notice? Goddamn it, she never would have signed it if she weren't, and you know it!"

Mike's expression shifted into one that Evan knew: pacify the rock star, was it? He snorted. Mike held up a hand. "Look, she said that she thought the blouse was pretty, and she said that she'd wear anything if she could lie down on that bed. Besides she's completely dressed, right, and—"

"And you don't think that she's gonna object about the minute she figures out that you've totally manipulated her, never mind she'll automatically assume that it was my idea, anyway . . ."

"I didn't do any such thing," Mike rebuffed. "They did."

Evan snorted since he was waving in the general vicinity of Madison and Zaundra—both of whom were next on his list to hear what he thought about the entire situation. "Give me the fucking release, Mike."

"I don't think that's a good idea," he began slowly.

"Oh, yeah? You like getting paid? Then you'd best remember who the hell signs your paycheck!"

Mike cleared his throat delicately and almost grinned— _almost_. "Your accountant does."

"Mike—"

The sudden and almost obscene sound of the snaps that held the pants together, giving way, thundered through the studio with all the finesse of a sledgehammer. A moment later, Zaundra tossed the pants aside, nodding in approval of the sight of Valerie's insanely sexy legs. Trixie yelped and dove for the pants before scooping them off and darting off toward the wardrobe area while Evan stifled a groan and reminded himself that he was supposed to be arguing with Mike, not staring at Valerie, no matter _how_ hot the woman was . . . ' _Her legs . . . oh,_ da-a-a-amn . . .'

"All right; so she _was_ completely dressed," Mike amended with a slight grimace.

"Give me the release, Mike," Evan demanded, holding out his hand as he strode after the insane manager.

"Zel—"

"She won't be recognized, I swear. Zaundra's going to use special filters to give the images an overall hazy effect, so if that's what you're worried about—"

Evan's loud snort cut off the frazzled manager. "Fuck that, Mikey. I'm more concerned with my body and my balls becoming passing acquaintances."

"It won't be that bad," Mike assured him, "and if it is, they do miracles with reconstructive surgeries these days."

"Keh!"

Valerie started to rub her eye with a balled-up fist. Madison caught the limb and gently held it down. "Now, V, you don't want to mess up your makeup, right?"

Valerie didn't open her eyes. "Hmm . . . Can I lay down now?"

Madison giggled. "You go right ahead, sweetie."

Valerie stumbled off toward the bed. Evan heaved a sigh as he dragged his eyes off Valerie. "The release, Mike. Now," he growled.

Mike sighed, too, though for entirely different reasons, and dug the blue backed release from his attaché case. "Just think about it, Roka. If you tear this up . . ."

"What are you doing?" Zaundra demanded, yanking the release form out of Mike's hand before he could hand it over. "Are you nuts? That girl's _golden!_ She's _perfect_ for the shoot!"

"Well, maybe, but Zel—"

Rolling his eyes as he tried not to look at Valerie, all curled up on that damned bed and looking entirely too damn hot to ignore, Evan started to reach for the document.

"Evan?"

He stopped and blinked, unsure for a moment, whether he'd actually heard Valerie say his name or not.

She frowned slightly and tried to curl herself into a tighter little ball in the center of that bed. "Cold . . ." she whispered.

Unable to stop the grimace that surfaced on his face, Evan let out a deep breath and snatched the release form out of Zaundra's limp fingers since she was still in the middle of arguing with Mike and didn't actually notice that he'd gotten a hold of the damn thing, anyway.

' _She's gonna chop off your boys, toss 'em into a blender, and serve 'em to you as a power shake_ ,' his youkai warned as he strode around the bed to slip in behind her. Before he could, though, Madison reached over, grasping the edge of the towel and giving it a good yank. He shot her a glower. She lifted her eyebrows, as if to tell him to lighten up. Giving up for the moment, Evan shook his head and crawled onto the bed. The second Valerie felt the movement of the mattress beneath her, she scooted back against him, drawn to the warmth of him, and she relaxed. Evan stifled a groan. Too much skin and too little clothing, sending his senses into overdrive as his brain struggled to play catch-up . . .

' _Yup_.'

' _Then she's probably gonna slap a lawsuit on you so fast that it'll make your head spin_.'

The shirt that reached mid-thigh on her when she was standing had ridden up, exposing her hip, all the way to the thin lace strip the held her thong panties in place. Evan winced as he stared at the exposed skin, fingers shaking precariously as he slowly reached out to touch her.

' _Yup_.'

' _Need I point out how bad an idea this really is?_ '

Dragging his eyes off the spectacle that was Valerie, Evan let out a deep breath and scowled at the release form. ' _Shut up. I'm reading_.'

His youkai offered a frustrated sigh.

Standard, of course, with a fifteen thousand dollar offering for said signee, regular statement of release pertaining to any intellectual copyright, real or implied, of any images that would be created during the photo shoot . . . Evan snorted and held out a hand. "Hey, Maddy . . . you got a pen?"

Madison dragged her eyes off of the warring factions still facing off nearby. "A pen? Oh, sure . . . hold on . . ."

A moment later, she handed him the writing utensil and watched as he crossed out the amount, only to write another one above it. In the margin, Evan scrawled a few more changes, though the rest of the release was a standard one and fairly straightforward. After he'd finished looking it over and changing it to suit him, he handed the pen back to Madison. "Initial those changes, will you?" he asked her.

Madison did as he asked, then took the release and sashayed over to Mike and Zaundra.

Evan sighed, propping his head on his hand as he gazed down at Valerie—already sleeping beside him. Golden blonde hair spilling around her in wanton disarray, her cheeks tinged with just the barest hint of pink as her long, thick lashes spilled over her cheeks . . . Evan smoothed her hair before pulling her closer, ignoring the voice in the back of his head that was telling him over and over that he really ought to get the hell away from her before it was too late . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Figured_** **_You Out_** ' _first appeared on Nickelback's 2003 release_ , **_The_** **_Long_** **_Road_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Nickelback_.
> 
>  ** _The_** **_Pirates_** **_of_** **_Penzance_** _is_ _an_ _opera_ _written_ _by_ _W._ _S._ _Gilbert_ _and_ _Arthur_ _Sullivan_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _I'm_ _so_ _fucking_ _dead_ …


	38. 037: Gravity

' _And all of your weight; all you dream_ …  
 _Falls on me; it falls on me_ …  
 _And your beautiful sky; the light you bring_ …  
 _Falls on me; it falls on me_ …  
 _Aah, aah, aah_ …'

 

-' _Falls on Me_ ' by Fuel.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Day Seven.

Evan glanced at the clock and made a face. Eight a.m., and he should have been up and gone hours ago. Mike had already called a few times—Evan had shut off the ringer on his phone the first time. Beside him, Valerie sighed contentedly and snuggled just a little closer. He smiled. Okay, so he knew damn well that she wouldn't be doing any such thing if she were coherent, and if she weren't completely exhausted. After the photo shoot yesterday, he'd spent a few hours at the V-ROK studio, taping an interview that they'd cut the hell out of and splice together to suit their purposes, not that he really gave a great goddamn. From there, they'd had an appointment at one of the local music stores. Funkatronic was holding a midnight event to celebrate the single release from the upcoming album, and Evan had actually gotten the chance to attend it, spending about two hours signing autographs for the kids who had hung out to buy the first copies.

By the time they'd reached his house, Valerie was near comatose, and he had given up on taking her home, opting instead to carry her up to his room, where she'd promptly snuggled against him and fell right to sleep.

And now?

He grimaced. He couldn't do it. He had a whole slew of things that he was supposed to get done today, but he just couldn't do it—couldn't wake her up and make her move, bet or no bet.

' _You'd better_ ,' his youkai pointed out a little too reasonably. ' _Your tour depends upon it_.'

Closing his eyes, Evan wrapped his arms tighter around her. ' _There'll be other tours_.'

True enough, right? The surge of adrenaline whenever he stepped out onto the stage . . . The feeling that there was nothing on earth he'd rather be doing as he fed off the energy of the crowd. In that one insular moment, he knew what it meant to truly be alive, and that was the lure of it, wasn't it? It was the greatest rush he'd ever known.

At least, it had been until he'd met her.

When had it happened? When had her well-being become more important to him than his career? The same things that used to hold so much meaning for him . . . What did any of it matter if it meant that she was suffering, or worse—that she had to be broken in order for him to keep up the mirage that had somehow become his life . . .?

He sighed and tried not to think about it too hard. It didn't work. There had to be a balance in there somewhere, didn't there? That Valerie wasn't nearly as opposed to him as she was to her perceived notions of who he was, he knew, and her fiancé? He was nothing but a security blanket, at best. Evan might not be the smartest guy on earth, but it didn't take a damn genius to realize that her feelings for Marvin were based on mere illusion at best.

But she was just too exhausted to go on, and he knew it.

The display on his cell phone blinked again, and he made a face. Mike was going to give him five kinds of hell when he got around to talking to him, not that it would make a difference. He'd already made up his mind.

As if in answer to Evan's unspoken musings, Valerie snuggled closer, unconsciously gravitating toward the warmth of his body—something that never failed to make him smile, after all. Damned if she didn't have a way of making him feel special without even trying, even when she was all pissed off and giving him hell . . . To be honest, he rather liked that, too. It was almost perverse, he supposed, just how amused he was whenever she leveled 'that look' at him . . .

With a yawn, her entire body tensed, her feet extending downward under the blankets, her arms emerging, only to retract in a rigid reaction as she arched her back, effectively smashing her breasts against him as she stretched. She didn't open her eyes, moaning quietly as a riot of goosebumps erupted on her arms seconds before she yanked them back under the covers and burrowed closer against him. "W-What time . . . is it?" she murmured between a series of yawns.

Evan chuckled and wrapped his arms a little tighter around her. "Little after eight," he told her in a quiet tone so that he wouldn't disturb her too much.

"That's nice," she murmured, only half-listening. It took a full minute before it actually seemed to penetrate her brain, but when it did, she leaned back, her gaze still bleary from sleepiness that just wouldn't let go of her. "Shouldn't you be somewhere?" she demanded in a much sharper tone than he could rightfully credit, given that she'd just been sleeping so soundly a minute before.

"Nah," he lied. "Gotta take some time off now and then, right, V?"

She blinked a few times, but whether it was to clear her vision or because she wasn't sure if she believed him or not was debatable. "R-Really?"

He nodded and tugged her against him again. "Yep. You won. Nice job. I'll lick your toes now, if you want."

She snorted. "Stay away from my toes, Zel Roka," she insisted. The stern effect she was after was ruined a moment later when she yawned again and relaxed in his arms. She did, however, manage a rather triumphant little giggle. "I won? I did? You know, I—" With a sharp gasp, she sat up straight, her eyes flashing open as she leaned over to slap her hands against Evan's hip playfully. "I won!" she positively crowed. " _I_ won, which means _you_ lost! That means you have to take out that full page ad, _and_ you have to be _good!_ "

Evan cracked an eye open a little wider and couldn't help the grin that surfaced on his face. "Yeah, yeah, don't rub it in, V." Heaving a sigh, he started to sit up and toss the blankets aside, grimacing since he'd gone to bed last night fully clothed. He might have been able to get by with losing the shirt, at least, but he didn't quite trust himself, either, not after the photo shoot yesterday. No, he still remembered all too vividly, what it had felt like to have nothing but a pair of very flimsy panties separating their bodies, and that memory was just entirely too hard to ignore, so the bottom line was that, if he had a hope in hell of putting up any kind of resistance against her, he hadn't had a choice in the matter . . .

She blinked and frowned, catching his arm before he managed to get out of bed. "Where are you going?" she demanded.

Evan rolled his eyes but shot her a grin. "To call the paper, V. A deal's a deal, right?"

She considered that then wrinkled her nose. "Later," she stated, tugging on his shoulder until he gave in and stretched out again. "It's _freezing_ in here!"

"It's not that cold," he retorted mildly, pulling her against him anyway.

"Hmph! Easy for you to say. You're a living heat generator," she uttered as she snuggled closer. Her eyes drifted closed, and she was asleep again within minutes.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie pulled the baggy sweatshirt over her head and grimaced as she reached for a towel to wrap up her hair, savoring the warmth the garment provided. When she'd opened her eyes a little while ago, it was to find Evan gone, and after whining a little at the coolness that had set in around her, she grabbed the thick, white plush robe—she'd never seen it before and really wasn't sure if it was Evan's, but at that time, she didn't care, either, considering that it looked like it'd keep her more than warm enough. The clothes she'd worn yesterday were wrinkled and looked like they'd seen better days. No matter, she had figured. At the moment, she had bigger fish to fry—like just where had the miscreant rock star disappeared to, and if he was off getting into more trouble, she'd make sure he was sorry; just see if she didn't . . .

 _She'd found him downstairs, sitting in the middle of that sun room that she'd scoffed at when he'd told her that he used it for meditation. Lingering in the doorway, however, she'd watched as he sat in a patch of sunlight, head titled back with his eyes closed, back straight and proud, forearms resting on his knees, bared chest rising and falling as he'd breathed slowly. It struck her again, just how quickly she'd jumped to conclusions about him in the beginning, and maybe he really could appreciate something as spiritual as meditation_.

 _There was something about him, though—something entirely unapproachable: the same sense that she'd understood when she'd seen him onstage . . . She frowned. No, that wasn't possible. The Evan Zelig that she'd come to know seemed to thrive on touching, and not just when he was trying to be outrageous, either. As though he really didn't know how often he really did it, he was just one of those people who could and did touch others, and somehow, he managed to keep it from feeling oppressive or conspicuous. Instead of making anyone uncomfortable with it, he possessed the innate ability to put people at ease with his easygoing smile and a pat on the arm or shoulder_.

 _Maybe that was the real secret behind the phenomenon that was Zel Roka_.

 _Biting her lip, Valerie backed away from the room. As far as she could tell, he hadn't realized that she was there, and that was all right. Besides, she really, desperately needed a shower_ . . .

 _She'd just reached the top of the stairs, too, when a voice stopped her, and against her better judgment, she turned around to listen_.

" _Roka! There you are! What the hell do you think you're doing?" a very agitated Mike demanded as he strode through the living room toward the doorway where Evan was meditating. For some reason, it bothered Valerie to no end, that anyone would dare to interrupt Evan when he was obviously deep in thought_.

 _She could make out the soft sigh and shuffle as Evan stood up, even if she couldn't see him. "Mind keeping it down, Mikey?" he asked dryly_.

 _Mike uttered a terse sound—testament to the manager's irritation. "I've been trying to get you on the damn phone all morning," he said, though his voice was much lower than it was. "We're already behind, and_ —"

" _Aww, come on, slave driver. I deserve a day off now and then, don't I?" Evan drawled. His tone had been neutral enough. Still, Valerie could sense the underlying warning in his words_.

" _A day off? Is that what you're calling it? We're down to crunch time in Level Zero, and you're taking a day off? Bullshit, Roka. You haven't taken a day off in years! What the hell's going on?_ "

 _Evan didn't respond right away. Sauntering out of the meditation room, he crossed the living room floor to retrieve his cell phone off the coffee table as he continued on his way toward the back doors. He gave a sharp whistle, and Valerie flinched when the floor rumbled under her feet as the huge tank of a dog—Munchies—galumphed through. "Go play with Mimi and Momo," he said, pushing the door open and grinning happily at the crazy-huge beast. The dog half-whined, half-barked, his body absolutely quivering in excitement as he lumbered outside and took off at what could only be described as a gallop. Valerie shrank back into the shadows of the hallway and pressed her hand against her chest to steady her wildly fluttering heart with a grimace. She hated dogs. She really, really hated dogs . . . "Hey, Bone . . ." he said after dialing a number and waiting for an answer, "feelin' lucky?_ "

 _Mike followed Evan, propping his hands on his hips as he slowly shook his head. "This isn't a joke, you know. Ramón's already pissed as all hell at you, and we were supposed to have the rest of the tracks ready by the end of the day. Now you want to take the day off? To do what?_ "

" _Look, I'm sorry, man. Just reschedule stuff, will you?" Evan said as he snapped the phone closed and tossed it onto the table again_.

" _We're already on a tight enough schedule as it is. We've got two months to get things shored up here before you leave on the mini-tour, and_ —"

" _Yeah, about that," Evan cut in. "Cancel it_."

 _Stunned silence greeted Evan's words, and it took a few long seconds before Mike responded. "Do what?" he asked almost flatly_.

" _All right, little man. You asked for an ass-whoopin'?_ "

 _Neither Mike nor Evan looked at Bone as the big man loped into the living room. "What the—?_ Shit . . . that's _why you blew off today? Because of_ her?" _Mike demanded. Valerie recoiled at the vehemence in the man's tone, and maybe partially from the implication of what he was saying_.

" _She didn't have a damn thing to do with it. It's my choice," Evan growled, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes flashed dangerously. She'd seen that expression before, just once—the night that he'd lit into Bone because of . . . of her . . . "I made a bet with her, and I lost. Just cancel the goddamn tour_."

" _The hell I will," Mike shot back, stomping after Evan when he headed for the back door, jerking his head to indicate that Bone should follow. The door slipped closed behind the men, though, and whatever else Mike had been saying was lost to her_.

Heaving a sigh, Valerie frowned at her reflection in the plate glass mirror that extended from floor to ceiling. She'd thought she'd won that bet? But if she'd been completely coherent at the time, she might have known better, wouldn't she? It was clear to her after hearing the discussion between Evan and his manager that the rock star actually had chosen to let her win, but why when the stakes were that high—his mini-tour, to be exact? He was willing to give that up just so that she thought that she'd won the bet? And how _dare_ he, anyway? She wasn't so pathetic that he had to hand her a victory, now was she? What was it about the assumption of pity that always— _always_ —ticked her right off? She'd had plenty of time during her shower to mull that one over, and the conclusion she'd reached? He had done exactly that, hadn't he? He'd given up because he felt _pity_ for her, the jerk . . .

"Stupid," she muttered, shaking her head, yet unable to staunch the twinge of guilt that twisted her insides as she yanked on the oversized sweatpants she'd found in his dresser. They looked positively awful, but they'd just have to do. "All right, Roka," she muttered under her breath as she tied the string around her waist, "it's on . . ."

The mansion was still quite empty, almost eerie feeling, as she ran lightly down the stairs, pausing only long enough to roll up the bottoms of the pants legs when she stumbled over them. She'd just turned toward the glass doors that led to the back yard when the piercing screech of metal scraping against metal drew her up short, and when she looked through the windows, she gasped.

Evan fell to the ground, flat on his back as a very long though thin sword flipped out of his hands, end over end until it disappeared from view. Her gasp surged into a strangled cry as Bone swung an equally real-looking sword at the prone rock star. Without stopping to think about it, she sprinted forward, yanking viciously on the polished brass handle of the door and shoving it open impatiently, one thing very clear in her head: that idiot was going to have his head cut off if he wasn't careful . . .

"Hey, look out!" Mike growled, grasping Valerie's arm and jerking her back.

"Let go! He's going to _kill_ him!" she bellowed as she tried in vain to get him to regain her freedom.

"Be quiet and watch," Mike insisted, nodding at the men.

She started to tell him to go to hell, but the words died on her tongue when she finally deigned to watch, even if it was only for a moment. Evan swung his leg, catching the flat of the blade with the soft sole of his bare foot and shoving it aside without much effort. Rolling to the side, he propelled himself forward, retrieving the sword he'd lost seconds before. Suddenly, he was back on his feet again, casting Bone a condescending grin as he flipped the sword over his shoulder and caught it, rotating his wrist to spin the blade in a flash of sunlight. "Nice try, Bone," Evan commented, "but you'll have to _keep_ trying."

"You got to understand the plan, little man," Bone taunted back. "R-E-S-P-E-C-T—Now that's what it's all about, you dig?"

Evan's grin widened, and Valerie narrowed her eyes suspiciously as he raised his arms high over head, pointing the sword straight up in the air. "Bo-o-one . . . I am your _fa-a-a-ahtha-a-a-ah_ . . ." In one fluid motion, he let it drop, parallel to the ground directly before him as he stood, legs splayed slightly, his grip firm but loose on the hilt . "It is your _destiny!_ " The last bit was punctuated by a very loud, rather obnoxious hiss of air and subsequent expulsion of breath as the strange black pants he wore—she'd thought for a moment that it was a skirt—billowed around his legs.

"Who's _your_ daddy, Roka?" Bone shot back, lunging forward on his right foot, raising his sword up and back as his other arm came up, looking every bit like a very large, very bulky samurai. Flipping over his free hand, he curled his fingers once, twice, indicating that Evan should, well, 'bring it'.

Evan's answer was a rather arrogant chuckle as he dashed forward, tossing his sword into the air. It spun around, end over end, rising up higher as the blade whistled. It reached the top of the projection, suspended there long enough to complete another couple full rotations before tilting downward. All the while, the man dashed toward Bone, and his gait didn't falter as he reached out behind his back with seeming effortlessness, wrapping his hand around the hilt of the sword and bringing it around in a circle, only to be met head on by Bone's weapon.

"You're all flash and no action," Bone goaded with a wide grin as he disengaged the clashing blades and swung again.

Valerie cringed at the visible reverberation. If Evan felt it, though, he didn't give any indication. In fact, his own grin broadened as he wrenched his wrist, bringing the sword in a tight loop. Bone managed to hang on, albeit just barely, hopping back and tossing his sword from one hand to the other before leveling it at Evan once more.

"Shit . . . I've gotta get going," Mike said suddenly, checking his watch with a shake of his head. "Tell Zel that I'll call him later, will you?"

Valerie nodded without taking her eyes off the combatants as Mike turned to leave.

"Yeah, well, not all of us were born as big as you were," Evan tossed back. "Jesus, Bone. It's a wonder your mama is still able to walk."

"Leave my mama outta this," Bone retorted good-naturedly, cleaving a wide arc directly at Evan's shoulder. "She's a very healthy woman, and you don't have room to talk. Your mama birthed a damn Mack truck."

"Bubby ain't a Mack truck," Evan muttered, evading Bone's swing by jabbing the point of his sword into the ground and using it to catapult himself backward. "Bubby's more like a fucking _mountain_ . . ."

"Is that right?"

Valerie blinked and turned in time to see a very, very tall man—taller than Bone though not by much—cross his ridiculously huge arms over his chest as a thorough scowl drew his golden bronze eyebrows together. His coloring reminded her of Evan's father—in fact, everything about him brought Cain Zelig to mind—only bigger—a _lot_ bigger—and a lot more intimidating, too, if she were to think about it, and if she were in the habit of letting anyone intimidate her, which she most certainly wasn't. Golden eyes—were they really golden? Of course they were . . . like Evan's mother's eyes . . . But the eyes that looked so warm and gentle on the woman added a fierce sort of light to the man's gaze, instead . . . ' _Mountain? Yeah, that sounds about right_ . . .'

"Bubby!" Evan greeted. He started to drop his sword into the scabbard strapped to his hips.

'Bubby' snorted loudly. "Keep that out, Evan," he insisted almost mildly. "You're going to need it." Evan's answer was a wide grin—Valerie was starting to wonder if someone had hit him on the head a little too hard—as 'Bubby' strode forward and held out a hand to Bone. "May I?"

"Only if I don't have to clean up the mess," Bone joked, extending the weapon.

"Beat him, Daddy!" a tiny voice hollered excitedly.

Valerie glanced down and smiled at the boy. She hadn't seen him—not surprising since he was so little that he was easily hidden by his father's massive size—and he looked just like his father, too, though instead of the intense golden eyes, the child had vibrant green ones, instead. Hopping from one foot to the other, his excitement was a viable thing. Bone loped over and grinned, scooping up the boy and settling him on his wide shoulder. "Bailey, my man! How's it going?"

"Daddy's gonna pound Uncle Evan," the boy insisted happily and very proudly, "because he says Uncle Gunnar's too easy!"

"I beg your pardon?"

Valerie didn't miss the absolute irritation behind that question, and she glanced over her shoulder at the back door, only to stop and look again while Bailey erupted in a round of high-pitched giggles. The man . . . Good _God_ , there really wasn't a good way to describe him, was there? Incredibly tall with the kind of looks that brought the word, 'pretty' to mind—maybe even 'beautiful' . . . Much leaner of build than Evan's brother, and where the latter just seemed to look a little foreboding, this one? He was the kind of man that made women stop and stare, even if they didn't dare approach him . . .

But he seemed to notice her standing there, which was a far sight better than 'Bubby', too, and he inclined his head just slightly, as though to indicate that he saw her. "Gunnar Inutaisho," he said, sparing a moment to glance at Evan, who was too busy showboating with his sword to pay much attention before turning to eye her once more: a long, slow look that she was quite sure tended to melt most women upon impact. "And you are . . .?"

She blinked and quickly shook her head. He hadn't surprised her—well, not in that way. What had surprised her was the sudden memory that had flashed through her mind, instead . . .

" _Do I know him?_ "

 _A strange sort of expression filtered over Madison's features, and she laughed. "I don't think so, but you may know_ of _him_."

" _Oh? Who?_ "

". . . _Gunnar Inutaisho_."

Biting down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing outright—no wonder Madison didn't want her to tell Evan who she'd slept with that night in question—Valerie carefully schooled her features before answering. "Valerie Denning. I'm Evan's lawyer."

A sudden look of complete comprehension crossed his features, and Valerie figured that it had something to do with the curious way he'd been looking at her, as though he couldn't rightfully understand why a woman like her would be hanging out with someone like Zel Roka, in the first place. "I see," was all he said.

"You can't hit what you can't catch," Evan taunted. "C'mon, Bubby!"

The elder brother stood his ground, holding the sword in his hand though he made no move to assume any kind of real fighting stance. That seemed to suit Evan just fine, and he dashed forward, bringing his weapon out in a wide arc at waist-level. With a quick flick of his wrist, he let go of the sword and caught it with the same hand behind his back, effectively building up momentum based upon what had to be the considerable weight of the object without losing sight of his intended target.

Evan's first blow was easily deflected by the flat side of his opponent's blade followed in short order by a terse shove that wasn't necessarily meant to send Evan flying, but was intended to throw him off balance. It didn't. Evan was a little too agile for that to work. Beside her, Gunnar snorted quietly. "Bas is just playing with him," he muttered under his breath.

"Bas?" she echoed with a shake of her head.

Gunnar's eyes didn't leave the fighters, but he did nod toward the larger man. "Bas—Sebastian."

"Oh . . ."

"He can beat the crap out of Evan any time he wants to—if he can catch him, that is."

"He's that good?" Valerie asked, unable to quite reconcile herself to that idea when Bas had yet to move much yet.

Gunnar chuckled dryly. "It doesn't really have anything to do with 'good', but yes, he is," he replied. "Let's just say that if Bas manages to hit you, you know it. For _days_."

She supposed she could believe that. After all, Bas was, well, _huge_ , and considering that his hands were as big as baseball mitts, it made sense that they might hurt—a lot.

Evan just seemed to dance around Bas, though, neither causing much in the way of damage nor taking any, either. Every time he got close enough for Bas to swing at him, Valerie cringed inwardly. The sheer, brute strength behind the blade caused a ripple of wind that hit her where she stood, and just what that might do to Evan if Bas should happen to connect was rather disconcerting.

Still, Evan laughed and goaded his brother—not exactly what she'd consider to be sound advice, given his distinct weight and size disadvantage. She knew damn well that Evan wasn't a small man, but he looked like one, at least next to his brother. It was like a lion taking on a mouse . . .

"It's like the _Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle_ ," Bone muttered.

"Bas is getting irritated," Gunnar mused.

"Get 'im, Daddy!" Bailey yelled, hopping up and down on Bone's shoulder.

Valerie gritted her teeth together and said nothing.

The beep of a cell phone drew Bone's attention, and he carefully balanced the boy on his shoulder as he dug the device out of his pocket and frowned at the caller ID. "Duty calls, buddy. Hop on down, will you?"

Valerie sucked in a sharp breath when the toddler sprang off of the huge man's shoulder, straight into Gunnar's arms, and she was certain that it was only Gunnar's impeccable reflexes that kept the boy from falling to the ground. Bailey grinned up at Gunnar, though, completely oblivious to the near-mishap. "Remember what your father told you before, Bailey?" Gunnar reminded the child with a slight scowl.

Bailey grimaced and stopped fidgeting almost instantly. "I don't jump on people," he replied in a somewhat practiced tone.

Gunnar nodded but made no move to put the boy down, either. "That's right."

"But you always catch me, Uncle Gunnar," he pointed out.

"That's because I have fast reflexes," Gunnar remarked.

It didn't take long, though, before Bailey started to bounce a little in his uncle's arms. To Valerie, it seemed to be an almost absent-minded sort of motion since the child was intently watching the fight that appeared almost choreographed in Valerie's estimation. Every time Bas would advance on Evan, the latter would spring away, just out of reach, only to leap forward to poke and prod at his brother before backing off with a laugh or a taunt. If it weren't obvious to her before, it was now. The longer that it went on, the more irritated Bas grew with the standoff. Evan was just too fast, and Bas was just too damn big . . .

"Bailey, be still or I'll put you down," Gunnar warned.

Bailey uttered a sound akin to a whine and instantly stilled.

"The problem with fighting that one," Gunnar mused, almost more to himself than to Valerie as he nodded his head toward Bas, "is that it doesn't matter how agile you are. Eventually you get tired while you're trying to avoid those ham hocks he calls fists, and, well, he's got more stamina than just about anyone has. You get tired, you get sloppy, and—" His eyes narrowed momentarily when Bas came dangerously close to slicing through Evan's right thigh. Evan, idiot that he was, just laughed and hopped back about a foot. "Well, there you have it," he finished dryly.

Valerie swallowed hard, unconsciously smashing her hands against her heart to contain the nearly painful pounding in her chest.

Evan darted forward, still playing the court jester, or so it would seem, as he jabbed at Bas a few times, the blade flashing past the older brother's ear on his right side, then his left, then his right again. A few strands of golden bronze hair fluttered down like sparkling rain, and that, apparently, was more than enough, as far as Bas was concerned. In the blink of an eye, Bas tossed the sword in his hand aside, unleashing what could only be described as a growl that seemed to rumble up from somewhere deep down as he slapped Evan's sword away. It sailed, end over end, out of his grasp and away, embedding itself, point down in the grass a good twenty feet away. The growl escalated as Bas' arm—no more than a blur of color and motion, shot out, grasping Evan by the throat, and he jerked him forward as he snapped out his other arm, catching Evan in the center of his chest. He let go of Evan, and Valerie flinched as the rock star's body flew through the air—was he laughing?—only to land with a huge spray as he hit the surface of the water in the pool and sank like a rock.

"And that would be 'Defeat by Dumbass'," Gunnar muttered.

"Yay, Daddy!" Bailey hollered, squirming down from Gunnar's arms and dashing over to his father.

"Oh, my God," she hissed under her breath, anxiously watching the pool where Evan had landed. He didn't surface right away, and she started to dart over there.

Gunnar caught her arm and pulled her back. "Stupid, yes, but perfectly fine," he assured her.

"Are you crazy?" she yelled, yanking against his hold. "Do you know what a hit like that on the heart could do?"

Gunnar stared at her for a moment, the condescension in his expression deepening just before he gave her a curt nod and let go, shoving her back a step though not harshly, as he strode around to the far side of the pool where Evan had yet to surface. Standing on the edge, looking down as he slowly and rather deliberately rolled up the long sleeve of the fine linen white shirt he was wearing, he seemed to be calculating something. She heard him sigh as he hunkered down and plunged his arm into the pool, hanging on to the safety edge with the other hand. A moment later, he yanked Evan up out of the water by a fistful of sodden silver hair. The idiot was laughing.

"Shit, bubby!" he complained, rubbing his chest as Gunnar gave him a curt shove and let go. "That almost _hurt!_ "

"Baka," Gunnar muttered, shaking his hand in obvious disdain as he stood and stalked away from the pool.

"It'd take more than that to get rid of a cockroach like you, Evan," Bas retorted mildly.

"Daddy! I wanna go swimmin'!" Bailey said, currently perched in his father's arms. He tapped his shoulder rather animatedly to get his attention.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Both of you?" Valerie blasted, interrupting whatever smart-ass comment Evan was about to make. "Were you trying to maim each other?"

Bas blinked and stared at her for nearly a full minute, taken aback by the very apparent outrage in her expression. "W . . . I wasn't actually trying to hurt him, no," Bas explained slowly, almost apologetically.

Valerie narrowed her eyes. Bas shifted uncomfortably and started to open his mouth again.

"Give up, bubby," Evan said as he hauled himself out of the pool. "V just don't understand brotherly love."

"Brotherly love, my ass," Bas grumbled with a shake of his head and a light blush that had been inspired by Valerie's tirade.

She snorted and crossed her arms over her chest, pivoting on her heel to glower at him, too. Too bad that the sight of him, dripping water from head to toe, the sight of the tiny rivulets coursing down his skin, the strange pants that were now clinging to his legs as the weight of the water dragged the waistline precariously low on his hips completely distracted her. A moment later, however, the illusion was broken as the man dropped to his hands and knees and affected a full-body shake akin to a dog that had just come in from the rain.

With a gasp and a strangled little shriek, she threw up her hands to cover her face and tried to turn away from the frigid spray.

"Use a towel, Evan," Gunnar growled, dropping one on Evan as he strode past before handing another to Valerie. He'd nabbed them off out of the small wooden cabinet that stood near the pool.

Evan stood up and draped the towel around his neck. "Sorry, V," he said, sounding anything but contrite.

She wiped her face on her towel and rolled her eyes, sparing a moment to shake her head before she spun on her heel and stalked back toward the house once more. It wasn't just Evan who was insane, was it? No, she had a feeling that his entire family just might be, too . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Falls_** **_on_** **_Me_** ' _by Fuel first appeared on their 2003 release,_ **_Natural_** **_Selection_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to Carl Bell_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _They're_ _all_ _insane_ …


	39. 038: Compromises

' _When I'm tired and thinkin' cold_ …  
 _I hide in my music, forget the day_ …  
 _And dream of a girl I used to know_ …  
 _I closed my eyes and she slipped away_ …  
 _She slipped away_ …'

 

-' _More than a Feeling'_ by Boston.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Chuckling low in his throat as he started toward the doorway of the music room, Evan swigged a bottle of beer. He wasn't entirely sure where Valerie had disappeared. He'd expected her to light into him about the moment that Gunnar and Bubby had left, but she didn't. He could tell that she was nearby, of course, but she had yet to show herself. Grimacing slightly—damn, Bas hit a little _too_ hard sometimes, didn't he?—Evan rubbed the soreness in the center of his chest as he reached for his favorite acoustic guitar, ignoring, at least for the moment, the unpleasant clinginess of his still-damp hakama.

' _All that ballyhoo just because he wanted to ask you to watch Bailey and Olivia tomorrow?_ ' his youkai huffed indignantly. ' _A simple 'please' would have done nicely enough_.'

Evan grinned since he was pretty sure that the thing that had set Bas off was the 'mountain' comment. Still . . . ' _Aww, I don't mind. Been awhile since I got a decent workout. I think Bone's going a little soft_ . . .'

' _Yeah, and about that . . . He's your head of security. I don't think that's a good thing, now do you?_ '

' _What? Bone? I don't think it's anything like that . . . Where do you suppose she took herself off to?_ '

His youkai heaved a sigh, irritated, he figured, that he wasn't about to get into a philosophical debate on Bone's arguably declining skills.

Besides, he was still feeling a little restless. True, the morning meditation had helped that, as had the impromptu sparring with Bone and Bas. He had a feeling that the cancellation of his mini-tour had something to do with it, but if he were to be completely honest? Yeah, he supposed that it had everything in the world to do with the photo shoot yesterday . . .

No doubt about it, if he could just get the feel of her body and the overwhelming knowledge that she'd trusted him on a level that she, herself, might not have understood, he'd be a far sight better off. Too bad he couldn't. They'd always said that he had an overactive imagination . . .

Settling on the edge of a ratty old puke green sofa—the first bit of furniture he'd ever acquired when he moved to New York City years ago—he took his time adjusting the strings, strumming notes to test the instrument. It wasn't out of tune by much, and the actual task was more of a ritual for him instead of something that needed to be done. Much like the meditating that he'd been missing lately, the simple act helped him to focus, helped him to relax.

"Okay, Roka. Let's see it."

Evan reluctantly lifted his gaze off the guitar, only to smile as Valerie strode into the room with a no-nonsense expression on her face. She looked like she was mentally prepared for the siege to end all sieges, and as she crossed her arms over her chest, spreading her feet shoulder-width apart, she leveled a look at him and waited for him to comply.

"Well, if you insist, V," he drawled, setting the guitar aside and slowly rising to his feet.

She snorted and rolled her eyes when he went for the ties holding the hakama in place, slapping his hands away before he could actually loosen them. "I meant your chest," she informed him.

Wrinkling his nose, he waved her off as he turned away. "Hell, it'd take more than that to hurt me," he bragged.

Valerie strode around him, reaching for the towel that still hung around his neck and effectively hid the top of his chest from her perusal. "You realize, don't you? A solid hit to the chest like that could stop your heart . . . Don't look at me like that. I'm serious."

"You're right," he agreed quickly since he could feel her temper rising. "Bet he wishes that he'd hit me a little harder." She wasn't even slightly amused by his tongue-in-cheek attempt at joking. He sighed. "It's fine, V, I swear."

He knew well enough that she'd heard him. He also figured that she'd chosen to ignore him, too. Yanking the towel away, she flinched, her face paling just slightly as she stared in unabashed horror at the shadowy beginnings of a healthy sized bruise in the center of his chest. "I think you should go to the doctor," she muttered, her voice little more than a rasping whisper.

"For this? Are you joking? Think of my rep, woman! I'm Zel Roka, you know, and Zel Roka does not go to the doctor for something as minor as a stupid little bruise."

She was going to argue with him. He could tell from the expression on her face. Evan held up a hand to forestall her. "Listen, it's fine. Just a bruise. Happens all the time, you know? Besides. I _did_ cut his hair. Can't say that that's ever happened before . . . at least, that I know of."

She uttered a frustrated growl, holding up one finger in his face, her mouth opening to grumble at him. She must have thought twice about it, though, because she let the hand drop as she whipped around on her heel and stomped out of the room again. He considered following her, intrigued that she was so obviously irritated by his stubborn display, but she was back before he could, and this time, she held an ice pack in her hand. "Here," she said, the gentleness in her hands a stark contrast to the aggravation on her face.

"I'm fine, V, I swear," he told her, taking the ice pack and holding it against his skin, figuring that if it would pacify her, then it was all good.

Letting out a deep breath, she slowly shook her head, collapsing onto the sofa with her shoulders hunched forward as she buried her face in her hands. "What am I going to do with you?" she lamented, her resigned voice muffled by her skin.

"Well, I could think of a few things," he deadpanned.

She let her hands drop and lifted her gaze without moving her head. "Evan . . ."

He grimaced inwardly. It sounded a little too much like she was getting ready to say something to him that he really wasn't going to like. "Hmm?"

"I wanted to tell you . . ."

"Aww, V . . . it's too early in the day to be using that tone, don't you think?" he complained, unable to stomach the sudden and overwhelming feeling that she was about to apologize for some perceived ill or something equally humbling. In fact, the idea appalled him . . .

She ignored his outburst. "I underestimated you," she went on. "You . . . You work a lot harder than I gave you credit for."

He shot her a half-hearted grin intended to be taken as cheeky but likely appeared more contrived than anything else. "Nah . . . I just get paid to play around. Lucky little bastard, huh?"

Her eyebrows drew together as she frowned at him—one of those penetrating sort of stares that he felt all the way down to his bones. "All the same," she continued with a somewhat stubborn shake of her head, "I think . . . I think that it'd be nice to go on your mini-tour with you. I'd like to see a little bit more of what you do." She shrugged as a small, vague, rather contrite smile quirked the corners of her lips. "I'd like to see one of your real shows—more than just three songs."

"Y-Yeah?" he said, his expression brightening by degrees. "You would?"

Her smile widened just a little, and she nodded. "Yeah."

"It's because I'm just irresistible, right?" he couldn't help goading.

"You're something, all right," she muttered with a resigned sigh that was followed in short order by a little giggle.

' _That sound_ ,' he thought with a satisfied sort of grin, ' _I could stand to hear that . . . forever_ . . .'

Valerie stood up, her attention skittering away as she frowned in concentration at the unchartered territory she'd happened into. Since her immediate concern over his well-being seemed to be as done as dinner, she finally realized that she had never been in this room, and her curiosity was a viable thing—or it would have been if Evan had been paying attention instead of thinking about the sound of her laughter . . .

"Bagpipes?" she said, her voice cutting through his idyll.

Evan blinked and broke into a little grin. "Sure."

She picked it up, turning it this way and that as she inspected it. "Do you actually know how to play it?"

He rolled his eyes. "Of course."

She gave it another good look before shoving it against his chest. "Show me."

Never having been one to back down from so blatant a challenge, Evan winked at Valerie as he took the instrument and arranged the long pipes over his left shoulder and grasped the bag under his elbow. He'd checked all the plugs recently, so that wasn't an issue, and he almost laughed when Valerie cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. The interruption was enough to shift the steady, low groan of the instrument as the air he blew into it escaped evenly through the pipes, and the resulting screeches made her grimace. "That's _awful!_ " she said, plugging her ears and affecting an exaggerated grimace.

He played the first few bars of _Amazing Grace_ before she reached for the instrument, and when he didn't give it over right away, she waved her hand impatiently. "Let me see!"

With a sigh and a shake of his head, he let her take it, though he did step around her to position the bag and pipes. "Here . . . this is where you finger the notes," he told her as he wrapped her hand around the chanter near her waist.

"I 'an't 'ee 'em," she muttered around the blowstick in her mouth.

Evan grinned. " _Da-a-amn!_ Do you have any idea how hot it is to see you with your lips wrapped around that?" he couldn't resist asking.

She rolled her eyes and snorted, but not before a hint of pink blossomed in her cheeks. "'Oh 'oo hell, 'Okah."

He chuckled. "Just blow, V. If you can do that, then you can worry about making notes."

And blow she did. To her credit, she did manage to inflate the bag, at least to a degree. When her entire face darkened to a crimson hue, however, causing her eyes to bulge just slightly, he winced and reached over, flicking the blowstick out of her mouth with an exaggerated shake of his head. "You're going to pass out if you keep it up," he told her mildly.

"Ugh, I feel dizzy," she admitted, pressing her hand to her forehead as she swayed slightly.

Evan took the bagpipes and hurriedly set them aside. "Maybe you should leave those alone," he suggested.

She nodded then sighed, sparing a moment to glower at the instrument, apparently irked that she couldn't quite muster enough hot air to sustain it.

"You should probably sit down a minute," he said, quickly reaching out to steady her elbow when she swayed slightly on her feet.

"Nuts to you, Zel Roka," she scoffed though she still appeared a little flushed. "Oh, my God . . . You have one of those . . .? Those . . .?"

Following the direction of her fluttering hand, Evan chuckled. "Alpenhorn?"

She wrinkled her nose as she continued to stare at the eight-foot horn. "Let me guess: you can play that?"

He nodded.

She snorted. "You're so weird," she muttered. "What's this?"

Evan grinned as she gingerly touched the base of another instrument situated on a wooden pedestal nearby. "It's a kalimba," he told her. "An African thumb piano. Check it out."

She touched one of the keys and winced since she didn't seem to know exactly what to expect. Her eyes widened, though, at the very dulcet tone that sounded not unlike a tap on a xylophone. "Oh!"

He played a short piece for her; one that he'd learned from the old villager who had given him the instrument a few years ago when he'd taken a trip to Zimbabwe. The man was blind, but there wasn't a damn thing wrong with his ears, and the songs that he'd played for Evan had been emblazoned in his brain forever.

When he looked at Valerie, though, it was to find her staring at him in something akin to awe. As the last notes died away, so did that expression, but the gentle smile that lingered was enough. "So you're telling me that you know how to play all the things in this room?"

Sparing a moment to glance around, he shrugged, feeling unaccountably bashful for some reason. "Yeah, I . . . I guess."

"Idiot rock star, indeed," she scoffed. Wandering away from him, she paused long enough to look over his collection of guitars before dismissing them as unremarkable. She did stop to look at the tonkori that he kept housed in a glass case mounted to the far wall. "So pretty," she breathed, her fingertips lightly brushing over the glass.

Evan chuckled as he drew up behind her. "Of course," he said with a simple shrug. "Legend has it that it was designed in the shape of a woman's body."

She didn't take her eyes off of it. "Is that so?"

He closed in behind her, his hands itching to reach for her. He stopped himself and grimaced. "Yep . . . See the way it's been carved? The curves there . . .? The way it narrows there . . .? And . . . there's her heart."

She leaned against him, probably without realizing what she was doing, and he could hear the beat of her heart in the silence of the soundproof room. "Beautiful," she whispered.

"You have no idea," he grumbled. "You know, the parts are named for the corresponding parts of a woman's body."

"Hmm," she demurred, only half listening him. "Have you ever played it?"

Dragging his attention off the gentle arch of the back of her neck, Evan stifled a sigh. "Not that one," he explained. "I know how to play it, but that one was a gift. My uncle sent it to me a few years ago."

"The same uncle that taught you the piano?"

"Yep."

She laughed softly. "It seems like a shame not to play something just because it's pretty," she pointed out.

Evan sighed and nodded. "I suppose," he agreed though he made no move to open the case.

Turning slightly though not enough to break the contact, she smiled at him—a warmth in her eyes that he couldn't rightfully recall having seen before. "You're a surprising man, Evan Zelig."

He shot her a grin despite the unsettling lurch in his belly. "Aw, V, you have no fucking idea . . ."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

She was wandering around, poking into everything like a child, she supposed, and yet she couldn't quite help herself, either. As much as she hated to admit it, Evan's music room was fascinating . . .

To start with, she'd never, ever seen so many instruments all in one place before, and so many of them were so strange, so exotic, that she was fascinated. That they were all in useable condition; that he could play them all—she didn't doubt his claim in the least—was . . . Well, it bordered on amazing, didn't it?

Just what kind of man was he? It was a question she'd asked herself before, though it hadn't perplexed her nearly as much as it did now. How could one person know so much about them? How had he managed to learn it all? It was . . . it was crazy, and yet, it somehow fit him, too.

The room wasn't that big; not really, and still, she wasn't done exploring. Evan had gone back to the acoustic guitar that he'd been holding when she'd ventured inside earlier, content to let her poke around as much as she wanted while he strummed the guitar and sang softly. The words to the vaguely familiar song were lost as she continued her search.

His library of hardcopy music was staggering: a wall of shelves stacked with compact discs and data chips, small plastic cases with what she suspected to be cassette tapes inside—she'd never actually seen one of those before, either, but apparently Evan had. He even had a small mixing board similar to the one at the studio only a bit more compact. She figured that it was just something he used when he was trying to write a song or something. It was still pretty cool, she had to admit.

Stopping in front of a large glass shelf with various statues arranged upon it, Valerie blinked and stared. She'd heard before that he'd actually won a few Grammys—not Zel Roka, but Evan Zelig, the man who had been described as an eccentric recluse who shunned the limelight in favor of his home in Maine. Those awards weren't prominent, pushed back toward the rear though not completely out of sight. She'd never touched one of those before, either, come to think on it, and with a mischievous little grin, she carefully picked one up.

It was heavier than it looked. Hefting it in the palm of her hand while she grasped the gold gilded phonograph to steady it, then whirled around, leveling a look at Evan, who grinned but didn't stop strumming, even after Valerie cleared her throat and gave an arrogant toss of her head.

"I'd like to thank all the members of the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences who voted for me . . . all of my fans . . . my _people_ , of course . . ."

"Zel Roka?" he chimed in with an arched eyebrow.

She fluttered a hand at him before placing it solidly on the statue once more. "No. Shush."

He set the guitar aside and leaned forward, elbows on knees with his hands dangling between them like a demented Neanderthal. "Hey, V?"

"Stop heckling me during my acceptance speech, Roka. What do you want?"

His lips twitched. ". . . You have 'people'?"

Rolling her eyes, she heaved a melodramatic sigh. "Don't all big rock stars have 'people'?"

"Oh, right."

"Now be quiet before I forget who I still need to thank . . ."

"Sorry; sorry. Go on," he said, waving his hand in a gesture meant to speed her along.

She cleared her throat again and curled her lip at him. His grin turned downright lecherous, and she shook her head. "I want to thank the losers—better luck next time—and I promise that I shall forever keep this award close to my heart! I love all you little people!"

"Damn, you're harsh," Evan remarked as his grin widened.

Valerie slipped the trophy back onto the shelf and giggled. "Not bad, huh?"

"Sounds like you've been practicing," he teased. "Let me guess: you were always a rock star in the mirror in your bedroom growing up?"

She rolled her eyes but couldn't quite help the slight flush that crept into her cheeks as she slowly turned to meet Evan's rapt gaze once more. "Of course not!" she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest. "I always won Oscars."

He laughed and flopped against the sofa, staring at her through half-closed eyes. "I'll bet you did," he replied.

Valerie paused, rubbing her arms as gooseflesh erupted all over her. Something about the unabashed warmth in his expression caught her off guard, and as much as she tried to look away, she found that she simply could not.

"W . . . Why are you looking at me like that?" she rasped out, wincing slightly at the breathiness in her tone.

Evan smiled. "Like what?"

She shook her head. "Like you're going to . . . to _eat_ me or something . . ."

"Not a half-bad idea," he ventured.

His meaning was not lost on her, and Valerie pressed her lips together in a thin line. "That's really not appropriate, you know," she reminded him though her warning had lost much of the derision she normally saved just for him.

Evan sighed and sat up to reach for the bottle of beer he'd set on the table earlier. "Appropriate is boring, and you know by now, just how much I hate being bored, right?"

His tongue-in-cheek speech was enough to chase away the discomfort that had been plaguing her, and she pursed her lips to keep from smiling. Stepping away from the shelf, she took her time shifting her gaze around the room until she noticed one of the posters on the wall near the drum kit set up in the back: a gorgeous red head teasingly posed and apparently naked though only her profile was actually visible, smiling at the camera quite happily. For a moment, Valerie thought that maybe she was a Playboy pinup or something, but upon closer scrutiny, the image actually seemed to be printed on much nicer paper than a standard poster, and as her scowl deepened, she took a reluctant step closer.

No, calling her a redhead was entirely too simplistic, wasn't it? The woman's hair seemed to be a myriad of shades and colors, all blended together into one that was far more vibrant, more brilliant, than a simple shade of red or auburn . . . and eyes so green that they looked like jewels that shimmered and shone in the wan light of the image . . . A strange and almost ugly surge of emotion shot through Valerie as she stared at the picture—something cloying and hostile and just out of the realm of her understanding . . . "So . . . who's that?" she heard herself asking in a tone that sounded a little too clipped and short to her own ears.

"That? She's Sydnie," he replied.

Valerie nearly jumped out of her skin. She hadn't heard him sneak up behind her. "Sydnie?" she repeated, struggling for a more neutral tone than she felt like using.

Evan nodded, reaching past Valerie to adjust the frame. "Hot, isn't she?"

Valerie smothered the urge to snort. "She's not bad," she allowed grudgingly. "Why is she hanging on your wall?"

Evan chuckled. "Because," he explained with a simplistic shrug, "she's my dream girl—or at least, she was."

"Your . . . dream girl," Valerie echoed.

"Well, sure . . . The first time I met her, I 'bout creamed my jeans—hell that. I'm pretty sure I _did_ cream my jeans."

"Disgusting," Valerie muttered, though whether she was more irked at his claim or at the idea that he was talking about that woman, she wasn't sure and she wasn't about to think about it, either. Evan was way too busy drooling stupidly over _her_ to have heard Valerie. "So why aren't you with her now if she's so special to you?"

Evan waved a hand, heaving a sigh as he turned his attention away from the poster at last. "Aw, she went and got married. That kind of bullshit."

"Oh?" Valerie contended, unable to keep the twinge of a sneer out of her tone. "Who'd she marry?"

Evan snorted. "Just some bastard," he replied vaguely.

"You poor thing."

He ignored the dryness in her voice. "Nah. I said she _used_ to be my dream girl."

"So what happened?" she couldn't help asking.

He chuckled and shrugged offhandedly, as though the subject were starting to bore him. "I grew up," he said simply.

She shook her head, unable to grasp his meaning. "And?" she prompted when she realized that he was, for all intents and purposes, done talking.

He blinked and glanced at her as another broad smile surfaced—the unjaded smile that made her feel just a little lightheaded . . . "And I figured out that I'd much rather have a dream _woman_ , not a dream _girl_."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _More_** **_than_** **_a_** **_Feeling'_** _by Boston first appeared on their 1976 release,_ **_Boston_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to Tom Scholz_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Re-e-e-ea-a-a-ally_ …


	40. 039: Surprises

' _Well, open up your mind and see like me_ …  
 _Open up your plans and damn you're free_ …  
 _Look into your heart and you'll find love love love love …'_

 

-' _I'm Yours_ ' by Jason Mraz.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Glancing at her watch as she pulled through the gates of the now-familiar estate, Valerie nodded at Bone as she passed. Biting her lip, she couldn't quite help the slight anxiety that had started to build somewhere deep down in the pit of her stomach, not unlike heartburn only lower.

After having spent most of the morning, sitting behind her desk at the office, combing over the testimonies that everyone had given her and still drawing a blank, she'd decided that it was time to have another go at Evan in the hopes that she might actually get him to talk. She didn't honestly expect that she'd get very far with it, but she had to try, didn't she? After all, she knew damn well that there really was something entirely too false about his story. She didn't have to be a rocket scientist to understand beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was lying to her. She knew that much. She also had a hunch that he was covering for someone. Why else would they all be so evasive about the whole thing? No, she _knew_ it, all right. She just couldn't _prove_ it . . .

Well, he was about to find out that she could be just as stubborn as he could be, right?

"Right," she muttered to herself as she pulled to a stop in front of his home.

She grimaced as she shut off the engine and yanked the key out of the ignition. "Oh, who the hell am I kidding? That man gives the word 'stubborn' a whole new and somewhat perverse meaning . . ." Saving the man from himself? It was proving to be a little more difficult than she'd thought . . .

Letting out a long, deep breath, she grasped the attaché case off the passenger side seat and stepped out of the car, unconsciously tugging on the hem of the navy blue cotton jacket she wore as she strode toward the porch.

"Evan?" she called as she stepped inside and closed the door.

"Uncle Evan's busy," a rather sullen little voice said.

Setting her attaché case on the floor beside the table, Valerie blinked as she stared at Bailey, who was standing in the doorway of the living room with a fairly disgruntled expression on his face. "Busy?" she echoed, smoothing her skirt as she knelt to face the boy on his own level.

Bailey shrugged, his lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout. "Wif Olive."

"Olive? Who's Olive?" Valerie asked.

Bailey made a face, as though he thought that she ought to have known the answer to that question. "My sister," he muttered, grinding his bare toes against the carpet and wrinkling his nose in obvious disdain. "I don't like her. She's a smelly baby."

Snapping her mouth closed, Valerie pushed herself to her feet since she wasn't entirely sure exactly what she was supposed to do with that information, anyway. The boy didn't seem to be in any hurry to head back into the living room, though, and, standing where he was, he quite effectively blocked the doorway. "Um . . . W-Would you show me where Uncle Evan is?" she finally suggested.

Bailey stared at her for a minute then suddenly grinned. It struck her again that the child bore such an eerie resemblance to his father, right down to the long, loose, golden bronze hair—a strange trait . . . maybe. "My leg're tired," he suddenly blurted as he lifted his arms high into the air.

"Your legs are . . .?" she echoed dumbly.

He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet to accentuate his demand. "Up!"

"Ah . . ." she stalled, unsure what she was supposed to do. It was unsettling, at the very least. Children weren't exactly her forte; she'd be the first to admit as much. It wasn't that she disliked them. Quite the contrary, really, but she simply hadn't really been around them very much, and therein lay the problem. They were a little –or a lot, if she were bluntly honest about it—intimidating to her. After all, she knew better than anyone, just how easy it was to screw up a kid . . .

So it was with more than a bit of reluctance that she bit her lip and gingerly grasped the boy under the armpits. "Oof!" she grunted, her eyes widening as she hefted him off the floor and hurriedly slipped her arms under his bottom to support him. He weighed a lot more than he looked like he should . . .

Bailey grinned happily. "Mommy says I'm a big puppy!" he exclaimed.

Valerie nodded, taking a moment to accustom herself to his weight. "You certainly are," she agreed.

"I can bark," he said suddenly. "Wo-o-o-of!"

She blinked and laughed a little uncertainly. "That was a pretty good one," she said.

"Can you bark?"

Valerie frowned, feeling distinctly dumb, given the question at hand. "S-Sure," she said.

He hopped a little. She had to tighten her grip on him to keep him from topping out of her arms. "Bark! Bark!"

Feeling a surge of heat explode under her skin, Valerie couldn't help the quick glance she shot around as she opened her mouth and uttered a very terse and very quiet, "Woof."

Bailey wrinkled his nose and shook his head rather sadly. "No-o-o-o," he reprimanded. "That wasn't a good bark!"

Snapping her mouth closed on the protest that she just couldn't help, Valerie felt her blush deepen as she met the earnest, if not startlingly green eyes of the boy in her arms. "W-Woof," she managed, much to Bailey's delight.

"You're a puppy, too!" he exclaimed happily.

She smiled a little tightly at the praise as she took a cautious step toward the living room.

She wasn't entirely certain, what she'd expected to see. She supposed that if she'd had to say, she'd have surmised that she'd find Evan doing something Evan-ish while the aforementioned 'Olive' did whatever a child her age was supposed to do. She really hadn't expected what she did see, however, and the smile that widened on her face was genuine, almost enchanted, as she spotted the world-famous rock star, standing behind the baby grand piano near the sunlight-filled doors that led to the backyard with the cutest little girl—just a baby, really—sitting atop the instrument's closed lid. Frilly white dress that reminded Valerie of a shorter version of a christening gown spread wide around her tiny form, she held a doll in her arms—also in a pristine white dress—sitting patiently as Evan carefully swept a bit of hair up and back just slightly with a pale pink brush that he caught in his teeth to free up his hands so that he could secure the vibrant tuft of rich, red hair in a tiny white butterfly clip.

"There you go, baby-face," he said, spitting the brush out and setting it aside. Scooping her and the doll up in his arms, he planted a noisy, sloppy sounding kiss on her cheek.

The girl giggled and threw her arms around his neck, effectively clunking him in the back of the head with the doll as she kissed him back. He didn't seem to mind.

"Oh, hey, V!" he greeted as he spotted her over the girl's head.

She shook her head, unable to stop herself as she stared unabashedly at the man. "H . . . Hi . . ."

He chuckled and shifted the girl so that she was stationed securely against his shoulder. "Livvy, you want to say hi to V?"

Olivia stared up at her uncle for a minute and slowly broke into a smile as she settled her head against his shoulder and regarded Valerie with wide, golden eyes. "Hi," she whispered shyly.

Valerie blinked in surprise. As small as the girl was, Valerie hadn't actually thought that she was old enough to speak . . . "Oh, my . . . She can talk?"

"Well, sure," Evan replied with a shrug then rolled his eyes. "Bailey, get down before you break V, will you?"

Bailey laughed and wiggled around until Valerie set him back on his feet again. "She can bark!" he exclaimed.

Evan chuckled. "Oh, yeah? Did you, V?"

The blush was back in vivid color. "W—He wanted me to," she explained quickly.

"Mimi!" Bailey hollered as he carted around on his heel and ran toward the kitchen in search of those wicked beasts Evan called dogs. "C'mere!"

"She is so cute," Valerie remarked as she crossed her arms over her chest and smiled at the girl nestled snuggly in her uncle's arms.

"Yeah, you're a hottie, aren't you, pumpkin?"

The girl sighed happily and clutched her doll a little tighter.

"You want to see something cool, V? Olivia, here, learned a new trick."

Valerie blinked at Evan's strange way of stating things, but nodded, musing to herself that Olivia—Olive—looked entirely comfortable in Evan's arms.

"Here, Liv. Give me the doll, okay?"

She craned her head back to gaze up at Evan but let go of the doll. He set it on the piano and stepped closer to Valerie. "Kneel down," he prompted. Valerie shot him a quizzical glance. Evan nodded. "Go ahead, and hold out your arms, too."

She did rather ambivalently, unsure just what Evan was doing, but reasonably sure that he'd behave since he was dealing with a child, too.

Evan knelt, careful not to drop the girl as he set her on her feet and held onto her with one hand while he fussed with the cascading lace ruffles of her dress with the other. "All right, Livvy. You want to walk to V?"

The girl shot him a look as though she wanted or needed a little more encouragement, but she nodded. When she turned her head toward Valerie, though, she had a big smile on her face. Evan let go of her, his hands left dangling between his knees as he watched her. She brought her hands up, fluttering at her sides like baby birds that weren't quite ready to leave the nest, and she carefully picked her way toward Valerie.

"Aww," Valerie crooned, marveling at the girl's little steps as she closed in. "She's just _adorable_ . . ."

"Eh," Evan drawled, putting a hand on the floor to push himself to his feet again. "She's been doing that for awhile, but Bubby carries her around so much that I was starting to think that she'd forgotten how."

Valerie giggled as she grasped Olivia to steady her. Somehow, she couldn't quite picture the huge man she'd met the day before with a child this small—this delicate—in his arms. "She's too tiny to be his," she commented.

Evan laughed. "Yeah, probably," he agreed. "Good thing she looks like her mama."

Olivia sighed happily and clutched the front of Valerie's shirt.

Valerie blinked and shot a quizzical glance at her.

"She wants you to pick her up," Evan prodded gently.

"Oh, I-I-I don't . . ." Valerie stuttered.

Shaking his head and rolling his eyes as a good-natured grin widened on his face, he strolled over to her and scooped up the little girl. "Come on, V. You act like you're scared of her or something."

Valerie snorted loudly, mostly because she was, at least a little bit. "I'm not," she shot back in what could only be described as a sulky tone of voice. "I'm just not . . . _used_ to babies."

"Keh! How could anyone not want to cuddle someone as cute as her? Isn't that right, Livvy?" he crooned. The little girl giggled and buried her face against Evan's shoulder, peeking shyly back at Valerie though her smile didn't fade.

Torn between appreciating just how cute he could be with a child and acute irritation that she'd actually admitted that she was uncomfortable with children, Valerie crossed her arms over her chest and opted instead to change the subject. "You had time to babysit today?"

"V, I _make_ time to babysit these guys," he corrected. "I only had a couple things to do later, anyway," he pointed out with a dismissive shrug.

"I wanna go swimmin'!" Bailey proclaimed as he ran back into the living room once more with a yapping Mimi on his heels. Valerie couldn't help herself as she cast the dog a rather suspicious eye. Tiny, sure, but she was still quite certain that the little furball was simply biding her time till she found the perfect opportunity to sink her little fangs into Valerie's ankle . . .

Evan grinned. "Okay, okay," he agreed. "How 'bout it, Livvy? Wanna go swimming?"

"Not with _her!_ " Bailey insisted, pointing an accusatory finger at his sister and offering an indelicate snort. "Put her down! You're s'pose'ta play with me!"

"Yeah, but I can't leave her in here just to take you swimming, Bailey," Evan said.

Bailey didn't seem to like that answer, either, if the sulky expression on his face meant anything. Valerie could fairly see the proverbial wheels turning in his head as the boy glanced around and stopped to stare at her. "She can watch her," he decided, visibly cheering up the moment the thought came out of his mouth in words.

"Uh," Evan drawled, narrowing his eyes as he cast Valerie a questioning sort of glance. "Would you mind? I mean, she's not really a problem. She'd potty trained and all that jazz."

Very distinct warning bells clanged in Valerie's head. Those bells only grew louder as Evan walked over to her and industriously handed over the child. "E-Evan," she barked, unable to staunch the rising panic in her voice as she quickly wrapped her arms around the little girl to keep her from topping to the floor. "Evan, I'm not sure—"

Evan was already heading for the door as Bailey gave a loud whoop and tugged off his t-shirt. "Don't worry about it, V. In fact, why don't come swimming, too? Livvy likes that."

"Fwim!" Olivia exclaimed in the sweetest little sing-song, silvery-bell sort of voice as she wrapped a long lock of Valerie's hair around her fingers.

"B-But I don't have a swimming suit," Valerie blurted, hoping against hope that she didn't sound as freaked out as she thought she did.

"It's okay," he tossed over his shoulder, his voice muffled a little as he shed his own shirt, as well. "There're lots of 'em in the cabana—all new. Just pick one."

"But—!" Snapping her mouth closed as the thud of the closing door brought an abrupt end to the conversation, Valerie let out a deep breath and rather hesitantly glanced down at the girl in her arms. "Oh, boy . . ." she half-groaned, wondering just how she'd been suckered into this situation.

"Pwetty," Olivia breathed, holding up a fistful of Valerie's hair and smiling brightly.

"Y-You think so?" she asked tentatively.

Olivia leaned back far enough to stare into Valerie's face. Those blue eyes of hers were so big, so round, that they seemed to take up almost all of her tiny little face, and the trepidation that had gripped Valerie so tightly slowly started to wane. "I fwim wike fishies," she said very seriously.

"Swim like fishies?" Valerie echoed with an uncertain smile. "O-Okay . . . Do you have a swimming suit?"

Olivia nodded and yanked up the hem of her skirt before patting her belly and the bright pink one-piece garment underneath.

Valerie laughed softly despite herself. "Oh . . . What's that?" she asked, tapping the cartoonish-looking black cat appliquéd to the front of the suit.

Olivia giggled. "It's me!" she exclaimed.

Valerie's tentative smile widened as she headed toward the doorway that led to the cabana. "You're a kitten, are you?"

The girl nodded quite happily and snuggled against Valerie's shoulder. "Oh-Oh-Oh!" Olivia grunted as they passed the piano, leaning to the side though not far enough to fall. "My baby!"

"You want your baby?" Valerie asked, veering to the side to retrieve the doll Evan had left atop the instrument. Olivia held out her arms, quite pleased to have the doll back, and Valerie smiled. True enough, children were more than a little daunting to her, sure, but Olivia?

Maybe she was okay . . . Maybe . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _Holy_ shit! _I'm going to_ die . . .'

' _So much for bright ideas, you moron_ ,' Evan's youkai grumbled. ' _Just grab a swim suit out of the cabana? You're a fucking idiot._ '

Unable to keep himself from glancing back at the far end of the pool where Valerie was seated on the wide steps in the shallow end with Olivia in her arms, he very nearly whined. The pale blue bikini she'd chosen fit her just a little too perfectly, and worse, sitting where she was, he could see quite plainly that she thought the water was a little on the cold side since her nipples were sticking out so far that he could see the shadows they cast in the flimsy fabric of that damned suit. ' _Look at those_ tits . . .!' He winced. If he didn't know better, he'd have sworn that she had to have had a boob job—they were just that perfect, damn him . . .

"Evan! Watch me dive!"

Reluctantly dragging his attention off the woman in question, Evan gritted his teeth and turned around in time to watch as Bailey launched himself off the short diving board, drawing up his legs and crashing into the water with a very impressive splash. "Nice," he approved, resisting the urge to glance over his shoulder.

' _Behave yourself, stupid. There are pups here, remember?_ '

Of course, it was a double-edged sword, really. If the pups weren't here, he never would have talked her into the swimming pool, but since they were . . . He sighed. ' _Yeah, yeah, I'm being good_ . . .' he grumbled.

Bailey came up sputtering and wiping his eyes. "Did you see? Did you?"

Evan grinned. "Sure did. That was pretty impressive, buddy."

"I'm gonna do it again!" Bailey squealed, lunging at Evan's back.

Evan caught him and swam over to the side of the pool to deposit him on the edge. "All right," he agreed. "Let's see it."

Walking as quickly as he could to the diving board since he'd been told often enough that he wasn't allowed to run near a pool, Bailey monkeyed his way up the short ladder and onto the end of the platform while Evan pushed away from the side of the pool. "You ready, Uncle Evan?" he hollered, his arms curled at his sides as though he thought that the stance would aid his ability to make his voice carry.

Evan chuckled and nodded. "Yep."

"Okay!" Bailey said. Springing off the board, he curled himself into a ball once more, and this time, the geyser of water he unleashed was a lot larger than the first try. He coughed and sputtered as he surfaced, but he was grinning, too. "That's a good one!" he insisted.

Evan caught him under the arms and tossed him back about three feet before catching sight of Valerie and Olivia out of the corner of his eye. Olivia was cuddling against Valerie—not surprising, given that Evan wouldn't mind doing that, himself—and not surprising since Olivia really was a kitten at heart.

Bailey splashed around and gave a very, very loud whoop.

" _A-A-A-Ah!_ " Valerie exclaimed.

Evan whipped around then froze, eyes widening as he spotted her. Olivia whimpered and smashed her face against Valerie's chest, but that wasn't what held his attention. Oh, no, it was the limp tangle of pale blue bikini top, dangling from the little girl's fingers that did—or more precisely, the _very_ stunning sight of Valerie Denning's abso-fucking-lutely perfect breasts—or at least the parts of them that weren't hidden by the child's face at the moment.

"Uh . . ." Valerie stammered, unsure for the moment, whether she ought to comfort the child or if she ought to try to retrieve the top of her swimming suit.

' _Homigawd!_ ' he squawked, hands unconsciously moving to cover his crotch as a painful surge of blood rushed to the area in question.

Bailey stopped splashing, treading water as he stared curiously at the far side of the pool. "Eww," he snorted loudly, his tone clearly derisive as he flipped around to paddle over to the side. " _Boobies!_ "

"Oh, I _like_ boobies," Evan muttered, his mouth—his throat—suddenly bone-dry.

"No," Bailey argued. He'd reached the edge and had hauled himself out of the pool. "Daddy's got boobies, but they're not squishy."

And that, for Evan, was akin to a dousing of very cold water. Uttering a weakened laugh as he started hauling toward the shallow end of the pool, he wasn't sure if he ought to thank Bailey for that ungodly visual or not . . . .

"Hey . . . what's going on?" Evan asked in a soothing tone that he was far from feeling as he tried— _really_ tried—not to blatantly stare at Valerie's bared goods.

Valerie shot him an imploring look, her eyes suspiciously bright, full of acute panic that she was just barely managing to hold off. "She slipped when Bailey yelled," she explained. "I think she bumped her head . . ."

Evan reached for the child, who instantly let go of Valerie and reached for her uncle. He figured that he ought to thank his lucky stars that Valerie was upset enough not to notice that his hands were shaking badly—and that she also seemed to forget momentarily that she was topless, to boot.

He inspected Olivia's head while Valerie stood up to help him. "Is she okay?" she demanded in an airy, breathless sort of tone. Behind the words, he could hear the trembling in her voice.

"Yeah, she's fine," he said. "She's tough, aren't you, Livvy?"

Olivia sniffled and slowly nodded at him. Evan sighed and carefully pried the bikini top out of her still-clenched fist. "Uh . . . I think this one's trash," he remarked as he held it out to Valerie.

She blinked and stared, unable to recognize the bit of fabric in his hand for a moment. As realization dawned on her, though, her eyes widened, and Evan had a feeling she was about to scream if he didn't move fast.

Striding out of the pool and around the side, he grabbed a couple of towels out of the cabinet. When he came back, she was squatting in the water, hunched over to hide her chest from view, her skin a vivid shade of pink as she reached out to snatch the towel out of his hand. "Thank you," she choked out. Evan almost chuckled but figured that she would probably not going to appreciate it if he did. The woman wasted no time in wrapping the towel around herself and getting out of the pool, heading straight toward the cabana.

Evan let out a deep breath. "Holy _dogs_ ," he muttered with a grimace. "Uncle Evan's gonna die . . ."

Olivia stared at him with a rather confused expression on her face and shivered slightly as the slight breeze that had been blowing all day unleashed a short gust. Her little teeth were chattering together when Evan carefully shook out the other towel and draped it over her head. "Better?"

She huddled against him.

Turning to glance at Bailey, Evan grinned. Munchies had jumped into the pool to play with the boy, who was sitting atop the dog that was happily paddling around in large circles. A minute later, Valerie stepped out of the cabana, this time sporting a white bikini that was just as skimpy and maybe a little more translucent than the other one had been. Evan heaved a sigh.

"You're sure she's all right?" Valerie asked, frowning at Olivia.

"She's fine," he assured her. "Tell her, Livvy. You're okay, aren't you?"

Olivia turned and peeked at Valerie from underneath the edge of the towel. She must've smiled, though, because Valerie did, too, though the slight lines of anxiety lingered around the edges of her eyelids. "Good," Valerie breathed. "She really scared me."

"V!" Olivia exclaimed, holding up her arms and leaning toward Valerie.

Valerie blinked and caught the child before she launched herself right out of Evan's arms. "You taught her to call me that, too," she muttered accusingly as she shook her head.

"Of course I did," Evan joked. "You know, you look damn good with a pup in your arms."

She shot him a rather wild sort of look, followed in short order by a pinched little smile that was thin and weak and faltering. "I-I don't know about that."

"What? You don't like them?"

She made a face. "Kids, you mean? Of course I like them . . . I just . . . I haven't been around them that often."

"Yeah? You're a natural." He was only half-teasing.

For a moment, he thought she was going to argue. In the end, she opted to ignore his comments as she flicked her gaze over toward the pool once more and grimaced. "I think that beast is going to eat him," she said, nodding toward Bailey and Munchies as they frolicked in the water.

Evan grinned, glancing at the two. "Eh, he wouldn't hurt Bailey . . ."

Valerie wrinkled her nose and sank down on a deck chair with Olivia. "Why don't we sit here? Evan can go play with your brother, can't he?"

Heaving a longsuffering sigh, Evan shook his head but headed back toward the pool again. He wasn't sure why Valerie seemed so uncomfortable with children, and somehow, he didn't really think that she'd tell him, even if he asked . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

She had to admit that it was nice, enjoying the warmth of the late afternoon as Olivia drowsed, cuddled against her chest. Evan had gotten out of the pool long enough to drag over a wide parasol to shade them both—Valerie didn't mind the sun, but Oliva's skin was so fair that she had to admit that she was a little concerned that the child might burn.

She's also spent a half hour methodically checking Olivia's head to make sure that she really hadn't been hurt though honestly, Valerie wasn't sure that Olivia had bumped herself, it had all happened so fast. One moment, she'd been happily splashing with her hands, and the next, she'd been frightened by her brother's boisterous outburst at the other end of the pool. Valerie's own scream hadn't been as much because of the loss of the bikini top as it had been because of the overwhelming worry that Olivia had been injured, and once she'd calmed down in the cabana, she'd been able to put things into perspective. It wasn't like a big deal, now was it? After all, Evan had seen her breasts before, considering Madison had used those pictures of the two of them as leverage to get him to agree to accept Valerie's terms, to start with, and even then, he'd seen more than his fair share of breasts over the years, hadn't he? So what was one more set of them, anyway? Nothing, right?

' _Right_.'

Blinking as the reverie abruptly ended, Valerie glanced down at the child and frowned. A strange sound—almost like a purr but a little softer—seemed to be issuing from her. Thick, dark eyelashes fanning over her pinked cheeks, she was sleeping, and yet . . .

Staring at Olivia for another long second, Valerie shook her head. She supposed that she hadn't realized that children that young could snore, but she supposed that it wasn't unheard of. Purring? Valerie smiled. Now that was a silly, idea, wasn't it?

"You ready, Bailey?" Evan asked, holding a bright orange Nerf football over his head.

Bailey nodded and hopped up and down. The two had moved into the shallow end of the pool for the duration of their game, and Valerie noticed with a guilty sort of grimace that the boy's skin was a lot browner than it had been when they'd come outside. Luckily, though, he didn't look like he'd burned at all, which was good, all things considered. She ought to have asked Evan if he had any sunscreen for the children, but she hadn't thought of it earlier . . .

"Daddy!" Bailey suddenly hollered, veering around and climbing out of the pool faster than Valerie might have thought possible. She frowned and glanced around since she certainly hadn't seen or heard anything. The door was closed, too, but she didn't have time to question it when it slid open a moment later, and Bas Zelig stepped outside. "Daddy! Daddy!" Bailey exclaimed, running around his father and somehow managing to shimmy up his back.

Bas made a face, likely because the boy was sopping-wet, but he laughed. "Hey, buddy. Were you good?"

"Yeah," Bailey insisted, locking his arms around his father's throat. Bas grimaced and shoved his hands under his son's arms to loosen his death-grip.

"Back so soon, Bubby?" Evan asked, cocking an eyebrow as he dug a couple towels out of the cabinet nearby. "Here."

Bas caught the towel that Evan tossed at him and whipped it over his shoulder at Bailey. "Their mama missed them," he explained.

Valerie carefully shifted Olivia and got to her feet. The girl rubbed her eyes, taking a moment to acclimate herself to being awake again. Olivia spotted her father quickly enough, though, and the smile that surfaced on her little face was so brilliant that Valerie almost laughed.

"Well, hey, little girl," Bas greeted, holding out his hands and taking his daughter with the utmost of care.

She giggled when he kissed her cheek and wrapped his very large arms around her very tiny body. Clapping her hands on both of his cheeks, she held his face still as she leaned in and planted a baby-soft kiss on her father's lips.

And, well, it was possibly the cutest thing Valerie had ever seen, to be honest. Who would have thought that a huge man like Bas—and he _was_ huge—maybe bigger than 'huge'—would be so tender with his petite daughter? She couldn't help but watch the two of them, completely and utterly enchanted.

"There's my baby!"

Valerie blinked and glanced at the woman she hadn't even noticed slip up beside Bas, and it only took one quick look to ascertain exactly where Olivia had gotten her looks. The woman was stunning, absolutely gorgeous . . . Vibrant red hair with wild golden highlights . . . pale skin touched with a hint of healthy glow . . . bright green eyes that were so brilliant that they looked like jewels . . .

Valerie's eyes widened as a sense of déjà vu crept up her spine. She'd seen that woman before, hadn't she . . .?

" _Because she's my dream girl—or at least, she was_ . . ."

A vicious twinge shot through her guts, but she didn't have time to rightfully process that when the woman flicked her gaze—now icy and decidedly unfriendly—on Valerie. "And who is this?" she demanded without preamble.

Valerie bristled and tried not to retaliate in kind. "I'm Valerie Denning," she supplied. "Evan—Zel's—attorney."

"Hmm, well, that's nice," the woman went on with a flick of her wrist. "Do attorneys normally ogle other women's husbands?"

"Kitty . . ." Bas muttered under his breath.

The woman waved a hand to hush her husband, tapping her foot impatiently without taking her eyes off Valerie.

Valerie blinked and shook her head. "I wasn't ogling your husband," she pointed out, unable to keep the hint of stiffness out of her tone at the obvious challenge. "I simply found it hard to believe that someone so tiny had come from someone so huge," she explained in a tone designed to let the woman know exactly what she thought of a man Bas' size. Good God, he was big enough to break someone in half, if he weren't careful, and that was just not something that Valerie found attractive. Cute in a butterscotch Viking sort of way, sure, but . . .

Bas heaved a sigh and slipped an arm around the woman's waist as though to restrain her. Beside her, Valerie felt Evan step up beside her, slightly ahead of her, actually, as though he meant to step between the women if he had to. She didn't bother to look at him.

Suddenly, though, the woman laughed, the prior unfriendliness melting away as quickly as it had come. "I like you," she decided as she reached for her daughter. "I'm Sydnie."

Valerie shook her head, unable to grasp the lightning fast mood swing. "Nice to meet you," she demurred.

"Were my angels good?" Sydnie asked.

Bas let out a deep breath, looking just as baffled by Sydnie's abrupt change of mood as Valerie was. Evan chuckled. "Absolutely," he assured his sister-in-law.

"So what did you do all day, Bailey?" Bas asked, craning his neck to look over his shoulder.

Bailey dropped to the ground and ran over to retrieve his football. "I saw boobies," he replied simply.

Bas' head swung around to pin Evan with a completely menacing scowl. "Saw what?" he demanded in a deadly quiet voice.

"It was an accident," Evan explained, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"You don't know the meaning of the word 'accident', Evan."

Evan backed up a step. "I swear; I swear!" he protested.

Sydnie heaved a sigh and stepped over to Valerie, slipping an arm through hers to drag her back toward the house. "Forget those two—they're not happy unless they're fighting, anyway. Let's go inside and chat, shall we?"

"What?" Valerie asked, sparing a glance over her shoulder in time to see Bas' arm shoot out in much the same way it had yesterday. Again he caught Evan in the center of his chest and sent the man flying back into the pool. She grimaced as Evan came up laughing. The man was an idiot, wasn't he?

No sooner did he make it out of the pool than Bas shoved him right back in again.

Valerie heaved a sigh and shook her head. ' _Yep . . . a complete idiot_ . . .'

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _I'm_** **_Yours_** ' _by Jason Mraz_ _first_ _appeared on his_ _2008_ _release,_ **_We_** **_Sing,_** **_We_** **_Dance,_** **_We_** **_Steal_** **_Things_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to Jason Mraz_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _The_ _girl_ _of_ _his_ _dreams,_ _huh_ …


	41. 040: Dawn

' _My best friend gave me the best advice …_  
He said each day's a gift and not a given right …  
Leave no stone unturned, leave your fears behind …  
And try to take the path less traveled by …  
That first step you take is the longest stride …'

 

-' _If Today Was Your Last Day'_ by Nickelback.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie cracked an eye open and pressed her lips together to keep from giggling out loud in the silence of the grayish-lit room. Evan looked serious enough, sure, and she figured that he probably was. Still, seeing him that way was a little disconcerting, at best. At worst?

"Ah-oom," she hummed in a really bad affectation of spiritual chanting, unable to help herself but without moving out of Lotus position, "ah-oom . . ."

Evan didn't even flinch.

It was a little too much for Valerie as the first giggle escaped her. ' _Zel Roka? Meditating? That's just_ too _good_ . . . _I mean, there's nothing at all 'rock' about that_ . . .'

"Focus, woman," he whispered, giving no other indication that he'd heard her otherwise.

For some reason, that only made her giggle harder: so much, in fact, that her cheeks puffed in and out as she struggled to contain her amusement.

Actually, she wasn't sure why she found it so funny now. God only knew that she certainly hadn't this morning when the devil-ridden miscreant had showed up in her bedroom at the unearthly hour of five a.m.—he had, of course, crawled in through the bedroom window that she hadn't bothered to completely close—to coerce her into jogging with him.

" _I thought rock stars were supposed to be night creatures," she fumed as she stomped out of her bedroom and down the hallway toward the bathroom with her running clothes in hand. Why was it easier to go along with Evan's insanity than it was to argue with him? She sighed. Somehow, it just was . . ._

" _I'm a twenty-four-seven sideshow freak," he told her rather happily_.

 _Valerie sighed and rolled her eyes as she smashed her hand over his face and shoved him out of the bathroom to keep him from following her. "No. No," she scolded in much the same fashion as one might use when chastising a dog. "Sit. Stay_."

 _He chuckled, winking at her as she'd closed the door_ . . .

As much as she hated to admit it, she did feel pretty good. The morning's exertions had left her feeling energized, marvelously so, and maybe it was the residual restlessness that was goading her current bad behavior. "Ah-oom . . ."

Still nothing.

' _Damn_ . . .'

Okay, so she did feel _slightly_ guilty for interrupting his meditations—or she would if she really thought that he was being serious about the whole affair. Zel Roka, the spiritualist? Not in a million years . . .

Then again, Evan Zelig? Maybe . . .

So, true, she probably ought to feel worse about picking on him while he was trying to concentrate. She didn't, though she wasn't entirely sure why. He was showing remarkable resilience against retaliation, but that didn't mean that he would for long . . .

Besides, he'd spent the last two hours driving _her_ crazy—how the man could possibly jog backward was entirely beyond her, and if he'd made one more comment about how much bounce there was in her breasts as she ran, she'd probably have murdered him on the spot. He could deal with a few minutes of her heckling, couldn't he?

' _Oh, no, you wouldn't have killed him. As indecent as he can be, you know you like the fact that he does actually appreciate the body you work to maintain_ ,' her conscience pointed out in a completely accusatory tone.

She snorted inwardly. ' _That's stupid_ ,' she scoffed. ' _As if I'd really appreciate that kind of degradation._ '

Of course she didn't. That really would be stupid—crazy, even—and she certainly wasn't stupid _or_ crazy. True, she did work hard to keep her body toned, but that was for her benefit, not for anyone else's . . . Sure, it was nice to know that someone appreciated her efforts, but she absolutely hadn't been fishing for Evan's backhanded compliments, and she'd really have to be out of her mind to think that he was being serious, anyway. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He might well be serious, but . . .

"Ah-oom," Valerie tried again.

Evan heaved a sigh and opened his eyes as he leaned back on his hands and pinned her with a very tolerant sort of look. "All right," he said, obviously giving up on the task at hand. "I take it you don't like meditating."

The very smallest twinge of guilt assailed her—not a big one, but it was noticeable. She ignored it. "You're the one who dragged me out of bed at five this morning. Now I'm hungry. I can't meditate when I'm hungry."

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes—such a rich, deep blue—a _pure_ blue—sparkling in a mellow sort of way. "You want me to cook for you, V?"

She thought about that. "Nothing fatty, Roka," she warned. "Do you have a grapefruit or something?"

He made a face. "If I'm gonna cook, I'm gonna _cook_ ," he told her. "How about a poached egg?"

She wrinkled her nose. "If you don't have grapefruit, I'll just go home . . ."

"That's not a proper breakfast," he pointed out reasonably as he hopped up and held out a hand to help her to her feet. She ignored it and pushed herself up, much to his amusement. "If you don't have a good breakfast, you'll peter out by noon."

"I've yet to 'peter'," she pointed out coolly moments before her belly rumbled in protest. "See?"

"Come on, Godzilla. Let's see what we can do about that before you start rampaging Odo Island," Evan laughed and shook his head, grabbing her hand and dragging her out of the room.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"You could hang with me," Evan remarked, pushing his plate back on the table and trying to be subtle as he watched Valerie pick a fluffy buttermilk biscuit apart and nibble at it.

"Oh? What's on the agenda today?"

Evan shrugged. "Supposed to stop by and sign some shit for Wicked Soundsations and drop off my acknowledgements for the insert, probably have an argument with Ramón—that kind of bullshit."

She shifted her gaze to the side, but didn't change expression as she dipped a hunk of biscuit into the paltry bit of butter on her plate that she'd allowed herself this morning. "What's his story, anyway? I mean, why does he hate you so much?"

Evan blinked and tried not to grin since he figured that Valerie wasn't going to be too impressed if he told her the true story. "Ramón?" he hedged.

She nodded as she popped the biscuit into her mouth. "Yes."

"Eh . . . He walked into the john while his girlfriend was sucking my dick," he admitted. Her eyebrows drew together as her gaze narrowed dangerously. Evan held up his hands. "I didn't _know_ she was his girlfriend," he hurried on to say. "Seriously . . . not like I asked her if she was seeing someone first, right?"

Valerie snorted and shook her head. "So, what? She just came up to you and asked if you wanted a blowjob?" she scoffed.

"Naw . . . more like she just kind of walked up to me, shot me this grin, you know? The, 'Gee, you're hot; why don't we fuck?' sorta look. Then she grabbed my boys, pulled me into the john, and went down on me like a goddamn submarine. I was shooting my squirt when ol' Ramón walked in. Been trying to get rid of me ever since."

Valerie heaved a sigh, dropping the rest of her food onto the plate in favor of rubbing her temple with both hands. "I don't know if I should be more disgusted that you'd let her or that she'd be whore enough to do that, in the first place," she admitted.

Evan almost grinned. Too bad he could kind of see Valerie's point. "It was just a blowjob, V," he said instead.

The look she shot him could have smitten him on the spot. "Is that really what you think, Evan? Just a blowjob? Just a good fuck? It's all relative in your head, isn't it? Is that what you mean?"

"No," he said slowly, shaking his head. "V . . . what I meant was that something like that? It's not like I gave two shits about her, right? And she didn't give two shits about me, either. She thought I was hot, and she wanted a piece of me. That's it. I can't be held responsible for everyone's consciences. If I'd been with someone—seriously with someone—I would've stopped her. Simple."

Valerie didn't look like she thought it was nearly as simple as Evan claimed. Of course she didn't. How could she when she really didn't know—didn't understand—the things about him: those things that he wanted to tell her but knew damn well that he just couldn't, at least, not yet. "Simple," she repeated, irony thick in her tone. Irony and maybe a little sadness, too . . . She snapped her fingers. "Just like that."

He nodded slowly. "Just like that," he agreed, despising his answer but unable to say more.

After considering that for a few moments, she suddenly pushed away from the table and got to her feet. "Well, as much _fun_ as it was to hang out with you, I've got to go to the office. Be good, will you?"

He grimaced inwardly at the tight little smile that was entirely too thin on her features. Perfunctory, at best and just a little horrifying, too . . . "Yeah, sure," he allowed, mostly to pacify her.

She nodded and hurried out of the house. Her departure moments later was punctuated by the click of the door and the inevitable sense of emptiness that always seemed to accompany her exit.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"' _There's a feeling I get . . . when I look to the west . . . and my spirit is crying for leaving . . . In my thoughts I have seen . . . rings of smoke through the trees . . . and the voices of those who stand looking_ . . .'"

Pushing open the bathroom door after the hour-long shower he'd gotten into after arriving home shortly after the laughable meeting at Wicked Soundsations, Evan blinked when he came face to face with Dieter, who was sitting on the end of the bed, tapping his foot and looking entirely discomfited. "Hey, Deet," he greeted.

Dieter jerked slightly, as though Evan had startled him. Entirely likely since the man had an interesting habit of zoning out anything and everything when he was really deep in thought. "Fucker! Where the hell have you been?"

Evan grinned since his hair was dripping down his back, and he was still completely naked. "Shower," he replied, knowing damn well that Dieter wasn't likely to figure it out on his own. He wasn't stupid by any means, but he was a little absent minded . . . "So what's up?"

Shooting off the bed, Dieter dug his hands into his hair in a decidedly nervous sort of way—something that Evan hadn't seen him do since he'd gotten himself off smack. "Dude . . . I had the weirdest thing happen . . ."

That wasn't entirely surprising. Dieter had a way of constantly being caught in the center of the 'weirdest' shit . . . "Oh?"

Nodding rather vigorously, Dieter stalked across the floor and back again. "You know how I told you that I had that idea for the sculpture the other day?"

"Uh, the cats fucking?"

Dieter nodded again. "Yeah, that one . . ."

Evan opened the closet doors and stepped inside. "Yep, I remember that."

"Well, I started that one, you know? Got right into it, right? And it was all good till I figured out that the lump I'd welded on was off a little. So I got out the hacksaw, but that wasn't doing it. Then I got out Bessie."

With a chuckle, Evan tugged on a ripped and frayed pair of Levi's. Dieter named his favorite power tools. Bessie was the Stihl chainsaw. "Bessie, eh?"

"Yeah . . . Miss said that someone was gonna complain, but hell! I was in the . . . the _groove_ , y'know?"

Evan shook his head, knowing well enough that Dieter's neighbors really weren't the kind to complain. He lived between two really old women who were a little hard of hearing and a lot fond of Daniel, though he couldn't say the same for their feelings regarding Dieter. In fact, Evan figured that the one woman—Dieter normally referred to her as 'Dog-Lady'—probably hated the artist's guts since he'd witnessed, the royal cussing-out of said Dog-Lady in one of Dieter's more inspired moments. "What time was it?" he had to ask.

Dieter blinked and shrugged off handedly, patting his pockets for a pack of smokes. "Oh, uh, maybe four?"

"In the morning?"

Dieter nodded then scratched the side of his head, looking a little confused. "Yeah, I think so . . . I mean, it was dark outside . . ."

Evan rolled his eyes. Well, that made sense then. His neighbors might be nice enough, but chainsaws at four a.m.? Yeah, he could see the potential trouble there . . . "Complained, did she?"

"Who? Miss?" Dieter asked, finally locating a rumpled pack of Camels and running one through his fingers to straighten it out.

"No, your neighbor."

"Cat-Lady didn't. Hell, she can't get her fucking walker through the front door without help, but Dog-Lady did. Came banging on the door, hollering that she was gonna sic Barkley on my balls—and that's a really stupid name for a dog, isn't it?"

Evan nodded, deciding to forego the shirt, at least for the moment.

Pausing long enough to strike a match to light his cigarette, Dieter shook out the match as he exhaled a long draft of smoke. "Anyway, there she is, screaming in my face, pointing at my damn nuts when she finally realizes that I still had Bessie in my hands, so she starts clutching at her chest, yelling her fool head off that I was threatening to kill her . . . a-and she was all swelled up, y'know? Like, _huge_ . . . _ugh!_ " He affected a full body shudder as he wrapped one arm up over his shoulder as though to buffer himself from the memory while he dragged on the cigarette again.

"Hasn't she always been a little plump?" Evan pointed out.

Dieter snorted. "What the hell ever, fucker. She was _huge!_ "

"Well, that's not so weird," Evan surmised. "You weren't threatening her, were you?"

"Not her, no . . . but I think I might have told her that if she sic-ed Barkley on my balls, I'd introduce him to Bessie . . ." The puzzled look dissipated fast as he waved his hands and gave a curt shake of his head. "She went home, though. Thought she was gonna call the fuzz, but she didn't . . ."

Evan tried not to chuckle. He really did. After all, Dieter looked entirely serious at the moment . . . "So was that the weird thing? I mean, you arguing with Dog Lady isn't exactly breaking news."

Dieter shook his head stubbornly and paused in his pacing long enough to pin Evan with a completely chagrined sort of look. "What? No . . . No, the weird thing came later . . . this morning . . ."

Crooking his fingers as he headed out the door, Evan led Dieter down the hallway and stairs and into the living room. "Okay, I'm game. What happened?"

"Well, Daniel came in—Miss and I were in the bedroom—I was tryin' to get me some, and she kept saying that Daniel was up—and he said that something smelled bad. I tried to get him to shut up since, y'know, Miss was cooking dinner, and it did smell pretty awful, but he kept saying it. So I followed him to the living room where he'd been watching _Captain Mega Cool_ on TV—I _hate_ that show, dude. I mean, I really hate it, y'know?"

Evan nodded since it wasn't the first time that Evan had heard that particular complaint.

Dieter snapped the seal on a bottle of water and drained half of it before he continued with his story. "So I'm standing there, and I figure that I'll try to get him to stop watching that shit, right? But then, I smell it, too . . . and it was really rank. I mean, I don't think that it was strong enough for Miss to smell, but Daniel and me . . ." Dieter trailed off and rubbed his nose vigorously, as though he could still smell whatever it was that had offended him earlier. "Then I heard a bunch of thumping around, right? So I go out in the hallway, and Dog Lady's door's standing wide open, right? And there's a bunch of people goin' in and outta there—cops and shit, just like on TV. The stink was worse, too, and one of the cops tells me that I gotta go away because they're waiting for the coroner to check the scene. I mean, she just dropped dead, y'know? Just like that!"

Evan blinked then shook his head, supposing that it wasn't nearly as surprising as it could have been. The old lady was pretty old, and humans died all the time, didn't they? Still, judging from the freaked out look on Dieter's face, it was probably one of the first times that he'd ever been that close to something of that nature. Eyes bulging slightly with a decidedly wild sort of glint lighting them, he looked completely wired, almost strung out— _almost_. "She died?"

Dieter nodded. "Yeah! Hell, you know? I just saw her, like, two days before that when she was threatening my balls, right? And there she was, dead! They had her in one of those black vinyl body bags—dude, I didn't know they really had those—on this, uh, gurney-thing—you know, right there! A real, live _dead_ person!"

It dawned on Evan that the wired expression on Dieter's face was due more to genuine excitement than fear, and he shook his head. It just figured, didn't it? Dieter had a propensity toward the macabre, so he probably had enjoyed the entire affair . . .

"So, y'know, I wanted to see her, right? Her body? But when I tried to unzip the bag—I mean, the gurney was right there beside the doorway—this fat old cop-bitch sorta slapped my hands and told me to go the fuck away. Hell, I just wanted to _see_ it . . ."

"Now, Deet, I don't think that it's a good idea to go around, peeking in body bags," Evan pointed out calmly.

Dieter snorted. "Yeah, but she was just there, right? Beating on my door with that fuckin' cane of hers, telling me to knock off my shit . . ." He trailed off as his thoughtful frown deepened. "You know, though, she stank—I mean, really, _really_ stank come to think of it . . . like _death_ . . ."

"You're disparaging the dead," Evan pointed out.

Dieter's eyes bulged a little more as he swung around to stare at Evan. "Du-u-ude . . . what if she was already dead when she came to bitch me out?"

"Come again?" Evan said.

Dieter waved the empty water bottle to shut him up. "Maybe she's a zombie . . ."

Evan pressed his lips together in a thin line, struggling valiantly to keep from laughing outright. "That wasn't 'death'. It was gingivitis," Evan quipped.

Letting out a deep breath, Dieter flopped onto the sofa and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. "That body bag was wicked," he went on with a shrug. "I totally wanna do a painting of . . . of you in a body bag! Like, _The Death of a Rock Star, Part II!_ "

Evan couldn't help but grin at that idea. There was something entirely morbid and yet wholly inviting about the notion, after all . . . and it would bug the holy hell out of one particular attorney, he was sure, and that was always worth something . . . "I'm up for that," he allowed.

Dieter grinned, but just as quickly as the expression surfaced, it dulled then dissipated, leaving behind an unsettling confusion. "You think she did everything she wanted to do? Dog Lady, I mean?" he asked at length.

"What do you mean?   Like, did she die without regrets?" Evan asked.

Dieter nodded. "Yeah. I mean, hell, if I was gonna kick it tomorrow, I'd sure as hell wanna do a few things first, right?"

"Like what?"

Dieter thought that over. "Aw, I dunno, something big . . . something to let Miss and Daniel know that I loved them, right? Like . . . like buying Daniel the world's biggest fucking trampoline . . . I mean, Miss would let him keep it, y'know? Because it'd be my last present for him . . ." He leaned forward and scratched his head thoughtfully. "Then again, I'd probably have to get a bigger place. I don't think the loft's big enough for the world's biggest trampoline . . ."

"You could always buy Dog Lady's apartment and knock down the wall," Evan suggested, only half-joking.

Dieter grinned. "I _could_ do that," he agreed. "I got money, right? And then I could off Cat Lady on the other side and have a fuckin' top-floor mansion!"

"Yeah, but if you offed Cat Lady, you'd get jailed for murder. I'm pretty sure that it'd be grounds to revoke your parole."

Dieter sighed. "Yeah. Suppose I could just wait for her to keel over on her own. Maybe if I threatened to toss one of her damn cats off the roof, she'd have a coronary . . ."

Evan waved a hand since he figured he'd do well to get Dieter off that train of thought before he tried it out. Dieter was like that . . . "So what would you do for Miss?" he asked instead as he reached for the bottle of beer he'd left on the table before his shower. It was warm, but he didn't care, and he downed the contents in one large glug.

"For Miss?" He scratched his chin. "I'd get her the biggest fucking rock, ever. You know? I never got her an engagement ring, not after she hurled that one into the Hudson Bay . . ."

"Then you should do that," Evan allowed, heading toward the kitchen to dump the bottle in the recycling bin.

"Sure . . . but if something happened to me, you'd watch out for them, wouldn't you? Miss and Daniel?"

The conversation was turning a little too serious, as far as Evan was concerned. He didn't mind having that kind of debate, maybe, but it was far too early in the day for something that deep . . . "Of course," he allowed with an offhanded shrug, hoping that his answer would be enough to pacify Dieter enough to change the subject.

It seemed to do the trick, and for that, Evan was quite relieved. "Yeah . . . Hey, you're not busy, right? Come with me, and I'll get her a new one now."

"Her what? A new ring for Miss?"

Dieter nodded enthusiastically. "Uh huh. Like, the biggest one in all of New Yuck City!"

Evan considered that then shrugged as he reached for a somewhat clean looking t-shirt draped over the back of a chair. "All right," he agreed slowly, figuring that it shouldn't take too long to do that, and maybe afterward, they'd find something else to do. "I'm kinda bored, anyway . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _If_** **_Today_** **_Was_** **_Your_** **_Last_** **_Day_** ' _by Nickelback first appeared on their 2008 release,_ **_Dark_** **_Horse_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to Chad Kroeger, Mike Kroeger, Ryan Peake, and Daniel Adair_.
> 
> ' ** _Stairway to Heaven_** ' _by Led_ _Zeppelin first appeared on their 1971 release,_ **_Led_** **_Zeppelin_** **_IV_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Jimmy_ _Page_ _and_ _Robert_ _Plant_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Dieter_** :  
> … _Zombies are cool_ …


	42. 041: Reckoning

' _Bartender, I really did it this time_  
 _Broke my parole to have a good time_ …'

 

-' _The Bartender Song'_ by Rehab.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"I don't know if she's gonna go for this . . ."

Evan glanced over at Dieter and slowly shook his head. "Aww, it'll be fine," he insisted. "Oh, it's ringing."

He only hoped that she'd answer this time. It was the second attempt in ten minutes, and the fuzz was starting to look a little peeved. Of course, he didn't really blame them. If he were one of them, he'd probably see it as some sort of special treatment for the rock star, too . . .

"H-Hello?" Valerie drawled, sounding as though he had just woke her up.

"Hey, baby," he greeted brightly. "How's it going?"

She uttered a sound suspiciously close to a whine. "If you called me to ask me that, I'll kill you, Roka," she warned.

"No, no . . . actually, I was wondering, uh, you know . . . Umm . . . What are you doing?"

It took a moment for her to answer, and Evan figured that she was probably looking at the clock and wondering if he'd lost his damn mind. "I'm sleeping, fool," she informed him tightly. "It's almost two a.m.!"

Evan grimaced and thanked God that she actually couldn't see his face at the moment. "So you're saying you're not ready to go out anywhere?"

She counted to ten before she answered. Maybe it was to twenty-five. "No, Evan, I'm not," she finally said in a carefully controlled, entirely flat tone.

"Oh, well, damn . . ."

"Is she mad? I hope she isn't mad," Dieter whispered loudly. "She's kind of scary when she's mad."

Evan waved a hand to shut Dieter up as the guard near the door narrowed his eyes and glanced rather pointedly at the clock mounted to the wall. "You wouldn't happen to feel like taking a trip, would you?" he asked instead.

Valerie sighed. "No, I don't feel like—oh, God . . . Evan, why does my caller ID say 'NYPD Ninth Precinct'?"

He chuckled. "Oh, yeah, that's where I am presently," he informed her. "New Yuck's finest, on the job, as always. Why don't you give a nice shout-out to the boys in blue?"

"What the hell did you do, Roka?" she demanded, all traces of sleep miraculously vanishing from her voice as it quickly ascended to octaves that only dogs could comfortably hear.

Holding the phone away from his head for a moment, he tried unsuccessfully not to grin. "It's not my fault," he said in an entirely rational tone of voice. "I was _bored_ . . ."

She snorted. "I'll come get you if I can beat the snot out of you when I get there," she growled.

Evan's grin turned wicked. "I'll let you beat whatever you want outta me any time you'd like, baby."

"I'm so not your baby, damn it," she muttered.

"Hey, can you ask her to call Miss and tell her I'm gonna be a little late?" Dieter piped up.

Valerie sighed. "Tell me you didn't drag Dieter into your misadventures," she nearly whined.

"Okay," Evan agreed easily enough. "I won't tell you that."

"Evan—"

"But I didn't. In fact, if you want the real story, it was actually Dieter's idea."

"Fucker! She already hates you! I don't want her to hate me, too!" Dieter grumbled.

"Shut up, Deet! 'Sides, she don't hate me. One day, she's going to marry me," Evan shot back.

"I _do_ hate you, and I'm _not_ marrying you," Valerie blasted.

Evan chuckled. "So you'll come down here and spring me from the big house?"

Valerie heaved yet another sigh, and Evan had the distinct feeling that she was rubbing her forehead—or looking for a gun. Both worked. "Yeah, fine," she muttered under her breath. "I ought to let you rot in there . . ."

The line went dead, and Evan dropped the receiver into the cradle before slouching back in his chair with an entirely self-serving smirk on his face.

"Is she coming?" Dieter finally asked.

Evan nodded. "Yeah . . ."

Only then did Dieter grin, too.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Valerie strode into the interrogation room on the heels of one of the officers—Evan thought his name was Connelly, but he wasn't sure—looking entirely unimpressed and damn good, considering she'd just rolled out of bed. Record time, or so he figured. It had only taken her about twenty minutes to make the ten-block trip from her apartment to the station house, and that had to be worth something in Thursday night traffic . . .

Dropping her attaché case on the table, she nodded coolly at the officer. "I'd like a minute to speak to my clients," she said, her brusque, businesslike demeanor firmly in place.

The officer nodded and turned to retreat to the other side of the room, where he dismissed the guard standing there and assumed the position.

Valerie pursed her lips, regarding Evan with a completely bland sort of expression. "All right. Tell me what you two were doing and why," she said.

Evan leaned on the table, crossing his arms on the pockmarked, grimy white surface. "We weren't doing anything wrong," he maintained in an entirely placating sort of way.

"Y-Yeah!" Dieter added for good measure. "Well, the first time, we probably were, but then, it wasn't like there was anyone there to ask . . ."

Evan glanced at Dieter and shook his head curtly. "The first time?" Valerie repeated blankly, not understanding what Dieter was trying to say. "What does that mean?"

"What he means is that we only broke in there to borrow something, and we were in the process of returning it when the rent-a-cop busted us."

Valerie shook her head. "Rent-a-cop? You mean a security guard? What were you trying to break in to?"

"The morgue," Evan replied.

Valerie's expression froze. It wasn't that she looked surprised or even impressed. Nothing, actually. It was more of a shocked blank look that lingered for a full minute. "You . . . broke into the morgue?"

"It was _cool!_ " Dieter suddenly spoke up, his gaze lighting up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. "All these cabinets and shit with bodies in them . . . And there was a table in the middle of it with, like tools, you know? Scalpels and this saw-thing—like a hacksaw only all stainless steel . . ."

"Deet, you're not helping," Evan whispered.

Dieter shook his head and glanced at Valerie, but he must have decided that he wasn't really helping their cause, because he clamped his mouth closed and sat back quickly.

Valerie closed her eyes and drew a deep, even breath. "You two . . . broke into . . . the city morgue . . . to borrow, what? A dead body?" she hissed.

Dieter's eyes flashed open wide. " _Du-u-u-due!_ I never thought of that!"

Evan grimaced inwardly. "No, V, we didn't do anything to the bodies," he insisted.

"Well. . . ." Dieter drawled. Evan smacked him with the back of a hand in the center of his chest.

"Why in the world would you break into the morgue?" she blasted, slapping her hands down on the table and leaning forward incredulously. " _Twice?_ "

Evan cleared his throat and tried his level best, not to laugh outright, lest Valerie should take offense and decide that he needed to die right then and there. "See, Deet wanted to borrow a body bag—"

Now Valerie looked surprised, blinking as she flicked her gaze from Evan to Dieter and then back again. "A body bag?" she echoed.

Evan nodded. "Well, he wanted to take some pictures of me in the bag for reference. _Death of a Rock Star: Part II_."

She snapped her mouth closed as indignant color washed into her cheeks. "Dear God, you two are idiots," she muttered, slowly shaking her head.

"And we were taking the bag back—I even folded it up neatly," Evan went on.

The cop near the door coughed indelicately. "He did," he said in Evan's defense.

Valerie shot them all a smiting glance. "Of all the stupid things . . ." she grumbled, more to herself than to either of them.

"Counselor, they're going to be charged with breaking and entering," the cop said. "We can drop the theft charge, you know, since they brought the body bag back and nothing else is missing—and, uh, Mr. Reichardt's in danger of having his parole revoked if he's charged with anything."

Valerie shook her head and sighed. "They're stupid, sure," she began as she rose to her feet, "but they didn't really do anything else, right? Can't we just . . . call them idiots and let them go this once? I promise that they'll go straight home and that they won't do this again."

Evan grimaced again since Valerie didn't look entirely positive.

The cop looked thoughtful. "Well, we haven't filed formal charges as yet," he said slowly then shot Evan a somewhat sheepish grin. "You know, I'm a huge fan, Mr. Roka."

"Yeah? Tight," Evan remarked.

Valerie looked like she was about two steps away from calling them all morons. Suddenly, though, she veered to the side and leaned across the table. "Bribe him," she hissed, jerking her head in the direction of the police officer.

Evan's eyes widened. "What?"

Valerie's gaze narrowed. "You heard me, Roka. Give him something so he'll let you go."

"Like what?" Evan pressed.

"I don't know, and I don't _care_ ," Valerie hissed back.

Evan almost laughed—almost. If she didn't look like she was ready to remove his spleen with a rusty spoon and eat it, he might have. "Hey, uh . . .?"

The cop blinked and looked a little star-struck. "Me? I'm Travis," he said. "Travis Connelly."

Evan grinned. "You wanna come to one of my shows, Travis?" he offered.

Travis grinned and started to nod then seemed to think better of it. "I could just buy tickets," he surmised.

"Yeah, but I could get you good ones," Evan added. "Front row—and backstage passes," he tossed in when Valerie rolled her hand to get him to keep going.

Travis brightened considerably. "Yeah? Backstage passes, too?"

"Sure," Evan said with a shrug. "How many do you need?"

"Uh . . . five would be good," he decided.

Evan shot Valerie a look. She seemed to understand what he was wanting, and she dug a pad of paper out of her attaché case. "Travis Connelly," she wrote down. "Five front row tickets and backstage passes . . ."

"Make it ten, V," Evan said. "And make sure that they get laminates so that they don't get the runaround from security."

Valerie nodded and scribbled onto the tablet a little more.

"Ten? Really? Sweet . . ." Travis looked entirely pleased with himself. "Just make sure you don't break into any other morgues tonight, okay?" he pressed, trying to look stern but failing miserably.

"Absolutely," Evan agreed as he got to his feet and shook the man's hand.

"Uh, hey, can I get my camera back?" Dieter asked as he stood up, too.

Travis laughed and nodded. "I'll get it for you, sure."

Valerie refused to talk to either of them as they followed the officer out of the room and through the maze of desks. Tapping her foot as she waited impatiently while Travis retrieved Dieter's camera, she nodded once before turning on her heel and stomping out of the building without stopping to see whether or not Evan and Dieter were following her.

"Dude, I think she's pissed," Dieter whispered as they trailed behind Valerie.

Evan couldn't help but grin as he watched the methodic sway of her hips and ass as she moved. "V? Probably, but more at me than she is at you, I think."

"Oh, no," Valerie said when Evan strode around the car to get into the passenger side front seat. "You get in the back with him. I'm so mad at you; I could kill you, myself."

Evan shot her a completely unrepentant grin and got into the back seat of the car.

"I thought we were done for," Dieter commented, relief obvious in his tone as he slid into the car and slammed the door closed.

Valerie glanced into the rear view mirror as she revved the engine and pulled onto the street. "Where was Bone? Why didn't he stop you from doing that?"

Evan chuckled and shrugged. "He had the night off."

"Now why doesn't that surprise me?" she muttered, more to herself than to either of them.

"Well, he does have to have some time to himself," Evan rationalized. "Besides, Bone would have thought that it was pretty funny."

Valerie let out a deep breath and shook her head since he was probably right. All of Evan's friends were twisted in one way or another . . . "I can't believe the two of you!" she fumed. "You broke into a morgue? To steal a body bag?"

"We didn't _steal_ it," Evan reminded her. "We _borrowed_ it so Deet could get some pictures of me in the bag for reference."

She snorted. "You didn't need to do that," she scoffed. "I'd have been more than happy to make sure you were put in one, Roka."

Evan grinned. "I love you, baby," he quipped.

"Shut up," she snarled.

"It's not like we did anything else," he pointed out reasonably. "I mean, hell . . . We could have played with the bodies or something—"

"Well, there _was_ Christy and Mel," Dieter muttered.

"—And the mortician wasn't there, so we couldn't ask," Evan went on.

Valerie snorted. "Be that as it may, Evan, the point is, you had no business being in there, in the first place, body bag or no body bag! And who the hell wants a picture of you in a body bag, anyway?"

"But Christy didn't look like a Christy, and Mel didn't really look like a Mel . . ."

"C'mon, V! _Death of a Rock Star: Part II?_ That's awesome," Evan argued.

"I mean, they could've made a mistake, right? Happens all the time . . ."

Valerie glanced in the rearview mirror again and suddenly whipped her head around to stare at Dieter, who was still mumbling under his breath. "What?" she demanded.

"V . . ." Evan remarked.

"Not _now_ , Roka," she growled.

"But you're going off the road, baby," he said.

With a sharply muttered curse, Valerie looked up in time to yank the car off the side of the road and slam it into 'park' before whipping around once more to pin Dieter with a most formidable glower. "Now what were you saying?" she pressed.

Dieter scratched his head nervously and drummed his fingers on the door handle. "Well, I just said that Christy didn't look like a Christy, and Mel didn't look like a Mel, so I fixed it."

Valerie blinked. "You . . . fixed it . . .?" A suspicious glint entered her gaze. "How did you 'fix it', Dieter?"

Dieter shrugged. "I switched their toe tags."

Dead silence greeted Dieter's admission, and for one dizzying second, Evan actually thought that Valerie's head just might explode.

A moment later, though, and with a string of dire invectives, Valerie wrenched the steering wheel and gunned the engine, crossing multiple lanes of traffic as she swung her car around to head back the way they'd come . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Would you _hurry up?_ "

Evan laughed, the idiot. "We are, V, I swear!" he insisted.

Valerie glanced up and down the hallway, praying for the thousandth time that the security guard on duty was still napping at the monitor in the office they'd passed on their way in.

"Uh oh . . ."

Valerie nearly growled at that sound. "Oh, no! No 'uh oh's', Dieter," she hissed.

"C'mon, dude! Just fix it already!" Evan added.

Dieter grimaced. "But Mel-Christy isn't here!"

Valerie could feel the blood draining from her face as she spun around to glower at the men. Standing in front of the wall of cabinets with about four of the doors hanging ajar, Evan looked entirely too amused at the given situation while Dieter just scratched his head and reached for another door. "What do you mean, she's not here?" Valerie demanded. "She _has_ to be here! Corpses do _not_ just get up and walk away, Dieter!"

"They do if they're zombies," Dieter remarked, his expression suddenly brightening. "Maybe Mel-Christy was a—"

"Not _now_ , dude," Evan cut in, casting Valerie a rather suspect look.

Dieter shot Evan an imploring sort of glance, as though he wanted Evan's help. She glowered at Evan, too, just in case the man thought to intervene. He didn't, but he did grin at her.

"She was right here, but now she's gone," Dieter mumbled, absolutely perplexed. "I mean, Christy-Mel's here. See?"

Valerie sighed, staring at the toe tag he held in his hand.

"You sure she was in that one?" Evan asked, nodding at the empty and gaping drawer.

"Yeah! I mean, I think so," Dieter went on.

Valerie smacked her forehead against the cold metal doorjamb a few times.

"Oh! Wait! Here she is!" The joy in Dieter's voice was a very welcome thing, and Valerie could have cried in absolute relief. "Ah! _Shit!_ "

"Hurry up, Deet," Evan prodded. "Slap 'em on the right bodies, and let's go before V freaks out."

"Yeah, but I'm not sure which one is which," Dieter muttered as he picked up the tags he'd dropped on the floor and stared at them.

Valerie refrained from comment, bumping her forehead a few more times.

"Well, you said that one was Mel-Christy," Evan pointed out, gesturing at the first drawer that Dieter had opened.

"Y-Yeah, okay," Dieter agreed.

Valerie glanced into the hallway once more to make sure that they were still all right before turning to cross her arms over her chest and scowl at the men. "Are you about done?"

"Yup . . . wait!" Dieter exclaimed, catching Evan's arm as the latter started to close the first door.

"What?"

"Lemme look at their faces again. They're _really_ wicked," Dieter said.

"Oh, no," Valerie insisted, stomping over to grab their arms and tug. "No more looking! Just close those up, and—Ugh, God, they _stink_ . . ." she said as her stomach gave an unpleasant lurch.

"See? And you said that it was just gingivitis," Dieter commented as he closed the other doors. "Dog Lady really _is_ a fucking zombie . . ."

"There aren't any zombies, Deet," Evan said, valiantly stifling the urge to laugh. "Let's go." Valerie wasn't about to thank him for his discretion as she hurried away from them.

"If she thinks they stink, she should smell you when you fart, fucker," Dieter remarked.

Evan chuckled. Valerie wondered if the guys down at the Ninth would blame her if she showed up again and asked them to throw the idiots into a cell and toss the key down a really deep hole . . .

"Those don't stink," Evan countered happily. Valerie rolled her eyes, wondering if he'd somehow managed to lose a few brain cells in the space of one evening . . .

"The hell they don't!" Dieter argued. "Smells like you shit your pants . . . or died . . ." He suddenly grinned. "Or shit your pants _then_ died . . ."

"Get moving!" Valerie hissed again.

"Damn . . . her eyes are starting to bulge, Deet. C'mon," Evan said.

Dieter blinked and paused long enough to stare at Valerie curiously. "Dude . . . you think her head's gonna spin around like Linda Blair?"

Evan choked out a bark of laughter before he managed to restrain himself. "Stop while you're ahead, Deet," he instructed, propelling Dieter away from the cabinets. Dieter finally complied.

With her luck, they'd get caught before they got outside again, and that would just be fantastic, wouldn't it? Explaining to the police that the idiot kindred twins had apparently thought that it'd be 'fun' to switch dead bodies' toe tags? Yeah, somehow she just didn't think that the police would let them off with just a warning . . .

So she was quite surprised and relieved when they managed to get out of the building without drawing notice, especially when those two morons started a shoving match, complete with fifth grade chortling, as they tried to make their great escape. Valerie was ready to deal them both serious damage, but the security guard, probably figuring that there wouldn't be another break-in tonight, was still sleeping at his post, and that was all right with her, too. She also didn't have the strength to argue with Dieter when he insisted that he'd just walk home, and she had to seriously wonder about his overall mental health, too, when he told them that something about the morgue had totally turned him on, and hell if he didn't think he'd go right home and, "fuck the hell outta Miss." They weren't far away from his apartment, anyway, and by the time Valerie had slipped back into her car, she wasn't at all surprised to see that it was closing in fast on five a.m.

"Why do you do stuff like that?" she couldn't help asking as she headed the car toward Long Island.

Evan sighed and shrugged, as if the entire thing were no big deal. "I dunno, V. Why were you in my bushes?"

She snorted. "Don't start with that, damn it," she growled. "I should've let you rot in jail."

"If you did that, then there'd be a bunch of disappointed pups come tomorrow," he said.

She glanced at him and shook her head. "You don't teach at the YMCA on Fridays," she reminded him.

He grinned. "Naw, but I figured I'd stop in at the Dominique Ray Center tomorrow."

Valerie shot him another quick glance then shook her head. "The Dominique Ray Center? The children's hospital?"

"That's the one," he agreed.

"What are you going there for?" she asked, frowning since she knew well enough that nothing like that had been listed on the itinerary for tomorrow.

"Mama works with them a lot and the Zelig Foundation donates money to them every year. I like to stop in every now and then and hang out with them; maybe play a song or two . . ."

"That'd be a great thing for your image, you know," she pointed out, knowing before she said it that he wasn't likely to agree.

Evan snorted. "Keh! If I let the media bastards in on it, they'd fuck it all up," he said. "I told you before, right? The press doesn't see any of that like a normal, rational human. If I told them, they'd follow me, and they'd probably get permission to take photos, but instead of just standing back and taking photos, they'd try to run the show. 'Oh, this girl looks too sick. Move her over there '. . . 'This boy is too skinny . . . Put him over there' . . . 'Oh, that little girl's bald from her chemo . . . We can't have her in the pictures' . . ." Trailing off, he shook his head. "No fucking way," he insisted stubbornly. "I'm not going there to get attention. I'm going there for the kids."

Valerie didn't comment on that, mostly because she could see his point. In Evan's mind, the slight boost it might give his public image wasn't worth the sacrifice of his morals, and in a very real way, she could appreciate that about him, too. "You really think they'd do that?" she asked instead though the initial reprimand was gone from her tone.

"I _know_ so," he countered belligerently. "No fucking thanks."

Silence fell over them both as they started over the bridge. As the pools of faded and watered down light from the spaced lamps that burned bright overhead passed through the windows of the car, Valerie sighed. He was entirely too full of paradoxes, wasn't he? No matter what he said, he honestly did care about people, and his affection for children was evident despite his best efforts to hide his feelings.

"Why don't you come with me?" he suddenly asked, breaking the silence that had been so comfortable.

Valerie didn't answer right away. "I have plans for tomorrow, Evan. You're going to have to behave on your own."

"Oh, yeah? What are you doing?" he prodded.

Valerie bit her lip and considered lying to him for a moment then gave up. "Marvin's going to be in town for awhile—a layover between flights—so I'm going to meet him and spend the day with him."

Evan snorted. "Oh, fucking Moravin."

Valerie rolled her eyes and almost smiled. " _Marvin_ ," she corrected. "Anyway, promise you'll be good."

Waving a hand, Evan tried to cut her off. "Good's overrated, V, but okay, I'll try to behave."

She sighed. "Couldn't you have left the 'try to' part out?" she grouched.

He chuckled. "Never promise something unless you're positive that you can do it," he said.

Valerie let it go, figuring that it was as close to a promise as she was likely to get from him. "Fine," she agreed with a longsuffering shake of her head. "Just make sure you ' _try_ ' really hard, okay?"

Evan shot her a cheesy grin. "Okay, V if you insist."

"I do," she retorted dryly, turning the car into the long driveway that led up to Evan's house. The security guard nodded at her—she wasn't sure who he was since she hadn't seen him before. "I really, _really_ do . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _The_** **_Bartender_** **_Song_** ' _by Rehab first appeared on their 2008 release,_ **_Graffiti the World_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to Rehab_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Valerie_** :  
>  _God … they're like Tweedledum and Tweedledee_ …


	43. 042: One Good Deed

' _It wasn't my intention to mislead you_ …  
 _It never should have been this way_ …  
 _What can I say_ …?  
 _It's true, I did extend the invitation_ …  
 _I never knew how long you'd stay_ …'

 

-' _Toy Soldiers'_ by Martika.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Stifling a yawn with the back of her hand, Valerie sat in the airport bar, nursing a glass of white wine. Checking her watch, she wasn't surprised to find that only about ten minutes had passed since the last time she'd looked, which meant that she still had a good twenty minute wait before Marvin's plane was due to land. According to the silently scrolling arrival and departure monitor located discreetly behind the bar, the flight was on time, and at least that was working in her favor. The way her luck had been lately, she had half-expected it to be cancelled for one reason or another or delayed, at the very least. Maybe, though, her fortune was on the upswing . . .

Then again, maybe not. She hadn't been able to get back to sleep after she'd gotten home from rescuing Evan and Dieter from themselves. Too incredulous that they'd actually done what they'd gotten arrested for, she'd only been able to shake her head and wonder how it was that the two had managed to live as long as they had and still be out of jail. Never mind that Evan might well be headed that way, she supposed that she ought to give them some small amount of credit that they weren't already under lockdown at a maximum-security facility.

And worse, they were entirely too proud of their antics, weren't they? Neither of them showed even the barest hint of contrition for their actions. They thought it was one big joke. Well, that wasn't entirely fair, she had to admit. Evan thought that the whole thing was a joke, sure, but Dieter? No, she had a feeling that Dieter just didn't quite think in the same way as most people tended to. That wasn't a bad thing, maybe, but it did take some getting used to . . .

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie dug her cell phone out of her purse and dialed Evan's number before she could talk herself out of it. She just wanted to make sure that he was behaving himself, especially after last night, and if he told her that he was bored today, there was a good chance she'd beat him . . .

The call was routed straight to voicemail, and Valerie slowly shook her head. It wasn't entirely surprising, no. She'd seen him shut off the device a few times while he was in the middle of interviews or recording sessions. "Remember that you _swore_ you'd behave yourself today," she reminded him via the voicemail. It wasn't nearly as good as actually telling him, herself, but it would do. After all, just how much trouble could he get into at a children's hospital, anyway? With a grimace, she sipped the wine as she dropped her phone into her purse once more. No, it was probably better not to ask that particular question, wasn't it? Who would have really thought that the man could have gotten into trouble in a _morgue_ , of all places . . .?

No doubt about it, she'd never disliked the words, "I'm bored," nearly as much as she did nowadays . . .

Okay, she _really_ needed to stop thinking about Evan Zelig and his morbid escapades. If she didn't, she'd end up ditching Marvin, just to make sure that the idiot-rock star wasn't out getting into more trouble somewhere, considering he was much, much too good at that, to start with . . .

"Hey, Val! Woolgathering, were you?"

Valerie blinked and smiled as Marvin leaned down to brush a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Hi," she demurred as he shoved his small suitcase under the table and slipped into the seat across from her.

"You look fabulous," he remarked with a warm smile. "Then again, I guess you always look fantastic, don't you?"

Laughing softly, she shook her head. "I don't know about always," she said with a shrug. "I try, though."

Marvin chuckled, too, and raised a hand as he looked around to wave over a waitress. "Sorry I can't stay longer," he told her, offering her a sheepish little grin.

Valerie waved it off as Marvin placed an order for a glass of wine for himself and another for Valerie. "Are you kidding?" she countered as the waitress hurried away. "You were asked to give a presentation at Duke University! You can't miss that!"

Marvin's cheeks pinked slightly, a silent testimony of his own excitement. "It is kind of a big deal, isn't it?" he allowed reluctantly. He'd always hated to draw that kind of attention to himself, and it was one of those things that Valerie loved about him. Very humble, he was, and while he loved to talk about his research to anyone who would listen, he wasn't very good at tooting his own horn, either. "It's an honor."

"Yes, it is," she said with a decided nod, "and you deserve it."

He sighed then uttered a terse, nervous laugh. "Enough about that," he said suddenly. "Tell me about that case you're working on. Well, I know you can't tell me specifics, but you said you were spending a lot of time with him, right? That Zel Roka?"

Ignoring the strange twinge that ignited in the pit of her stomach at the mere mention of the man's name, she smiled a little stiltedly and hurriedly brushed it aside. "Oh, he's . . . you know, your typical rock star," she hedged, squelching the tiny whisper in the back of her mind that reminded her that there was nothing at all 'typical' about Evan Zelig . . .

Marvin chuckled, but Valerie could sense a measure of reluctance as he slowly shifted his gaze to meet hers. "Val . . ." he began almost dubiously.

She had a feeling that she knew what was coming next. Perversely, she decided to let Marvin get around to it on his own as the waitress slipped the glasses of wine onto the table and was gone without a word.

Marvin cleared his throat and shrugged. "He's not dangerous or anything, is he?" he finally asked.

Valerie couldn't help the incredulous little laugh that slipped out of her. For some reason, the idea that Evan was dangerous was just entirely beyond her ability to believe. "Of course not," she assured him.

Marvin didn't look entirely convinced, but he did try to smile. "Rock stars, you know? Seems like they live on another planet or something."

"He's not as different as you'd think," Valerie went on, finishing off the wine and setting the empty glass aside.

Marvin's weak smile widened. "I guess," he allowed, and this time, he sounded far more reassured. "Xavier wouldn't ask you to spend that much time with someone who wasn't safe, right?" He laughed.

"He really is a nice guy," she insisted. "A little eccentric, maybe, but not too bad."

Marvin nodded, reaching across the table and patting Valerie's hand in the same rather awkward sort of way that she'd come to know from him: a gesture of affection that was always underlined by a slight nervousness that she supposed stemmed from what she knew was a certain level of shyness that he never had outgrown. Having been a child in the system had added to that, certainly, but he hadn't ever been one of the popular kids. He had friends, of course, but she also knew that she'd been his first real girlfriend, too . . .

"I just worry about you," he said in an apologetic tone complete with a little shrug and a slight pinking of his cheeks.

Shaking her head, Valerie's smile brightened. "I know you do," she told him, "but you really don't need to."

"I've got reservations at _L'Femme_ for dinner," he said suddenly, the eagerness back in his voice. "You mentioned that you wanted to try it, right?"

"Really? Wow," she exclaimed softly. "Aren't they usually booked months in advance?"

"Well, see, I was talking to Rafe Gilman before I left Atlanta," he explained. "He had reservations and said he couldn't use them, so he told me that if I wanted, we could use them."

She laughed. "So it pays to network," she teased.

Marvin nodded. "This time." Sitting back, he sipped his wine and shot Valerie a pleased little smile. "I've really missed you, Val," he said.

Valerie held up her glass in a silent salute. "I've missed you, too."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"So is V still mad?"

Evan shook his head as Dieter slipped into the back seat of the shiny black Cadillac—Bone's baby. "Nah . . ."

Dieter grinned. Eyes bloodshot with slightly puffy pouches underneath, he looked like he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep in days—entirely likely since he'd said that he had been working on that sculpture before and it was safe to assume that he hadn't gotten any last night, either. "Nice," he approved, slapping his hands against his thighs in a nervous sort of way as he craned his neck to stare out the car window as Bone merged into traffic. "Figured she'd still be pissed as hell."

"Eh, V's cool," Evan remarked.

Bone flipped his cell phone closed and glanced into the rearview mirror. "Mike says that it looks like the paparazzi haven't got a clue," he said, interrupting Evan and Dieter's conversation. "Just drove by and said that there's no sign of vultures."

"Good," Evan allowed. The last thing he wanted was a fucking media circus, after all. One time just after the release of his second album, they'd found him out when he had made an impromptu appearance at a different local children's hospital much like this one, and after seeing what had happened that time, he'd sworn that it would never, ever happen again. "Make sure that they don't find out."

Bone nodded and grinned. "No sweat, Z. Leave it to the ol' Bone."

"Mike's driving the van, right?" Dieter piped up.

Evan nodded. "Yeah. He's got the guitars."

Dieter considered that. "Wicked . . . Anyway, the kids'll be cool," he went on happily. "Maybe I shoulda brought Daniel along . . ."

"Call Miss and have her bring him up," Evan suggested. "We'll probably be there awhile, right?"

Dieter shrugged and shook his head. "Nah. She took him to go visit a friend in White Plains. They won't be back till late."

"Oh? You didn't want to go with her?"

Dieter rolled his eyes but grinned. "Fuck! Carmen's a bitch—and she's always staring at Miss' tits. I swear she's a fucking dyke . . ."

Evan laughed since he'd heard that particular complaint enough times. Carmen was one of the first friends Miss had made in the city, and when she'd moved to White Plains to open a dance studio, Dieter had hoped that it meant that he wouldn't have to deal with her again. Unfortunately, though, Carmen and Miss had remained friends, and it wasn't uncommon for Miss to drive out there to see her from time to time, either. Carmen despised Dieter, or so Dieter said. Evan figured it wasn't hard to believe, given Dieter and Miss' history. Volatile was a good way to describe it, and yes, most of the trouble had stemmed from Dieter's drug addictions. In a very real sense, she was the one who had goaded Miss into divorcing Dieter while he was in prison for drug possession. That stint away from Miss, who had found out that she was pregnant shortly after he'd been sentenced, had nearly killed Dieter. Youkai aside, Dieter's other problem was the extreme depression that he suffered—a condition that had been exacerbated by the drugs and later, by the separation from Miss. Evan knew damn well that another stint in the big house probably would kill Dieter, not because of the forced time away from Miss, though that would also be hard on him, but because, without his usual creative outlets, Dieter had a destructive habit of convincing himself of the absolutely worst scenarios. He would think of things, then he would convince himself that it was all true. Evan had seen him do it time and again over the years. Dieter might well be classified as manic-depressive—if he'd ever agree to go in and get diagnosed. In any case, it was a good thing that Dieter was clean now. He'd been able to reconcile with Miss, become a damn good father to Daniel, and get his life back on track. Even still, Carmen never failed to diss him whenever she could, and Evan didn't doubt that Dieter wasn't far off when he claimed that Carmen was trying to brainwash Miss into leaving him, too.

"Hey, Roka," Dieter said at length. His knee was bobbing up and down at lightning speed. Nervous about something . . .?

"Yeah?"

Dieter licked his lips, struggling for an affectation of calm and failing miserably. "I-I-I was thinking . . ."

Suspicion crept up Evan's spine, and he sighed, shaking his head, as though to forestall whatever Dieter was trying to say. "Let it go, Deet. We're gonna hang out with kids, right?"

Dieter wasn't dissuaded. "I promised Miss that I wouldn't lie to her no more when we got back together, you know? And keeping stuff from her . . . that's the same as lying, innit?"

"Dieter . . . it's not always lying," Evan said quietly. "Sometimes . . . sometimes the truth is worse than the lie, you know?"

Dieter didn't look convinced.

"Let it go, man," Evan went on. "It's ancient history."

The artist didn't look like he wanted to let it go, either. Evan reached over and gave him a playful shove. "Hey, fucker!" Dieter growled despite the grin that surfaced on his features. He returned the shove, and Evan chuckled and did it again. "Ah!" Dieter hissed, patting the pockets of his black leather jacket—he always insisted on wearing it, no matter what the temperature was outside. "Oh, shit," he muttered, pulling out the ring box. It was the one that they'd just gotten yesterday—the one with the most garish, grossly oversized lump of diamond that they'd been able to find. "I knew there was something I forgot . . ."

Evan rolled his eyes. "All that, and you forgot to give the damn thing to her?"

Dieter shrugged. "I meant to," he argued. "Hell, I was so fucking horny by the time I got home that I didn't think of it . . ."

Evan snorted. "You know, right? Being turned on by the damn morgue is more than a little disturbing."

Blinking absently, Dieter shook his head. "Why? Miss isn't a zombie or anything . . ."

Evan sighed and let it drop. He wasn't likely to ever understand exactly how Dieter's mind worked, and somehow, he wasn't entirely sure that he'd want to, anyway . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie flicked on the lamp and dropped her purse onto the table with a quiet sigh as she kicked off her shoes and pressed the blinking button on the answering machine.

"Hi, Valerie. This is Tanya at the office. Mr. Xavier asked me to remind you that the quarterly expense reports are due this week—"

"I'm calling on behalf of the fraternal order of police—"

"Hello. I'm Henry, and I wondered if you'd be interested in a year-long subscription to the _New York Times_ —"

She shook her head and rubbed the back of her neck. None of the calls were worth returning, and even so, it had been a really long day—a very nice day, but long, nonetheless.

Pushing herself away from the table, she glanced at the clock on the wall as she tilted her head and carefully removed the dangling pearl earring. Almost eleven p.m., and she had yet to hear back from Evan . . .

She wasn't sure what to make of that. She'd like to think that he'd found something constructive to do, but she wasn't entirely certain that he was capable of that.

She supposed that she ought to give him a call, but first things first: she needed to change.

Heading through her apartment and down the short hallway to her bedroom, Valerie smiled to herself as she removed the other earring and weighed them in her hand. Dinner at the _L'Femme_ had been absolutely fantastic, and Marvin hadn't had one phone call, which was nice. It wasn't that she minded them, but she had to admit that the lack of distraction for once was very pleasant. They'd danced a few times, talked a lot, and she'd decided as she'd said goodbye to him at the airport that it had been exactly what she'd needed. The chaos that always surrounded Evan seemed so very far away, and she'd remembered just how nice it was: the quiet companionship she shared with Marvin—something that she knew a man like Evan Zelig would never understand.

Marvin was steady and sure. Those things that Madison always called boring, Valerie thought of as secure. Okay, so he wasn't flashy or anything like that, but he didn't have to be. He offered her those intangible things that she so desperately needed, and that was important.

After carefully hanging up the simple black dress, Valerie reached for a pair of comfy red and blue plaid flannel pants and an oversized black sweatshirt. Evan was just too spontaneous for her, too quick to do whatever happened to occur to him. He didn't stop to think things through—she'd seen that often enough during the time she'd spent with him. Fun, yes—lots of fun, even when she didn't want to admit it, and yes, he was damn good at making her forget that she was supposed to be keeping him in line, but those things that she appreciated about him were the very things that convinced her that any kind of romantic relationship with him would never, ever work. The bottom line was that they were just too different, and even if he would change—she had serious doubts that he would, even if she asked him to—she didn't have the right to ask that of him.

Tugging the bobby pins out of her hair and dropping them onto the bureau beside the doorway, she shook her head to loosen the locks of brown hair she'd piled up before going out for dinner as a thoughtful frown marred her features. No, if anything, Evan was fixated on her; nothing more to it than that. She fascinated him because she refused to give him what he wanted, and she supposed that it was the novelty of her insistence that was the real attraction for him. If she were stupid enough to give in—if she let herself get caught up in his curious brand of insanity . . .

" _It was just a blowjob, V_ . . ."

" _Is that really what you think, Evan? Just a blowjob? Just a good fuck? It's all relative in your head, isn't it? Is that what you mean?_ "

" _No . . . V . . . what I meant was that something like that? It's not like I gave two shits about her, right? And she didn't give two shits about me, either. She thought I was hot, and she wanted a piece of me. That's it. I can't be held responsible for everyone's consciences. If I'd been with someone—seriously with someone—I would've stopped her. Simple_."

Valerie frowned as those words echoed in her head. ' _Simple_ . . .'

Was it? Was it really so simple? And just why had he looked so . . . so sad . . .?

' _Besides_ ,' she told herself sternly as she stalked out of the bedroom and toward the living room again, ' _I'm his attorney_ —attorney. _I'm not some sort of . . . of groupie or anything_ . . .'

Still, she grabbed the telephone and dialed his number—he was the first one on her speed dial—and frowned when the call was routed straight to his voicemail. Evan always answered her calls, damn it . . .

' _Unless he's out breaking one of your ground rules_ ,' a somewhat nasty voice in the back of her mind whispered. ' _Care to guess which rule I think he's ignoring . . .?_ '

Valerie snorted and dropped the phone onto the table with a shake of her head. As easy as it could be to buy into that thought, she knew well enough that despite all his faults, he really did try to keep his word. Besides that, she knew that Madison—the only one he theoretically _could_ sleep with—was currently in Houston for the grand opening of a new spa.

Still, the smallest doubt lingered . . .

Rubbing her forehead, Valerie tried to brush that thought aside, along with the twinge of . . . _something_ . . . that roiled around her belly. Knowing Evan, something had just distracted him. Maybe he'd decided that he needed to break into something else—an animal shelter or something else equally strange—and she sighed. ' _I'm so_ not _bailing him out of jail tonight_ ,' she vowed.

Turning on her heel, she shuffled off toward the kitchen, touching the panel to turn on the television as she passed. Maybe she'd find a movie or something—anything to distract herself from thinking about Evan any more tonight . . .

She poured herself a glass of wine. She probably shouldn't have it since she'd already had a bit to drink earlier in the day and at dinner, but she shook her head. It wasn't like she was planning on going anywhere, and for reasons she didn't particularly want to delve into, she felt like she needed it.

' _Maybe I should try to call him again_ . . .'

Biting her lip, Valerie deliberately brushed aside that thought as she headed back into the living room, glass of wine in hand. No, best she redirect her mind, otherwise, she was going to drive herself crazy . . .

Glancing at the television, she stopped short. The volume on the television wasn't turned up enough for her to hear it, but she didn't have to. In one instant, she felt her heart lurch, lodging in her throat and seeming to stop as her eyes flared wide, all color leeching from her skin in a dizzying moment. The glass in her hand fell to the floor, shattering upon impact, spraying red wine all over like rain.

Like blood.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Toy Soldiers_** ' _by_ _Martika_ _first appeared on_ _her_ _1988_ _release_ , **_Martika_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Martika_ _and_ _Michael_ _Jay_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :
> 
> _Oh, my God …!_


	44. 043: Dusk

' _I've worn out always being afraid_ …  
 _An endless stream of fear that I've made_ …  
 _Treading water full of worry_ …  
 _This frantic tick tick talk of hurry_ …'

 

-' _Frantic'_ by Metallica.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

". . . _Eyewitness accounts lead us to believe that international rock star, Zel Roka was, in fact, shot this afternoon outside the Dominique Ray Center, a children's hospital in the center of Manhattan. Hospital officials claim that the infamous rocker was known for making impromptu visits to the facility, and that he was leaving from one of those visits when a lone gunman opened fire. No details as to whether the gunman was actually targeting Roka or if anyone else was injured at present_ . . ."

Hands shaking as she dropped the remote control onto the coffee table with a deafening clatter, Valerie shook her head, unable to grasp exactly what she'd just heard. As though her legs couldn't hold her weight, she collapsed onto the sofa, wanting desperately to tear her eyes away but unable to do it.

A bunch of still images of Zel Roka, both onstage and off, splashed across the screen as the reporter's voice droned on. Somehow, the press had gotten wind of the visit, or at least some had. One of them—a reporter from one of those sleazy television magazines, had gotten the footage—the rock star—no, Evan—the Evan she knew—and Dieter . . . The screaming of the fans that had managed to chase him down . . . He stopped and smiled and waved, pausing to sign a few autographs before Bone hurried him toward the waiting sedan . . . a couple popping sounds . . . screams from the crowd as Evan jerked back and fell . . . and absolute mayhem . . . People rushing off to the right—security detail, maybe—while others ran away, screaming and crying until all the sounds converged into a dull roar in Valerie's head . . . Bone hefted Evan and Dieter off the ground—Valerie couldn't tell if they were conscious or not, and she couldn't tell if they were bleeding or where they might have been injured—and shoved both of them into the car. He climbed in after them, and the car took off before he could even close the door . . .

". . . _Not sure of motive, but the authorities do indicate that they have some leads, though no details have been released as yet_ . . ."

The camera swung around to focus on the mass-tangle of bodies—the shooter? Valerie didn't know, and when the story switched to an 'on the scene' reporter who was talking to the man who had recorded the video and was bitching over the fact that both his camera as well as the video had been confiscated by the police shortly after it had first aired on the news . . .

"Evan . . ." Valerie whispered, wincing at the harshness of her own voice in the silence, the flash of the police cars on the television illuminating her pallid face in a grotesque sort of hue.

Grabbing her cell phone, her hands were shaking so badly that she couldn't hit the number on first try. It took about four of them in order to get Evan's number in speed dial. It wasn't surprising when she was routed straight to voicemail, but it did make her want to scream.

"Evan," she barked tersely, rising to her feet, digging her free hand into her hair as she turned away from the television, unable to stomach the third replay of the newsreel. "Where are you?" she demanded. "I saw the news, but . . . just call me, won't you? Call me . . ." She grimaced. "Please . . . even if it's the middle of the night—whatever; whatever. Just call me . . ."

Clicking off the phone, she let out a deep breath and quickly dialed Mike's number. "The subscriber you're trying to reach is not currently accepting calls," the automated voice droned.

Valerie stifled the urge to growl and dialed Bone's number instead. No answer.

' _Dieter!_ ' she thought wildly, spotting her attaché case near the desk where she'd left it. She had his number in there, didn't she? He was with Evan, too. He'd know what was going on . . .

Falling to her knees beside the case, shuffling through the papers, ignoring the ones that fell to the floor in her careless search, Valerie finally found the card that had the artist's number on it. The sense of dread, of urgency, that swelled up inside her as she fumbled with the flimsy bit of paper was almost excruciating. Growing larger, looming ever closer, that feeling that somehow, Evan was just beyond her, that she couldn't quite reach him . . . it was almost enough to choke her; to choke her . . .

She got Dieter's voicemail, too—not surprising yet wholly frustrating. "Dieter, how are you? How's Evan? Are you all right? Have him call me, okay? Call me!" she demanded. Letting the phone fall from her hand, she buried her face in her palms, a ragged breath that wanted to be a sob that she stubbornly refused to allow . . .

She had a right to know, didn't she? She was his attorney . . .

"Evan . . ." she whispered, her words muffled by her hands, "where . . . where are you . . .?"

Ruthlessly shoving aside the bitter bite of panic that swelled inside her, Valerie grabbed the newsfeed reader off her desk and pressed the red button that brought up emergency phone numbers with a grimace. The logical part of her brain reminded her none-too-gently that there were well over a hundred hospitals in New York City, not counting any of the outlying suburbs, and only twenty-nine of them were public facilities. A famous rock star wouldn't have been taken to one of those, but if that were the case, that still left entirely too many to actually check—if they'd even give her any information. She wasn't family, and while she might be able to get a little help in some circles based on her relationship to him as his attorney, she wasn't at all sure that she could bluff a hospital into providing that sort of information . . .

That didn't mean that she shouldn't try, did it?

Biting her lip, she dialed the number for Mount Sinai Medical Center—one of the best facilities in the city; definitely one that a well-known person like Zel Roka might have been taken to . . .

"Mount Sinai Medical Center. You've reached the automated help desk. If you know your party's extension or room number, please enter it now or say it slowly so that I may redirect your call."

Valerie grimaced, rubbing her forehead as she slumped back against the wall. "Operator," she said in an effort to bypass the system.

"One moment, please."

There was a faint click as she was put on hold to transfer her call, and she bit her cheek to keep from growing in abject frustration. After what seemed like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds, a real person's voice came over the line. "Good evening. Mount Sinai. How may I direct your call?"

"Yes, hello. My name is Valerie Denning, and I'm a lawyer. There's reason to believe that one of my clients—Zel Roka—was involved in a shooting earlier today, and I need to know if he was admitted." ' _Good_ ,' she thought absently. Her voice didn't falter at all . . .

"I'm sorry, ma'am. That sort of information is completely confidential," the woman said without missing a beat.

"I realize that," Valerie hurried on to say before she could be disconnected. "Surely you could make an exception . . . I haven't been able to contact his manager or bodyguard, so if you could just tell me if he was admitted, that's all I need to know. _Please_."

"I'm sorry," she said again though she didn't actually sound sorry at all. "I can't tell you anything."

Reining in the desire to scream or to smash something, Valerie couldn't contain the low growl that slipped from her as she slapped her phone closed after the woman hung up on her. Calling hospitals just wasn't going to work, and she knew it, and while she certainly could understand and appreciate their caution, she also couldn't help the unreasonable anger that surged deep inside her. The not knowing was enough to drive her crazy, and with every moment that passed, she couldn't help but feel as though Evan were slipping further and further away from her. It was a feeling that she just couldn't stand . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"I'm sorry, ma'am. We can't tell you anything."

Valerie glowered at the police officer as her temper soared higher, spun further out of her control. The precarious hold she had on it was stretched tighter and tighter, ready to explode. That he didn't look any happier about the idea that his hands were, as he'd said, tied, was arbitrary. She wanted answers, and she was tired and frustrated by those who refused to be forthcoming with her . . .

"Can't or won't?" she countered through clenched teeth.

The officer shifted from one foot to the other, casting a surreptitious glance over her head as though he were looking for someone— _anyone_ —who could help him. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he repeated lamely.

"I'm his _attorney!_ " she argued with a stubborn shake of her head. "I was just here last night to pick him up, for God's sake!"

The officer grimaced, clenching his hands in front of himself. "I'm sor—"

"What hospital was he taken to?" she interrupted, unwilling to listen to the insincere apology again. "Isn't that public record?"

"I'm not at liberty to say anything regarding the status of an ongoing investigation."

She gritted her teeth for a moment as she tried to remind herself that the man was just doing his job. It didn't really help. "Is the chief here?"

He sighed and stared at her for a moment before slowly nodding one time and turning on his heel. "Wait here, please," he instructed.

She watched him go, letting out a deep breath and rubbing her forehead with a shaking hand. Of course, the logical part of her didn't expect to get any answers here, either, but she had to try. The unknowing was killing her, and she couldn't stop the constant loop of Evan, jerking back and falling from playing through her mind over and over again. Grainy video that wasn't very high quality, but did it matter when she'd known in her heart that was she was seeing was real? No, she supposed that it didn't . . .

The officer returned in short order with a squat, haggard-looking man fast on his heels. Valerie recognized him from having seen him on the news from time to time: Merle Blanchard, top man at the Ninth Precinct. "What can I do for you, ma'am?" he asked, looking anything but accommodating.

"I'm Valerie Denning, Zel Roka's attorney," she said, seeking a calmer tone than she was feeling. "I wanted to know if you could give me an update on the investigation."

Mr. Blanchard waved a hand tersely to send away the officer she'd already haggled with before turning his attention back to Valerie once more. "Ms. Denning, you're an attorney. You know that we can't release information like that to anyone but next of kin," he explained in a tone that implied that she ought to have known better.

"I know that," she rebutted, "but surely you understand the difference here. We're not talking about someone that no one knows. We're talking about an international rock star—a _celebrity_. . . and he's not just my client. He's my friend. I just need to know where he is. Please."

He shook his head slowly, almost sadly. "I'm sorry. I can't tell you anything."

"What about his family?" she demanded, the frayed edges of her raw nerves coming through in the ragged tone of her voice. "Have they been contacted?"

"Ms. Denning . . . Mr. Roka has no next of kin," he explained.

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that he was wrong. Then she remembered that, according to his official biography, it was true. Zel Roka might not have had any family . . . but Evan Zelig did . . . "Would you just tell me where he was taken?"

"I can't do that, either," he said.

Valerie dragged a hand over her face and shook her head furiously. "And the person who shot him? Have you caught him? Can you tell me that?"

The chief of police looked duly irked, his ruddy cheeks growing ruddier by the second. "I can't give details in an ongoing investigation," he barked out tersely. "You should go home."

Letting out a deep breath as she watched the man turn on his heel and stomp away, Valerie felt like screaming, like ranting and raving. In the end, she couldn't do anything, and maybe that feeling of complete impotence was worse than anything else in the world could have been.

Digging her cell phone out of her purse as she weaved her way through the usual crowd inside the station house, she could have cried when she saw that she hadn't missed any calls. As angry as she would have been if she had missed one, it was almost worse that there hadn't been any at all . . .

The insane glare of a myriad of flashbulbs that shattered the murky dark outside the stationhouse was disorienting, at best. The press had started to camp out here, hoping for word from the chief, she supposed, since the Dominique Ray Center was located in this precinct. When they realized that she wasn't anyone of interest, they stopped just about as quickly as it had started. Maybe they didn't realize who she was, given that she was still wearing her pajamas with her hair down—a far cry from the professional attorney the press had met on prior occasions . . .

Slipping through the reporters and across the street to her car, she ignored the buzzing voices that had somehow congealed into a dull hum.

' _Evan . . . where the hell are you . . .?_ ' she asked herself for the thousandth time since she'd seen that God-awful news report as she scooted into her car and started the engine.

And more importantly, what about his family? If no one realized the connection between Zel Roka the rock star and Evan Zelig, had anyone contacted the Zeligs at all? As worried as she was, wasn't it worse for them, especially if no one had bothered to contact them?

The absolute affection on his mother's face as the two of them had danced at the fundraiser . . . The woman doted on her son, didn't she? Did she know? Had she heard . . .? Bailey and Olivia . . . his brother, Bas, and his father . . . Had they been told anything at all?

" _Mr. Roka has no next of kin_ . . ."

Biting her lip, Valerie glanced into the rearview mirror and pulled into a lull in the traffic. If they didn't know, then they had a right to. If they did? Maybe they could tell her where and how he was . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

She'd never seen anything quite like the tableaux laid out before her as she stepped out of her car a good block away from Evan's mansion. Throngs of kids—five hundred? A thousand?—milled around the street outside the high stone wall that surrounded the estate, some with candles, others with Zel Roka memorabilia in their arms, yet more with photographs, all talking in hushed tones to one another, all staring at the closed gates as though they were waiting to catch a glimpse of him. Reporters from major news outlets and trash media, alike, milled in the crowd, stopping here and there to interview the fans under the harsh glare of their portable lamps.

Valerie pushed her way through, making a painfully slow trek to the front of the crowd, all the while, squeezing between the bodies packed together so tightly the closer she got to the gates. Wincing when someone stepped on her toes, she ignored the muttered apology. A pitiful few police officers, none of whom she recognized, tried to keep the peace in front of the closed gates where fans were starting to piece together a makeshift display—an almost macabre collection of assorted memorabilia that looked far too much like a shrine offering for some deity than Valerie cared to admit.

Steeling her resolve despite the very definite trepidation that nearly overwhelmed her, Valerie started toward the guard house, telling herself that they'd let her in—of course they would. She was on the cleared list; she knew she was. Why did everything feel so very wrong? Sure, it had something to do with the disturbing video she'd seen before she'd left her apartment, but that wasn't the real reason, was it? It was the sense that Evan . . . He just wasn't there that did it.

How did she know that, anyway? The obvious reason was because he had to be in a hospital somewhere, okay. But no, this was more of a feeling than general understanding or knowledge . . . it had more to do with an innate perception rather than the common logic. She couldn't . . . couldn't _feel_ him . . .

"Hold it, lady," one of the officers said gruffly as he caught her by the arm and yanked her back a little roughly.

Valerie swung around to meet his gaze, tamping down the rising irritation that would avail her nothing. "I need to talk to the guard on duty," she explained, careful to keep her tone as level as she possibly could.

"Sorry. No one in or out of there," he insisted with a stubborn shake of his head despite the marked narrowing of his eyes.

She didn't miss the way his gaze traveled over her, from top to bottom, as it were. Grinding her teeth together since she had a marked suspicion that she knew well enough, exactly what he was thinking, Valerie tried again. "Officer, if you'll just let me talk to the guard on duty, you'll see that Mr. Roka cleared me to go in."

The officer's face contorted into a very cynical sneer. "I'll bet he did, honey. Mr. Roka isn't home tonight."

"I'm his _attorney_ ," she gritted out, just barely managing a civil tone.

"Look, lady, I don't care what they're calling it these days. He isn't here, and the chief's given explicit orders that no one's allowed in," the officer insisted.

"Something the matter, officer?"

Both Valerie and the officer turned to eye the guy who stepped out of the guardhouse. Valerie didn't recognize him. That didn't stop her, though. "I'm Valerie Denning," she blurted, cutting off the cop before he could speak. "I'm E-Zel's attorney, and I need to get in there."

He shook his head. "No 'Valerie Denning' on the list," he told her.

She almost growled in frustration as she raked her hands through her hair. "V!" she barked out quickly. "He probably listed me as 'V'."

The man's eyes brightened, and he nodded vaguely. "Oh, yeah . . . Sorry, V, but I got orders not to let anyone in."

The officer looked positively smug as he crossed his arms over his chest. Valerie ignored him. "But—"

"You're going to have to leave, ma'am," the officer said, grasping Valerie by the shoulders, ready to escort her away by force, if necessary.

She jerked free from his grasp and glowered at the security guard. "Who gave you that order?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes on the police officer when he started to reach for her again.

"Bone," the man replied with a simplistic shrug.

"Since when do Bone's orders outrank Zel Roka's?"

The vague amusement on his features was waning fast. "I'm not risking my job for you, sweetheart," he told her. "Now be a good girl, and go home, will you?"

"You'd better leave willingly or I'll have to haul you into the station," the officer added.

Valerie could have screamed. She needed to get inside the mansion, damn it. She needed the phone numbers for his family—numbers that she didn't have. Unfortunately, she didn't see any other option, either . . . For the first time in her life, though, she could understand how someone could get carried away and end up being arrested, because damned if she wasn't tempted to argue her point further. If she thought that she'd get anywhere, she might try it. Too bad she knew well enough that it really wouldn't do her any good . . .

Rubbing her temples, she turned away, though not before pinning each of them with scathing glowers. More and more kids were gathering. The collective din they created throbbed in Valerie's head like the dull roar of ocean waves. Nearby, a boy—maybe fifteen or sixteen—sat, legs crossed, strumming a beat up acoustic guitar as the crowd around him sang one of Zel Roka's older songs in unison. A surreal sound, wasn't it? And she knew, didn't she, that if he were here, Evan . . . Well, he'd think that it was absolutely fantastic . . .

Weaving her way through the milling crowd, the sense of disbelief that slowly grew inside her seemed to surge higher, tighter, constricting in her chest, leaving her feeling lightheaded and completely disconnected. Pushing through a strangely solid barrier of bodies, she stopped short, blinking as she stared at the spectacle unfolding before her. Two girls, both clinging to each other as they sobbed piteously, caught in the harsh lights of an overhead, portable lamp as a familiar looking woman—Valerie couldn't think of her name or why she might have been familiar, at all — held a microphone and pasted on a concerned expression that didn't strike Valerie as at all genuine.

"Good evening. This is Morgaine Beatty, live at Zel Roka's mansion with a couple eye witnesses who were there at the Dominique Ray Center where the rock star was shot," the woman said smoothly. "Can you tell me, in your own words, just what happened?"

One of the girls—a petite blonde—uttered a loud wail. "W-We were there to s-see Zel," she blubbered, rubbing at her already bright red eyes. "There was this . . . this _boom_ , and he fell . . . He was shot in the chest, you know? Just blood all over him . . ."

"Then one of the guys around yelled that he was dead— _dead!_ " the other girl nearly howled. "Zel Roka's dead!"

Valerie froze, unsure what she should think of that. In her mind, she told herself that nothing of the sort had been confirmed. Was that what all the eyewitnesses thought . . .? The swell of panic rose higher inside her as the girl's words echoed through her head.

" _Zel Roka's dead!_ "

"But that hasn't been confirmed by officials as yet," Morgaine pointed out with all the finesse of a lynch mob . . . or a member of the paparazzi.

"He was shot in the chest, you stupid bitch!" the blonde-haired girl snarled, furiously slapping tears away from her cheeks. "You don't live if that happens!"

Morgaine shot the cameraman a slightly anxious glance. "Don't worry. We'll bleep that out before it airs," he muttered without hesitation.

"How close were you to Zel Roka?" Morgaine went on.

The second girl hugged her friend tight and shook her head. "I don't know . . . maybe twenty feet? I mean, we could have been shot, too!"

And that sent the first girl into another round of caterwauls.

Morgaine turned away briskly, facing the camera head-on. "And there you have it. We'll try to get more information from the authorities, but according to eyewitness reports: rocker Zel Roka, dead at the age of thirty-two—and you heard it here first. Morgaine Beatty with another _Trash Talk_ exclusive."

The rustle that shot through the gathering spread like wildfire, traveling from the people near her to the ones behind, engulfing her in the hateful whispers, the proclamations that Valerie just didn't want to believe. She had to get away from there—from that reporter—before she did something drastic, like yank out every last bleached-blonde strand of the woman's highly shellacked hair.

Turning abruptly, unable to venture outside of the curious numb that had settled over her, Valerie couldn't shake the feeling that she was wandering through some morbid dreamscape. What might have otherwise been a heartfelt and beautiful tribute to a man who had touched so many people through his music somehow seemed to her to be the most ghastly ritual that she'd ever witnessed. Teenagers with their faces frozen in sobs of misery; a cataclysmic rumble that made no sense even as words locked together, only to disjoin in a thousand cries . . . Sallow skinned youths with their abject sorrow writ so carelessly on the surface . . .

A girl, clawing at her face as she sank to her knees amid the shattering sounds of her own sobs . . .

A teenage boy, his eyes blank and vacant as he hunched his shoulders and dragged deeply off a carelessly rolled joint . . .

A young man, shaking his head, muttering over and over again, "Dude . . . so wrong . . . so wrong . . ."

Another girl, her body quaking as she clung to a friend, both of them crying quietly . . .

A wash of faces—all of them as different as night and day—all of them exactly the same . . . the same . . . the same . . .

Yet among the masses, a solitary cry; one so loud that it couldn't be heard by mortal ears . . . one trapped so deeply within Valerie's very soul that it hurt . . .

It hurt.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Frantic_** ' _by_ _Metallica_ _first appeared on their_ _2003_ _release_ , **_St_**. **_Anger_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to James Hetfield, Lars Ulrich, Kirk Hammett, Bob Rock_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Where the hell is he …?_


	45. 044: Wasted Time

' _I think back to the times_ …  
 _When dreams were what mattered_ …  
 _Tough talking youth, naiveté_ …  
 _You said you'd never let me down_ …  
 _But the horse stampedes and rages_ …  
 _In the name of desperation …_ '

 

-' _Wasted Time'_ by Skid Row.

 

 

- ** _======_** -

 

 

" _Are you sure that you should be doing this?_ "

 _Bas Zelig didn't pause as he reached for the sword that was normally kept suspended over the fireplace mantle in the New York City townhouse where they stayed whenever they were in the area. "I'm sorry, kitty," he said gently, sparing a moment to force a small, tight smile at his mate as he strapped the magnolia wood scabbard around his waist. "I can't just sit here_."

 _Sydnie bit her lip, her eyebrows drawing together in a marked scowl as she tried in vain to hide the acute anxiety that he could sense even if he couldn't see it. "I know. Evan . . ." she allowed, rubbing her forearms as though she were chilled. "Didn't Cain say that he would send Cartham down?_ "

 _Bas shook his head and hurriedly pulled his mate against him, kissing her forehead and giving her a quick squeeze before he let her go. "Cartham's still in Maine," he explained. "Even if he left right now, it'd still take him a few hours to get here, tops. Someone needs to be over there, and Dad agrees_."

" _Daddy! Daddy, can I go, too?_ "

" _Not this time, Bailey," Bas said, rubbing his little head affectionately, but unable to muster even a token smile for the much-loved little boy. "I need you to stay here and protect your mama, okay?_ "

 _Bailey brightened considerably. "I can do that!" he insisted, clapping his hands and tearing off through the living room, probably off to find the bokuto he'd recently been given_.

 _The boy didn't see the concerned glances exchanged over his head_.

Grimacing as the vibration of the cell phone in the pocket of the long black jacket that he wore rattled against his ribcage, Bas brushed away the lingering memory as he dug the device out of his pocket. "Zelig," he answered without bothering to check the name on the PrismaCrys ID display.

"How are things?"

Letting out a deep breath as he ran his long fingers through his hair, Bas leaned back, scowling at the slight glow of the apartment windows across the alleyway. "It's all clear at the moment. Is Mom keeping it together?"

Cain Zelig heaved a long sigh. He was smoking a cigarette, Bas could tell. "She's all right, all things considered," Cain admitted.

"God. What a damn mess. You find out anything?"

"I'm still waiting to hear from Mike," Cain said. "It doesn't seem to be youkai-related, though. Gunnar said that he didn't sense any foreign youkai in the vicinity of the Dominique Ray Clinic . . ."

"Meaning that the bastard was human . . ." Bas finished when Cain trailed off.

"Yeah," Cain agreed. "Mike said that he hasn't heard a thing—no threats or anything like that, and the authorities don't know shit."

"Bullshit," Bas cut in coldly, his right hand tightening unconsciously around the hilt of his sword. "That is complete bullshit! You're telling me that some son of a bitch walked up to the hospital, whipped out a fucking gun, shot Evan in the chest, and they don't know where the hell he is?"

Cain's deep breath echoed Bas' feeling of absolute frustration. "That's what I'm telling you," he said, his tone so weary, so thin, that Bas had to strain to hear it. "Just make sure that you keep an eye on her—on Ms. Denning . . . I don't know what there is between them, but . . ."

"But Mom thinks that there's something," Bas concluded. "I know. I saw it, too, when I was over there the other day." Biting his lip as he drummed his claws against the wrapped metal under his fingers, he slowly shook his head. "I think maybe Mom's right . . ."

"It's what Evan would want," Cain went on, his tone broken, raw.

"I know, Dad," Bas said, blinking, a painful stinging erupting behind his eyelids despite his stubborn resolve not to lose his composure with a heavy sigh as he watched the woman in question pace the floor before the row of windows in her living room—all she'd done since she returned to her apartment half an hour ago. "I know."

 

 

- ** _======_** -

 

 

Hands stuffed deep into his pockets, he hitched his shoulders forward as he slipped from shadows into deeper shadows in that hateful city, in that hateful night.

 _Flashes of fire, of indistinct screams_ _. . . Death and rebirth in the breath of an instant_ . . .

 _Brown silk on roughened suede . . . It slipped through his fingers like rain_ . . .

 _The blackened stains, soaking into the grungy, graying pavement . . . An insular moment of confused clarity_ . . .

 _Cozy mocha fleece . . . and the reassuring warmth of skin that somehow hurt him, just the same_ . . .

Hand shaking, rubbing his forehead, gaze darting swiftly to the side as an alley cat upset a trashcan somewhere in the distance, he pressed onward, forward, his destination fading into and out of his thoughts like water . . .

Head pounding, ears ringing—odd, how that sound could echo much longer than the steady throb of drums: a musical cadence of death . . .

He'd lost track of where he was, where he was going, where he'd been, and he knew— _knew_ —that it wasn't all right. Far from all right . . . Where was he? And why . . .?

But he _did_ know, didn't he? He understood . . . and as much as he welcomed the numbness of oblivion, it could not save him . . .

" _Fuck!_ Fuck! _No, goddamn it_ , no!"

" _C'mon!_ C'mon! _We gotta get moving!_ Now!"

"No," he whispered, his throat rough, raw. Rubbing absently at the gauze covering his chest, he staggered onward . . .

"Jesus! _Damn! What the hell are you doing here?_ "

 _And he hadn't been able to answer, leaning heavily against the cold steel frame of the tempered glass window, staring at the slender form, huddled on the sofa inside_ . . .

" _You going to stay here?_ "

 _Vision blurring, wavering—stubborn tears that refused to fall . . . "No," he said. "I . . . can't. Not yet_ . . ."

 _He wanted to argue. Of course he did. That proper, upstanding part of him . . . Fix it or fight it . . . and he could do neither . . . "You can't just go out there, running wild_ . . ."

" _Fucker_ . . . _Stay with her," he said quietly. "Please_."

 _And it might have been that single word that stayed the reprimand that should have come. Staring at him in the darkness, eyes unnaturally bright in the haze, he nodded just once—silent assent_.

 _So he'd slipped away_ . . .

The whine of a rising siren . . . the blare of a car's horn . . . somewhere, somewhere a baby cried out . . . and was blunted by the harshness of the stifling silence . . .

But he kept moving, blending into the shadows, into the alleys of the evilest intentions, haunted by demons that carried themselves with a bitterness that could not be defined.

 

 

- ** _======_** -

 

 

He didn't know how long he stood there, poised at the end of the bed, staring at the form of the woman, sleeping so soundly. The gentle rise and fall of her chest created little more than a whisper in the quiet—a reassurance that scalded him, that twisted his very soul, held it so tightly that an insular word, an interrupted breath, could shatter him.

The familiarity was so strong, so prevalent, that it forced a sense of confusion to converge, and though he knew, it just didn't make sense. Everything that he'd ever thought or believed . . . and there she slept, and he . . . He was loathe to take that away from her . . .

So why did he step forward at last? Why did he kneel to touch her shoulder? Swallowing hard, trying to force the thickness that had congealed around his throat, he bit down on the soft flesh of his cheek, biting back the instant rise of bile as his own blood hit his tongue, as the smell seeped up into his nose—that crazy-mad sweetness of metal and salt . . .

She awoke with a start, her eyes flashing open, lighting on his face, frowning in the half-light filtering through the window from the gaudy yellow safety light on the building across the way. "Wh . . .?" she whispered, sleep still thick in her voice. "What are you . . . doing here?"

"Sorry I woke you up," he muttered, shaking his head slowly, unable to meet her gaze. "Sorry . . ."

Pushing herself upright, she smoothed the rumpled white cotton comforter, her slender shoulders bobbing up and down once under the copious folds of the oversized tee-shirt she wore. "Where's Dieter?" she asked quietly.

He flinched, a sharp pang shooting straight through him with the accuracy of a marksman. "S-Sorry," he muttered again, despising the sound of that hateful word, yet unable to come up with anything better. "I'm . . . I'm sorry . . ."

She stared at him for agonizing moments. He could feel her gaze probing his skull. "Why would you be sorry, Zel?" she demanded without raising her voice. "Why?"

' _Fucker! Fucking coward . . .!_ '

Why did that voice sound like Dieter . . .?

"He, uh . . ." Clearing his throat, he could only shake his head. "Miss, he . . . He can't . . ."

"Can't what?" she whispered.

He swallowed hard, blinking fast, hoping to moisturize his burning, dried-out eyes. "He . . . can't . . . come home."

Miss stumbled out of the bed, pushing past him, running over to the window, slamming it closed. "Why?" she demanded, her voice exploding in his head though her tone remained lowered. "Is he . . .? Is he fucking around on me?"

It occurred to him that she was reaching, struggling for a different reason than the one that she had to understand, even if it were only on a base level, at best. "Deet wouldn't do that," Evan softly assured her. Sitting back on his heels, his body slumped in abject defeat, he closed his eyes as flashes of sound erupted in his head once more. "I'm sorry . . ."

"Stop it!" she hissed, her voice a painful rush. "Stop saying you're sorry, damn it! Where is he? Where's Dieter?"

" _Don't you die, goddamn it! Don't you fucking die!_ "

He flinched as the flash of light exploded behind his eyelids again, for the hundredth time—the thousandth time . . . the unnatural wind that forced the Cadillac off the pavement and into a ditch on that desolate stretch of road as they sped away from the city . . . "He . . . He . . ." Evan stammered, trying for words that were just beyond his grasp.

"He, what? Why are you here? Where's Dieter?"

"He . . . He can't . . . can't come home," Evan said again, cognizant in a disjointed sort of way that his voice was weakening even as hers was gaining strength.

"What does that mean?" she challenged. "What the _hell_ does that mean? Where's Dieter, Zel? _Where's my husband?_ "

Somehow, that word was like a dousing of icy water over him. Shooting to his feet, he dug his hands into his hair, yanking hard as his knees buckled; as he plopped onto the bed that shuddered and groaned under the impact.

" _Tell her . . . tell Miss . . ." Between the rasping wetness of his labored breathing, Dieter coughed weakly, a thin string of congealed blood coursing from the corner of his lips. "I don't . . . I don't hate her meatloaf_ . . ."

" _God . . . God, God,_ goddamn _it, Dieter!_ "

"Where is he?" Miss asked again, her voice lowering, pleading, begging— _hoping_.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to lift his gaze. Standing near the bureau, illuminated by the nightlight that she'd left burning in the hallway, and he knew. No matter what she said, she understood what he was struggling to tell her; she just didn't _want_ to. "Dieter was . . . was shot," he heard himself saying in a voice that was not his own. "We— _I_ —couldn't . . ."

She barked out a harsh laugh full of derision and contempt. "Youkai don't die," she said. "Dieter said so! _You_ said so! _They don't die!_ "

"We can," Evan said quietly. "I'm . . . sor—"

"Why are you here?" she demanded. "Why you?"

" _Dude! That fucker's got a gun_ . . ."

" _Wha—?_ "

 _The shove . . . The searing pain_ . . .

Evan blinked that away and pushed himself to his feet, digging into the pocket of his jeans to pull out the ring box that Dieter had pushed into his hand. "He, uh . . ." Forcing his feet to move, he held it out to her. "He wanted you to have this."

She stared at the box as though she expected to have something leap out of it. "What's that?"

Setting it atop the bureau, Evan stepped back. "He bought it for you," he said. "Uh, last night."

Shifting her gaze from him to the box then back again. She lifted her hand, her fingers trembling visibly, but yanked it away with a shake of her head. "He can't be . . ." she whispered.

Evan caught a whiff of salt, of tears, and he stepped toward her, wanting only to comfort her. She choked back a half-snarl, half-sob. Balling up her fists, she lashed out, pounding on his arms, his chest. Too tiny, too weak to deal him any real damage, she railed nonsense, half-formed words, dire invectives with intermittent pleas for vindication . . .

He grimaced when she connected with the torn flesh of his chest, yet he welcomed the pain on a wholly self-deprecating level, too. With one last flail, Miss' petite body shuddered then collapsed against Evan, the first shattered sob wrenched from her as the understanding slowly closed in.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he muttered over and over again, hating the knowledge that there wasn't a damn thing he could do to assuage her sorrow. How could he help her understand something that he, himself, didn't . . .?

"What'll I do?" she whimpered though he doubted that she actually wanted or expected a real answer from him.

"He . . . He wanted me to tell you that he . . . didn't hate your meatloaf," Evan said, unable to summon even a token smile.

Miss choked out a laugh—weak, surely, but a laugh, just the same. The misery etched into her expression was horrifying yet beautiful, and as the laughter died away, all that was left was a quiet, desperate loneliness. Straightening up, she pulled away from him, grasping the ring box and flipping it open. "Oh, my God," she rasped out as she stared at the ring. "It's . . . Oh, it's awful."

Evan couldn't muster a smile. He'd said roughly the same thing when Dieter had insisted that the huge rock was perfect for Miss. "He wanted you to have it," he said instead.

Her lips trembled as she pulled the ring out and slipped it onto her finger. "Awful," she repeated, smashing her right fist against her lips as another tear slipped from the corner of her eye, trailing a silvery path down her cheek—stardust in the half-light. "Zel . . ."

"Yeah?"

She shot him a rather apologetic look, a vague half-smile that didn't reach her gaze. "I'd like to be alone," she said quietly.

Evan winced. Despite the rawness of his own psyche, he had to wonder if it were a bad idea to leave her alone. "Miss . . ."

She shook her head, rubbing her face in an infinitely weary sort of way. "No, I . . ." Pasting on ghastly smile, she held out her hands in a pleading gesture. "Please, go. Besides, you look . . . exhausted."

"What about Daniel?" he parried quietly.

Miss' gaze shifted to the open doorway, unfocused as the smile faltered then faded altogether. "I think . . . I think I'll let him sleep awhile," she said. "He wore himself out, running around yesterday . . ."

Against his better judgment, Evan slowly nodded. "Sure," he agreed reluctantly. "You should probably stay inside for awhile," he suggested, knowing full well that the media was already thick around the building. He'd seen it when he'd glanced down from the adjacent building since he'd opted to take the high road into Dieter's apartment. Anger had been a tough pill to swallow, but he'd tamped that down, focusing instead on the task at hand: telling Miss the one thing that he simply hadn't wanted to face.

She understood, though, and he had to be grateful for that—as grateful as he could be, all things considered.

He sighed. "If, uh . . . If you need anything—anything at all . . ."

Her head snapped back as her eyes narrowed, glowing like jewels in the darkness. "I need my husband," she whispered. "I need . . . I need Dieter, Zel. Can you give him back?"

Her quiet entreaty chipped away at the tattered and frayed edges of his precarious sanity. "If I could," he whispered. "Miss . . . I'm—"

"You're sorry," she cut in with a rueful shake of her head as she wrapped her arms around her chest in a wholly protective gesture. "I know . . . I know."

 

 

- ** _======_** -

 

 

' _Something's . . . not right_ . . .'

A selfish attempt to cling to the lingering oblivion of sleep, even as she felt herself being tugged through the warm, murky waters as she cuddled a little deeper beneath the blanket . . .

' _If I wake up, I'll have to . . . remember_ . . .'

And that was something she absolutely didn't want, wasn't it? Cognizant thought . . . No, she didn't want that, at all . . .

' _What . . . is it . . .?_ '

But she shouldn't ask that, should she? To ask that meant that she might get an answer, and that answer wasn't something she could deal with . . .

' _I . . . I have to know_ . . .'

Yet the persistent and inexorable insistence was growing stronger, the incursion cruel and harsh and sharp . . .

Opening her eyes in the wan and watery light that seeped into the living room where she'd fallen asleep on the sofa, Valerie blinked and hesitated to move, her mind blurry and unfocused as she tried not to think, not to move, and above all, not to remember.

The endless monotony of the drone of the television in the background was ultimately what drew her out of her self-imposed stupor. The morning news, reporting the shooting of a rock star seemed to be the top story of the day, and as the teaser began, those memories returned with a vengeance.

The first moments of abject panic that had hit her hard . . . the police station . . . the impromptu memorial outside Evan's mansion . . . splashes of images, live and still shots of the vigil that still carried on . . . More kids had gathered, more security had been brought in . . . Valerie smashed a hand over her mouth, grimacing at the spectacle that she couldn't look away from . . .

"Evan . . ." she whispered. As though she feared that she would come completely undone if she spoke any louder, she fumbled for her cell phone that she'd dropped on the coffee table when she'd finally gotten back home last night—this morning—whichever.

No new calls.

The disappointment that flooded over her was hateful, bitter, leaving a sourness in her stomach that was not unlike having the flu. Guts twisting in a vicious knot, she squeezed her eyes closed, wishing that she could return to the comfort of being unaware, racking her brain to come up with some way to figure out exactly how she could possibly find answers where none were forthcoming . . . She'd called Madison when she'd gotten home. She doubted that Madison would know anything since she was so far away, but she'd hoped, hadn't she? She'd hoped . . .

A sudden and strange sense of calm trickled over her—a gentle reminder? A futile hope? Hand closing around a fistful of blanket, she sat up suddenly, eyes flashing open as she stared at the deep brown fleece blanket that normally lay folded over the back of a chair nearby was now covering her completely, wrapping her in its comforting warmth. She . . . She hadn't grabbed it last night; she knew damn well that she hadn't.

Stumbling to her feet, pulling the blanket closer around herself, she padded through the living room, down the hallway, into her bedroom.

The window was completely open—the one that Evan liked to use as a door, and that, more than anything, soothed her even as it raised a myriad of questions. Those questions, though, fell away as a shadow near the window moved, shifted . . . as the man stepped into view.

She gasped softly as he climbed through the opening. He didn't seem to notice her there, and when he straightened up, he stopped dead in his tracks, a sad, almost guilty expression surfacing on his face. Wearing a battered black leather jacket that she didn't recognize, his chest bare underneath despite the grimy white gauze bandage that extended over his shoulder, only to wrap around him . . . the same ratty old blue jeans . . . Black dyed hair hanging in dirty, chunky strands . . . face pale, drawn, a haze of grayness tinting his skin . . . cuticles stained with a rusty-colored tinge . . . and somehow, he'd never looked better in her eyes, never looked quite as welcome as he did in that moment, in that heartbeat . . . "V."

A strangled squeak whooshed out of her, and moments later, she was running across the floor, opening the blanket as she stretched out her arms, as she threw herself against him, unsure whether she was crying or laughing—maybe it was both. "Oh, my God," she babbled, squeezing her eyes closed as she held onto him. "Oh, Evan . . . I tried to call you! No one would tell me anything—nothing! I tried to call Mike and Bone and Maddy and . . ." She trailed off and heaved a sigh then suddenly leaned away. "You . . . You were shot. I saw it on television . . ."

"It wasn't bad," he said though something in his tone just wasn't right. "I'm okay."

Momentarily torn between arguing with him over the severity of any injury he might have incurred and wanting to reassure herself that he actually was standing right there, she shook her head. What did it matter, really? He was there, wasn't he? He was all right enough to crawl through her window. Wasn't that enough? "Thank God," she said, opting instead to take his hand, to drag him toward the living room. He looked like he could use a cup of coffee, and she could, too. "I thought . . . Never mind what I thought," she insisted. "Everyone's okay, and that's all that matters, right?"

He stopped abruptly, pulling his hand away from her in lieu of digging his hands into his pockets as he stared at the floor.

"Evan?" she asked quietly, cautiously.

He didn't reply right away. Turning his head to the side, staring at the row of windows and the slate-gray morning outside, he opened his mouth, moved his lips, but his voice wouldn't come. "How's she gonna do it, V?" he finally muttered. She had to strain to hear him.

"She?"

Evan shook his head, his agitation rising by degrees. "Miss," he clarified. "How's she supposed to tell Daniel that Deet's not . . . not coming home . . .?"

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Wasted_** **_Time_** ' _by Skid_ _Row_ _first appeared on their 1991 release,_ **_Slave_** **_to_** **_the_** **_Grind_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Sebastian_ _Bach_ , _Rachel_ _Bolan_ , _Dave_ ' _Snake_ ' _Sabo_.
> 
>  ** _Bokuto_** _: wooden Japanese practice sword_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _What … the fuck …?_


	46. 045: Rage

' _"Save your tears 'cause I'll come back"_ …  
 _I could hear that you whispered_ …  
 _As you walked through that door_ …  
 _But still I strove to hide the pain_ …  
 _When I turn back the pages_ …'

 

-' _1000 Words'_ by Jade.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Here."

Evan didn't move, didn't even glance at Valerie as she sat beside him on the sofa. Setting the steaming mug of coffee on the table, she sipped hers slowly, unsure exactly what to say to him. The absolute defeat that seemed to surround him was a painful thing to see. Still unable to quite wrap her mind around the idea that Dieter was dead, Valerie found herself at a loss when everything that she could say or do seemed so trite, so shallow, so _meaningless_ . . .

Deep blue eyes, so shadowed by the ghosts that Valerie could neither see nor understand clouded Evan's gaze, an emptiness that some part of her understood, even if she couldn't even begin to comprehend the things he'd seen in the last twenty-four hours. She'd talked him into taking a shower while she made coffee. His skin had been covered in a strange sheen of grayish dust that didn't wipe away when she'd tried to clean it off with a tissue . . . But he'd washed the color out of his hair, had removed the dark contacts that had hidden his eyes from her, and somehow, the change left him just a little more vulnerable, a little quieter, a little further away . . .

"I . . . I offered to stay with her for awhile," he said, his voice weaker, raspier. "She didn't want me to . . ."

"She just wants to be alone," Valerie commented with a slight nod. "Of course she does."

"I-It should've been me," he whispered. "It should have been me . . ."

"Why do you say that?" she asked softly. His words bothered her, but the guilt that he wore so close to the surface was enough to keep her silent, to keep her from arguing with him.

Letting out a deep breath, Evan slowly shook his head. "Deet saw him, right? The bastard with the gun . . . and he . . . He shoved me out of the way." Barking out a terse laugh that was as full of recrimination as it was wholly pathetic, Evan balled up his fist and smashed it against his forehead. "Fucking stupid," he choked out. "Deet's always been so . . . _fucking_ . . . stupid . . ."

The trill of her cell phone was harsh in the otherwise silence. Valerie started to reach for it. Evan's hand shot out to stop her before she could grab it. "If Mike or Bone calls, tell them you haven't seen me," he muttered.

"All right," she allowed, unsure why he wanted to avoid them, but figuring that it was, after all, his choice. Glancing at the caller ID, she sighed. "Valerie Denning."

"Hey, V. Did Zel show up over there?"

Sparing a moment to glance at Evan, who had returned to his previous posture, leaning forward, staring at the floor with his elbows on his knees, his shaking hands dangling listlessly between them. "No, he, uh, hasn't," she lied. "Is he all right?"

"Oh, um, yeah. His injuries . . . weren't that serious. He snuck out of the hotel last night . . ."

"The hotel?" Valerie echoed.

Mike sighed. "Yeah, yeah . . . We were trying to lay low, you know: waiting for the police to do their jobs . . ."

Valerie gritted her teeth for a moment, her irritation flaring all over again. "Tell me . . . Is there a reason that I've been kept out of the loop? You know, right? Some news outlets are reporting that he's dead."

"It was for your own protection," Mike insisted though his tone sounded weary. "We didn't know whether Zel was being targeted or if he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time—we didn't know anything."

"That sounds good, Mike," she retorted acerbically. "I'm his attorney, aren't I? I can't get answers from the police because I'm not his next of kin or anything, and you wouldn't be able to get it easily because you're just his manager—because you and Bone revoked my access to his mansion."

"Surely you understand—"

The temper, the emotions, that Valerie had somehow managed to keep in check last night boiled over, frothed up and outward like venom spreading through the blood stream. "No, I _don't_ understand," she shot back, cutting him off without preamble. "You keep me in the dark for my own good? And now you call me because you've, what? _Lost_ him? He's a person, damn it, not a souvenir!"

Mike heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry about that, V. I'll call security right now, and I'll fax over the necessary documentation so that you'll be allowed to speak on Zel's behalf with the police. Just give me a call if you hear from him, would you? No one . . . No one knows where he is."

She didn't reply as she snapped the cell phone closed and tossed it onto the table once more, trying in vain to tamp down the irritation that Mike had inspired in her.

"I wanted to call you, but my cell phone got broken," Evan said quietly. "I just . . . I wanted—no, I _needed_ —to hear your voice . . . If I didn't . . ." Shaking his head, he winced as even more recrimination crept into his eyes. "Shit . . . what a fucking mess . . ."

And just like that, the turbulence in her emotions seemed to melt away, and she smiled wanly, leaning toward him, resting her temple on his shoulder. "You have no idea," she admitted, "how scared I was."

He shifted slightly. "You mean, you care?"

She wrinkled her nose at the hint of rueful teasing in his tone. "Of course I do," she chided gently. "You're my friend, and—"

"Your friend? Really?"

"Yes," she admitted, tilting her head back to stare up at him. "You didn't know that?"

The wan smile on his face hesitated, faltered as his gaze tumbled away from her; as his face turned toward the windows. "I don't . . . understand, V . . ." Shaking his head, he looked so sad, so lost. "I know what it means, to die . . . but I . . . Jesus, I don't . . . _Why?_ "

She didn't reply. She didn't know what to say.

He uttered a terse laugh though there was precious little humor in the sound. "When I was little . . . When my first dog died, I . . . I didn't get it, you know? Sitting there beside him, I just thought that he was . . . was sleeping or something . . . Mama . . ." Reaching out with a quivering hand, he grasped the untouched cup of coffee and drained it in one long gulp. "Mama said that he went to play with the other dogs that had gone before, and that maybe I'd see him again one day . . . and I believed her, right? Hell, I was, like, five . . ."

"Maybe you will," Valerie ventured softly.

Evan shook his head, a pain brightening behind his gaze, so intense that she could almost feel it, too. "It's the only time she ever lied to me," he whispered. "She just . . . couldn't stand to tell me the truth."

She didn't know what to say to that, either, and despite the feeling that she was somehow failing him, she understood on some level that maybe it was all right. Maybe he didn't expect her to give him the answers. Maybe he simply needed to question everything.

"Why him?" Evan demanded in a harsh whisper. "He's . . . He's got a mate . . . a pup . . . and I don't have shit, damn it!"

"That's not true," she said quietly, recoiling slightly at the vehemence in his tone.

"It is!" he spat, hunching forward, digging his hands into his hair as he squeezed his eyes closed. "Daniel lost his daddy . . . He's going to lose his mama . . . and I'm still here, goddamn it! It . . . it isn't _fair!_ I don't matter! Not like he did! If I died _. . . Goddamn it!_ "

Shaking her head at the strangeness of his statement, she grabbed his hand when he started to shoot to his feet, tugging him back down again, forcibly pulling him to her, cradling his head against her chest. "You matter," she argued gently, closing her eyes as though to block out the abrasiveness of his words. "You matter, Evan!"

"No . . .No, no, no . . ." he half-moaned, his voice muffled by her oversized sweatshirt. He tried to pull away for a moment but gave up without much of a fight.

"You do," she insisted, wondering absently just when her words had become true. "You matter, Evan. You . . . You matter to _me_."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

" _That was killer! Those kids totally grooved on us!_ "

 _Evan chuckled as they followed Bone out of the Dominique Ray Center. The unmistakable clatter of a myriad of cameras hissed from every conceivable direction. "Damned vultures found out," he muttered under his breath despite the broadcast grin that surfaced on his features as he raised his hand to wave_.

" _I dig kids," Dieter went on enthusiastically. "They get so excited, y'know?_ "

" _You kind of are a kid," Evan pointed out, reaching for a pen that a girl shoved at him. "What's your name, sweetheart?_ "

" _Kendra!" she gushed, her cheeks reddening by degrees. "I love you, Zel!_ "

" _Oh, yeah? I love you, too." He chuckled as Kendra squealed happily, her eyes glossing over as though she were suspiciously close to tears and scrawled his name on the magazine that she'd thrust under his nose_.

" _Move it, Roka," Bone insisted, glancing around the growing crowd. "This area's not secured_."

 _Evan rolled his eyes and handed back the magazine before taking a slip of paper that looked like some sort of receipt from another girl_.

" _Kiss me, Zel!_ "

 _Grin broadening, he leaned in to oblige the next girl in line as the hands of his gathered fans touched his arms, his chest. She did break down in tears_.

" _Let's go, loverboy," Bone said, grabbing Evan by the back of his shirt and hauling him away from the crowd_.

" _Sorry, guys!" Evan called back with a broad wave as he headed toward the waiting car that someone had brought around just before they'd stepped outside. "Take care!_ "

" _Dude! That fucker's got a gun_ . . _." Dieter muttered, slapping Evan's arm and pointing off to the other side. "Looks real, y'know?_ "

 _Evan blinked and started to glance in the direction that Dieter was staring as Bone yanked open the rear passenger door of the Cadillac. "Wha—?_ "

 _A sudden 'pop' that could be heard above the din of the assembled fans echoed in the street. "Look the fuck out!" Dieter yelled. "Motherfu_ —"

 _Evan gasped when Dieter shoved him, as a blinding burn singed his right arm. A second shot rang out, but he was already falling, hitting the ground hard as a searing pain ignited in his upper chest, just below his left shoulder. The dizzying pang nearly obliterated everything else from his mind, even as he grunted when Dieter's full weight fell on him moments later_.

" _Fuck!_ Fuck! _No, goddamn it_ , no!" _Bone thundered, grabbing Dieter with one hand and Evan with the other, hauling them both upright and shoving them into the car. Absolute bedlam was erupting around them. In the confusion, Evan slumped against the seat before Bone shoved his head down as he piled into the car behind them_.

" _C'mon!_ C'mon! _We gotta get moving!_ Now!" _Kenny, the security detail who had brought the car around hollered_.

" _Get us the fuck outta here!" Bone growled as he yanked the door closed. The tires screeched on the pavement. Evan grimaced when Bone grabbed the front of his shirt and shredded it as easily as it would have if it had been made of nothing more than paper_. _"Fuck, Roka . . . Did it go clear through?_ "

 _Evan shook his head, unable to grasp what Bone was asking. The pain was staggering, and he wasn't entirely sure why he was struggling so hard to remain somewhat coherent_. _Glancing down at his chest, Evan blinked and stared in perverse fascination. The abrasion on his chest wasn't deep—the bullet had grazed across the surface of his skin. Left behind was the rent flesh, torn open and already ringed in blackened bruising, raw nerve endings exposed, creating a pain that swelled larger and larger from a thousand tiny aches into a throbbing, almost overwhelming, mass_ . . .

" _It's not too bad," Bone said, the relief in his voice unmistakable as he yanked a stack of sterile cotton pads out of the first aid kit that he kept stashed under the passenger side front seat. "Hold these," he demanded, smashing Evan's hand over the pads as he moved to climb over him. "Damn, Deet_ . . ."

 _Evan winced, gritting his teeth as a fresh bout of pain flashed before his eyes. Out the window, he could see buildings flying past as they headed out of the city. He didn't know how fast they were going, but they were making damn good time_ . . .

" _I-I-I-It's bad, isn't it?" Dieter muttered, his voice oddly wet, his breathing harsh and shallow, punctuated by wheezing gurgles_.

" _Eh, what the fuck are you talking about? This ain't nothing," Bone replied, groping behind himself for the first aid kit. Evan stared at the huge, crimson handprint that stained the gray leather covering the back of the passenger seat. "Ain't nothing, man_ . . ."

" _I'm pulling over," Kenny called over his shoulder as he whipped into a gas station. "Mike says he wants you to get Roka outta the city_."

 _Bone glanced out the back window and grimaced as he carefully but quickly packed a handful of padding over the gaping wound in Dieter's chest. Moments later, he was out the door and sliding in behind the steering wheel. "Lock down the mansion," he hollered out the window at Kenny. "Don't tell 'em shit!_ "

 _Evan blinked and gritted his teeth as he forced himself to sit up. The pain in his chest was subsiding just a little as his body started to heal itself. Slumped beside him, the sound of Dieter's labored breathing seemed to permeate every inch of the car. "Hey, Deet," Evan muttered, shifting to look at him. "You all right?_ "

 _Dieter tried to smile, his eyes having trouble focusing on anything at all. "F-Fuck . . . hurts more than I thought, being shot_ . . ."

 _The scent of blood was enough to choke Evan, so heavy, so thick that he couldn't escape it. Dieter coughed, spitting up some gooey blackened ooze—a mixture of blood and other brackish things. Evan had to bite down hard to keep himself from gagging. "You're . . . o-okay, right?" Dieter asked, his gaze clearing slightly as he stared at Evan_.

" _Who? Me? Damn, Deet . . . I'll be fine," Evan insisted. Glancing out the rear window, he frowned and shook his head. The car was moving even faster now, weaving through traffic at a dizzying speed. Bone must've enabled a barrier over the vehicle—one that kept it from being detected by human eyes—thank Evan's nephew-in-law, Kurt for that_ . . .

" _Fu . . . Fucker," Dieter gasped out, hands fluttering around, as though he weren't sure if he wanted to clutch his chest or pretend that nothing was wrong. "Can't . . . breathe_ . . ."

 _The first strands of a very real panic surged through Evan as he stared at Dieter. Sweating profusely despite the pallor of his skin, dark purple splotches under his eyes, he seemed to be growing gaunter with every moment that passed, and Evan shook his head as he reached out, cutting through the rent fabric of Dieter's shirt. Dieter's body was trying to heal itself. Evan could see the flesh as it tried to mend itself, to weave itself back together to staunch the flow of blood. Wet, gurgling hisses escaped as air was forced out of one of Dieter's torn lungs. The thin membrane erupted in a rise of tiny bubbles that made the pooling blood shiver and groan. "That better?" Evan heard himself asking, knowing damn well that it probably wasn't_.

" _Uh . . . Yeah," Dieter said as the wheezing grew worse. The gaping hole—roughly four inches in diameter—in his chest was full of blood and a blackened mass of congealed gunk—blood, tissue, torn muscle . . . How close to his heart was it? Gritting his teeth, Evan forced himself not to look away. "Hey_ . . ."

" _Bone, move it," Evan growled. "Deet's in trouble_ . . ."

 _Dieter waved a hand, finally grasping Evan's arm to gain his attention. "If I don't make it, tell Miss_ . . ."

 _Evan shook his head stubbornly. He didn't want to listen, didn't want to hear . . . Didn't want_ . . . " _Don't you die, goddamn it! Don't you fucking die!_ "

" _Tell her . . . Tell Miss . . ." Between the rasping wetness of his labored breathing, Dieter coughed weakly, a thin string of congealed blood coursing from the corner of his lips. "I don't . . . I don't hate her meatloaf_ . . ."

" _God . . . God, God,_ goddamn _it, Dieter!_ "

 _Dieter choked out a hollow laugh. "Death of an artist, eh? That . . . That's cool_ . . ."

" _Think of Miss!" Evan insisted, grasping Dieter's shoulders, dragging him over to lean against him. "Think of her . . . You can't leave her! And Daniel . . . Don't forget Daniel . . .!_ "

 _Dieter grimaced, a ragged groan slipping from him, brought on by the movement, by the unavoidable jarring of the vehicle. "Daniel . . . He'll be . . . okay . . . You'll . . . you'll look out for him, right . . .?_ "

" _Deet_ —"

 _Another rattling cough that sprayed a fine sheen of blood from Dieter's mouth . . . "A-And don't piss V off too much . . . She's . . . scary_ . . ."

" _Bone! Goddamn it!" Evan bellowed, the edges of hysteria rising in his voice_.

 _Bone gunned the engine as an enigmatic little smile surfaced on Dieter's face_.

 _A startling flash of light, a blast of air so cold—too cold . . . a moment of shock, of disbelief as the car skidded off the road just outside of the city; just away from the suburbs_ . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"I see. Thank you."

Clicking off the cell phone, Valerie let out a deep breath and set the device aside while sparing a glance at the man sleeping soundly on the sofa.

He'd fallen asleep, huddled against her chest, the darkened half-moons under his eyes a silent testimony to the horrors he'd seen—things that she couldn't even begin to comprehend. To have watched as one of his best friends died . . .? What could that do to him, mentally?

She'd never felt quite so useless before. As she'd sat there with her arms wrapped around him, unable to do a thing to chase away the dreams that brought an unconscious frown to his face, that made his body tense, she'd wondered if there really was anything she could do for him; anything at all. To say that she understood was a lie. To be honest, she didn't _want_ to understand that much. She could tell that he was still trapped in a lull of shock, but maybe that was all right, too . . .

She'd gotten up, though, when the fax machine had buzzed to life. True to his word, Mike had sent over the documentation she needed to make the authorities tell them what they knew. She'd just gotten off the phone with the chief of police. He'd promised to keep her posted as soon as anything came to light . . .

Evan's soft groan interrupted her, and she hurried over to the sofa. He'd called out a couple of times already. She'd smoothed his forehead until he'd calmed down again, but he'd yet to wake up, and that was fine, too, she supposed.

He swung a fist this time, nothing directed at her, more of an unconscious reaction meant to drive away the demons that existed only in his mind. He was even more agitated than he had been. She dodged his arm easily enough as she leaned in, touched his cheek. "Evan? It's okay," she said, gently rubbing his cheek. "It's all right . . ."

He moaned a little louder, his brow furrowing in abject pain. Grimacing as she glanced down at the gauze wrap that covered his chest, she bit her lip, wondering absently if he shouldn't be in a hospital instead of sleeping on her sofa.

"Evan? Shh . . . You're okay. . ." she tried to soothe him.

With a start, his eyes popped open, a completely frantic expression in his gaze—one that nearly broke her heart. Choking back a gasp, he smashed his hands over his face, as though he were too ashamed to allow her to look at him.

Reaching for a glass of water that Valerie had set on the table awhile before, she rubbed his shoulder with her free hand. "Here. Drink this," she offered gently.

She didn't think that he was going to listen to her. Unmoving, as though he were simply being stubborn, Evan drew a few stunted breaths before grunting quietly as he rolled to the side, pushing himself upright and ignoring her offer to help him.

"How long was I asleep?" he finally asked, breaking the companionable silence that had fallen between them as he drank a few gulps of the water.

"Not too long," she said. "A couple hours, maybe three?"

He sighed. "Feels like . . . forever . . ."

Perched on the edge of the coffee table, Valerie leaned forward, brushed Evan's long bangs out of his face. "I talked to the chief of police. He said that he'd send over extra security to get rid of the reporters hanging out by your place."

Evan shook his head, tried to smile. It failed. "I . . . I can't go home yet," he said. "I mean, I should go see Miss . . . Make sure she's all right . . ."

"What about that?" she asked, brushing her fingertips over the padding taped to Evan's chest. "Do you need to go have that looked at?"

He waved off her concern as he stood up and reached for his jacket.

"Evan," she began, uneasy with the idea of him leaving. "You . . . You want me to go with you?"

He almost smiled at the contrived casualness in her voice. "No, it's fine," he told her as he shrugged on the jacket.

She shook her head. "I do have a front door, Evan," she pointed out.

He made a face. "I don't wanna deal with them—the press."

She frowned. "Why would they be here?"

Evan snorted—a completely cynical sort of sound. "You kidding? They know you're my attorney, V. The bastards are camping out there."

She scowled at him as she hurried over to the window then winced. True enough, there had to be at least twenty camera crews out there on the sidewalk.

"Just leave the window open, could you?"

Valerie let out a deep breath, pivoting on her heel to stare at him. That saddened expression was still on his face, and he shrugged half-heartedly. "Okay," she said.

"Thanks, V," he murmured. "I, uh . . . I won't be gone long."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _1000_** **_Words_** ' _by_ _Jade_ _first appeared on the 2003_ _soundtrack_ _for_ **_Final_** **_Fantasy_** **_X-2_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Kazushige_ _Nojima_ _and_ _Daisuke_ _Watanabe_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Oh,_ _Evan_ …


	47. 046: Graying

' _Some children died the other day_ …  
 _We fed machines and then we prayed_ …  
 _Puked up and down in morbid faith_ …  
 _You should have seen the ratings that day_ …'

 

-' _The Nobodies'_ by Marilyn Manson.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"I told you, woman, it isn't that bad."

"Shut up, Roka. My hands are already shaking enough, as it is."

Heaving a sigh designed to let Valerie know exactly what he thought of her attempts at cleaning his wounds, Evan shot her what should have been a rather formidable scowl—if she had deigned to notice it. She didn't. Too busy gnawing on her bottom lip as she carefully, gently dabbed at the torn flesh that was already healing nicely, she let out a deep, quivering breath and slowly shook her head. "Thank God that this wasn't worse," she muttered.

Evan sucked in a sharp hiss of air when she dabbed a little Medi-Ready onto the torn skin. "Shit _burns_ , V," he complained.

"Sorry," she said with a flinch. "You're lucky this wasn't worse."

"Yeah," he intoned, his gaze taking on a far-away sort of glimmer. ' _Worse? Sure . . . like Deet_ . . .'

The startlingly vivid image of Dieter's chest—the tangled and torn cords of flesh that had glistened like some kind of grisly glitter flashed through his head, the writhing tissue that tried in vain to repair itself . . .

"All done," she said in a falsely bright tone as she reached for a clean roll of gauze. "I'll just wrap you up, okay?"

"Uh, y-yeah," he agreed, brushing away the memory as best he could. "Thanks, V."

"Here, hold this," she replied, placing his hand over the cotton pads that she'd pulled out to replace the ones that he had been using.

He did as he was told, almost smiling as she bent her head to fiddle with the end of the gauze. Sunlight filtered through the wall of windows, spilling over her, tangling in her hair, adding a reddish-gold sheen to her glossy brown locks. "Miss said that Daniel . . . He didn't really understand," he admitted quietly—brokenly. "How could he? I mean . . . He's just a pup . . ."

She shot him a rueful smile as she unrolled the end of the gauze. "You're the only person I've ever heard call children 'pups'," she remarked.

"It's a family thing," he said with a shrug, moving his fingers to hold down the end of the roll.

"Is Miss all right?"

Evan sighed, lifting his other arm so that she could wrap the gauze around him. "Fuck . . . 'Course she isn't."

Valerie sighed, too. "I didn't figure," she allowed. "If there's anything I can do . . ."

"The only thing that could help her," he said with a shake of his head, "is bringing Dieter back."

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie nodded, her eyes darkened with emotion that she just couldn't quite seem to put into words. He understood, didn't he? After all, he, more than anyone, knew what it would ultimately mean . . .

"Do you think she'd do something . . . bad?" she ventured quietly, carefully—sadly.

Evan shook his head then shrugged as he reached for the nondescript white button down shirt that he'd picked up at some point earlier in the day while he was out, checking up on Miss. "No . . . No . . . I don't . . ." He grimaced. "I don't know."

He could feel her gaze on him, intense and probing. He had a feeling that he knew what she was going to say, and as much as he didn't want to hear it, he simply couldn't quite bring himself to argue with her, either. "It's not your fault, Evan," she said.

"V . . ."

Grasping his face in her hands when he tried to look away, she stubbornly forced him to look at her. "It's not. Dieter pushed you out of the way, right? Do you know why? Huh?"

He sighed but didn't answer.

"He did it because you're his friend, Evan. He did it because . . ." Trailing off for a moment, she licked her lips as the stinging salt of fresh tears—tears she refused to let fall—glossed over the brilliance of her gaze. "He did it because he felt compelled to," she finished in a whisper: a ragged whisper.

"I know that," he argued, shaking his head and pulling away from her. He needed the distance, didn't he? He just wasn't ready to accept her attempts to comfort him, to make everything go away . . . "I know it, but it doesn't matter. Dieter's dead, and I . . . I'm not . . ."

She seemed to understand though he could tell that she didn't want to let it go. He heard the soft shuffling as she gathered up the things she'd used to clean his chest wound. He didn't delude himself into thinking that she was going to let it drop altogether. He knew her better than that. Still, even a brief reprieve . . .

That was all right, wasn't it . . .?

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Denning."

"Hi, Ms. Denning—Valerie. I just thought I'd check in on you and see how Mr. Roka's doing," Xavier Bainey's voice greeted her when she answered her cell phone.

Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, Valerie bit her lip, watching in silence as Evan roamed listlessly, shying away from the windows as though he were afraid that he would be seen. "He's doing all right," she said, telling herself that she wasn't lying completely. Physically, he was all right, wasn't he? He'd been grazed by two bullets: once on his upper arm—that one wasn't bad, little more than a slight redness of his skin, and the other on his chest, and while that one looked a little more severe, it was healing well—almost startlingly well, really . . .

"Good, good . . . Glad to hear it, of course. Have you heard anything from the police?"

Rubbing her forehead, Valerie glanced at Evan again. He just wasn't listening at all, and she supposed that was fine. Did he really need to hear about the investigation at the moment? She didn't really think so . . . "Not yet. I talked to them an hour or so ago, and they said they were checking into a couple leads, though. They said that they would give me a call as soon as they finished up."

Xavier cleared his throat a little uncomfortably. "All right, then. Give me a call if you need anything—anything at all."

"Sure, Mr. Bainey . . . Thanks."

Hanging up the phone, she rubbed her eyes and blew out her cheeks, tamping down the acute irritation that she couldn't ignore. The only thing that Xavier Bainey cared about was the fact that the firm was soaking Evan for a hell of a lot of money for her representation. He certainly wouldn't have been calling if Evan wasn't her client.

She drew a deep breath. All right, so that wasn't entirely fair. Xavier probably was concerned on some level, sure, and it would have been weird if he hadn't called to ask about Evan. Still . . .

And then, too, Marvin had called earlier, as well. He'd heard about the shooting on the news, it seemed, and he'd been concerned . . .

" _Hey, Val . . . Is everything all right? They were saying on the news that Zel Roka was shot . . ." he'd said in lieu of a proper greeting_.

" _Oh . . . yes . . . but he's all right. His friend was killed, though," she said_.

 _Marvin clucked his tongue. "What a mess. That's terrible!_ "

 _Glancing over her shoulder toward the bedroom—Evan had gone to check on Miss and hadn't gotten back yet—she sighed, rubbing her forehead and wondering why she felt about a hundred years old. "He's dealing with it," she asserted. "As much as he can, anyway_ . . ."

 _Marvin let out a deep breath. She could hear him, drumming his fingers on a table in the background. "At least he has someone like you there," he insisted. "I know you'll be good to him, Val_."

 _She smiled ruefully and rubbed the back of her neck. "I'm trying," she said. A shadow moved in the bedroom down the hall, and Valerie shook her head. "Listen, Marvin, I think he's back, so I'm going to go. Thanks for calling_."

" _No problem," he said. "I'm really sorry about his loss_."

" _Sure. I'll tell him_ . . ."

Valerie sighed. As wrecked as her nerves were, weren't Evan's much, much worse? Making a face, she shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest as she slowly stared at him. She just wanted to help him . . . but how?

Lingering near the windows, Evan seemed to be lost in a world of his own making. Not surprising, all things considered, but it did worry her, just a little bit. He was so far removed from the man she'd come to know, and the changes, while understandable, were frightening. All she could do was hope that he would eventually come out of it; that he would be able to deal with the things that he simply couldn't handle at the moment.

As much as she wanted to help him, she didn't know how to do it. She'd never had to deal with anything like Dieter's death, and whatever she thought of that she wanted to say just didn't seem to be nearly enough. It all sounded trite and cliché in her own head, well before they ever came out of her mouth, and while she could understand Mike and even Bone's concern—they'd both called a few times—she had to allow that Evan's needs came first, and he didn't want to speak with either of them, not yet. She figured that was all right. She knew well enough that he'd do it eventually.

"Hey . . . are you hungry?" she asked, knowing what his answer was going to be but forcing herself to ask, anyway.

"No," he replied, "but thanks, V."

"You really ought to eat something," she chided gently.

"Bas is supposed to stop by later," he remarked, abruptly changing the topic. "That's, uh . . . It's all right, isn't it?"

"Of course it is," she told him, crossing her arms over her chest and wandering over to stand beside him. "Evan . . ."

Her cell phone interrupted what she'd wanted to say, and with a last, lingering stare, she turned to retrieve the device.   "Denning," she answered.

"Afternoon, Ms. Denning. I wanted to give you an update about your client's case."

"Good," she said, casting Evan a surreptitious glance. "Have you found out something else?"

The chief heaved a tired sigh and covered the receiver so that he could bark out an order to someone in the background. "Sorry about that," he muttered a moment later. "We found the guy—Ray Buttermore. He's the one that shot Mr. Roka and Mr. Reichardt. My men found his body in his apartment in Yonkers along with a note."

"His body?" she repeated with a shake of her head. "You mean, he's dead?"

"Suicide," the chief went on rather matter-of-factly. "Seems his wife ditched him about twelve years ago, just after the birth of their only child, Bobby. About a year ago, Bobby was diagnosed with leukemia, and he was being treated at the Dominique Ray Center. He died last week—complications from pneumonia, and Mr. Buttermore apparently lost it. The note alleges that he wanted to hurt 'them'—we're figurin' that he meant the hospital—but that he never meant to shoot Mr. Roka or Mr. Reichardt. He said he couldn't deal with it anymore, and he shot himself . . . and if it's worth anything at all, he apologized to both of them in the context of the note."

Valerie pursed her lips. "Yes, well, I don't think that it'll help, but I'll pass that information along."

"It's pretty cut and dried. We still need to interview Mr. Roka, though, just for the official record. You understand."

She nodded, though she wasn't entirely certain that Evan would 'understand' or even comply without some serious impetus of one kind or another. "Mr. Reichardt's memorial is in a couple days," Valerie explained quietly. "Surely it can wait until after all of that."

"No rush, no rush," the chief hurried to say. "There is a question regarding Mr. Reichardt's body, but since there won't be any charges filed, it shouldn't be a big deal."

"Mr. Roka indicated that Mr. Reichardt's family didn't believe in desecrating a mortal body by conducting autopsies, and that he was cremated, as per their instructions. I think that you should direct your questions about that to his family's legal counsel, not Mr. Roka. He had nothing to do with their choice in the matter."

There was a very pregnant pause on the other end of the line. Valerie supposed that the police chief didn't like what she was telling him. Too bad. As far as she was concerned, Evan had already been through enough, and she didn't even try to delude herself into thinking that he wasn't going to be comforted by the idea that the man had already taken his own life, either . . .

"Be that as it may, Ms. Denning, we still need to talk to him."

"Absolutely," she replied. "Thank you for calling."

"They find out anything?" Evan demanded before Valerie could snap the phone closed.

Letting out a deep breath, she slowly nodded. "They did," she allowed with a little shrug. "The man—Ray Buttermore, they said his name was . . . He . . . He killed himself."

She waited breathlessly for a moment, trying to decide if he was going to blow up or not. "Oh, did he?" Evan parried, his voice flat, anger tingeing the careful intonation. "Isn't that convenient."

"They said that he went down there after his son died at the clinic. He . . . He apparently wanted to kill the doctors that he thought were responsible . . ." Glancing at him to gauge his reaction, she bit her lip before going on. His expression was completely blank, save for the tell-tale ticking in his jaw. "They said that he wasn't targeting you or Dieter; that when his son died, he . . . He lost it."

"Is that right?" Evan mused, the incredulity in his voice a painful thing. "Tell me, V . . . is that supposed to make me feel better? He wasn't targeting us . . .? Is that some sort of fucking _joke?_ "

Wincing at the vindictiveness in Evan's tone, Valerie shook her head. "I wasn't trying to make you feel better," she explained quietly, hesitantly. "Evan . . ."

He waved a hand to silence her, pacing the floor like a caged animal. "I know; you were just relaying what the cops said. I got it." Digging his hands into his hair, he hunched over slightly, the rage inside him flowing from his body in wave after noxious wave. " _Son of a bitch!_ " he exploded, letting go of his head, swiping his arm over the tabletop, sending everything crashing to the floor. "He lost his pup so he takes another one's father? Someone else's son? He was angry, so he shot Deet—shot me—and all the fucking cops say is that he lost his goddamn mind? Case closed, ladies and gentlemen! Let's chalk another one up for the fucking peanut gallery!"

Staring in horror at the shattered remains of the cream colored Landstrom lamp that she'd so carefully picked out just after she'd bought her apartment, Valerie remained silent, unsure what she could possibly say or do to calm him down before he ended up completely undone. As much as she might want to try to reason with him, it wouldn't work, and she knew it. Moreover, she couldn't rightfully say that she disagreed with him, either. The injustice of it seemed far too vast, far too unyielding, to even begin to try to comprehend.

"Daniel doesn't even realize that his father's not coming home . . . Miss is falling apart at the seams . . . and I can't even close my damn eyes without seeing it over and over and over again . . ." Uttering a low growl, he looked like he wanted to smash something—anything . . .

"Too much of a coward to deal with what he'd done. Is that right?"

Valerie gasped and whipped around, only to come face to face with Bas Zelig as he strode from the direction of the bedroom. He must've come in through the window, and while Valerie could understand the desire not to deal with the reporters that were still camped outside on the street, she had to wonder just why that family seemed to have an affinity for the unorthodox.

"Valerie," he said with a curt nod as he strode over to Evan and draped his hands on his hips.

Valerie opened her mouth to respond but stopped short, the word dying on her tongue as she stared at the huge sword, strapped around Bas' waist. And just why did she have a feeling that it wasn't just for show . . .?

A very distinct shiver raced up her spine, and Valerie shook her head as she rubbed her arms and stood back.

"Something like that," Evan growled, tossing a discordant glance at his brother.

"Gunnar's still checking into it," Bas continued. "I'm going to hang around until he says it's all clear, so stay away from your house until I tell you otherwise. Got that?"

Evan nodded, the irritation on his face growing steadily more pronounced though he didn't try to gainsay his brother. "Yeah, what the hell ever."

For a split second, Valerie actually thought that the older brother was going to hit him. He heaved a sigh, though, and shook his head again. "Do me a favor, will you?"

"What?"

Bas started back down the hallway, pausing just outside her bedroom doorway. "Call Mom. She's worried about you."

He didn't have a flippant response for that, and Valerie wasn't surprised to see the slight grimace that crossed his features, either. Stomping over, he flopped into a chair, still resembling a caged animal, but no longer a rabid one.

"Does your whole family have a thing for windows?" she tried to tease, barely managing a wan, half-smile for Evan's benefit.

"Bubby's been watching you since the shooting to make sure that no one came after you—assuming they were after me, of course—which he apparently wasn't," he muttered.

She frowned, settling on the edge of the sofa. "Why would your brother have done that?"

He shot her a glance that stated quite plainly that she really ought to have known the answer to that. "You think that he wouldn't? If someone wanted to get to me, what better way than to get his hands on my attorney?" Evan retorted.

Valerie shook her head. "Don't be silly, Evan," she reprimanded. "I'm just your attorney, nothing special. It'd make more sense for someone to go after your friends—Maddy or Bitches or Bugs or D—" Snapping her mouth closed, she could have kicked herself for the name that she'd almost spouted. Clearing her throat, she tried not to fidget when his head snapped to the side, his gaze darkening by degrees. "—or Bone . . ." she added on lamely.

He had to have known what she'd been about to say. He chose to ignore it, though. "Thought you said you were my friend, too," he murmured.

Valerie managed a weak little smile. "I am," she agreed, leaning forward, clasping his knee and giving a gentle squeeze. "I tell you what: how about I make dinner for you? I know, you're not hungry, but you really need to eat something."

He forced a weary smile that didn't reach his gaze. "All right," he mumbled then grimaced when he caught sight of the mess he'd made. "Uh, let me know how much I owe you for the lamp," he offered.

She stood up and fluttered her fingers over her shoulder as she moved off toward the kitchen. "Don't worry about it, Evan," she replied. "The lamp can wait."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _Why does she feel so . . . distant?_ '

Evan scowled as he watched Valerie putter around the open kitchen. No, it wasn't distance, was it? More like . . . she was being overly cautious . . .

Trouble was, he had no idea how to breech it. Hell, his brain hurt too much to even try to reason it all out. Just a couple days ago, he had no worries, no fear, no regrets, and now . . .?

Now he had no idea just what he was, just what he had become.

Yet after everything that he'd been through in the last couple days, just why was it that Valerie's mere presence could settle the edges of his frazzled nerves, offering him a comfort that he really didn't deserve? She'd said that Dieter's death wasn't his fault, and he knew that, maybe. Then again, maybe he really didn't. It didn't do any good to blame himself, no, but he couldn't help it, either.

' _V_ . . .'

She glanced up at him and smiled: a pathetic little thing that spoke from her heart, just the same. As though she knew damn well, what was going through his head, it was enough, wasn't it? ' _Enough_ . . .'

Valerie . . .

" _Lookee! Lookee what my daddy brunged me!_ "

 _Evan tried to smile; he really did as Daniel tore toward him, holding out a shiny, white ambulance—a silent and somewhat morbid testimony to Dieter's predilection for death. "Oh, yeah? That's . . . That's cool_ . . ."

 _Daniel bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. "When Daddy gets home, he'll play cars with me 'cause he said so_."

" _I . . . I-I bet he will," Evan stammered, unable to correct the unshakable belief_.

 _Miss choked back a sob and hurried out of the living room. Later on, she'd told him that Daniel just didn't understand; that she'd explained it to him a few times, and every time she tried, Daniel nodded and said, "Okay," but then he'd go back and start playing once more_ . . .

A moment before the door slammed open, Evan could feel _her_ presence. Enough to jerk him out of the memory that he couldn't shake, Evan glanced up, blinking a few times as the blur of motion and the overwhelmingly familiar scent assailed him.

"Evan!" Madison half-sobbed, half-whimpered as she threw herself into his arms. "Oh, God . . . I came as soon as I heard . . ."

"Maddy . . ."

The salt in her tears tingled in his nostrils, bringing a sudden sting to his eyelids, accompanied by the hot and grainy pangs, the insufferable knowledge that those same tears were just beyond his grasp.

"I'm sorry, Evan—so sorry . . ." she blubbered.

In the distance, he heard the soft click as Valerie closed the door. "I'll make some tea," she offered. Evan shot her a grateful glance. She didn't see it as she hurried back into the kitchenette, and he sighed. She felt like a fifth wheel, didn't she? That wasn't at all how Evan saw her, but at the moment, there wasn't much he could do about it, either.

"Shh, Maddikins . . . It's all right," he heard himself saying. Strange, wasn't it? Somehow, he'd become the one to lend comfort . . .

"I wanted to go see Miss, but I didn't know what to say," Madison confessed. "I . . . I mean, Dieter . . . oh, _God_ . . ."

Drawing a deep breath, Evan nodded, pushing Madison back just enough to smooth her chair out of her face. Mascara streaking her pale cheeks, her nose red and shining, with a misery etched so deeply into her youki that it stung, she looked so very different from the highly polished, glossy woman she'd become, and in that instant, he saw the same flashes—the moments of goofing off that the three of them had shared over the years . . . The same laughs and pranks . . . The times of anger . . . and he knew that Madison was remembering them, too . . .

"Don't cry, Maddy," he said, unable to raise his voice above a whisper. "Deet would have hated that."

She sniffled and tried to choke back her tears. "I know," she squeaked, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "He'd say I was a pussy."

"I'm glad you're here."

She dragged in a stunted breath. "I got on the first plane out," she said. "How is she? Miss?"

Evan shook his head. "So far, she's all right . . ."

"You're . . . sure . . .?"

"I'm sure," he assured her. "Deet never . . . He never did it." He could hear the hint of skepticism in her voice, and he nodded slowly, offering her a meaningful look. She didn't know, he supposed, but he did. Dieter hadn't gotten around to marking Miss though he'd meant to soon. At the time, Evan had worried that Dieter was being lax in making sure that she was protected since she was human, but now . . .

Now he had to think that maybe, if Miss stood a chance of surviving the loss of her mate, it would have to be because he hadn't done that . . .

It had been explained to him a long time ago. Kichiro had told him how it worked, at least in theory. It seemed that when a youkai or hanyou claimed a human mate, the physical changes in the human's body was more significant than if the same was done with two youkai. The youkai or hanyou blood was dominant over that of a human. In essence, the stronger blood—in this case, the youkai or hanyou's—basically killed off the human blood that remained behind in the system, thus lending the human mate the same lifespan of the youkai or hanyou, enhancing healing abilities though perhaps not as fast as that of the non-human, but . . .

But that was the problem, too. A youkai or hanyou's blood only lived as long as the original being, so if that mate died, then so would their blood, regardless of whether it was inside their own body or in that of his or her mate . . . If Dieter had marked Miss, there'd be no question. The dying blood would have been toxic to Miss' human body, and it would have killed her eventually . . .

"So . . . that's good, anyway," Madison said though she sounded like she was trying to be more optimistic than she felt. "How are you?"

"I'll be fine," he said with a shake of his head. "I am glad you're here, though."

She forced a tight little smile and kissed his cheek. "Me, too . . ."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

It was so quiet that Valerie could hear herself blinking in the silence, but the rhythmic rise and fall of Evan's chest was reassuring. It was late, but she wasn't tired. She doubted Evan would go to sleep, either, even though she also knew that he was exhausted. Madison had left awhile before to head over to check up on Miss, and she'd called shortly afterward to tell Evan that she was going to stay over there for the night.

"Hey, V . . .?"

"Hmm?"

"What do you think it's worth?"

Valerie pushed herself up on her elbow and gazed at Evan. Lying on his back with his hands behind his neck, he had his eyes closed. "What do I think what's worth?"

"A life," he said simply. "What's one worth to you?"

"Well," she hedged as she considered his question, "they say that life is . . . priceless."

He waved a hand dismissively and heaved a sigh. "That sounds good, sure," he argued, "but it doesn't really mean that much if you think about it."

"So what _do_ you mean?"

He opened his eyes, turning his head just enough to stare at her in the darkness. The only light in the room was the glow of the blue-lit clock on the bedside table and the faint, yellowish glow filtering through the window. That paltry light was enough, though, to pool in his eyes, making them shine like stars in the deepest night sky. Come to think of it, she hadn't seen a sky that dark in a long, long time . . .

"Like . . . if you had to give up something to save someone else . . . what would you be willing to give?"

Reaching over, she gently brushed Evan's bangs out of his face, a very soft smile quirking her lips—an almost sad sort of expression—wistful, and maybe a little lonesome . . . "I don't know. I guess it would depend on who I was trying to save."

Evan nodded as though he could understand that. "For Maddy?" he challenged.

Valerie let out a deep breath and a husky chuckle. "For Maddy . . . I'd give up everything I own . . . I'd give up . . . my kidneys or my . . . my liver . . . or my _shoes_ . . ."

He smiled wanly at the hint of teasing in her tone. "And for me?" he asked quietly.

Valerie was caught off-guard by his question, even though she probably shouldn't have been. She opened her mouth to answer, but paused, a distinct shiver rushing up and down her spine as the memory of those hours when she didn't know whether he was alive or dead ran through her mind. "I'd . . . I'd give up my sanity for you, Evan," she replied in a whisper.

He stared at her for a long moment, a thousand things in his gaze—things that she didn't understand—maybe she didn't want to. "That's cool, V," he whispered back, slipping his arm around her and pulling her close against his side. There was nothing untoward in the gesture. It was more like he simply needed the reassurance that she would stay there with him, that he wouldn't have to be alone, and she acquiesced. It occurred to her that she didn't like to see him this vulnerable, this morose. Letting out a deep breath, she bit her lip, wishing in vain that she could do more . . .

"What about me, Evan?" she countered mildly, mostly to get her mind off her own thoughts. "What would you give to save me?"

Evan chuckled. It almost sounded normal— _almost_. "That's easy," he countered.

"Oh? So tell me," she prompted.

His arms tightened around her, and his sigh was more of a feeling—the rise and fall of his chest—than a sound. "Whatever it took, V: anything . . ." She felt his lips on her forehead: warm, vibrant. " _Everything_."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _The_** **_Nobodies_** ' _by Marilyn_ _Manson first appeared on his 2000_ _release, **Holy**_ **_Wood_** **_(In_** **_the_** **_Shadow_** **_of_** **_the_** **_Valley_** **_of_** **_Death)_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Brian_ _Warner_ , _John_ _Lowery_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _A fucking accident …?_


	48. 047: Calm

' _Dear God, sorry to disturb You, but_ …  
 _I feel that I should be heard loud and clear_ …  
 _We all need a big reduction in amount of tears_ …  
 _And the people that You made in Your image_ …  
 _See them fighting in the street_ …  
' _Cause they can't make opinions meet_ …  
 _About God_ …  
 _I can't believe in You …_ '

 

-' _Dear_ _God_ ' by XTC.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"I swear, that had to be the most cliché memorial service _ever_ ," Evan grumbled as he followed Madison into the mansion. It was the first time that he had agreed to go home since the shooting, and Valerie had been more than a little relieved that the authorities had managed to get rid of the swarming press before they'd gotten there, and the police had even stationed a few patrol cars outside on the street to ensure that the paparazzi didn't come back.

"Like you'd know, Evan. When have you ever been to one before?" Madison countered.

Evan snorted loudly, yanking the very tasteful, very expensive black tie around his neck loose. "I've seen 'em on TV. Pay attention, Maddy."

"I thought it was lovely," Valerie remarked as she closed the door and trailed them into the living room. "What was that sculpture supposed to be?"

Evan glanced back at her and smiled faintly as he tossed his suit jacket in the general direction of a chair. "Oh, that was the two fucking cats."

Valerie blinked and shook her head. "Doing what?"

Madison giggled. "Fucking."

Valerie snapped her mouth closed. "I should have known," she muttered with a shake of her head.

"Miss looked a little pale, didn't she?" Evan suddenly asked.

Madison shot him a look. "She hasn't been sleeping well, she said."

Evan didn't look impressed.

"She looked all right to me," Valerie interjected as she kicked off her shoes.

"I guess," Evan said, though he sounded dubious, at best. "Shit . . ."

"What's the matter, Evvie?" Madison asked, reaching up to pull the bobby pins from her hair.

He shook his head, then frowned when the telephone rang. "Hello?"

"You know, you've taken really good care of him," Madison ventured as she sidled up beside Valerie.

Valerie shot her a confused sort of glance and shook her head. "What do you mean?"

Madison smiled and gave Valerie's shoulders a quick squeeze. "Nothing bad, of course. I just meant that I think you've been exactly what Evan needed right now."

"He's . . . a friend," she replied almost defensively.

Madison nodded, her smile faltering slightly as she stared at Evan's back. "He doesn't have that many. Friends, that is," she clarified when Valerie shot her a puzzled sort of look. "He's got lots of acquaintances, sure, but friends? Just a few. Most people can't see past the Zel Roka façade."

"He doesn't make it easy," Valerie allowed. "It's like he tries to hide who and what he is on purpose."

Madison laughed, though it held very little real amusement. "He does," she said simply. "He's worth the effort, though."

Valerie nodded. He was, wasn't he? A sad little smile surfaced on her face, and she shook her head. Evan had said at the memorial service that he'd miss Dieter, and that was all, but it was enough, wasn't it? There hadn't been a need for a long, drawn-out speech, and Evan had known that, too. There had been an overwhelming stiffness to the entire affair that had struck her. More than once, she'd had to wonder just what Dieter would have thought of the whole thing. True enough, she didn't know him nearly as well as Evan or Miss or Madison. Still, she'd known him well enough to think that it hadn't felt right; not at all . . .

To be fair, the service was lovely: demure, understated, tasteful. People had spoken in hushed tones, some shedding tears, many looking shocked. Even Daniel had sat quietly beside his mother, and even if he hadn't understood what was going on, he had been able to understand the gravity of the moment. Miss had managed to paste on a polite little smile as she thanked people from coming and asked them to feel free to share their thoughts about Dieter. Somehow, she'd looked so tiny, so diminished . . . and Valerie couldn't help but to feel a bit awkward when she'd stepped forward to squeeze Miss' hand, to tell her just how sorry she truly was for her loss . . .

And yet, the voice in the back of her mind had taunted her, too, whispering the truth that she had to admit to herself, even if she refused to say it out loud. Did being thankful that Evan had lived mean that she had to be thankful that Dieter hadn't? And if that were the case, just what the hell kind of monster did that make her, after all . . .?

"No, fuck you, Mike! You're not fucking listening to me! I don't—" Pacing the floor in that predatory sort of way that she'd noticed of late, Evan listened to whatever Mike was telling him. "Then cancel it. Whatever you have to do; I'm not ready to do fucking interviews when all they'll ask me is what the fuck it was like to get shot."

Biting her lip, Valerie had to reign in the urge to grab the receiver and tell Mike to shove it up his ass. Evan wasn't ready to do interviews; anyone could see that. Sure, she could understand that Mike thought that Evan would do well to get back into the swing of things, but it just wasn't something that could be rushed, especially when Evan was still struggling to deal with everything.

"Just remember who the hell you work for," Evan hissed. " _Bastard!_ "

Valerie wandered over to him and rubbed his arm as he slapped his new cell phone closed, his outrage a palpable thing. He shot her a completely chagrined look then let out a deep breath. The half-smile that surfaced was enough to calm her, and the one she returned was full of compassion.

"I'm going to get something to drink," Madison piped up, sauntering off toward the kitchen.

"You okay, Roka?" Valerie asked quietly.

Evan let out a deep breath and nodded once. "Yeah," he said, slipping an arm around her waist, just needing to have that reassurance, she supposed. "Yeah."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"It just feels unfinished," Evan remarked as he shook his head.

Madison leaned away from her place, cuddled against his left side, to cast him an owlish look. "How you figure?"

Evan drained the beer in his hand and shrugged, leaning against the sofa. "I don't know . . . It feels like I didn't get to really say goodbye, you know? Unfinished . . ."

Curled against Evan's right side, Valerie hefted her half-full beer bottle and frowned at the contents. "So how would you say goodbye to him, then?" she mused.

Evan took Valerie's bottle and drained it, too. "I dunno," he drawled, thumping the bottle onto the table in front of him. There were already about twenty empty bottles lined up. Madison had finished off five of them, and Valerie had emptied three, not counting the one that Evan had just emptied. The rest were his . . .

"I'll get the next round," Madison offered with a heavy sigh, grunting softly as she pushed herself to her feet. Evan reached up, tugging on the hem of her short black dress to straighten it for her before she wandered away.

True enough, he should probably stop Valerie soon, knowing that the woman just didn't have a head for alcohol. She seemed to be holding her own at the moment, however, and she wasn't too bad . . .

"Here you go," Madison half-sang as she handed out beers and set hers onto the coffee table. "I'll be back—need to use the little girls' room."

"Thanks, Maddy," Valerie called after her. "I'll kiss you when you come back . . . Why does this stuff look so pretty but taste like butt?"

Evan snorted, taking a good swig out of his bottle. "It's not that bad, V. Maybe more of an acquired taste . . ."

She nodded and tipped her beer, but made a face as she forced herself to swallow it. "How would you do it?" she asked.

"Do what?" he questioned, frowning at the black dress pants he hadn't bothered to remove. He'd get around to it eventually. For now, though, it was nice to sit here with Valerie so close . . .

She rolled her eyes in a rather exaggerated sort of way, her cheeks blossoming in a rosy hue, lips stained crimson and without a trace of lipstick to enhance the color. "Say goodbye to Dieter," she clarified. "You didn't really say what you'd do."

He smiled because he knew that she wanted him to, but he wasn't surprised to feel himself closing in once more on the perilous edge of the blackest rage—a rage that had lingered entirely too close since the shooting. "What do you suggest, counselor?"

Her eyebrows drew together as she considered his question. It was that adorable expression that she tended to get whenever she was thinking heavily about something: the one that made her hazel eyes darken just a little; that invariably culminated in the slightly pouting lips that usually had the power to drive him to distraction.

"I think I'd do something special: something that only the two of you ever did . . ." she drawled at length.

"Something special, eh?" he echoed with a smile that better resembled a grimace.

"You mean like your annual ritual?" Madison quipped as she sank down beside Evan again. He slung an arm over her shoulder and pulled her closer against his side. She sighed and sat up to kiss his cheek before nestling her cheek against him.

"Annual ritual?" Valerie murmured, clearly puzzled by the concept.

"All those fucking people . . . and not a damn one of them really knew Deet—at least, not like we did," Evan grumbled.

"They wanted to be there," Madison pointed out rather philosophically. "You can't fault them for that, can you?"

Evan scowled since he could and did—damned posers. Guys from bands down on the strip who had met Dieter maybe once or twice over the years, and most of them were a little scared of Dieter's constant and disturbing obsession with all things dead or dying . . . They'd come out because of the paparazzi that was tacky enough to camp out in front of the New York Civic Hall, where the memorial had been held . . . "Anything to get their fucking picture taken," he growled, flexing the claws on his free hand in a blatant show of irritation. "That bastard, Hellums . . . Did you hear him blowing his shit about how he and Deet used to hang out all the fucking time before Deet hit it big? Deet might've looked at him one time in passing . . . lousy little shit . . ."

"And it doesn't do any good to get all upset over it," Madison remarked with a shrug. "Come on, Evan. Let it go."

"Annual ritual?" Valerie said again, this time a little louder.

"If I run into him in a darkened alley, I'll beat the living shit outta him," Evan warned, squeezing Madison a little closer as he brought the bottle of beer to his lips and slugged back a healthy gulp.

Madison heaved a sigh. "You know what I think was weird? The flowers."

"Why were those weird?" Evan asked.

"Annual ritual?" Valerie repeated yet again.

Madison laughed softly. "Think about it. Pretty, sure, but they're already dead, right? So that's kind of fitting for a memorial—but maybe not for Dieter's . . ."

"Nah . . . Dieter would have wanted to be a zombie or something," Evan said.

"A zombie? He would," Madison muttered, her face registering her obvious disgust with that particular idea. "He was a little bent . . ."

"Hey!" Valerie interrupted before Evan could respond. "You two . . . What's the annual ritual?" she demanded with a shake of her head, leaning forward to peer at Madison.

Evan smiled sadly and shook his head. "The annual ritual . . . Fuck . . ." He scowled. "We . . . We didn't . . . didn't do that this year . . . Maybe . . ." Trailing off with a grimace, he gritted his teeth hard. "Maybe that's why everything got fucked up," he finished quietly.

"You could ask Bone to go with you," Madison suggested cautiously. She knew well enough that Evan was still irked with the head of security, and with good reason, as far as he was concerned. Bone's insistence that they keep moving, his perceived callousness was just a little more than Evan could stand. Add to that the fact that Bone had stood solidly beside Mike in refusing to let Evan do anything, including calling Valerie in those crazy hours just after the shooting, and, well . . .

"The fuck I will," Evan shot back sourly.

Madison shook her head, looking a little sad. "Their first concern was for your safety," she pointed out. "Your father—your _mother_ —asked them for that."

"Keh!" Evan snorted loudly, pinning Madison with a warning stare. She intercepted the look and interpreted it correctly, but she still gave an almost imperceptible glance at Valerie and frowned. "I don't give a great goddamn what Cain wants, and don't you dare drag my mama into it!"

"Maddy's got a point," Valerie suddenly piped up. Evan shot her a quelling glance, then blinked at the thoroughly serious expression on her face. "You should do it, right? To say goodbye to Dieter . . ."

"Okay," Madison stated, rising on her knees and holding up her beer, offering a makeshift toast, of sorts. "If you don't want to take Bone with you, then I'll go," she decided.

"You'll go," Evan repeated with a shake of his head.

"Me, too," Valerie chimed in.

Evan snorted again. "I don't know, Maddy . . ."

She waved off his doubt with a flick of her wrist. "Don't be silly! The more that I think about it, the better it sounds! It's the perfect way to say goodbye, don't you think?"

"Yeah, but we always sat up there and got shitfaced afterward," Evan pointed out calmly.

"Fine, but no wine. Wine's for pussies, remember?" Madison said, her lips twitching as her gaze brightened. "Besides, V's already shitfaced."

"I am not," Valerie slurred haughtily, indignant color rising in her cheeks. "I don't get shitfaced off of beer."

"Of course you don't," Evan added with a gentle smile as he squeezed her shoulders reassuringly.

"Don't you patronize me, Zel Roka," she insisted. "Now tell me about this ritual."

Evan grimaced and shot Madison a quick glance before turning to eye Valerie again. "See, it started the year we came here," he admitted with a shrug. "Come to think of it, I guess it was a little stupid . . ."

Valerie's eyes suddenly flared wide open. "Was this the thing that you and he were going to do before? The thing that I . . ." She trailed off, grimacing before she went on with whatever she was about to say. "That I stopped the two of you from doing . . .?"

"Yeah, but we got to free the fishies," Evan quipped. "Don't worry about it."

"What's that?" Madison interrupted.

Evan chuckled softly. "Well, they weren't fish; not really. I guess they were, what? Lobsters?"

"Mm," Valerie agreed, her voice muffled by the bottle of beer.

Madison shook her head slowly. "You freed the lobsters?"

"Yes," Valerie insisted happily then snapped her fingers. "And I wasn't shitfaced then, either."

Evan coughed indelicately. Valerie jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

Madison raised an eyebrow. "What the hell? I'm game," she stated.

"Yeah, but you're a chick," Evan pointed out as he stood up. "Dieter always said that it wasn't a chick-thing."

"You can bite this chick," Madison countered. "I'm going."

"Me, too," Valerie stated, holding her hands up, fluttering her fingers at Evan.

Evan chuckled softly as he reached down to pull her to her feet. "I dunno, V," he drawled with a shake of his head. "I mean, this isn't exactly something that someone like you'd get off on . . ."

"Why? Because I'm a 'chick'?" she countered.

He stared at her for a moment then sighed. "No . . . because you're a _lawyer_."

She snorted and waved a hand. "What does that mean? That I don't like to get out and do stuff because I'm boring? Because I'm too serious?"

"No, V."

"Then why?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and grimaced. "Because it's somewhat . . . illegal."

"It's only illegal if you get caught," Valerie scoffed airily—something she probably wouldn't have said if she weren't just a little tipsy already.

"Is that so, Nixon?" he countered.

"Absolutely!" Whipping around, she caught herself on his forearm before she stumbled, and after righting her stance, she jammed her index finger into the center of his chest. "Okay, so I didn't know Dieter as well as you two did, but I'd like to say goodbye properly, too."

Madison slipped an arm around Valerie's shoulders and led her toward the door. "That's a fabulous reason," she insisted. "I don't think that Dieter would mind if you took both of us along, Evan."

Evan watched them as they headed toward the foyer, the smile still toying at his lips thinning slightly, taking on a hint of sadness that he simply couldn't shake. The annual ritual . . .

Would it really help him? Coming to terms with the things that he just couldn't change—the loss of one of his very best friends . . . and the empty sense of melancholy that housed the guilt that wouldn't go away . . .

Could anything ever really help him?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Dear_** **_God_** ' _by XTC_ _first appeared on their 1986 release,_ **_Skylarking_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to Andy_ _Partridge_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Madison_** :  
>  _Now this … should be interesting_ …


	49. 048: Tribute

' _Bang a drum for tomorrow_ …  
_Bang a drum for the past_ …  
_Bang a drum for the heroes_ …  
_That won't come back_ …'

 

-' _Bang a Drum_ ' by Jon Bon Jovi.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"So let me get this straight," Valerie said dubiously as she eyed the grand and looming edifice that was the Statue of Liberty. "We have to go up there to do this ritual? It's not even open at this time of night . . ."

Evan glanced at her but didn't stop moving. "Don't worry about it, V. I've got it all handled."

He could feel her gaze boring into his skull. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that," she muttered though her gait didn't falter. "Handle it, how? Are you drunk, Zel Roka? You had a lot of beer . . ."

Evan heaved a sigh, mostly because he'd rather welcome some sort of buzz at the moment. Unfortunately, he was stone-assed sober . . . "I'm fine," he told her mildly. "I don't get shitfaced off beer."

She snorted loudly and poked him in the shoulder. "That's what I said!"

"At least we lost them," Madison piped up, rubbing her arms through the sleeves of the thin leather jacket she'd worn to the funeral earlier.

"Keh," he muttered, his gaze slipping to the side to peruse the area that he knew well enough was secured. There had been a van that had followed the taxi he'd called to take them to the ferry where he'd ended up paying a hell of a lot of money to convince the ferryman to bring them over to Liberty Island, but they'd lost sight of it at Dawes-Maywin airstrip—a new and private facility that catered to wealthier clientele who owned private jets and retained pilots—when Evan had instructed the driver to stop in front for five minutes so that Madison could run inside the gift shop to buy a pack of gum. By the time she'd come back out, security had forced the van to move on. They'd driven past twice, obviously circling the facility in hopes of catching him again. The taxi driver had been more than happy to wait until the third pass was complete before they'd driven away from the terminal. The last thing he'd wanted or needed was to have the damned paparazzi following them all frigging night . . . ' _Damned vultures_ . . .'

"Who's there?"

The three stopped as they approached the steps leading up to the main doors and waited. Evan recognized the security guard. "Hey, Stan. How's it going?"

"Mr. Roka," the man greeted, lifting his flashlight and looking Valerie and Madison over. "I heard about Mr. Reichardt. Sorry about that."

Evan sighed then shrugged. "Yeah. Figured we'd, you know, come on out and say goodbye."

Stan nodded as though he understood the sentiment. "Sure . . . I was just doing a security sweep."

Stepping away from the women, Evan pulled a wad of money out of his pocket and handed it to the guard. "Think you could look the other way while we go up?" he ventured.

Stan gave Evan a long, hard look, but finally nodded. "What the hell?" he muttered. "Give him my regards, too."

"Sure thing," Evan said, gesturing for Valerie and Madison to follow as he led the way toward the Statue of Liberty . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"It doesn't seem very daring," Valerie commented as she frowned and tapped her foot somewhat impatiently. "Not for you, anyway."

"Not gutsy enough for you, V?" Evan teased.

She rolled her eyes. "If you could do it, then I can, too—what, exactly, _are_ we doing?"

"We're mooning New York City," Evan replied over his shoulder as casually as if he'd just said that the moon was full or that it was raining or snowing or something.

"M- _Mooning?_ " Valerie repeated. "And you're sure that the security guard guy isn't going to turn us in?"

Evan snorted. "He never does."

"Never does," Valerie repeated. "Good. Good . . ."

Madison laughed and grabbed Valerie's hand, dragging her up a few more steps so that she could see the door that Evan was fiddling with. The air lock released with a soft hiss and a quiet 'beep', and Evan pushed it open, holding his index fingers to his lips to hush them. "Ladies first," he murmured.

Okay, so Valerie was pretty sure that this was a really bad idea. Still, she followed Madison out onto the deck that circled around Lady Liberty's torch. She vaguely recalled reading an article years ago about it—the torch, along with the actual statue itself hadn't been open to the public in years, not since terrorist attacks had taken down the World Trade Center in the city back in 2001 . . . The Statue had been closed for a long while then, a preemptive measure to forestall any further terrorist attacks, and when it had finally reopened, people were only allowed to venture as high as the top floor of the pedestal.

"Illegal, huh," she muttered under her breath as she slowly ventured closer to the railing that ran around the perimeter of the deck. "Are you sure that you and Dieter did this?" she demanded, cautiously lifting her gaze to scan the horizon and feeling distinctly woozy in the process. ' _Dear God, this is high_ . . .'

"Every year," Evan said, his voice quiet, subdued, "except this one . . ."

Turning around, Valerie stepped back over to him. "Then this is a good way for you to say goodbye to him," she insisted.

Letting out a deep breath, Evan nodded though he didn't look entirely convinced. "Y-Yeah . . ."

"All right, people," Madison interrupted with a clap of her hands. Setting her overly large purse down on the deck, she shot a glance over the horizon, at the city glowing around them, and smiled sadly. "Let's do it—for Dieter."

"You don't have to do it, V," Evan murmured, casting her an inscrutable look, eyes heavily hooded in shadows despite the glowing flood lights that illuminated the statue's torch.

"Of course I'm going to," she shot back haughtily, her chin lifting, her gaze snapping. "I said I would, and I will."

He stared at her for a moment. She could almost hear his voice in her head. " _Thank you, V_ . . ." That's what he was saying. She smiled just a little then reached out to steady herself with one hand on his arm, tugging off her delicate lace thong panties off with the other—no small feat, given that she was wearing a pair of three inch heels . . .

"You wore white panties?" Madison quipped as she swung her own panties—black silk, from the looks of it—on her index finger.

"What's wrong with white panties?" Valerie demanded as she straightened up again.

"Nothing, nothing," Madison said with a wink. "C'mon, Evan. Drop 'em."

Evan laughed—Valerie wished that she could hear him make that sound the way he always had before—but he made quick work of unfastening the black leather belt and dress pants that he hadn't taken off after the memorial. "All right," he said, holding up his pants with one hand as he strode toward the railing. "For Dieter."

Valerie glanced at Madison who offered a curt nod before stepping over to Evan's side while Valerie stopped on the far end.

"One . . . two . . . three!" Evan counted off.

Valerie leaned over, tugging her skirt up over her rear end, hearing the voice in the back of her mind that berated her for doing something as base as mooning New York City.

"Kiss my ass, New Yuck!" Madison hollered.

"Can you see it, Dieter? This is for you," Evan yelled.

Biting back the insane urge to giggle like a lunatic, Valerie couldn't help the little smile that surfaced anyway.

"Ah, where's that whiskey?" Madison said, tugging her skirt back into place and sauntering over to retrieve her purse.

Valerie stood up and straightened her dress, unable to believe that she'd actually done that.

"For Deet," Evan said, grasping the booze that Madison pulled from her purse and tossing aside the lid as he tilted the bottle to his lips.

Valerie gripped the railing and leaned over, unable to resist the urge to see just how far off the ground they really were. "O-O-Oh," she breathed, her vision blurring for the briefest of moments as she stared down, down, down, down . . . "Oh, my . . ."

"V!" Evan hollered, grasping her around the waist and jerking her back against his chest. "What are you doing?"

"Oh!" Valerie gasped, leaning away from Evan as she lost her grip on her panties. "Oh, that's not good . . ."

"If you fell off here, you'd die," he pointed out. She could tell from the tone of his voice that he was irritated.

"I wasn't going to fall, Roka," she enunciated carefully. "I was just looking—and you made me drop my panties."

He blinked and stared at her. "You . . . dropped your . . . panties . . ." he repeated. She had a feeling that he was trying desperately not to laugh.

She snorted and pulled away from him before reaching for the bottle in his hand. "Of course I didn't," she corrected. " _You_ did."

"Hmm . . . I don't think you can get them back, V," Madison pointed out as she leaned over the railing to look down into the darkness.

"Are you nuts, too?" Evan demanded as he grabbed Madison and pulled her back.

"Madison still has her underpants," Valerie said with a marked pout, her voice muffled by the bottle of Jack Daniels.

"Oh, I know," Madison piped up. With a flick of her arm, the black silk panties went flying over the edge of the railing. She dissolved into a fit of giggles. Evan rolled his eyes and reached for the bottle of whiskey that Valerie rather deftly moved out of his reach. "Now we're both _sans_ panties!"

"I love you, Maddy," Valerie beamed.

Evan rolled his eyes and shook his head but smiled a little ruefully. "Now you see? This is _exactly_ why chicks weren't allowed," he grumbled indelicately.

Valerie shook her head in obvious confusion. "What did we do?" she asked.

Evan heaved a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. "Nothing, V. Don't worry about it."

"We're not completely smashed yet," Madison said. "The ritual isn't over until we are, right?"

"That's true," Evan allowed, holding out his hand for the bottle of booze.

Coughing slightly and making a face of distinct dislike, Valerie wiped her lips with the back of her hand and unleashed a rather loud belch, but this time, she let Evan take the bottle.

"Now, see? That was very masculine," Madison teased.

"I think I'm going to throw up," Valerie whined, clutching her stomach.

Evan rolled his eyes again and drained a good portion of the bottle before handing it off to Madison. "Only pussies throw up," he goaded, grasping Valerie's hand and dragging her over to sit down.

She shot him a pouting grimace and shook her head. "I'll throw up on _you_ ," she warned.

"Do what you gotta do, V," he replied, grabbing the bottle and taking a healthy swig.

Madison sank down on Evan's other side and leaned forward long enough to carefully pull off her shoes. "Pass that bottle, Zelig," she said, wiggling her fingers impatiently. "We're not nearly drunk enough . . . yet . . ."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Do you feel any better, Evan?"

Forcing a smile, he glanced down at Valerie and shrugged. "A little," he hedged.

"You're lying," she slurred as the whiskey started to seep into her.

"I'm lying," he admitted with a nonchalant shrug. Narrowing his gaze as he stared out over the sprawling cityscape, lit up like tiny Christmas lights, as far as the eye could see, he could have been a million miles away instead of sitting there beside her. "I just can't help but think . . ." Shaking his head, as though he wouldn't have to face it if he didn't say it out loud, Evan heaved a sigh and made a face. "Hell, what does it matter?"

"Do you really think it was your fault?" Valerie challenged quietly. She was still too damn sober for his liking.

Evan scowled at her. "Yes. No . . . maybe."

"Don't be stupid, Evan," Madison said, turning her face to stare at him. She'd stretched out on the deck, spent the last few minutes with her gaze intent on the paltry show of stars high overhead, dulled as they were by the incessant glow of the city. "You know as well as I do that Dieter would be pissed as hell if he heard you right now. You know he would be."

"It's not that simple, Maddy," he shot back. "He should have gotten himself out of the way, not worried about shoving me. He should've made damn sure that he got to home after all that, but he didn't, did he?"

"Oh, grow up! Dieter pushed you out of the way because you were his friend, and if he hadn't? Well, then I guess I'd be up here with him, saying goodbye to you, wouldn't I? Maybe I'd have asked your mom to come along . . . or your brother and sisters . . . Maybe I'd have brought the whole damn world up here . . . And how, I ask you, would that be any different? Sometimes, you're the biggest damn baby in the world."

"Madison!" Valerie hissed reproachfully, casting Evan a worried glance.

Evan glowered at Madison for a moment before letting his chin drop, his eyes closing. She . . . She was right, wasn't she? As much as he hated to admit it—as much as he didn't want to believe it . . . Why was he so ready to believe that he was to blame for this when he knew— _knew_ —that Dieter . . .

"If it had been you—if you had been the one to die . . . then I'd have lost both of you, wouldn't I? And where would that have left me . . .?" Madison whispered, ignoring Valerie's reprimand.

"Maddy, lay off him," Valerie said, slumping forward, catching herself on her hands, pushing herself up onto her knees to crawl toward Madison's prone form. "He's got enough to deal with without you jumping down his throat."

Heaving a sigh, Evan shook his head, finally opening his eyes to stare at both of them. "She's right, V." He swallowed hard, letting his head fall back to thump against the wall. "Dieter had . . . issues with depression . . ."

Valerie didn't look entirely convinced, but she rolled onto her rear and stuck her feet out in front of her. "Still . . ."

"It's not your fault, Evan," Madison insisted. "I want you to understand that."

And he did, didn't he? Deep down, he knew that. It didn't really help to alleviate the feelings of guilt that he just couldn't shake. If he'd been paying better attention . . . If he had sensed the danger in the area . . . But who would have thought that some lunatic would come out with a gun and start shooting outside a children's hospital?

" _Fucker! Look at the water down there . . . Kinda looks like toxic ooze or something," Dieter said the first time they'd climbed up the statue to 'salute' the city_.

 _Evan peered over the side of the railing and grinned. "Hell, it sorta does," he agreed. "Damn, this city's something else, isn't it?_ "

 _Dieter grinned, his eyes darting over the city that sprawled in every conceivable direction across the water. "And it's ours, huh? Y'know . . . through rock n' roll. Ours_ . . ."

"Ours," Evan whispered, a single tear spilling down his cheek as the memory faded away.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Loping down the steps into the living room in a pair of black hakama that he'd traded the dress pants for, Evan frowned and glanced around. He could sense Valerie near, sure, but he couldn't see her.

A moment later, though, he found her, lying flat on her back underneath the baby grand piano. "Uh . . . comfortable?" he drawled, hunkering down beside the instrument.

"I lost one of my earrings," she said, carefully enunciating each word.

"And you're going to find it while you're lying flat on your back?"

Staring up at the bottom of the piano, she shrugged. "I'll find it in the morning," she intoned. "I'm kind of comfortable here."

Evan chuckled and crawled in beside her. "You know, V, I think that the bed would be a lot more comfortable than the hard wood floor," he pointed out.

She jabbed him lightly in the ribs. "It probably would be—if I felt like getting up, which I don't."

"Oh, well, there is that," he agreed, knitting his fingers together atop his chest.

"Evan?"

"Hmm?"

She let out a soft breath, idly twisting her feet in then out then in again. "I'm sorry about Dieter. I . . . I wish I could say something that would help you . . ."

Evan made a face and crawled out from under the piano. "You did help me," he told her.

"Not really," she replied sadly. "I wanted to . . ."

Evan snorted, grasping her by the ankles and tugging her clear of the instrument. "Come on, V. You don't want to sleep under there."

"Ugh, you could have given me floor burn, doing that," she complained. "You're not looking up my dress, are you?"

He nearly smiled at her suspicious question. "No, I'm not," he lied since he could see up her skirt a little bit—too bad that there were some really thick shadows down there, damn it . . .

She whined and complained but let him pull her to her feet, and when he scooped her up, cradling her against his chest, she didn't fight him, wrapping her arms around his neck instead. With a soft sigh, she leaned against his shoulder, perfectly content to be right where she was, and he wondered absently if she knew just what she was doing.

Where had the understated sense of calm come from? For days, he'd felt as though he were going to explode at any given moment, as though he were coming apart at the seams, and while it could well have been the liquor he'd slugged back all evening, he didn't think that was it, either.

Thinking about Dieter . . . It hurt. Evan had a feeling that it always would, and yet . . .

"Penny for your thoughts, Evan," Valerie said softly.

He'd almost thought that she'd fallen asleep and wouldn't have been surprised if she had. She'd had enough to drink . . . "Don't know that it's worth that much," he admitted.

"Of course it is," she insisted. "You're thinking about Dieter."

He sighed as he let her down on the bed and reached for the blankets to pull up over her. "Actually," he began, "I was thinking about Miss . . . and Daniel."

"Sometimes people are stronger than you think," she murmured without opening her eyes as she snuggled deeper under the covers.

"Is that right?"

"Mm," she said.

He stretched out beside her, staring at nothing in particular, a thoughtful scowl on his face. "What if she's not?" he challenged quietly. Even if Dieter hadn't marked her, she was still his mate, wasn't she? Human or not . . . what kind of damage could be done with only a half-finished mating . . .? Could that, alone, save her? Or would it just prolong what would normally be inevitable . . .? "What if Miss isn't really that strong at all?"

She yawned and rolled over onto her side, propping her cheek on her elbow so that she could gaze thoughtfully at him, her eyes oddly clear, all things considered. "Where's your faith, Evan?" she challenged. "You have some, right?"

"Maybe," he muttered then shook his head. "Even then, Daniel's just a pup . . ."

A strange little smile surfaced on her face, a bittersweet expression that looked somehow pained. "You might be surprised at how strong kids can be," she said, a strangely haunted sort of light lingering in the depths of her eyes. "Sometimes they're strong even when they don't know they are."

Something about her eyes . . . Evan reached out, touched her cheek, fingertips lingering on her delicate skin. "Were you one of those kids?" he asked.

She looked startled for a moment, as though she hadn't realized she'd admitted as much, and swallowed hard. "I guess I was," she said at length.

"You lost your parents?"

For a minute, he didn't think she was going to answer. A thousand little hints of emotion played out over the canvas of her face—a myriad of unspoken fears, a pain so deep that it still had the power to reach out, to touch her, even if she thought that it didn't. Suddenly, she lay down, closing her eyes and burrowing deep under the blankets, as though she were trying to escape the thoughts that troubled her.

Seconds ticked away—the moving hands on the clock the only sound in the room, louder even than their breathing, and he sighed. The last thing—the very last thing—that he'd meant to do was to dredge up bad memories in her, and for that, he was sorry . . .

But then she spoke, her voice little more than a whisper. "I didn't lose my parents," she said. "They . . . They lost me."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Bang_** **_a_** **_Drum_** ' _by Jon_ _Bon_ _Jovi_ _first appeared on his 1990_ _release,_ **_Blaze_** **_of_** **_Glory_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Jon_ _Bon_ _Jovi_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Goodbye …?_


	50. 049: Normalcy

' _Well, I'm not paralyzed but I_ …  
 _Seem to be struck by you_ …  
 _I want to make you move because you're standing still_ …  
 _If your body matches what your eyes can do_ …  
 _You'll probably move right through_ …  
 _Me on my way to you_ …'

 

-' _Paralyzer'_ by Finger Eleven.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

The sun was shining in the windows when Evan opened his eyes. It was a lot later than he normally got up—not surprising since he hadn't really slept well in days, but still rather disconcerting. Valerie was sleeping, snuggled against his side, unconsciously seeking the warmth that he afforded her, and he sighed. Grayish blue skies—the haze of the city a pervasive thing—seemed brighter than they had been in awhile.

He hadn't dreamt about Dieter's death.

Just what did that mean? Had the little sojourn to the Statue of Liberty helped to ease the grim thoughts that he hadn't been able to shake? Maybe . . . The sense of guilt was still there, and it hurt—damn, did it hurt . . . and yet . . .

Yet . . .

Sparing a moment to indulge himself in staring at the sleeping attorney, he almost smiled. Did she have any idea just how much her support meant to him? No, he didn't figure that she did.

' _Friends_ . . .' he thought with a wry smile.

' _That'll do . . . for now_ ,' his youkai voice spoke up. ' _Stop idling, moron. You've got more important things to worry about_.'

' _I do? Like what?_ '

His youkai chuckled. ' _Like what she's gonna do to you if you don't have a fresh, hot cup of joe waiting for her when she wakes up_.'

And that was entirely true, too. Sparing a moment to savor the comforting warmth of her body against his, he let out a deep breath and carefully crawled out of the bed, taking great pains to make sure that he didn't let any of the cooler air under the blankets.

It was true, however. If there was one thing that he knew about Valerie Denning, it was that the woman simply could not function in the morning without her coffee, and while she did seem to prefer gourmet, she'd settle for whatever was on hand—including Mike's coffee, which, in Evan's considered opinion, was even grosser than his cousin, Morio's killer brew. ' _Hell that . . . You can practically stand a spoon up in Mike's coffee, and woe betide you if you unwittingly end up with the last cup of that crud_ . . .'

' _Unless you like the taste of coffee grounds_.'

' _That's right . . . Which I don't_.'

Trotting through the house to the kitchen, he considered meditating briefly before he discarded that notion. The other thing he'd discovered about Valerie? If she woke up cold, she'd pout for hours—sometimes the entire day.

He smiled just a little, shaking his head as he filled two mugs with fresh coffee. He hadn't set the machine the night before. He hadn't thought of it. Bone must've started it when he'd brought in the newspaper earlier . . .

So he grabbed the mugs and headed back upstairs, pausing long enough to grab the _New York Times_ off the table where Bone always left it.

Everything still felt unfinished.

How could it feel that way when he could also feel the stirrings of life welling inside him again? Was this the thing that humans felt, that they seemed to innately understand; that thing that youkai had a harder time coming to terms with?

But he knew that Valerie couldn't reason it, either. She'd tried to. He'd seen her struggle and knew that she'd wanted to say something that could help him to come to grips, and yet she hadn't. Maybe he could get that. Unwilling to say anything that sounded crass or condescending, cliché or trite . . .

Too bad he could mull it over in his head a hundred or a thousand times and never be able to make sense of it. Dieter's death . . .

' _Why . . .?_ '

Valerie's soft groan drifted to him, and Evan hurried his gait. If he didn't get moving, she'd be ten kinds of irked when he got there, wouldn't she? No coffee and waking up cold . . . What a terrible combination . . .

Setting the cups on the table, he managed to slip back into the bed without disturbing her though she did roll to the side, curling against him as she gravitated toward the warmth he offered. Considering that she'd probably wake up with more than a little pounding from Maxwell's silver hammer going on in her head because of her overindulgence, he figured he was probably better off, letting her sleep awhile longer, so after one last, long moment of staring at her, he reached for the newspaper and unfolded it.

True enough, he did have a media reader around here somewhere. Still, he tended to prefer the old fashioned habit of reading an actual paper. There was something comforting in the smell of the paper and ink, wasn't there? It made it easier to linger over what he was reading, not that it took him long, anyway. He supposed it had something to do with the idea of it.

The headline on the front of the city section stopped him, and he blinked as he stared at the accompanying picture. ' _Hmm . . . shi-i-i-it_ . . .'

His youkai chuckled. ' _No shit_ . . .'

' _No fuck, no shit_ ,' he retorted, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling.

Valerie let out a soft sigh and smothered a yawn with the back of her hand.

"Morning, V," he drawled, letting the paper fold on his lap as he reached for his cup of coffee. He hadn't bothered to take the time to add sugar or creamer to his—something that he normally did, but since he'd been unwilling to chance Valerie waking up alone, he'd foregone it this once. Draining the mug in a series of quick gulps, he set it aside once more and grasped the other one.

"Mmm . . . I smell coffee," she murmured, struggling to open her eyes, pushing herself up on her elbow. The movement allowed a waft of cooler air under the blankets, and she shivered. "Gimme."

He gave her a mug and leaned down to kiss her forehead. She ignored the gesture, opting instead to concentrate on the coffee in her hands. "You made front page of the city section," he commented as he shook out the paper with one hand and slipped an arm around her to pull her closer to his side with the other.

"That's nice," she mumbled, only paying half-attention to him as she savored the warm drink. "This is really good coffee."

"I have to admit, I'm pretty impressed," he allowed. "It takes some doing, landing on the front page."

She snorted then blinked, leaning away to cast him a suspect eye. "What's that?"

He shrugged and handed her the paper. "Front page," he repeated.

She scanned the page, her expression thoroughly confused. It only took a minute for her to figure out what she was looking out, however, and her sharp gasp—actually, more of a wheeze of breath—didn't particularly surprise him, either. "Oh, my _God!_ " she groaned, letting go of the paper and covering her face with her hands. "My _panties!_ "

He chuckled as she stared between her fingers in absolute horror at the tiny white slip of fabric that had gotten caught on Lady Liberty's tablet and was dangling precariously in the breeze in the photograph. The article had stated that they weren't quite sure what it was. ' _If they only knew_ . . .'

"Oh, my God," she repeated.

"Relax, V. I doubt they'll try going up there just to see what that is. Probably just some photographer with too much time on his hands, you know?"

She didn't seem very comforted by his words. "Oh, my God . . ."

"'Course, if they did, they could probably run some diagnostic tests to find out whose panties they are," he couldn't help adding.

Her abject horror intensified, tenfold. "I _hate_ you!" she gasped.

"You only wish."

Her answer was a long-suffering sigh.

"Roka!" Bone called from somewhere downstairs. "You up yet, you lazy little shit?"

Face contorting in a very pronounced scowl, Evan heaved a sigh and extricated himself from the warmth of the bed, taking the mug from Valerie and retrieving his own before heading for the door. "You want a refill, V?" he asked over his shoulder without breaking his stride.

Valerie muttered something wholly unintelligible. He figured that was her way of saying 'yes', and he shook his head as he loped down the stairs. "Piss off, Bone," he said when he spotted the security guard, standing in the kitchen and helping himself to a mug of coffee. "What the hell do you want?"

Bone didn't even bat an eyelash as he drained the coffee he'd just poured and reached for the carafe again. "Zaundra stopped by a few minutes ago," he explained, his voice muffled slightly by the ceramic mug. "Dropped that off."

Evan glanced at the hot pink, tamper-proof envelope lying carelessly atop a large, manila mailer packet on the counter.

"She said she ran into that little weasel-dick, Ramón, and he sent over the check, too."

Evan nodded as he reached for the hot pink envelope and slit it open with his claw. "Talk about small consolations, huh?" he muttered under his breath, figuring that not having to go deal with the pouty executive could only be considered a boon. It only took a minute for him to make sure that everything was in order, and he set that aside as he reached for the larger packet. "Thanks."

Bone stepped over to the sink to rinse his mug and shrugged offhandedly. "Don't mention it, Roka. I'll be up at the guard house if you need anything."

"Sure . . ."

He knew what that was. In the commotion of the last few days, he'd completely forgotten about the pictures, hadn't he? With good reason, sure . . . Still . . .

Zaundra hadn't sealed the packet, which was just as well. Pulling out the thick stacks of proof prints, he smiled. They were the completely raw images, undoctored by whatever special effects that would be added later, whatever touchups that they deemed necessary. Valerie, of course, needed no such airbrushing. Hell, no. Why would she? The woman was damn near perfect in every single way . . .

' _Fu-u-u-u-uck . . . I'm gonna come_ . . .' he half whined, reaching down, idly rubbing his burgeoning boner. Staring at a picture of the angel-faced V, eyes closed with a dreamy little half-smile on her face, her hair shining like spun gold . . . Evan's face couldn't be discerned. He was entirely absorbed in staring down at her, wasn't he?

' _Suck it up, Roka. It ain't like—_ da-a-a-amn _, she's hella hot_ . . .'

' _But_ . . .'

' _Mental masturbation, that's all it is_.'

He just sighed and flipped to the next image.

"You . . . You _deviant_ ," Valerie grumped as she padded into the room, still very bare-footed, still wearing the now-very-rumpled black dress she'd worn to the memorial the day before. "'According to the coroner, two bodies ended up with the wrong toe tags: the body of Mel Clark was mistagged in a bizarre mix up with that of the body of Christy Heilbrand. Luckily, the mistake was discovered at the funeral home and rectified before any lasting damage could be incurred. The police are looking into the incident.'" Slapping the newspaper onto the table, she shook her head and glowered at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Evan! Don't you dare smile about this!"

"I'm . . . not," he choked out.

Those fantastic eyes of hers narrowed dangerously. "I thought you said Dieter put them back in the right places!"

"He, uh . . . He _said_ he did . . ."

"But he obviously didn't . . . Oh, God . . . What if they find out that I was with you? I'll never be able to practice law again . . ."

He snorted but somehow managed to keep a straight face. "See? It's a good thing he's already dead, huh?"

She shot him a look that rather blatantly told him that she didn't think he was quite sane. "What? Why would that ever be a good thing?"

"Well, you can't kill him now," Evan drawled.

Valerie slowly shook her head. "God, you're warped." He laughed. She snorted. "What are you looking at?" she demanded suspiciously.

"Porn," he quipped, flipping to the next picture.

She rolled her eyes. "You would, you twisted little monkey. What are you really looking at?"

"Told you, baby, I'm looking at porn."

She reached over and snatched the stack of pictures out of his hand. An expression of confusion seemed to melt away as those brilliant eyes of hers widened slowly, methodically as a sharp intake of breath fairly whistled into her lungs. Mouth opening and closing a few times like she couldn't quite form coherent words, she jerked her head 'no' a couple of times as color blossomed in her cheeks, as her nostrils flared once, twice. " _Oh, my God!_ " she squeaked, cheeks darkening to crimson as she struggled to make sense of the pictures in her hands. "What the hell are these?"

Evan grimaced and pushed his index finger against his ear, rubbing furiously to alleviate the lingering ringing that echoed through his head. "Damn, V. Have a heart, will you? 'Sides . . . you look pretty hot, don't you think?"

She uttered a terse moan and leafed quickly through the pictures. "Aww! _I'm_ the pink pirate! _You_ were supposed to be the pink pirate!"

"Yeah, but you made a lot sexier pirate than I would've."

She snorted and fairly collapsed back against the counter, groping blindly for the cup of coffee that he'd just set beside her. Draining it in a couple gulps, she slammed the mug down and leveled a formidable glower at him. "You did this!" she hissed, slapping her hand against the prints she was holding. " _Evan!_ "

He stifled a sigh, distinctly recalling the conversation that he'd had with Mike at the time . . .

" _She won't be recognized, I swear. Zaundra's going to use special filters to give the images an overall hazy effect, so if that's what you're worried about_ —"

" _Fuck that, Mikey. I'm more concerned with my body and my balls becoming passing acquaintances_."

" _It won't be that bad . . . and if it is, they do miracles with reconstructive surgeries these days_."

" _Keh!_ "

And in his mind, he could see his balls, idly rolling away . . .

Crossing his legs as he leaned against the counter and hoped that Valerie didn't notice his obvious nerves, Evan shrugged. "Now, V, we're gonna use a shot where your face can't really be seen and all that, and you did sign the release."

She snorted. "As _if_ , Roka! There's no way in hell I'd ever do something as stupid as that! And just what makes you think that I won't be recognized, anyway? Are you out of your gourd?" Leafing through a couple more images, Valerie heaved what could only be described as a half-groan while Evan dug a copy of the release out of the hot-pink envelope and glanced it over. "A release? When _pigs_ fly! I'm telling you right now that I never, ever, _ever_ would have—What the hell is this?" she demanded, yanking the blue-backed release form out of his grasp. It only took her a moment to glance it over, most notably, her signature, such as it was, on the bottom line: one very large 'V' along with a distinctive swirl that sort of resembled a 'D'—if you turned it to the side and squinted a little, that was . . . "Oh, God, I did," she moaned.

"I had nothing to do with it, V," he added softly and shook his head. "In fact, I told them that you'd be pissed . . . I even tried to tear it up."

She shot him a very dubious glance. "Somehow, I just don't buy that," she muttered.

"It's your fault that I didn't," he replied.

"How do you figure?"

He couldn't help the little smile that surfaced at her surly tone. "Because you said that the bed was cold," he explained patiently.

Her answer was a loud, long sigh. "You can stop it, right? Do a re-shoot or something?"

Evan clucked his tongue and leaned forward to rub her arm. "Oh, come on, it's not that bad."

"Speak for yourself, Roka," she growled. "I'm an attorney! Attorneys don't go around, posing for album covers with demented rock stars! _And_ I was exhausted!" Her expression lightened just a little, though the glimmer in her eyes was a bit suspect. "It was coercion—" Waving her hands suddenly, she shook her head. "Okay, not coercion. That's a pretty hard one to prove . . ." She snapped her fingers " _Attrition!_ That would stick! That release would never stand up in a court of law! Any judge would agree that, given my mental state at the time, I couldn't possibly be held responsible for signing any kind of legal and binding agreement, no matter what that—" Cutting herself off abruptly, her gaze widened as she gaped at the check that he casually stuck in front of the pile of pictures in her hand. She blinked once, twice, three times. "That . . . is a lot of zeros," she murmured, the color in her cheeks brightening considerably. "Evan?"

He wisely held in his amusement at the complete and utter bemusement on her features. "Yes?"

She held up her free hand, crooked her fingers to bring him in closer. "How many zeroes is that?" she asked, poking her index finger at the check.

Evan's lips curled in an entirely amused sort of way. "Five, V—not counting the two after the decimal point."

"Five," she repeated without taking her eyes off the check. "I see . . . and that there? Is that a three, Evan?"

He leaned over her shoulder and peered down. "It seems like it," he allowed.

She nodded slowly.   "So . . . this check is made out to me for three hundred thousand dollars . . .?"

"Sounds about right," he said amiably. "It wasn't as much as they'd have paid a model or something—someone like, say, Jillian Jamison . . ."

"Jillian Jamison, yeah," Valerie repeated without actually paying much attention to what Evan was saying. "Do you have any idea what I can do with this much money?"

Her tone was rather breathless, and Evan's grin widened. "Buy about three hundred thousand of those?" he deadpanned, jabbing a finger at her entirely laughable engagement ring. "Oh, wait . . . more like a million two hundred thousand of those, assuming that one came out of a quarter machine . . ."

"Go to hell, Roka," she said in a rather perfunctory sort of way.

"Do what you want with it, baby," he said with a simple shrug as he headed over to pull down a frying pan for eggs. "Just don't give it to Edwin."

"Marvin," she corrected. She finally looked up from the check. To his amusement, she folded the check in half and stuffed it down her dress. "And just for that, I think I might."

"You can't," he replied.

"Of course I could," she remarked irritably. "It's my money—blood money, you could say."

"Did you read the release?" he countered mildly.

Valerie narrowed her eyes. "No . . . why . . .?"

Evan chuckled. "Score one for Roka," he muttered.

"What's that?"

He shook his head as he grabbed a bowl of eggs off the counter. "Nothing . . . it's just that there's an anti-Orville clause in there. You can't give that money to him, or you'll have to pay me back."

Her mouth dropped open. Evan didn't need to look to know damn well that she was plotting about a million painful demises for him. "There is not," she gritted out.

"Black and white, V," he tossed over his shoulder. "You give Wilber any of that money, and you'll be in breach of contract . . . and you'll forfeit any royalties that you're due in perpetuity."

She snorted and snatched the notarized copy of the release off the counter where she'd tossed it. "You wrote that in there!" she blasted.

Evan shrugged. "Yeah, I did. Little fucker isn't getting your money, V, and I don't give a shit if you like it or not."

"You can't hold me to something like that—and what do you mean, 'royalties' . . .?"

He almost laughed. He really hadn't expected her to be so preoccupied by the mention of money . . . "You know, royalties . . . That check is your base payment, but you'll get royalties for every unit that sells bearing your likeness. If they want to use another image for, say, a poster or tour shirt, you'll get another payment—probably about a hundred thousand—and royalties for that, too. Par for course . . ."

She digested that in silence. He had a strange feeling that she wasn't nearly as contrary to this idea as she was, to start with.

' _Interesting_ . . .'

' _You could offer her money to sleep with you,_ ' his youkai suggested.

He considered that for a moment then brushed it aside. ' _Naw . . . I want her to fuck me because she_ wants _to fuck me, not because I'm_ paying _her to fuck me_. . .'

' _Yeah, I guess_.'

"And you'll make sure that my face doesn't show?"

He grinned at the grudging tone. "Absolutely," he said.

She didn't look like she believed him entirely. She did look like she was listening, though. Letting her gaze fall to the pictures again, Valerie heaved a long sigh. "I . . . I like this one," she ventured at length.

Evan cracked open an egg and dropped it into the hot skillet. "Let me see."

She wandered over beside him and held out the image for his perusal. He smiled, too, knowing damn well that they'd never go for that one; not in a million years. Lying with his cheek against hers, he looked entirely too . . . sweet . . .

"I like this one," he said, tugging one from the back and placing it on top of the stack. He was grinning in the picture as he rested his face on her hip, one hand out of view under the hem of the God-awful pink blouse.

She smacked him with the stack of pictures and sloshed more coffee into her empty mug. "You would," she muttered though not before he caught the tell-tale pink in her cheeks—and the little smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "You would . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Paralyzer_** ' _by Finger_ _Eleven_ _appeared on their 2007 release,_ **_Them_** **_Vs_** **_You_** **_Vs_** **_Me_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to Carl Bell_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _… Royalties …?_


	51. 050: Insomnia

' _Well, I'm hot blooded; check it and see_ …  
 _I got a fever of a hundred and three_ …  
 _Come on, baby, do you do more than dance_?  
 _I'm hot blooded; I'm hot blooded_ …'

 

-' _Hot Blooded'_ by Foreigner.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Clutching the mug of tea in her hands, Valerie padded through the living room to the small desk situated near the windows in her apartment. Hazy sunshine flooded through the windows, bathing the room in the warmth of its light, and she smiled vaguely to herself as she set the mug aside and sat down.

Pulling out the keyboard shelf, she quickly typed in the address of her bank and logged into the account she'd created yesterday to deposit the three hundred thousand dollar check that Evan had given her.

She frowned, pushing aside the guilt that assailed her.

She hadn't deposited it into her account—into her and Marvin's joint account.

It wasn't that she was ashamed of posing with Evan for that cover, no, and she really didn't think that Evan would make her pay back the money if she had put it into her joint account, but . . .

But there was something else she wanted to do— _needed_ to do; something that Marvin would definitely understand if she told him, but . . .

Letting out a deep breath, she waited as the page loaded then smiled happily when she saw that the check from Wicked Soundsations really had cleared and was now parked in a nice account that would draw decent interest over time.

Of course he'd understand. Marvin was a good man. She'd known that for years. If she told him, though, then she'd have to tell him a hell of a lot more than she wanted to, would have to explain things that she wasn't entirely certain she could even understand, let alone explain—to rip open old wounds that she had fought for so long to forget.

Closing the browser window with a click of the mouse, she sighed and rubbed her eyes.

Evan was doing so much better yesterday, or so she'd thought. He had been, up to a point, anyway. When Miss had showed up yesterday afternoon to ask if she could borrow his house in Maine for awhile, it had brought everything right back. The change in Evan had been startling, especially when the man had sat down with Daniel, who still just didn't quite understand.

" _I thought that maybe, if we could just get out of here for a bit," Miss said as she watched Daniel wandering around the base of the statue in the living room. Quiet—unnaturally so for a child his age—the boy hadn't said a word since they'd arrived at the mansion Evan called home. "Maybe it'd be better for Daniel, too_."

 _Evan nodded and stepped over to his desk, rummaging through a drawer until he found a key ring with two shiny silver keys dangling from the nondescript ring. "Sure," he said, pressing them into Miss' hand. "Stay as long as you need to_."

 _Miss sighed, fiddling with the ring as she turned her gaze toward the glass doors. "It just . . . doesn't seem real, you know? I hear things in the loft sometimes . . . like whispers, and I think . . ." Shaking her head suddenly, as though she thought that she was starting to sound a little insane, she uttered a weak laugh and shrugged. "Those damned reporters were following me this morning when I walked Daniel to preschool. I just want them to leave us alone_."

 _Evan's jaw ticked in silent testament of his irritation. "Yeah, well, they don't know jack shit," he muttered_.

 _She let out a deep breath and took the mug of tea that Valerie offered her. "Thank you_ . . ."

 _Valerie nodded as she handed Evan a cup, too, before slipping back off toward the kitchen to grab a cup for herself_.

" _I know Dieter's family's there, and they offered to let us stay, but . . ." Miss sipped the tea. ". . . I can't help but think that it'd be a little weird. I mean, I only met them a few times_ . . ."

" _You're welcome to use the place as long as you want," Evan assured her. "The house's central-nav computer there is linked to this one, so if you need anything at all, just let me know_."

He'd been quiet for the rest of the day, and Valerie hadn't known what to do for him. As much as she wanted to help him, ultimately, it really was something that he'd have to deal with alone, and while she knew that, it didn't stop her from wishing it were otherwise. After awhile, he'd disappeared into his music room, and she'd gone home, reasonably satisfied that he would be all right, and maybe at that time, being alone was something that he needed . . .

She sighed and pulled open her desk drawer, carefully lifting the stack of pictures out of the drawer—pictures she'd stubbornly claimed from the huge stack of them that Evan had gotten from the photo shoot—the proofs, he'd said. When she'd started picking some of them out, he'd laughed and told her that he could ask Zaundra for another set. Numerous prints of Evan cuddling with her, even if it did happen under false pretenses . . . the expression on his face in some of them . . . Sure, he was cocky, and the grin was wholly Zel Roka, and yet there were some—just a few—where that façade had been stripped away, leaving nothing but emotion and Evan Zelig. Those were the images that she had kept; the ones that she hadn't figured they'd ever consider using. The look on his face . . .

Smashing her hand against her heart, she pressed her lips together as she stared at her favorite image. He was holding himself above her, his arms taut, strained. There wasn't a doubt in the world that the man was bare-assed naked in it since his profile was entirely visible, including the length of his very erect penis, but that wasn't what had caught her attention. It was the gentle expression on his face, the tenderness that had shocked her the first time she'd seen the image. She wasn't sure why he'd be staring at her like that, but . . .

She liked that, didn't she? That look that she'd barely been able to credit . . . She'd seen that look on his face only once before: when he was staring at his mother during that ill-fated party and the next day during his parents' brief visit.

' _Don't be stupid, Valerie. You're seeing things that aren't there. You're just seeing what you want to see . . . maybe he was in the middle of thinking about something else. That look . . . It wasn't—it_ couldn't _have been—for me_ . . .'

Biting her lip, she smiled a little sadly. It was a good thing, wasn't it? If that look really had been meant for her, if she saw that look on a regular basis . . .

' _Would I believe it . . .?_ '

Shoving the pictures into the drawer once more, she pushed it closed and slowly shook her head. Enough of that, wasn't it? She had more important things to do than to sit around, mooning over a stupid picture that was taken at just the right—or was it wrong—time.

Heaving a sigh that lifted the light fringe of her bangs, Valerie leaned over to nab the attaché case. In the chaos of the last few days, she hadn't gotten a chance to go over more of Evan's file, and with another pre-trial coming up sooner than she'd like, she really needed to see if she couldn't make some sense out of it all.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

The darkened mixing booth was a comforting thing, lending a quiet to the atmosphere that was sorely lacking in his life of late. The slight glow given off by the illuminated buttons and knobs and dials was bright enough to guide him, and with a sigh, he hit the playback button and rubbed his hot, gritty eyes. One more pass ought to do it. After all, the rawness of the track he'd just laid down was somehow perfect, wasn't it? Two songs: one that no one else would ever hear—just him and the one it had been intended for. The other? Maybe it would never be heard, either. Maybe it was simply something that he had to do for himself . . . and for Dieter.

" _You're not serious, right? Oh, shit. You_ are . . ."

 _Slight redness in otherwise pale cheeks as the bassist's eyes slipped to the side. "Shut the fuck up, fucker! They were just dummy lyrics, anyway_ . . ."

 _Evan rolled his eyes, grinning around the guitar pick he held fast between his teeth._ "'I Love You More Than Bunnies,' _Deet?_ "

 _The redness shifted into a definite ruddiness. "Miss laughs when I say that to her," he confessed_.

Evan shook off the reverie and drained the tepid cup of coffee that had been sitting beside him on the sound board for awhile and flicked the Styrofoam cup into the nearby trash can before hitting the button to send the mix to the digital dump. A minute and a soft beep later, it was finished. The small tray ejected, and he stared at the tiny chip, no bigger than the tip of his thumb. He took the chip, slipped it into the polythene sleeve that would protect it forever, and ran his finger along the seam to seal it closed as the tray closed on its own. 'Miss', he wrote on it before slipping it into his shirt pocket.

Why did his vision blur abruptly as his finger shook, hovering over the button marked 'delete'? Struck suddenly by the finality of that word, maybe? If he pushed that button, it'd be erased forever . . . just like . . . "This is for you, Deet . . ."

Wiping his eyes impatiently, Evan sniffed loudly and pressed the button, and in a blink of an eye, the song he'd been working on for the last few hours was gone like it had never existed at all. But that wasn't true, was it? He held the one and only master copy in his pocket—the last reminder . . . The thing that would linger long after he'd shut off the lights and gone home, like the sound of laughter that echoed in the recesses of his mind.

" _Fucker_ . . ."

He smiled—a weakened and trembling thing—a pathetic expression even as the burn of tears tingled in his nostrils, prickled behind his eyelids . . .

"One down, one to go," he muttered to himself, his voice oddly hollow in the darkness. Somehow apropos, wasn't it? Hollow . . . and empty . . .

The second song was so uncharacteristic of Zel Roka, so far removed from everything that he'd ever committed to hard copy. It wasn't nearly as difficult to listen to, maybe because the words were his, the emotions his own. They weren't Dieter's, and they held no special meaning to Dieter, either . . .

The vibration of his cell phone drew his attention, and for a moment, Evan considered ignoring it. A certain level of irritation accompanied the interruption. After all, what he was doing was intensely personal, wasn't it?

Drawing a deep breath, he pulled the phone out of his pocket and stared at the screen as the tick of annoyance quickly faded as he yanked off the headphones and tossed them onto the sound board. "Hey," he said, tapping the screen to answer it.

"I'm hoping you're not getting into trouble," Valerie said in a half-teasing tone. "You're not bored, are you?"

The corners of his lips quirked as he wiped his eyes and cleared his throat. "Uh, no, not today," he replied. "Just had something I had . . . had to do."

"Evan? Are you okay? You sound a little . . . off . . ."

"I'm fine, V; I swear," he assured her. "Just needed to get something down; that's all."

"Get something down?" she echoed. "I see . . ."

Letting out a deep breath, he swallowed hard. "Maybe I'll come by when I finish up here," he said noncommittally.

"Take your time. It sounds like you're busy."

"Kind of. Not really . . ."

"Okay," she said. "I'll see you later."

"Absolutely," he replied. "Bye."

"Bye," she whispered. A moment later, the connection cut off, and Evan dropped the phone into his pocket again. An unexpected, savage desire to see her shot through him, as powerful and as real as a physical hit. He had to grit his teeth against the surge of emotion, closing his eyes for a moment, willing for it to pass. He had to finish this, didn't he? If he didn't do it now . . .

Grabbing the headphones and jamming them back onto his head once more, he licked his lips and sat back in the chair.

If he didn't do it now, he wouldn't do it, at all.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Biting her lip as she stared at the doors of the studio, Valerie hesitated before stepping forward. She didn't know how she knew that he was here. Maybe it was just the things that he'd said, or maybe it just seemed like the most likely place to find him. Or maybe . . .

Maybe she really did know him that well . . .

She had considered the idea of letting him alone, but the sound of his voice, the underlying emotion she'd heard . . . Why did she have a feeling that he needed her— _missed_ her . . .? No, it was more than that, wasn't it? It was stronger than a simple feeling. It was a deeper understanding that even without him having to say it that he was hurting and that he wanted her to come and find him . . .

But the studio was eerily quiet as she walked through the doors and down the corridor just beyond the very posh receptionist area. It felt empty, and the echo of her footsteps on the cold marble under her feet only served to emphasize that ambiance. Pausing long enough to peer through the long, narrow windows in the doors, she bit her lip. The entire building seemed empty, but that couldn't be. The doors were unlocked, weren't they? And the feeling that Evan was near was growing stronger and stronger . . .

He wasn't on the first floor, though, and he wasn't on the second one, either. She found him on the third floor—there was only one studio up there, along with an office for the manager of the establishment and what amounted to a small penthouse for the more elite clientele who might rent out the entire studio for their exclusive sessions.

He was sitting alone at the sound board with no lights on, save for the trace glow of the board itself. She reached for the door handle but paused. There was something so entirely sad about him, something that reached out to her and didn't let go.

Drawing a deep breath, she quietly opened the door. Evan rubbed his face with his hand in an infinitely weary sort of way, and Valerie grimaced. Suddenly, though, he turned his head, peering over his shoulder, and when he saw her, he smiled just a little. "Hey, baby," he said, sliding the headphones down to hang around his neck. "What are you doing here?"

She shrugged and stepped forward, rubbing her hands together in a rather nervous sort of way. "You kind of sounded like you could use a friend on the phone," she admitted quietly.

He stared at her for a minute then nodded once, pushing out the chair beside him with his toe and reaching for another set of headphones. "How'd you know where I was?"

Settling into the thickly cushioned black suede chair, she shot him a little smile. "It wasn't that hard to figure out. So, can I hear it?"

"Sure."

He plugged in the other headphones and handed them to her. She adjusted them over her ears and waited patiently while he fiddled with the controls before starting playback.

She didn't know what she was expecting to hear. She supposed that if she'd stopped to consider it, she might have realized that he would try to find an outlet for his pain in this sort of way. The haunting chords of the acoustic guitar, though, were so far removed from the man she knew as Zel Roka; as disconcerting as it was beautiful. Just a guitar and a singular voice . . .

 

 

"' _What happens to a friend_ . . .  
' _When all you've got to give_. . .  
' _No matter what you've said, I never knew_. . .  
' _Was it a piece of me or a piece of you_ . . .? 

' _Time goes by so fast, you see_?  
' _When you're dreaming hard and runnin' free_ . . .  
' _And all those times, I never knew_ . . .  
' _If it was me or if it was you_ . . . 

' _Did you stop to think_ . . .  
' _There were so many lost chances_ . . .  
' _But then, maybe you knew_ . . .  
' _If that piece was me or if it was you_ . . .' 

' _It's too hard to say goodbye_ . . .  
' _So maybe it's okay to say, "I'll see you 'round_ " . . .  
' _Then it'd be somethin' we both knew_ . . .  
' _That piece of me was a piece of you_ . . .'"

 

 

Simple words . . . beautiful words . . .

Wiping a tear from her cheek, Valerie nodded as the song faded out, and she had to clear her throat before she even dared to try to speak. "That . . . That was . . ."

Evan let out a deep breath and yanked off his headphones, tossing them onto the mixing board with an almost self-conscious shrug. "I tried to write something, you know, pissed off, but I . . . I wasn't really feeling it."

She smiled gently at his admission. "Maybe you're tired of being angry," she suggested.

He shrugged again. "Maybe."

She nodded, watching as he reached for the headphones and adjusted the sliders a little. The care and precision he was taking in mixing the track spoke volumes enough, as far as she was concerned. Evan Zelig just wasn't an angry person. More likely to be hurt, wasn't he, than to lash out at anyone, to suffer the pain that he hid behind a bright smile and a public façade . . . but how did she know that?

Because she'd seen hints of it, hadn't she? Fast with a smile and slow with a temper that could be as ugly as anything she'd ever witnessed before . . . and he hated that part of himself, didn't he? That rage that could so easily spiral away from him if he allowed it to do so . . .

She knew these things in her heart. Despite his silly antics and innate ability to get into mischief, he just wasn't the cut-up she'd wanted to believe . . . Well, he wasn't all the time, anyway . . .

"I don't know," he finally said, breaking the companionable silence that had fallen. "Maybe I should do a second take."

"I don't think you need to do that," she countered mildly. "The more takes you do, the more . . . polished it feels. You don't really want to polish it, do you?"

Evan let out a deep breath and shot Valerie a rather startled look. Maybe he hadn't expected her to understand that much of it—maybe. Maybe he hadn't expected for her to understand that much of _him_ . . . "Is that what I'm trying to do? Polish everything up, nice and pretty?"

She shook her head and reached out to pat his hand. "No . . . I don't think you're doing that, at all."

"I dunno . . . maybe I am," he replied with a simple shrug. "Maybe the end was so ugly . . . Maybe what comes after shouldn't be."

"Except that it isn't . . . Your song isn't ugly at all."

He stared at her for a long moment then uttered a soft chuckle. "You savvy pretty well, baby."

Valerie broke into a little smile and shook her head, though she couldn't staunch the flow of blood that colored her skin at the warmth in his tone. "I try Evan," she admitted. "But you . . . you don't make it easy."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Hot_** **_Blooded_** ' _by Foreigner first appeared on their_ _1978_ _release_ , **_Double_** **_Vision_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Lou_ _Gramm_ _and_ _Mick_ _Jones_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :
> 
> _More than bunnies, eh?_


	52. 051: Alone

' _Well, if it rains, I don't care_ …  
' _Don't make no difference to me_ …  
' _Just take that street car that's goin' up town_ …  
' _Yeah, I'd like to hear some funky Dixieland_ …  
' _And dance a honky tonk_ …  
' _And I'll be buyin' ev'rybody drinks all 'round_ …'

 

-' _Black_ _Water_ ' by The Doobie Brothers.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"So we were thinking 'media blitz' followed by a live at midnight show in Madison Square Garden that'll coincide with the official release of the new album. Wicked Soundsations has assured us that they'll release the first single in time to allow for the boost in sales, and we've already lined up a tentative schedule that'll take you through November, when the mini-tour kicks off. We're talking a full-blown media push here!"

Tapping an index finger against his temple as he slouched a little lower in the rigid wooden chair, Evan stared at Mercy Payne and his assistant as he paced the length of the room and back. A veritable bundle of energy and constant motion, his genuine excitement was one of the reasons that Evan didn't mind working with the PR rep. Another reason was his hair, or more to the point, the bright, toxic green afro that Mercy wore with pride. Today it clashed horribly with the bright orange silk suit he wore. Still, it took a helluva lot of balls to wear something that audacious, and if Evan admired nothing else, he did admit to a deep admiration of an astute display of ball-age.

"Not Madison Square Garden," Evan drawled without sitting up. "Too impersonal for a release show."

Mercy rubbed his hands together and shot Evan a broad grin. "What'd you have in mind, Zel?"

"How about the nineteenth precinct YMCA? It's big, and there's already some built-in security."

Mercy considered that and nodded slowly. "I could check with 'em, but, man, the acoustics suck in that place."

"Suck or not, I like the idea," he insisted. "Besides, it's about the kids, right? The fans?"

Mercy chuckled. "That'll work. Laqueesha, go make a few calls, yeah-yeah? That's a good girl . . ."

Evan watched as Mercy's assistant sashayed out of the room, pausing long enough to cast Mercy a very provocative smile. Assistant? ' _Fuck . . . He's screwing her; damned if he ain't._ '

"She's a good girl, a good girl," Mercy insisted. "I'm surprised you didn't suggest the Bunny Hole."

Evan shrugged and slumped a little lower. "It's for the kids, and those kids are too young to get into the Bunny Hole."

"If that's what you want," Mercy went on amiably. "Now, I got a meeting later with Ramón—the tight-assed little bastard. I'll see what kind of budget we're looking at here for promos and giveaways. Ever think of endorsing a white t-shirt?"

Evan cocked an eyebrow and stared at Mercy. "White?"

The PR rep grinned. "White t-shirts are good for things like, say, wet t-shirt contests . . . Maybe I could cut a deal for you with Shore-Worn . . . Now those t-shirts would look fine on a wet pair of . . ." He held up his hands in front of his chest in an exaggerated display of breasts. ". . . ba-zoom-bas."

Okay, so he had to agree that Mercy had a point there. Shore-Worn was notorious for selling thread-bare t-shirts for designer prices, and considering that a girl daring enough to go _au naturale's_ nipple-age could be seen easily enough through a dry white Shore-Worn tee, then it stood to reason that even more of said-nipples would be very, very visible through a wet one, kind of like wet tissue paper . . . and a moment later, he had to wonder what the odds were that he could talk Valerie into pulling one of those shirts over her ample cha-chas . . .

"Well, maybe for that," Evan drawled with a rather wolfish sort of grin.

Laqueesha sauntered into the room again with a pot of coffee in her hand. Leaning over—way over—she filled Evan's empty mug, offering him a very clear view of her goodies. ' _Damn, that woman's got some tits there_ . . . _Eh . . . seven, tops_ . . .'

' _A seven? You gave her a_ seven? _On who's bone-ometer? Amateur!_ ' his youkai snorted indelicately. ' _All jiggle and no jive, Roka. Laqueesha's mams are gonna be hanging around her knees by the time she's forty. Now, V . . . that woman's tits are absolutely perfect: no sag, no drag, and absolutely no lag_ . . .'

He heaved a mental sigh. ' _Yeah . . . Yeah, they are_ . . .'

"The YMCA said that they might be able to handle it. They want a proposal and reassurances that there'll be adequate security," Laqueesha said.

"You can handle that, can't you, Queesh? Give a holler at Bone to crunch on that," Mercy instructed.

Evan almost grinned as the woman walked out of the room again. "You think that's a good idea?" he couldn't help asking. "You know that the ol' Bone loves him some generous boobies."

Mercy chuckled. "Ain't like that; ain't like that . . . Queesh knows where she hangs her hat, so to speak, but if she wants to take Bone for a ride, I surely won't stop her."

Evan chuckled, too, and pushed himself out of the chair. "Then I guess it's all good," he remarked. "Send the details to Mike, will you?"

Mercy nodded and stepped forward to shake Evan's hand. "Sho-thang, my man . . . Oh, and . . . I was really sorry to hear about Dieter. He was a good saw."

Evan jerked his head once in agreement, gritting his teeth as the precarious edges of his contrived calm started to fracture. "Yeah," he agreed. "I'll catch you later."

He stepped out of the office and paused long enough to wave and muttered something unintelligible to Laqueesha in passing as he headed for the elevator with a marked scowl on his face.

It felt all wrong, didn't it? Sure, life went on, and he understood that. The thing was, how soon should that really be? Playing a gig anywhere just wouldn't be the same, would it? Still, Dieter would be ticked beyond belief if Evan let everything come to a screeching halt, too, and damned if Evan didn't know that, but the truth was, the idea of venturing out on the road without Dieter?

Blinking when the elevator opened, Evan slowly stepped inside and hunkered down, elbows resting on his knees, his hands dangling in the space between. "Bone?"

The security guard blinked and opened his eyes where he lay prone on the floor. "Oh, hey, Roka," he greeted.

"Something wrong?"

Bone sat up and grinned. "Nah . . . damned thing got stuck for awhile, so I was catching some z-s till it got moving again." He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. "Guess it got movin' again."

Evan straightened up as the doors slid closed, and with a heavy sigh, he slumped against the opposite wall and slowly shook his head. "Fuck . . . You know, I think I feel like I'm about a thousand years old . . ."

"Tell me about it," Bone agreed with a shrug. "Sat up with Bugs last night, right? Cryin' in his wine about Deet and Miss and Danny . . ."

"How's he doing? Bugs, I mean."

The elevator groaned and lurched to a halt—it was obviously still having some kind of trouble. Evan blinked as Bone dug a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it up. "'Bout as well as anyone else. Don't think I've ever seen Bitches cry before, either . . ."

No, come to think of it, Evan couldn't remember having seen it before, himself, even after her long-time girlfriend had broken up with her a couple years ago. At the memorial, she'd stood there, staring at an image of the artist, bassist, and friend, likely remembering all the times they'd all hung out, all the insane things they'd done together, and she'd cried. She'd cried . . .

"It just doesn't seem real," Evan admitted quietly. "Just not . . . real . . ."

Bone nodded, his gaze unfocused, unseeing, the smile that he normally wore conspicuously missing. "Keep thinking," he said quietly, his rich, deep voice taking on a rougher edge, "I should've been in front of you . . . you and Deet. Some fucking bodyguard, right? Some fucking shit . . ."

Evan smiled wanly: an expression devoid of any real humor. "And I keep thinking, if he just hadn't shoved me . . . Hell, he'd have been hit, maybe. Maybe he wouldn't be dead."

Sinking down to the floor, Bone chuckled dryly and dug a large flask out of his inner jacket pocket. Some people wore leather, even in the heat of summer, to look cool. Bone did it to tote his brew. Twisting off the sterling silver cap, he held it out to Evan, who took the flask and tossed back a couple deep swallows before wiping his lips with the back of his hand and returning the silver container again. "Eh, it's all over but the crying, ya? Don't do any good to look back when the road ahead twists around enough."

Evan shook his head and stretched out beside him.   "What a load of shit," he scoffed then sighed. "I feel like I'm losing my fucking mind," he admitted at length.

Bone tipped the flask to his lips before he replied. "Don't sweat the small stuff, little man—or the big stuff, either."

"Is that right?" Evan challenged mildly, taking the brew—Bone's special mix—and drinking deeply. "And you know that?"

"Taught myself," he said, knocking the heel of his boot against the unyielding doors. "Piece of shit elevator . . . Damn, I hate elevators . . ."

Evan chuckled softly, a comfortable lethargy setting in from the warmth of the liquor. "Remember the first time we talked Deet into taking one of these?"

Bone snorted loudly and took back the flask. "Fuck . . . Puked all over me while you laughed about it."

"Yeah, but it wasn't because of the motion," Evan went on with a shake of his head. "Deet fucking hated confined places."

"Said it felt like a damn coffin," Bone added. "As if he'd know what one of those was like . . ."

Tapping the foot he had propped up, Evan waved his hand around for the flask again. Bone stuck it in his hand, and he took a drink before he spoke. "You suppose Miss'll be okay?"

"I dunno, man," Bone muttered. "Wish to hell I did, and Daniel? Growing up without parents? That'd be rough . . ."

Evan was inclined to agree. He'd be the first to admit that he wasn't exactly close to his father, but he also knew well enough that having been orphaned when he was just a pup had greatly impacted Cain Zelig's life. It didn't matter that he'd grown up in such a different era. Evan figured that it would have still been a bitter pill to swallow, no matter what was going on in the world, and as for his mother? Thinking about the years of laughter and tender smiles that he'd gotten from her . . . What would he be now if it weren't for her, for her nurturing, for her unquestioned and unshakable devotion . . .? "I'll make sure that he's taken care of," he said, resolve hardening the edges of his voice just a little. "He won't be left alone."

"Yeah, well, if it came to that, he'd always have a place with Unca-Bone, too."

Evan chuckled and slowly shook his head. "Ma-a-an . . . How pissed would Deet be if he heard us now? Bitching and whining like women or some shit . . ."

Bone stretched out his arms, yawning wide as he arched his back then slumped against the wall once more. Weaving his fingers together behind his neck, he closed his eyes and drew a long drag off the diminished smoke he held between his thick lips. "If I never see something like that again, it'll be too soon," he said.

Grimacing as the fleeting image—a quick flash of memory that was entirely too vivid in his mind—sparked to life in his head, Evan slugged back another swig. "Life was a hell of a lot easier when we were pups," he remarked.

"Eh . . . the longer I live, the more I think that it's all nothing more than a game of craps."

"Craps?"

Bone grinned, tossing the cigarette butt toward the closed doors and mashing it out with his boot. "Hell, yeah."

"What time is it?"

Glancing at his watch before resuming the position, Bone made a face. "Nearly two . . . Mike's gonna blow an ass gasket."

"What's new?" Evan scoffed. Turning his gaze upward, he bit his lip and narrowed his eyes. "We could climb out . . ."

Bone's stare followed the direction of Evan's, and he pondered the idea for a moment before discarding it. "Through that little hole? That'd be like trying to fuck a virgin."

Evan laughed and shook his head. "What, you mean hella tight?"

Bone shrugged and reached into the other side of his jacket to pull out another large silver flask. "Yeah . . . tight, uncomfortable, and guaranteed to leave someone in tears . . ."

"You're so fucking twisted," Evan insisted with a grin.

"Look who's talking, you damn nutsack."

"Yeah, yeah, suck my nutsack, Boner."

"Nah, nah, if it was gonna be that way, you'd mos' def' be my bitch. This Bone bends over for no one."

"'Cept yo' mama," Evan shot back.

Bone's eyes flared wide. "Don't you bring in my mama!" he warned. "My mama could kick yo' mama ass—Well, maybe not. Your mama's _da-a-a-amn_ tough."

"Abso-fucking-lutely," Evan agreed. "No one messes with my mama."

Bone chuckled and tipped the silver flask. "Your mama could kick your ass."

Evan didn't disagree with that. "Probably. She could kick yours, too."

Bone's chuckle escalated into a rumble of laughter. "I'd bend over for your mama—as long as your daddy ain't around."

"Dude, that is so wrong."

"I be yo' daddy, Roka."

Unable to help the rumble of laughter that surged out of him, Evan shook his head and traded flasks with Bone since his was under half full. "My mama's got too much class for the likes of you, but nice try."

Bone chuckled, but he didn't deny it. "So what's the four-one-one on you and V?"

Evan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "We're friends," he said, hoping that he sounded a little more upbeat about it than he was actually feeling.

Bone blinked and leaned away to give Evan a rather disbelieving sort of look. "Friends? You mean like you and Maddy?"

"I wish," he grumbled before he could stop himself. "No, just friends."

"You mean, you ain't fuckin' her?"

"Nope," Evan admitted with what he hoped was a devil-may-care shrug. "She's engaged . . . talk about nutsacks . . ."

"Wait, wait, hold on . . . You're telling me that you're spending all this time with her, and you're not even dunkin' the doughnut?"

"It's part of my plan," he insisted, tipping the flask to his lips. "You'll see."

Bone snorted loudly. "Sounds like you ain't got a plan, Roka. Not surprising. She's too good for you, anyway. Now, me on the other hand? She's more my type: classy, smart . . . just needs a bigger ass."

"Leave her ass outta this," Evan warned, only half-joking.

"Ain't nothing like a bitch with backside . . . watching those cheeks jiggle when you're humpin' the hell outta her . . ." He heaved a happy sigh, his smile turning a little stupid. "I think I need to gets me some pussy."

"You and me, both," Evan grumbled. "She has the prettiest tits . . . deep rosy nipples . . . perfectly round. Shit . . ."

Bone reached over, clinking his flask against the one in Evan's hand. "Could be bigger . . ."

"Fuck you, Boney." He drained a good portion of the container. "She waxes her bush."

"Wha-a-a-at?" Bone considered that then grinned. "Dunno, man. That'd kind of feel like doing a little girl, wouldn't it?"

"Hell that," Evan scoffed, scooting down so that he was lying flat on his back with his feet kicked up, crossed at the ankles and resting just below the control panel. "Nothing 'little girl' about V . . . just a whole lot of woman . . . She's got a tattoo on her pussy, you know?" He heaved a longsuffering sigh. "God, I wanna see if it's a scratch-n-sniff . . ."

"Pathetic, Roka," Bone scolded.

"Fuck! I'm getting hard, just thinking about her!" Evan whined.

"Aw, well, don't—Hell, man, you know, I don't really need to see that . . ."

Evan closed his eyes wrapping his hand around his penis. He'd unfastened his pants in what had to be record time, and he heaved a sigh as he slowly stroked it. Fleeting images of Valerie shot through his head—the way she looked in the morning, all rumpled and sleepy and adorable . . . The smell of her body, of her skin . . . The innate softness that was her flesh . . . everything, everything . . . "Damn, damn, damn, _damn_ . . ."

Drawing his legs up, Bone draped his forearms on his raised knees and slowly shook his head. "Sick little monkey."

"I want her so bad, I can taste it," he went on, ignoring Bone's commentary. "Every fucking thing about her . . ."

"Look, man, I don't mind being stuck in here with you, but do you have to jack off?"

"You know, she bent over the other day, sticking that pretty little ass of hers right in my face . . . I almost came, I swear to God."

Bone rolled his eyes and drained the flask. "So tell her about it," he suggested.

The elevator jerked then started to move again. Evan ignored it and continued to stroke himself. "Do you think she sucks cock?"

"I think any woman has the potential to suck cock, ya," Bone replied, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Some of 'em just don't realize that potential."

Evan uttered a ragged groan. There was a damn good chance that he'd die, right there on the spot if she ever, ever wrapped her lips around his dick . . .

The doors slid open. Evan ignored them. Bone got to his feet and slowly shook his head.

"I suppose you had something to do with that?" Mike's voice cut in dryly.

"With that?" Bone grumbled, waving a hand at Evan, who still didn't seem to have the sense to put his junk away.

Mike stared down at him for a full minute, a comical mix of disgust and boredom on his face before he reached down and rather roughly yanked Evan to his feet. "Put that away, Roka," he growled, grabbing the flask out of his hand and bringing it to his nose. "Shit," he hissed, thrusting the flask at the center of Bone's chest. "Thought I told you to keep that stuff away from him. He's drunk!"

Bone grinned as Evan clumsily shoved his penis back into his pants and tugged on the zipper. "He's aight," Bone insisted.

"I ain't drunk, Mikey . . . Take me to see her," Evan said, swaying just a little bit.

"Hell, no," Mike interrupted. "The last thing you need to do is piss off your attorney. Besides, you have an interview with V-Com, remember?"

"V-Com . . . V-Com . . ." Evan snapped his fingers, his eyes widening. "Oh, yeah! That chick with the huge-assed tits! Lorelei, right?" He grinned stupidly as Bone shoved his shoulder to propel him toward the front doors. "She gives a damn good titty-fuck . . ."

"You just think about fucking those titties," Bone joked as he shoved the doors open and stepped outside. "She won't hack off your boys."

"Eh," Evan drawled, staggering slightly though he wasn't at all slurring his words. "V wouldn't do that . . . She likes my boys—well, she _will_ like them—eventually . . ."

Bone chuckled and yanked open the car door. Mike heaved a sigh and slowly shook his head.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Black_** **_Water_** ' _by_ _The_ _Doobie_ _Brothers_ _first appeared on their_ _1973_ _release,_ **_What_** **_Were_** **_Once_** **_Vices_** **_Are_** **_Now_** **_Habits_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Patrick_ _Simmons_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Scratch-n-sniff_ …


	53. 052: The Storm

' _So I guess the fortune teller's right_ …  
' _I should have seen just what was there and not some holy light_ …  
' _But you crawled beneath my veins and now_ …  
' _I don't care; I have no luck_ …  
' _I don't miss it all that much_ …  
' _There's just so many things that I can't touch_ …  
 _'I'm torn …'_

 

-' _Torn'_ by Natalie Imbruglia.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Evan?"

"In here," he called without looking up from the guitar he was strumming. He wasn't exactly writing a song or anything; he just felt like playing.

He heard the click of her heels on the floor and felt the warmth of her aura long before she stepped into the room. "Keeping yourself out of trouble, Roka?"

The absolute caress of her voice rippled over him with a gush of heat that shot straight to his groin, and he shivered slightly, adjusting the guitar that covered his lap before slowly lifting his gaze to meet hers. Lounging in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest, the contours of her body visible beneath the sheer fabric of the white silk blouse, Valerie smiled just a little in greeting. "I'm good, baby," he drawled lazily.

Her eyes narrowed slightly though her smile widened. "Somehow, I doubt that," she countered. "I bought something for you."

"Oh?"

"Mm," she intoned with a little nod. "It's not much, but, well, I saw it, and for some reason, I immediately thought of you."

"Is that right?" he asked, setting the guitar aside. Why did the idea that she'd gone out of her way to buy him a gift make him almost stupidly happy? "I like presents."

She laughed softly and used her shoulder to push herself away from the doorjamb before pivoting on her heel—damn, the woman had nice ankles—and leading the way into the living room once more.

"So is it bigger than a breadbox?" he quipped, quite happy to follow her wherever she wanted to lead him.

"Here," she replied, leaning to the side to nab a dark green bag with raffia handles off of the sofa. "It's so cheesy—entirely _kitschig_ —but, well, perfect for you," she went on.

"Yeah?"

She rolled her eyes, probably because he sounded just a little too excited about the unseen gift. He took the bag from her and peered inside. A broad grin surfaced on his features as he carefully pulled the wholly gaudy and blatantly awful hula dancer lamp out. "This is awesome!" he exclaimed happily. "Wow . . . this ranks right up there with the leg lamp from _A Christmas Story_!"

"Leg lamp?" she echoed with a shake of her head, clearly unfamiliar with the lamp in question.

He set the lamp on the table and knelt down to plug it in. "Sure. The dad wins this contest, right? So they deliver this huge-assed crate, and when he gets it open, it's a life-size leg lamp. The whole fucking thing lights up!"

Valerie clamped her mouth closed and slowly shook her head, but her lips were quirked just the tiniest bit. "That figures," she muttered.

"Oh, my _God!_ She _dances!_ " Evan crowed as he sank back on his heels and stared in blatant admiration at the lamp. The hula girl was formed from a very soft rubber, and when he'd turned it on, she'd started swiveling her hips under the tinsel-like grass hula skirt. "That so _rocks!_ "

"I can't believe you're so thrilled by a cheesy little lamp," she told him.

He chuckled and carefully straightened the hula girl's hair that had gotten caught up on the pink lei around her neck. "She's fantastic," he insisted.

"Proof positive that you're easily entertained," Valerie shot back, but her gaze was bright, her cheeks slightly flushed. She was happy that he was pleased; that much was obvious.

Pushing himself to his feet, he caught her hands and raised them to his lips. "Don't suppose you'd hula for me, would you?" he prompted after placing a very loud kiss on her knuckles.

Valerie snorted indelicately and rolled her eyes again, though she didn't try to pull her hands away. "Can't say that I know how to," she replied glibly.

"That right?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow as he tugged her around the sofa. "Say . . . Can you dance at all?"

"Nope, not a step," she said a little too quickly—a little too smoothly. "I'm a lawyer. Lawyers don't dance."

Evan shot her a droll look and shrugged, ignoring the facetiousness in her tone for the moment. "Oh, so you're not perfect after all."

"Like I ever said I was," she scoffed. "Forget it, Roka. I'm on to you and your trickery."

"Oh? And what am I trying to trick you about?"

Valerie laughed and pulled her hands away. "What aren't you trying to trick me about?" she countered. "I know what you're doing. You're not nearly as slick as you think you are."

"Is that right?" he chuckled. "You're right. I'm not."

He shook his head. "Well, you did dance with me before," he reminded her.

She stiffened, as though the reminder of the night they'd danced together was something she'd rather not think about, and he supposed he could understand that. To be honest, he wasn't too pleased with himself when he thought about it, too. "That wasn't dancing. That was just swaying a little. Anyone could do that."

He chuckled. "True 'nough. So you're tellin' me that you can't dance, but you can sway? Makes you damn good in bed, doesn't it?"

She almost laughed again. "Too bad you'll never find out about that. Tell me something, would you?"

Evan turned to fiddle with the hula dancer's skirt. "Huh?"

"You're so ADHD," she complained.

"What's that?"

Her response was a heavy sigh. "See what I mean?"

Dragging his attention off the swaying hula dancer, Evan leaned against the arm of the sofa and grinned at her. "I'd pay more attention if you were wearing a little grass skirt and a couple of coconut shells."

Shaking her head, she tossed a throw pillow into his face. "You're so weird."

"Yeah, but I have a really big, fat dick," he retorted. "Wanna see?"

She didn't even bat an eyelash. "No. You do remember, right? You've got another court date Friday, and you're going to behave."

"' _I love myself . . . I want you to love me . . . When I feel down, I want you above me_ . . .'" he sang.

Valerie sighed and reached over to grasp his knee. "Focus, Roka."

He blinked and nodded. "Oh, sorry."

She didn't look like she believed him. "I'm sure. Now, about that court date . . ."

" _But I want you_ ," he said.

Those hazel eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You're really not listening to me, are you?"

"' _I don't want nobody else_ . . .'"

She sat back, pressing her lips together in a tight line as her eyebrows raised just a little bit.

"' _And when I think about you . . . I_ respect _myself_ . . .'" To emphasize his point, he reached down, rubbing himself quite unabashedly through the roughened fabric of his jeans and uttered a long, low, ragged groan, his body reacting, even if he wasn't being serious.

Leaning slightly to the side, she did a full-body eye-roll, much to Evan's amusement. "Stop that, and stop quoting lyrics, you idiot!" she complained, completely chagrined, though whether it was because of what he'd said or because she was struggling not to grin, herself, was debatable.

Evan chuckled and shrugged in a blatant show of mock-innocence. "Seriously, woman, do you have _any_ idea just how fucking hot you are? Just looking at you is enough to make me wanna—"

"Save it, Roka," she interrupted before he could elaborate on what he 'wanted to do'. "I want your promise that you'll be on your best behavior when you appear before the judge. Understand?"

Evan let out a longsuffering sigh designed to let her know exactly what he thought of that. "Tell you what, baby," he drawled, reaching out with a finger to rub her knuckles, her hand resting on the back of the sofa. "I'll be good as gold _if_ . . ."

She stared at him for a full minute before demanding, "If, what?"

He grinned to himself. He really hadn't expected for her to hesitate that long. "If . . . _If_ you give me a good reason to."

Jerking her hand back, she flicked his finger and looked like she might be trying to find something close by to heave at his head. "You're so nasty . . ." she grumbled, her tone indicating that she'd suspected that he'd come up with something like that. " _Why_ are you so nasty?"

"I dunno, V," Evan said as he got to his feet to follow her when she shot to her feet and stomped toward the kitchen. "Why were you in my bushes?"

She stopped abruptly, and for a moment, he thought that she just might whip around to hit him. "Oh, I _hate_ you!" she whined, pinching the bridge of her nose as she hastened her step, heading for the chiller where he kept drinks.

"You wish you did, but you don't," he replied lightly. "Grab me a beer while you're in there, baby?"

"If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, Roka. I dropped my—my—my—"

"Earring," he supplied as she kicked the chiller drawer closed and jabbed the ice-cold bottle of beer into his chest.

"That's right, my earring," she went on in a huff, viciously yanking the cap on the cherry wine cooler in her hand and tossing the bit of metal at the sink. "Furthermore, it's entirely brattish of you to keep bringing it up, don't you think?"

He chuckled as she strode past him, heading for the living room once more. She'd almost cleared the doorway when he called after her. "Yeah, but you didn't say you're not my baby," he murmured, tossing the cap from his beer the same way she'd chucked the one from her wine cooler.

She paused in her stride but didn't stop, and he laughed out loud when she flipped him the bird over her shoulder but kept moving.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie shivered and rubbed her upper arms as she stood at the glass doors that led to Evan's back yard. Grimacing when a jagged bolt of lightning struck down not too far away, she watched as the rain fell in huge, torrential droplets into the agitated surface of the water in the pool.

What was it about the rain that made her feel this way? The melancholy, the sense of sadness that only accompanied a thunderstorm . . .

"I love storms," Evan remarked, draping his hands on his hips as he stepped up beside her. She blinked and turned to stare at him. The exhilaration in him was nearly a palpable thing. Bright eyes darting here and there at the skies outside, he actually grinned when a flash of lightning split the darkness. "Can you feel it, V? It's _great . . .!_ "

She shook her head. "It's . . . kind of frightening; don't you think?"

"Frightening?" he scoffed without looking at her. "Are you kidding? It's awesome! The energy . . . the electricity . . . Damn, baby! It's _killer!_ "

She shot him a droll look before pivoting on her heel and stalking off toward the kitchen to get something to drink.

When the storm had hit, she hadn't thought anything of it. To be honest, it hadn't been that noticeable until the lights had gone out. It was an eerie thing, seeing parts of the city devoid of light. For a woman who had come from a pretty small town, that had taken awhile to get used to, but stranger still was the sense of unease that gripped her now. She had gotten used to the fact that the city just never seemed to truly sleep: perpetual motion, perpetual noise, as though it held a life of its own. Now some of that life had been extinguished, and while it would eventually revive, she couldn't help the sense that something was amiss, even if she knew that the same feeling would dissolve as soon as the electricity was restored, too.

Sloshing wine into a simple crystal goblet, Valerie started to set the bottle down but thought better of it, carrying both it and her glass with her on her return trip to the living room.

"Makes me want to go for a run," Evan commented.

She shot him an incredulous glance as she wandered toward the thick white rug arranged before the fireplace. It hadn't taken him long to build up a healthy fire, and it seemed like the safest place to be at the moment. "You'll be struck by lightning," she warned.

Evan chuckled and stepped away from the doors. "What's the matter, V?" he asked, flopping on the rug beside her, propping himself up on his elbows as he turned his probing gaze on her.

She forced a tight little smile and shrugged. "Nothing," she lied, lifting the goblet to her lips.

"Hmm . . ."

She took her time setting the glass on the edge of the raised hearth and wrapped her hands over her ankles, resting her cheek on her raised knees. "I just don't like storms," she admitted almost defensively.

Rolling onto his side, he stared at her, his dark blue eyes seemingly fathomless in the wan light. "I thought you were fearless," he said, his voice little more than a soft rumble that somehow seemed to merge with the thunder outside.

She shivered, though this time, it had nothing at all to do with the weather. "What do you fear, Evan?"

Her question seemed to catch him off guard, and he pressed his lips together as he pondered his answer. "Sitting still," he finally said in an entirely thoughtful sort of way that was completely unlike his normally upbeat tone. "Letting life pass me by and doing nothing about it."

Smiling wryly, she shook her head. "And that's a problem for you?"

The cocky grin that she knew better resurfaced. "Not really," he said.

Her smile widened slightly for a moment then disappeared just as quickly as it had surfaced. "Is that my earring?" she asked suddenly, narrowing her eyes as she stared at the jewelry in question: the small diamond stud that caught the faint flicker of firelight.

His grin widened, too, but it didn't falter. "Oh, yeah. I found it under the piano."

She opened her mouth to ask for it back, but snapped it closed again. He was wearing it in his nose, and to be completely honest, she wasn't entirely sure that she wanted it back, after all . . . "Gross . . . why do you have it stuck in your nose?" she complained.

"What? You don't like it?" he countered, flaring his nostrils a few times and crossing his eyes as he tried to look at it.

She made a face and shook her head, trying not to laugh at the comical display. "Jerk . . . I'll have you know, I bought that set as a present when I passed the bar exam."

"You want it back?" he asked, moments before he jammed his index finger up his nose.

Valerie rolled her eyes and stretched forward to nab the glass of wine. "God, no," she assured him then heaved a sigh. "You're such a dork."

"You've got bigger diamond earrings," he pointed out reasonably. "I've seen 'em."

"Yeah, but those were the first ones I ever bought myself," she insisted. "I bought them when I first got my ears pierced. I _splurged_ on them."

"No sweat, baby. I'll buy you another pair. Hell, I'll buy you whatever you want just as soon as you marry me."

"Forget it, pal," she shot back saucily, sloshing more wine into her glass. "Besides, you're supposed to buy the gifts before you get married. That way, the woman knows you're serious—which you aren't."

"How do you know I'm not?" he challenged. "I'm being _ass_ serious!"

"Ass serious? What the hell is that?" she shot back, setting the glass down to stare at him instead.

Evan chuckled. "It means that I— _Ow-w-w-w!_ "

Valerie rolled her eyes and yanked on the ear she'd latched onto, dragging Evan closer so she could examine the row of earrings studding the appendage.

"What the fuck are you doing, woman?" he growled. The effect was ruined a moment later when he chuckled.

"Hmmm, is this one real?" she asked, tapping on a diamond stud that was slightly larger than the one of hers that he'd stuck in his nose.

He grimaced and reached up to feel the earring in question. "Nope. It's a fake."

Valerie snorted. "You've got more money than you know what to do with. Why are you wearing a fake diamond?"

"This old gypsy woman gave it to me," he said simply. "I was on tour in Belgium, and I slipped out of the hotel to wander around. Ever see Antwerp at night? Awesome . . ."

"And you accosted an old gypsy woman for her earring?"

He laughed. "Nah. She said she was one of the last of her kind, a true traveling gypsy. She told my fortune, offered me her daughter . . . and gave me that earring."

"Offered you her daughter?"

The laughter turned a bit lecherous. "You ever see a gypsy girl dance?"

"If she had a daughter, then she wasn't the last of her kind."

Evan grinned. "Well, her daughter was the result of a one night fling with some Dutch businessman. To be a true gypsy, you have to be pure Romani, you know."

"Hmm, so why didn't you take the daughter she offered?"

Evan's grin widened. "Well, she was jail-bait, for starters. I think she might have been fifteen . . . maybe. For another, Deet said that she was bad luck . . . Then again, we were pretty fucked up that night. It's hard to say what happened, come to think of it . . ."

Valerie blinked and shook her head. "Bad luck? Why?"

"Because chicks equal trouble."

Valerie rolled her eyes and continued her perusal of his earrings. "This one . . . is it platinum or silver?"

"Platinum," he said.

"And have you stuck it up your nose, too?"

He shot her a wink and a grin. "Nope. Just my nipple."

"Good enough."

" _Ow-w-w-w!_ " he whined when she jerked the earring free without bothering to work the back off first. "Damn, you're cruel, _Val_."

She snorted at the obnoxious way he'd said the normal shortened form of her name. "Suck it up, Roka. You take my earring, I get one of yours. It's fair."

"Yeah, but you didn't have to rip my ear off, too," he complained, rubbing his ear in a mock display of pouting. "You want the one I have in my dick?"

"Of course not! As if I'd want—" Cutting herself off abruptly, she stopped and turned to stare at him in something akin to horrified fascination. "You've got one stuck through your penis?"

That grin of his was back in spades. "Yup. Wanna see?"

"No!" she insisted. "Why would you do that? Didn't it hurt?"

"Surprisingly, it didn't hurt nearly as much as you might think. 'Course, I was pretty drunk at the time, but hell . . . women love it."

She snorted.

Flopping over onto his back, he slipped his hands behind his neck and grinned up at her. "They like to flick it with their tongues and shit . . . and they love how it feels when I'm fucking them."

She was blushing. She could feel it. She also couldn't help it, which just figured.

"Relax, V. All my women are in my past: ancient history, right?"

There was a certain amount of teasing in his tone. The lazy glow in his eyes said something entirely different, though. As though he wanted her to believe him . . . as though he were trying to get her to understand . . . and for a moment—just for a moment . . .

Averting her gaze, she swallowed hard, deliberately ignoring those things that she thought she'd seen the moment before. "See? You are insane. I knew you were. You and all your women. All y'all are insane . . ."

Evan's eyebrows shot up, and he reached up to push her hair out of her face. "All y'all? Did you just say, 'all y'all'?"

She blinked and shook her head, her mind more than a little fuzzy, though she stubbornly refused to ask herself why that was. It had to have been because of the liquor. It certainly wasn't because he'd completely disconcerted her . . . "So?" she challenged, summoning more bravado than she was actually feeling.

"You're from the south?"

She couldn't help the startled glance she shot him. "Does it matter?"

His smile—there was an underlying tenderness in it that she wanted to ignore—brightened, and he let his hand fall away again. "Not really. It's just funny. You don't strike me as a southern girl."

"There's nothing wrong with it," she said defensively. "And I'm not from the south, per se. I just happen to have been born in Kentucky."

"Didn't say there was," Evan agreed easily enough. "So, you were serious about the whole Kentucky thing?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I was," she informed him haughtily.

His lips twitched. "And the inbred-thing?"

That earned him a droll stare. "Shut up, Roka."

He chuckled. "It's a shame, though."

The look she shot him was entirely suspect. "Why?"

All traces of tenderness faded from his smile, and he chuckled. "Because it'd be hot as hell if you had that southern drawl, don't you think?"

Valerie's mouth dropped open for a moment as more color washed into her cheeks. Snorting indelicately, she shot to her feet and snatched up the wine glass to take back to the kitchen.

His laughter lingered after her as she stomped out of the room. Once she reached the kitchen, though, she heaved a sigh and shook her head. Why didn't it surprise her that he'd say something like that? He was twisted, entirely twisted, and she knew that, too, didn't she? That he would find something as hokey and ridiculous as a southern drawl sexy? Shaking her head, she made a face as she rinsed the glass and set it in the sink. ' _Incorrigible_ . . .' she told herself, reaching for the small towel on the counter. ' _Completely nuts_ . . .'

So why was she smiling?

She shook her head and folded the towel after drying her hands. Incorrigible or not, completely nuts or not, at least he had an interesting way of looking at things, even if those were also the very reasons why she knew deep down that his world was just a little too different from hers.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Torn_** ' _by_ _Natalie_ _Imbruglia_ _was_ _recorded_ _and_ _appeared_ _on_ _her_ _1997_ _release,_ **_Left_** **_of_** **_the_** **_Middle_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Scott_ _Cutler_ , _Anne_ _Previn_ , _and_ _Phil_ _Thornalley_. _Song_ _was_ _first_ _recorded_ _by_ _Ednaswap_.
> 
> ' ** _I_** **_Touch_** **_Myself_** ' _by_ _the_ _Divinyls_ _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _their_ _1990_ _self-titled_ _album._ _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Christina_ _Amphlett_ , _Tom_ _Kelly_ , _Billy_ _Steinberg_ , _and_ _Mark_ _McEntee_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Gypsies_ …


	54. 053: Coersion

' _I should have known better with a girl like you_ …  
' _That I would love everything that you do_ …  
' _And I do, hey-hey-hey, and I do_ ….'

 

-' _I Should Have Known Better'_ by the Beatles.

 

 

- ** _Madison_** -

 

 

"What do you think of this color?"

Valerie glanced up from her task of painting her toenails and squinted at the smallish bottle of nail color that Madison had just pulled out of her travel case. "Hmm . . . a little too pink, if you ask me," she said thoughtfully.

Madison giggled and tapped the bottle against the heel of her hand. "Oh, it's not that bad, is it?" she asked as she wandered over to the sofa and held up the bottle to inspect it.

"You'll look like you've got Pepto Bismol spilled all over your nails," Valerie predicted, wiggling her toes and leaning back far enough to examine the polish she'd just applied.

"So you don't want me to do your nails this color?" Madison teased.

Valerie wrinkled her nose and gave the cap of the bottle she'd just used a good, tight turn. "No, thank you," she said. Turning to face Madison once more, Valerie pointed at her with the bottle in a completely no-nonsense sort of way. "Do you know," she began in earnest, "how nice it is to hang out with a girl for once? Not to have to worry that Evan's out there, getting himself into trouble or something? And do you know just how nice it is that we can just sit around in whatever we want and not have to worry that he's going to make some off-color comment about the size of my boobs, the shape of my ass, or the general rigidity of his penis?"

Pressing her lips into a thin line, Madison set the bottle of nail polish aside and grabbed her glass of seltzer water. "And here I thought you liked Zel Roka," she quipped.

Valerie heaved a sigh and shook her head but not before a telling blush spread over the ridges of her cheeks. "I do," she admitted with a little shrug. "It's just . . . sometimes I feel like I've got to be on my guard around him—like he's a vulture, just waiting for me to slip up or something so he can swoop in for the kill."

Madison rolled her eyes and plopped down on the sofa. "Oh, he's not that bad," she countered mildly. "Besides, vultures don't do the killing; they just wait for something that's already dead."

"Neither here nor there." Valerie scoffed then nodded slowly. "All right, so he's not," she allowed. "He can be sweet . . . just not very often."

"Oh, God, don't tell him that," Madison said with a mock-groan. "He'd be ten kinds of offended."

Valerie snorted and shot Madison a dark look before blowing on her fingernails to speed the drying process. "Offended because he can be sweet?"

"He's a lot of things, V, but sweet? That normally isn't one of them."

Considering how often she'd see that side of him, though . . . That innate sweetness that he couldn't hide, even if he were trying to . . . Valerie bit her lip and smiled to herself. At times like those, she could fully understand how the man had been his mother's little angel for so long. "Sometimes I don't know what to think of him," she admitted almost grudgingly as she hunched her shoulders and leaned in to inspect her toes.

"I'm a firm believer that it's easier to just accept what he is instead of trying to slap a label on him," Madison remarked. "Save yourself a little frustration that way."

The trill of a cell phone interrupted the conversation, and Madison braced herself, shoving her feet against the floor as she arched her back and groped over her shoulder for the offending device. "Hey, super-sex. What's up?"

Valerie uttered a loud snort. Madison winked at her.

Evan's breathy chuckle—sexy as hell, if you asked Madison—greeted her. "Hey, babe. You, uh, busy right now?"

"Hmm," she drawled, sparing a glance at Valerie. The attorney didn't seem to notice, preoccupied as she was in dabbing at the edge of her cuticle with a cotton swab dipped in nail polish remover. "Not really, no," she allowed.

"Good, good," Evan nearly purred. "How about you help me out with a little somethin'-somethin'?"

Arching an eyebrow, Madison couldn't help the little giggle that slipped from her. "What'd you have in mind, sweetie?"

"Ah, well, you know . . ."

Valerie tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes on Madison. "Is that Evan?" she demanded sharply.

"Oh, hey! V's there?" Evan blurted before Madison could answer.

"Yes," Madison replied—one answer for the both of them.

"He's not in trouble, is he?" Valerie asked, unable to keep the hint of foreboding out of her tone.

"No, I don't think so," Madison assured her, patting her arm to placate her. "What did you need, Evan?"

Evan sighed. She could hear him drumming his fingers on the table. "Oh, oh! Play along with me, Maddy."

"Sure," she agreed. Valerie narrowed her eyes a little more. Madison shook her head and smiled.

"What's he trying to get you to do, Madison?" Valerie asked.

Madison waved a hand to shut her up.

"Why don't you come on over here and help me out with something? And try to ditch her, won't you?"

"You want me to try to . . .? Okay, sure," she allowed as a rather catty grin surfaced on her features. "Later."

"What does he want you to try to do?" Valerie demanded, crossing her arms over her chest and leveling a no-nonsense look on Madison.

Without batting an eye, Madison stood and spared a moment to flick her wrist before glancing at her watch. "Valerie, darling, won't you be a sweetie and lock the door when you leave?"

It wasn't entirely surprising when the attorney got to her feet, too, planting her hands on her slender hips. "Where are you going?"

"Me?" Madison asked innocently. "Oh, you know, I forgot that I'd already made plans; that's all. Swear to God, V. I'm really sorry."

Valerie didn't believe her, if the look on her face meant anything at all. "Plans?" she echoed dubiously. "With who?"

"No one you know," she lied glibly. ' _I should totally get an Oscar for this one_ ,' she gloated inwardly.

' _Yeah, except Valerie's not buying_ ,' her youkai voice pointed out acerbically. ' _Maybe we should flash her some tit_ . . .'

Rolling her eyes inwardly, she pressed her lips together in a thin line and blinked a few times, as though to protest her innocence.

"He wants you to sleep with him, doesn't he? That nasty little toad . . ." Valerie grumbled.

' _Nasty?_ '

"Toad?"

"Yes, toad," Valerie snorted indelicately. "I'm coming with you," she suddenly stated, leaning over as she kicked up her foot to tug the wads of cotton from between her toes. "If he thinks that he's going to get away with using you, he's got another thing coming; just see if he doesn't!"

"You make it sound like that'd be a horrible thing, Valerie Denning . . . and it's not," Madison countered. "I'll have you know that Evan is one of _the_ best fucks around."

Gripping her forehead, Valerie uttered a low moan. "You poor thing . . . He's perverted you . . ."

Madison couldn't retain the burble of laughter that slipped from her as she slipped on her shoes and grabbed her purse off the table. "Anyway, I assure you that I don't need a chaperone. Why don't you go on home and go to bed? You're starting to get those nasty little circles under your eyes . . ."

"I am not!" Valerie shot back but not before she lifted her hands to gingerly touch the tender skin under her eyes. "Mad _dy!_ "

Grasping the door knob, Madison wiggled her fingers in a jovial little wave. "Bye, sweetie!"

' _You realize that she'll be mad as hell if she figures out that you were manipulating her_.'

' _It's all for a good cause. Evan and V_ belong _together—I can feel it in my veins_.'

Her youkai sighed. ' _So you say, but you know better than anyone that she can be more stubborn than a mule_.'

' _Of course she can_ ,' Madison allowed. ' _Too bad she's also entirely predictable_.'

' _Is she?_ '

Madison peeked around the corner of the stairwell, her smile widening when she spotted Valerie stomping out of the apartment and heading purposefully toward the elevator. ' _Yes_ ,' she insisted. ' _She absolutely is_.'

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"All right. Suppose you tell me what was so important that you had to drag me over here," Madison demanded in a dry tone as she dropped her purse on the table and shot Evan a droll sort of smile.

He grinned and shrugged offhandedly. If she didn't know him better, she might have believed his show of nonchalance. "Is that what you think?" he challenged.

Madison rolled her eyes then giggled, waving a hand as though to dismiss his unvoiced claim. "That's what I know, Zelig. Now spill it. What are you up to?"

The smile on his face turned a little enigmatic as he idly scratched the center of his bare chest. "Not a thing, Maddikins . . . So did V follow you?"

Grabbing the thick brown folder off the coffee table, Madison sat on the sofa and frowned as she opened the cover. Stapled packets of various women, each of them with a headshot for the cover, a stat sheet, a work history, and numerous body shots . . . "She was still following me when I pulled in, yes," she muttered almost distractedly.

Evan plopped down beside her and rubbed his chin. "Nice, nice . . ."

"So what are we doing? Picking your next fuck?" Madison deadpanned, arching an eyebrow when she shot him a questioning glance.

"Naw," he drawled, slinging an arm along the back of the sofa as he leaned in closer, his gaze fixed on the packet that she was eyeing. "Pretty girl, but not her."

"Casting for a video or something?"

Evan nodded. "Yeah. Ramón's got a burr up his ass and wants to get the first video in the can ASAP, and the powers-that-be figure that ' _V_ 's the one they want to go with."

"And you don't have an issue with that?"

He shook his head as the light of the devil sparked behind his eyes. "Nope."

Madison laughed softly. "So we're, what? Picking a girl to play V in the video?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

Madison snorted and slowly shook her head. "I hate to tell you this, _Zel_ , but you're not going to find a replacement V, no matter how hard you try. The rest of them just pale in comparison, don't you think?"

"Well, that goes without saying," he agreed easily enough. "If I could convince the original to do it, that'd be awesome. Somehow, though, I don't think she would."

Madison laughed and set the folder aside. "I think I need a drink for this one," she decided as she got to her feet.

"Will you grab me a beer while you're in there?" he called after her. She waved over her shoulder as he let out a sigh. True enough, wasn't it? What Madison had said was entirely gospel. He'd told Ramón that she had to be tall, blonde, and hazel-eyed. What he hadn't said?

' _It doesn't matter if she has the coloring, fool. She still won't be Valerie_.'

' _No, she won't be_ ,' he agreed as his grin faded.

"Okay, Roka, spill your guts. What are you planning, and what do you think you're going to do to my Maddy?"

Evan blinked and shifted his gaze to light on the very irritated lawyer's face. She'd slipped in the back door—she must have scaled the walls again—an entirely amusing idea. Too bad she looked like she was ready to eat his spleen . . . Hair caught back in a braid with tendrils that had escaped, probably during her jaunt over the fence, cheeks pinked with indignant color, eyes flashing dangerously, capturing pinpoints of light . . . ' _Damn, she's hot_ . . .'

' _Oh, ye-e-e-eah_ . . .'

"What are you doing here, baby?" he drawled, slouching back on the sofa and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table.

She narrowed those eyes on him. Evan's chest lurched though not unpleasantly . . . not at all . . . "Save the innocent act, Roka. What are you planning?"

"Nothing, nothing," he lied, batting his eyelashes in an entirely innocent sort of way. "Am I going to have to put barbed wire along the top of the fence?"

She had the grace to flush just a little at the not-so-subtle barb. "Don't you change the subject, mister. I want to know what you're up to."

"Ah, well, you know . . . 'bout six-six . . ."

"Very funny," she shot back, uncrossing her arms as she bent over and grabbed his nose between her index and middle fingers and yanked—hard.

" _Ow!_ "

"Truth, Pinocchio, or the nose gets it."

"V! My earring! My earring!"

She snorted but loosened her grip a little. "I don't have a hold on your ear, Roka," she pointed out dryly.

"Okay, okay—my nose-stud! My nose-stud!" he complained then chuckled.

"If you're thinking that you're going to get Maddy into your bed, you can forget it, you twisted little monkey," Valerie went on.

"Never crossed my mind," he replied.

She didn't look like she believed him, not that he could really blame her.

"Am I interrupting something?" Madison asked wryly as she strolled back into the room.

Valerie scowled at him for another long moment and gave his nose one last little squeeze before letting go and crossing her arms over her chest once again. "Absolutely nothing, Maddy," she insisted in a much lighter tone.

Rubbing his nose, Evan shot Madison a rather bored stare. "I thought you were going to ditch her," he said.

Valerie snorted. Madison handed him the beer and sat down again. "I tried, sweetie."

"Not very hard, you didn't," he countered.

"Why did you want her to ditch me?" Valerie demanded.

"She's not going to like it," he predicted with a shake of his head.

Madison laughed and waved a hand as she tilted a bottle of beer to her lips. "Oh, just pretend she's not here, then," she suggested.

Evan almost choked. Considering that Valerie was already in a foul mood, to start with, he didn't dare look at her after that little gem. "Ah, okay," he agreed, shifting over just far enough to keep him out of Valerie's immediate reach.

"Ignore me?" Valerie squeaked indignantly. "Madison!"

"Now where were we?" Madison quipped, hopping up just long enough to retrieve the folder she'd sat on. "Hmm . . . hmm . . ."

Evan reached over and grabbed the top of the stack. "Now, she's not too bad," he commented, frowning thoughtfully at the first girl's pictures. "She's blonde . . ."

Madison leaned in closer and frowned thoughtfully. "She's not bad, no," she agreed slowly, "but she doesn't really look like, you know, _her_."

"I don't know," Evan challenged, slowly flipping past the bio sheet and turning the full-body shot toward Madison. "Her boobies are about right; don't you think?"

Madison twittered at Evan's judicious use of the word 'boobies'. "No . . ." she drawled slowly. "Not quite perky enough."

Valerie uttered what sounded almost like a growl and stomped around the sofa, leaning over the back of it and insinuating herself between Madison and Evan. "Oh, my _God!_ You're such a _pig!_ " she grumbled, snatching the packet of papers away from his slack grip.

"What? She's dressed!" Evan complained, reaching for the papers and missing when Valerie quickly whipped away from him.

"Barely," Valerie shot back. "Just what the hell are the two of you doing?"

"O-O-O-Ooh . . . now she's a definite possibility," Madison remarked before Evan could respond.

"Lemme see!" Evan barked, lunging for the photos before Valerie could grab it, too. He glanced at the picture and whistled low. " _Ni-i-i-ice_ ," he breathed in appreciation. "Look at those lips!"

Madison nodded slowly, tapping the image with the tip of her long, tapered claw. She tended to file hers down enough so that they didn't actually look like claws. He figured that she got away with it because she was a girl . . . "Looks like she had injections," she mused at the overly-voluptuous pout.

"Who the fuck cares?" Evan shot back without taking his gaze off the picture. "They all look the same, wrapped around my co—"

"Why do you have so many pictures of women?" Valerie grumbled, yanking that packet away, too.

Evan finally shot her a saucy grin and shrugged. "I gotta pick one out for my video," he told her patiently, in a tone that said plainly that she ought to have realized as much.

"What video?" Valerie demanded.

"Oh! You know, she'd make a perfect 'V'!"

Evan sat up straight and grabbed the papers out of Madison's hands. True enough, the woman—Kassie, it said her name was—was tall, blonde with a sultry tilt to the corners of her eyes . . . ' _Nice breasts_ ,' he decided as he turned the pages to the full shots. ' _Not V, but close_ . . .'

"Wh-What do you mean, the perfect 'V'?" Valerie stammered, her cheeks reddening as her irritation spiraled higher.

Evan dragged his gaze off the pictures to turn an indulgent sort of look on the attorney. "I told you, V: we're picking a girl for my video."

She narrowed her eyes dangerously. "What video, Roka?"

He grinned. "What one do you think?"

She looked completely lost for all of a moment. Shaking her head slowly, she didn't seem to grasp exactly what he was talking about. He could almost see exactly when it did, though. A sharp gasp escaped her, and those eyes of hers widened in mute shock. He even might have thought it was funny—if the idea of having someone else play the role of the mythical V didn't piss him off so much . . . She opened her mouth to say something, but must have thought better of it. Snapping her mouth closed so hard that her teeth jarred loudly, she tossed the packets onto his lap and stomped off toward the kitchen.

"Was that a part of your plan?" Madison asked in a demur pseudo-whisper, smiling slightly as she watched Valerie disappear into the kitchen.

"Not really," he admitted. "I'm kind of winging it right now."

"You mean you're not trying to get her to volunteer to be herself in your video?"

Evan snorted indelicately and buried his face in the stack of potential 'V's again. "You think I'm stupid?" he growled under his breath. "Spending a few days or more with her running around, half clothed and pawing at me? I'd die, damn it!"

Madison laughed then clucked her tongue. "You poor baby. And here I thought you were made of stronger stuff than that."

"Yeah, you'd think so," he mumbled with a defeated sigh. "I'd have thought so, too."

"So what is the point of this little adventure?"

Evan made a face and leaned forward to drop the stack of papers onto the coffee table as he reached for his beer. "I am seriously considering telling 'em to make one of those unimaginative, cheese-tastic concert videos," he reluctantly admitted.

Made grimaced and shook her head. "You can't do that," she admonished with a shake of her head and a very serious look on her face. "Anyway, would it really be so bad to spend a few days, rolling around with a half-naked woman who'll probably be more than happy to give Rokie-Junior a bit of a whirl?"

Evan grinned despite his glum thoughts. He was saved from answering, though, when Valerie stomped back into the living room once more. This time, however, she rounded the sofa and grabbed Evan's ear, tugging until he had no choice but to move over. Then she stepped over his outstretched legs and insinuated herself between Madison and Evan, grabbing the stack of papers that Evan had discarded and casting him an entirely fulminating sort of glower before turning her attention to the documents in hand.

"What are you doing, V?" he couldn't resist asking.

She slugged back a few large gulps of beer and grimaced since she didn't particularly care for the drink but stubbornly kept her eyes focused on the first girl in the pile. "If she's going to pretend to be me, she's damn well going to be hot," Valerie insisted.

Evan blinked and sat back, pressing his lips together, lest he say something entirely inappropriate—or exactly what was on his mind . . .

"Too fat," Valerie said, tossing the first packet aside. It flew over the coffee table and landed on the floor before skidding a few feet away. "Fake blonde," she continued as the second stapled bunch followed the first. "Her boobs are too big . . ." Toss. "And hers aren't big enough." Toss. "Too skinny." Toss. "Ugh! She's got a gap between her front teeth!" Toss. "She looks like a man . . ." Toss. "She looks like a man pretending to be a woman . . ." Toss.

Turning suddenly, she waved the paltry remainder of her stack under his nose. "Is this what you really think I look like, Roka?" she demanded angrily.

Evan wasn't entirely sure what he ought to say about that. ' _Check that_ ,' he thought as he bit his bottom lip and tried his damndest to look innocent. ' _I_ do _know what to say—abso-fucking-lutely nothing_ . . .'

"Hmm, this girl's a classically trained ballerina, but it says here that she's also taken lessons in modern dance and all that good stuff," Madison piped up in time to draw Valerie's attention away from Evan—something that Evan really could have kissed her for, all things considered.

Leaning over Valerie, he peered at the image of the model and nodded slowly. "She does kind of look like V, doesn't she?" he pondered.

"No, she doesn't!" Valerie grumbled.

"She could be V . . ." Evan mused.

"She certainly could," Madison agreed. "She's even got the hazel eyes . . ."

Evan grinned. "Yeah, she does."

"They're not hazel! They're too green!"

"I dunno, Maddy. I think we've got a winner . . ."

"Me, too," Madison said.

"No, you don't!" Valerie insisted, waving her hands between them.

Evan caught the flailing limbs and held them down. "A classical ballerina, you say?"

Madison's grin widened as she slowly nodded. "Look at that! Her name's Vanessa—she's a V, too!"

"Well, hot damn!"

"Vanessa is _not_ V!"

"Gimme that, will you?" he said, wiggling his fingers at Madison.

Madison started to give it over. Valerie yanked her hands free, snatching the papers and chucking them across the room, too. "She's not V!" she insisted, thumping her fists against Evan's knee to emphasize her point. "I'm V! _Me!_ One V— _only_ one, and it's not _her_ , it's _me!_ Me! Valerie! You know— _V!_ "

He wasn't entirely sure exactly how he managed not to laugh at her right then. Maybe it was the innate knowledge that she'd probably kill him, dead, if he did . . . It did, however, take a few minutes for him to trust himself to speak without laughing . . . "Yeah, but V . . . You're an attorney," he reminded her.

Valerie shook her head and didn't look like she quite got where he was going with that statement. "So?"

"Well, and you're a damn good attorney," he went on gently. "It's just . . ."

Those eyes narrowed again. "Just . . . what?" she asked in a slow sort of way.

He shrugged. "It's just that, well, good attorneys usually aren't very good at things like dancing."

"That's true," Madison added, giving Valerie's shoulder a reassuring little squeeze.

Valerie's mouth fell open as a wash of brilliant color rose in her cheeks. "I can, too, dance!" she growled.

"Of course you can," he allowed. "What was her name again? Vanessa?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Madison said.

"I can dance!" Valerie insisted again but louder.

"Valerie—" Evan began, only to be cut short when Valerie pushed herself to her feet and grabbed both Madison and Evan's hands and started to tug. "What are you doing?"

"Come on," she said, shaking her head stubbornly. "Get up and get a shirt on, Roka."

"Where are we going?" he couldn't resist asking.

Valerie leveled a baleful glower at him. "We're going dancing. You're going to admit that attorneys can dance—and then you're going to call Mike or Ramón or who-the-hell-ever and tell them that you don't want someone else to be V—her— _me_ —whatever!"

Evan stared at her for a full moment, unsure whether or not he ought to go along with her. The dancing was all right, sure, but the rest of it . . .? Then again, maybe he'd let it slide till she wasn't quite so angry . . .

Satisfied that she'd made her point, Valerie nodded once and whipped around on her heel to take her empty beer bottle into the kitchen.

"I'm not sure if you're a criminal genius or entirely stupid," Madison mused as she watched Valerie's haughty departure.

Evan shook his head but didn't take his eyes off the woman in question. "Me, either," he admitted softly then chuckled. "Give me a week or so, and I'll get back to you . . ."

Madison laughed softly. "I bet you will, Roka," she said. "I bet you will . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _I_** **_Should_** **_Have_** **_Known_** **_Better_** ' _by_ _the_ _Beatles_ _first appeared on their 1964 release,_ **_A_** **_Hard_** **_Day's_** **_Night_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _John_ _Lennon_ _and_ _Paul_ _McCartney_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _That_ _was_ _either_ _brilliant_ _or_ _just_ _brilliantly_ _stupid_ …


	55. 054: The Only V

' _Baby, when we're grindin', I get so excited …_  
_Ooh, how I like it; I try but I can't fight it …_  
 _You're dancin' real close; cuz it's real slow …_  
 _You're makin' it hard for me_ …'

 

-' _Too Close'_ by Next.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"You know, that has to be the single most disturbing thing I think I've ever seen . . ."

Madison set the half-empty glass of Long Island Iced Tea aside and followed the direction of Valerie's gaze. Staring through the throng of writhing bodies at the dancing rock star, Valerie shook her head and bit her lip. The dancing wasn't exactly the issue, no, but Evan's dance partner was more than enough to make her wonder exactly what he had been drinking before she'd infiltrated his mansion . . .

"Oh, I don't know. I mean, it's not like it's a slow song . . ." Madison drawled. When Valerie glanced at her, she rolled her eyes when she noticed the slight twitching of the woman's lips.

Valerie wasn't inclined to agree, all things considered. As though in answer to her unsettling thoughts, the crowd parted just enough to give a clear view of the man in question, and she sighed. She didn't recognize the song, but it had a heavy groove, and Evan? That strange man had opted to continue dancing when the girls had decided that they could use a drink. That, alone, wasn't unusual, she supposed. That Bone, who had decided that dancing sounded like fun and came along as the designated driver, was dancing with Evan . . . That was the thing that bordered on . . . perverse.

All in all, the two men were dancing entirely too closely without even trying to look like they weren't together. Narrowing her eyes as she openly gaped at the duo, she uttered a sound suspiciously like a growl. Evan's hand was on Bone's shoulder, and the way the two were grinding, she'd swear that they were lovers if she didn't know any better . . .

"Are you sure that he's not gay?" she couldn't help asking without turning her attention away from the rock star and his bodyguard.

Madison giggled and hopped off the high bar stool, taking Valerie's glass of diet soda and setting it on the bar as she grabbed her hand to haul her back onto the dance floor. "He's not gay," Madison assured her.

Valerie still wasn't sure that she agreed. Sure, he didn't seem gay most of the time, but sometimes—like now—she really had to wonder.

"All right, guys," Madison said as she tapped Evan's arm and raised her voice to be heard over the din. "Enough of the bromance moment. V's starting to think that you're gay."

"Gay? The Bone?" Bone said though he broke into a very wide grin. Flipping his wrists to adjust the burnt orange silk shirt he wore, the man laughed good-naturedly and winked at Valerie.

"Everybody loves a little Roka," Evan quipped.

Valerie snorted. Bone chuckled. "The key word there being 'little'."

"C'mon, Bone. Dance with me," Madison said before Evan could spout something in retaliation. She peered back to telegraph Valerie a coy wink and dragged Bone off to dance.

Evan laughed and slipped an arm around Valerie's waist. His energy was a palpable thing. He fed off the crowd, didn't he? She'd noticed that before. He did the same thing whenever he performed. It didn't matter to him, did it? Whether he was the center of attention or not didn't matter, just being surrounded by people was enough for him. It was as though their emotions were enough to fuel his adrenaline—not surprising, all things considered. "I swear to God, V, I'm not gay—Ooh . . . check _that_ guy out, will you?"

Valerie blinked and couldn't help following the direction of his gaze, and then she could only blink again when she spotted the very tall, very handsome man who had just walked in with a pretty blonde. He looked vaguely familiar, but in the dim and distorted lights of the club, she couldn't rightfully make out his features. Maybe he was an actor or model or something . . . "What about him?" she couldn't help asking.

Evan grinned and shrugged. "Would you do him?"

She snorted as he pulled her close when the next song—a slow song—started. "I'm _engaged_ ," she reminded him.

That didn't seem to faze him at all. "Yeah, yeah . . . If you weren't."

Glancing at the man again, Valerie stared at him for another minute then shrugged. "He looks like he could be a jerk."

"Yeah, but did you see the size of his hands? He's _gotta_ be packing it . . ."

She rolled her eyes but smiled at the incorrigible man. "And why are you looking? _Are_ you gay? You know, there's nothing wrong with that . . ."

"I'm not gay, and I'm positive that I'd be more than happy to say so if I were," he assured her. "What's wrong with pointing out that someone's good-looking, even if he is a guy? You telling me that you don't notice a beautiful woman?"

"That's entirely different," Valerie countered. "Women _always_ notice that sort of thing—then we compare ourselves to her."

"That's not healthy, you know," he pointed out as he pulled her a little closer.

Valerie shook her head and stepped back once in retreat. If he noticed, he didn't remark on it. "Sure, it is," she argued. "If we didn't do it, then we wouldn't strive to make ourselves better, either."

Evan sighed and shook his head. "I dunno, V. I mean, you're the woman that they'd compare themselves to, and there's no way in hell that anyone could come close to _that_."

A very distinct shiver raced up and down her spine, following the path of Evan's slow but steady gaze. Unable to control the hint of pink that infused her cheeks, she shook her head and averted her eyes, instead. His body seemed to move in a completely sinful sort of way, as though every solitary part of him was in perfect accord with everything else, which made perfect sense, considering she'd seen for herself, just how agile he really was. But he was so tall that he loomed over her, rising above her like some kind of ethereal spirit that had been bound to the earth . . . Shaking her head at her own fanciful thoughts, she wrinkled her nose and snorted inwardly. She was tall enough that she was normally on par with, if not a little taller than most men that she'd danced with before, but Evan . . .

As if he could read her thoughts, Evan chuckled softly, a little wickedly. It wasn't nearly as bad as normal, but that didn't mean that she trusted him. Hell, no. She didn't trust Evan Zelig any further than she could throw him . . .

It struck her not for the first time, exactly how off-kilter it was, really. How could it be that a man could look as angelic as Evan, yet be the devil, incarnate? It bordered on perverse, didn't it? With that pale hair and those dark eyes, coupled with the fine bone structure that he'd inherited from both of his parents, was it really that surprising that he'd gotten away with his brand of devilry his entire life? Valerie sighed. ' _Not at all_ ,' she had to allow. For some reason, that bothered her . . .

Everything had always been given to him far too easily, hadn't it? As much as he liked to pretend to be the idiot rock star, it hadn't taken Valerie long to figure out that he really wasn't stupid; not by a long shot, and though she didn't even begin to fathom why he'd want to look the fool, somewhere deep down, she understood that he did seem to like it, didn't he?

"That guy ain't too bad, either," Evan remarked, peering over her head at another man dancing nearby as he effectively snapped Valerie right out of her reverie.

Valerie let out a deep breath and shook her head, leaning away far enough to pin him with a somewhat disbelieving glower. "You're not being serious," she said slowly.

Evan shrugged. "Why do you act like that's so weird?" he complained though he was still grinning like an idiot.

"Are you sure you're not gay?"

He laughed—not entirely surprising, considering who she was dealing with. "Everyone's a little gay," he stated flatly. "Didn't you know that?"

"Everyone is not a little gay," she countered with a shake of her head.

"Sure, they are," he argued amiably. "You notice when women are hot, right? That's sort of gay. You look at fashion magazines and eye the models, right?"

"Not because I want to sleep with them," she shot back.

Evan's grin widened. "Maybe not," he agreed lightly, "but you _do_ look, right?"

Valerie snorted indelicately. "Not like that, you pig," she muttered.

"Nothing wrong with it," he challenged airily. "Men look, too, you know."

"When do you look?" she couldn't help asking. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Madison toss her head back, laughing helplessly at whatever Bone had said to her.

"All the time, V!" he replied. "All guys look. Most of 'em just don't admit it."

"That is so not true," she argued. "You're just twisted; that's all."

"It's not just me," he assured her. "We look all the time, like when we go to the john."

Valerie blinked and stared at him, unsure whether or not he was teasing. He didn't look like he was, but that didn't mean much. "You look in the bathroom?" she parried.

Evan nodded. "'Course we do. You peek at the guy beside you, and you spend the rest of your day being happy about yourself or finding yourself sadly lacking."

"You do not," she said. "I know how that works. You guys don't look; it's some kind of unwritten rule."

"Who told you that load of bullshit? Mordred?" Evan scoffed.

Valerie rolled her eyes, casting a quick glance over her shoulder when someone inadvertently bumped into her. Evan caught her and steadied her with a low chuckle. "Marvin," she corrected, knowing full-well that he knew Marvin's name.

"Whatever, whatever," he blew her off, which just figured.

' _Incorrigible_ . . .' Then again, maybe that wasn't the right word, either . . . "Shut up and dance, Roka," she muttered, knowing, too, that she wasn't going to win any of the verbal skirmishes that Evan seemed to crave.

He laughed in her ear—more of an exhalation than an actual sound as the warmth of his breath rippled over her, stirring the strands of hair, sending an unmasked shiver straight down her spine. As though he'd felt the tremor, he pulled her just a little closer until she could feel the heat rising off his skin, permeating the thin fabric of the dark blue shirt that he wore in such an effortless sort of way. Every inch of his body seemed to flow in time with the music, and the energy that seemed to radiate from him wrapped around her as securely as his physical touch, as tightly as his arms . . .

Even so . . .

Even if she could feel his presence so strongly, there was an underlying sense of vulnerability, too—one that she'd always despised. That feeling that she wasn't in complete control . . . She frowned. No, that wasn't exactly right.   That feeling was there, yes, but . . . but for some reason, it wasn't as unpleasant as it normally was.   She simply didn't know why that was, and she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to try to figure it out, either.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Don't tell me she wore you out."

Evan grinned as he tipped the dripping bottle of icy-cold beer to his lips and leaned against the bar behind him. "Hell, no," he retorted, shifting slightly as Bone dropped onto the stool to Evan's right. "Just wanted a beer. That's all."

Bone laughed and gestured at the bartender to bring him a soda. "You sure she's not too much woman for you?" he goaded.

Evan's grin widened though he didn't rise to the bait, either. "Probably," he agreed with a little shrug. "She's a helluva lotta woman, ain't she?"

Following the direction of Evan's unwavering gaze, the head of security broke into a lazy grin as he lifted a glass of soda to his lips. "She's out of your league, Roka," he warned. "Never seen a woman so fuckin' far out of your league before, either . . . 'cept for your mama, of course."

"Mama's in a league all her own," Evan replied absently, almost automatically, as he sat up a little straighter in order to afford himself a better view. All of Valerie's attention was on her dance partner—Madison—and though her hair was hanging in a tangle of wanton disarray and despite the sheen of clean sweat that shone like glitter in the sultry light of the colored strobes, she was laughing—how was it that he could hear it distinctly, even in the midst of the crowded club?

"Yeah, I always wondered what she saw in a dog like your dad, ya," Bone went on, oblivious to Evan's current train of thought.

Evan chuckled but still didn't look away from Valerie. "You kidding? That's a no-brainer, isn't it? Ol' Cain brainwashed her into thinking that he's not a complete and utter bastard."

Bone laughed and shook his head, used to hearing Evan's often colorful complaints about Cain Zelig. Setting the glass aside, he settled back, content to watch the dancing women not far away. "Eh, what's that old saying? Like father, like son?"

"How 'bout, 'it takes one to know one'?" Evan retorted.

Bone grinned and shook his head as he tugged on the cuffs of his shirt. "Keep it up, little man," he warned, his tone completely at odds with the wide smile on his face, "don't make me have to wipe the floor with you."

"Shit," Evan scoffed. Finally dragging his eyes off Valerie, he couldn't help but notice the young woman dancing nearby who was busy staring Bone up and down. Very pretty, he had to allow, though maybe a little thinner than the women that Bone tended to pursue. Evan couldn't tell if she was biracial or simply just very lightly skinned for an African-American woman, not that it mattered. She was hot— _really_ hot—and she was trying like hell to get Bone's attention . . . "Score one for the Bone," he said, tagging his friend on the arm and jerking his head once in the female's direction.

Bone shifted his gaze without turning his head as his grin widened. "Damn," he muttered under his breath but loudly enough for Evan to hear him. "Ain't she something?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't look like she's got 'the booty'," Evan pointed out reasonably.

Bone let out a deep breath and nodded slowly. "She's got her a white girl's ass," he agreed a little sadly. "What's wrong with my ladies these days? Ain't _none_ of them look like their mamas fed 'em proper."

"Is that right?"

Bone heaved a dejected sigh. "Nothing wrong with a good ol' fried-chicken-and-collard-greens-ass, my man—not a damn thing."

Evan chuckled and stood up. "You ponder that a little more," he instructed before sauntering away. "I think I just caught my second wind."

His laughter lingered behind Evan as he crossed the floor, weaving between the dancing bodies that stood between Evan and his target. Valerie hadn't had much to drink—a couple beers, maybe—and she wasn't even close to being inebriated. Catching sight of him as she spun around on the floor with her hands over her head, holding up the shining disarray of her hair. Wide eyes open, appraising, warm, she shot him a secretive little smile without breaking her rhythm. That smile . . . God, it was enough to rattle right through him; enough to stop his heart and obliterate everything else he knew or would ever know . . .

Madison murmured something in his ear—he didn't catch it, or maybe he just didn't care. Valerie's gaze was trained on him with a frankness, a simple curiosity that he could hardly credit. But she didn't seem to mind the change in partners when Madison sauntered away, leaving Evan with her. Arms reaching out, slipping around Evan's neck, she swayed in close, her body undulating against his in time with the music. The steady, raunchy, grungy slide of the heavy beat mesmerized him, every bit as much as the woman did.

There were no words spoken, nothing that needed to be said. Valerie teased him unmercifully. The scent of her was far too strong, too welcome, too seductive . . . The slight tang of the clean sweat that glossed her skin, the ever-present smell of her . . . It was all magnified by the solitary beat of her heart, the absolute heat that radiated from her like the rays of the sun . . .

Hips grinding against his as her eyes widened a little more when she brushed against him, as she realized in a solitary moment, just what she was doing to him . . . A secretive smile followed by a jumble of husky giggles, the light in her stare taking on a teasing sort of air . . . "Oh, come on, Roka. What are you? Fifteen?" she goaded.

Evan didn't back down from her taunts. Grasping her hips, he yanked her against him, letting her feel exactly what her movements were doing to him as he bit off a ragged groan at the contact. Valerie's body was too alive, too vibrant, too compelling. Every part of him ached, nerves screaming silently, demanding a satisfaction that just wasn't going to happen.

As though she were being driven by the music, Valerie was undaunted. Her movements grew a more frenzied, the steady bump and grind rhythm spiraling a little faster, a little louder, a little more formidable. Common sense told him to back off, that he wouldn't do anything but scare her if he wasn't careful. Too bad common sense just didn't play into his emotions at the time . . .

The only thing that he could comprehend was the feel of her body, the violent shifting of the invisible aura that surrounded her, lent her a brighter glow than anyone else, than anyone he'd ever seen. The call of her body to his was almost a primitive thing. His reactions were little better than instinct; there was no real thought to it. The need to be close to her ; closer to her—as close as he possibly could be was quickly overwhelming any semblance of rational thought, and as she lifted her chin, her hair hanging in loose, limp tendrils that flowed around her as he tossed her head, as she pivoted, only to peer over her shoulder at him, her lips puckering as her eyes widened, as she slipped her arms up and back, wrapping around his neck to tug his head down into the gentle curve of her shoulder and neck. Hands grazing up over her hips, he grasped her waist, held onto her as he swung his hips in time with hers, closing his eyes, breathing in deep as a half-whine, half-growl slipped from him.

He heard her sharp gasp in response to the sound. Head falling to the side, as though she simply couldn't help herself, she collapsed heavily against him, her body slumping back, molding against his in an absolutely perfect kind of symmetry. Blinking as a crazy kind of fuzziness seemed to ring his vision in the darkened club, Evan stared at the barest hint of pulsations that he could hear, pounding in his ears. Her throat—the creamy expanse of sweet-salty skin—beckoned him. He ground his teeth together hard, the last lingering wisps of cognizant thought spinning through his head in a painful cadence: those last-ditch efforts to remember that she wasn't his, that he had no business holding her so close, that he . . .

"Ready to admit it, Roka?"

Blinking back the fog in his vision as the softly uttered question cut through his stupor, Evan couldn't stop the grimace that surfaced as she pulled away from him, only to spin around on the ball of her foot, hands locking together behind his neck, her smile exultant, if not a little drunk. "A-Admit what, V?" he managed, though he couldn't muster much more than a throaty whisper.

She laughed that sultry, deep laugh that never ceased to cut him straight through. "That I can dance, you know . . . Just because I'm an attorney doesn't mean that I can't—"

His own chuckle cut her off. "You're not supposed to use double negatives, counselor," he pointed out.

She wrinkled her nose, swaying her hips absently with the slow song that had replaced the louder, more dangerous one. "Stuff it up your ass, Evan," she murmured. "I can say whatever I want when I'm busy gloating."

"I'd _like_ to stuff something up your ass," Evan half-muttered, half-grumbled.

"Hmm?"

He cleared his throat but couldn't quite muster a smile. "Nothing, nothing," he lied.

  
"You're not such a bad guy when you're not being obnoxious," Valerie went on, apparently unconcerned with what she hadn't heard—a good thing, really, considering. "In fact, you're almost— _almost_ —likeable."

"I am not," he retorted, pulling her a little closer. He just couldn't help himself. She didn't seem to notice.

"You are; you are," she insisted. Tilting her head to the side, she shot him a coquettish little smile. "Why do you act like that's a horrible thing?"

"Because it is," he said then heaved a sigh. Staring at her . . . It was just too much. That guarded expression that she wore like a second skin was gone. Did she know that? He hadn't really thought about it before, had he? So used to seeing it on her face, he hadn't realized until it was gone that it had always been right there . . . He wouldn't have said that she looked at all vulnerable, but the slight lilt in her gaze was enough to make his breath catch in his throat. If she had any idea how she looked at that moment, he didn't know. No, the only thing he could understand was the whisper of her soul—a whisper that he didn't think she was aware of . . . A whisper that only he could hear . . .

For a second, she looked like she wanted to say something. Her gaze locked with his, her eyes slowing gaining a dreamy clarity of something that could only be understood on a level that could never be spoken out loud. It was a thought, a moment, a fleeting breath, and for the briefest of seconds, he could tell that she could feel it, too: the same things that kept him awake at night, those things that he understood on a purely intuitive level. Maybe she didn't fully comprehend just what it meant yet. How could she? Everything she knew, everything that she believed . . . How many years had it taken her to convince herself of those things that she thought were the gospel-truth?

Her lips parted, her breath passing over him like a moist tropical heat that touched his skin, leaving him in a dampened haze that was pleasant, welcome . . . Her mouth formed half-words though no sound came, the tip of her tongue darting out just enough to moisten those lips, and with a ragged breath and without a second thought, he leaned toward her . . .

The softness of her lips under his was excruciating—gentle and sweet as time slowed then stilled. Her body stiffened against his for a moment, eyelids fluttering closed, frozen in time as all sound faded away. She didn't kiss him back, but she didn't push him away, either, and whether she was too stunned to care or too bemused to make sense of what was happening, Evan didn't know.

Hand coming up, cupping her cheek as his other arm pulled her against him, he quelled the sense of desperation that roiled deep inside him. Kissing her gently once, twice, he felt as though a part of him was dying, only to be revived when her hands slipped off his shoulders, down his chest, her fingers tightening around fistfuls of his shirt. He groaned softly, unable to contain the sound, and with a muffled little whimper, she let go of his shirt, shoved him back as she stumbled back a step. A shaking hand rose to cover her lips, her eyes flashing open wide.

Unwelcome color blossomed in her cheeks as her mouth opened and closed a few times, as though she were struggling to find the words she wanted to say. Curse him? Condemn him? Confirm the mistake that he'd just made . . .?

A flicker of emotion in the depths of her eyes—gone before he could process it, and before she could stop herself, she whirled around and broke for the door, bumping into people, muttering apologies as she pushed through the crowd.

Evan grimaced and bolted into action, ignoring the irritated words and dirty looks he garnered as he shoved people aside to give chase. The balmy air outside the overheated club hit him full in the face as he stepped out onto the sidewalk in time to see Valerie step off the curb and into a taxi that hadn't quite come to a full stop.

Taking a few steps forward, he stopped, his breath escaping in a sharp exhalation. She hadn't looked back, had she, not that he'd really expected her to, and maybe it was a good thing that she'd managed to get away from him so easily. He wanted to smash something—anything would do . . . and he wanted to laugh . . . and he wanted to cry . . .

' _Idiot! Idiot! Did you forget? She's engaged, dumbass, and it isn't to you!_ '

Letting out a deep breath, he ignored the taunts inside his head. He knew all that, damned if he didn't. He wasn't entirely stupid, after all . . .

' _Sure, you are! You're a damn fucking idiot! You broke the only rule you've ever lived by, you know . . . The only one that really mattered to your father and your mother!_ '

He grimaced and wished idly that he'd drunk just a little more beforehand. ' _All right_ ,' he conceded, albeit with all the ill-grace he could muster. ' _Point taken, goddamnit_ . . .'

But he hadn't meant to kiss her. He knew damn well that it was nothing but folly. Ignoring the vindictive voice of his youkai blood, he slumped against the wall and smacked his head against the solid surface. It didn't matter what he knew, now did it? It didn't matter because . . .

. . . Because he really hadn't been able to help himself. The look on her face just before he'd kissed her . . .

A sad little smile touched the corners of his lips as he stared down the street after the retreating taxi without really seeing anything at all. That moment of unbidden emotion just afterward . . . He hadn't been able to process it quickly enough at the time, but he could now. Only a moment, only a vague hint, but it was enough—enough for him to understand.

It was regret, wasn't it? Just that instant of regret, of wishing for things that she was entirely too stubborn to admit that she wanted . . . The regret and the fear—fear that she might possibly feel more for him than she'd ever wanted to . . .

So why didn't that little epiphany make him feel any better? Even if she weren't ready to admit anything of the sort to herself, she felt it, too, didn't she? That's what he wanted, damned if it wasn't . . .

And yet, the knowledge somehow left him feeling like an even bigger bastard than he ever had before.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Too_** **_Close_** ' _by_ _Next_ _first appeared on their_ _1997_ _release_ , **_Rated_** **_Next_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _R._ _Ford,_ _Kier_ _Gist_ , _Robert_ _Huggar_ , _Lawrence_ _Smith_ , _Kurtis_ _Walker,_ _Darren_ _Lightly_ , _Denzil_ _A._ _Miller,_ _Jr._ , _J.B_. _Moore_ , _Raphael_ _Brown_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Well … that was colossally stupid_ …


	56. 055: Denial

' _By the light of the moon, she rubs her eyes,  
_ ' _Says it's funny how the night can make you blind …  
_ ' _I can just imagine.  
_ ' _And I don't know what I'm supposed to do,  
_ ' _But if she feels bad, then I do, too …  
_ ' _So I let her be …_ '

 

-' _Her Diamonds'_ by Rob Thomas.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie fumbled with the door and stumbled into the welcome silence of her apartment before leaning all of her weight against it to close out the rest of the world or at least a certain part of it.

She didn't move right away, her strength seeming to give out as she slumped, her entire body feeling as though it was cast of lead seconds before the tremors took hold of her. Her purse landed with a dull thump on the floor near her feet, but the constant, unrelenting pulse of the music still echoed through her spinning head; she could feel bile rising in the back of her throat as she lifted a limp hand to smash against her lips, stifling everything deep inside her that threatened to spill over.

The look in his eyes . . . Part of her hadn't understood the emotions that had flickered to life, but there were just too many of them, all in the space of an instant, and none of them were pronounced enough to make any sense, whatsoever . . . There was only the mesmerizing glint that had somehow left her feeling breathless, light headed, though whether it was because of him or because of the unbreakable mood of the club, she still didn't know. She'd seen his intention in his gaze before he leaned in to kiss her, she'd understood that much and yet she was powerless to stop him . . .

' _What . . . What did I do . . .?_ '

That insular question taunted her, tortured her, repeating over and over again like a scratched record that only she could hear.

' _No . . . No! I didn't do anything—anything! It was him;_ he _did it! He_ . . .'

Yet even as she tried in vain to deny it all, she knew, didn't she? Deep down, she knew that she hadn't stopped him; she'd just stood there and like a thousand women before her, she'd let him do whatever he wanted.

' _No . . .! That's not how it happened! He . . . He just—I was_ shocked! _That's all! I didn't expect him to_ . . .'

"To . . . kiss me," she whispered, squeezing her eyes closed against the words she simply hadn't wanted to admit.

An irrational surge of anger rippled through her from somewhere in the depths of her—anger at Evan for his absolute audacity, anger at Madison for having bought her a drink when she knew damn well that Valerie just didn't hold liquor very well, anger at her boss for caving in to Evan's demands, but worst of all, anger at herself because as much as she wanted to believe otherwise, all of it—all of it—really was her own fault.

No one had made her go with them, and even then, hadn't it been her idea in the beginning? Irritated that he hadn't thought that she could dance, and as much as she really hated it, the fact remained that it was her idea to go to that club, in the first place . . .

Wincing as she drew a deep breath, as though to garner what was left of her tattered nerves, she pushed herself away from the door, stumbling slightly before kicking off her shoes and rubbing her face with trembling hands.

There was simply no excuse for it, was there? She'd known that Evan Zelig was dangerous, more so than his alter-ego, Zel Roka. There was something innately playful in the rock star persona, and in the end, it was easy to remember exactly who he was, but . . .

No, that wasn't it. She wasn't attracted to a man like him; it simply wasn't possible. He was everything— _everything_ —that she despised, that she had avoided. Sure, there were moments when he seemed different, but he wasn't, and she knew that, too. The only thing he was to her was a paycheck, damn it: a client who needed her help because he was stupid enough to get into trouble since he didn't think about repercussions—because he _never_ thought about repercussions. Rock star that he was, he'd started to believe his own legend, and somewhere along the way, he'd forgotten that he really wasn't above the law.

Her temper was rising, displacing the misery, the confusion that had accompanied her home. Stomping through the apartment without stopping till she reached her bedroom, she shoved the closet open with a resounding, if not rather satisfying, thud.

She simply hadn't expected that, had she? That was it, and that was all. She hadn't expected him to suddenly decide to kiss her. She hadn't wanted him to do it. That would have been stupid—really stupid. She was engaged, for God's sake, and he knew that, too. He'd done it just because he didn't like Marvin, and he thought that he could play with her. She was nothing more to him than a shiny new toy because that's how he viewed all women. Anyone who was demented enough to keep women's panties as a twisted trophy of sorts couldn't possibly give two figs about anything other than what a woman could do for him.

With a frustrated growl, Valerie yanked off the dress and tossed it into the closet, for once ignoring the pragmatic little voice in the back of her head that detested any sort of abuse of the things she worked so hard to attain. Her expensive French lace bra followed suit, and she snorted into the obnoxious silence as she jerked an oversized sweatshirt over her head and yanked it down over her hips.

"That arrogant, manipulative, self-serving, egomaniacal, childish, spoiled, overbearing, asinine, condescending, fat-headed, intolerable, whore-mongering, conniving, fickle, irritating, womanizing, nasty, overinflated, hot-headed, rotten excuse for a human . . ." she muttered under her breath as she stomped out of the bedroom once more.

' _But_ . . .'

Squelching the whisper that resounded in the back of her mind, Valerie strode purposefully into the kitchen to make a cup of tea as she filled a mug with hot water from the electric tea pot that she'd forgotten to shut off before she left the apartment to chase after Madison. 'But' couldn't possibly lead to anything good, and questions weren't something that she wanted to deal with. It was easier to be angry; easier for her to blame him. It was easier to remind herself of those things that she knew about him from the start, and even if— _if_ —she were to think otherwise, even for a moment, she'd be wrong. Nothing at all would change what he was, just like nothing in the world could change the fact that the one and only reason she was even associating with him was because she'd agreed to represent him in the case, for the sake of her employer and her career.

' _Is that really the only reason?_ '

She ignored that, too, as she carefully spooned loose tea leaves into the steaming water in the mug. That, as far as she was concerned, was a stupid, stupid question.

A small squeak escaped her when the trill of her cell phone cut through the silence. As upset as she was when she'd walked through the door, she wasn't entirely sure what she'd done with that, and at the moment, she wasn't in that big of a hurry to find it, anyway. With her luck, it would just be _that_ man, and she most certainly didn't want to talk to him, not now and not ever.

Tea mug in one hand, rubbing her face with the other, Valerie shuffled back into the living room once more. Just how many times did she have to tell him that she wasn't interested, anyway? Exactly why couldn't he understand? Eyes narrowing as indignant color suffused her cheeks, Valerie uttered an uncharacteristic growl and slammed the mug down on the corner of her desk, only to grimace when the scalding liquid sloshed up over the side and onto her hand.

She knew the answer to those questions already, didn't she? He heard her well enough. He simply didn't care because her answer didn't match up with his feelings on the matter. Just like the spoiled rock star he was, 'no' wasn't something that he was used to hearing, and because of that, she knew damn well that it was nothing but the thrill of the chase that kept him coming around.

Dropping into the chair in front of her desk, Valerie sighed, sparing a moment to rub her forehead before reaching down to turn the computer on. If only she hadn't let Madison talk her into meeting Evan, in the first place, then none of this would have ever happened, and she would still be living her life, blissfully unaware that such an obnoxious man existed.

Clutching the tea mug in both of her hands, she closed her eyes and sipped the fragrant drink, willing herself to calm down, wishing that she could forget the whole night, too. The aroma worked to soothe the edges of her frazzled psyche, the burst of tangy spice that hit her tongue serving to wash away the bitter taste that had lingered in her mouth long after she'd forced the bile back down again. Unfortunately, the ultimate cleansing also served to dampen the edges of her ire, leaving behind a corrosive confusion that licked at her soul, uttering the softness of questions that she neither welcomed nor answered.

It had to be the shock of the moment, right? That unfurling she'd felt deep in her belly, the liquid surge of warmth that had rushed through her like adrenaline . . . She simply hadn't expected him to kiss her; that was all. She hadn't wanted him to do it. She'd told him all along that she wasn't interested in him. Somehow, though, she'd forgotten that the two of them really weren't friends—couldn't _be_ friends. Besides, he didn't want that, anyway. The price of that kind of relationship with him wasn't one that she could afford. She knew that, didn't she? After all, she knew what he expected from Madison, his 'best friend' in the world, and maybe that kind of thing didn't bother Madison, but Valerie couldn't say the same for herself.

No, it was her fault, and she knew it. Somewhere along the line, she'd forgotten that Evan Zelig simply wasn't the kind of guy that knew what it meant to just 'be'. He wanted too much, expected too much, and Valerie . . . She wasn't for sale; not for anything.

Letting out a deep breath, she opened her eyes and let her gaze focus on the computer monitor. As though by habit, she pointed the web browser at her sister's blog, reading through the daily entry without retaining anything that she'd read. There were a few new pictures posted from the summer theater that she belonged to. She'd landed the role of Alice Sycamore in the under-eighteen production of _You Can't Take It with You_. Ordinarily, it probably would have made Valerie smile, those pictures. As it was, she could only stare rather blankly, unable to really focus on what she was seeing, in the first place.

Clicking off the computer with a long, low sigh, Valerie let her head fall back, staring at the ceiling for a long minute.

She knew why it had been so easy to forget the real crux of their relationship. She'd confused her general concern over his well being after Dieter's death with friendship. She understood that now. He was so vulnerable that she hadn't known how to react to him, and she'd done what had seemed natural at that time: to help him realize that it wasn't his fault. No matter who it was, no one deserved to suffer that kind of guilt, that kind of recrimination, and though she'd known that Evan wasn't the kind of person given to showing his weakness, she'd let herself become too involved, and as an attorney, that was nothing but folly.

If she wasn't careful, she was going to lose what little objectivity she had when it came to Evan, and that certainly wouldn't help him in court. Somehow, the focus of her attention had shifted from the case at hand to the imposed role of babysitting that she'd found herself trapped into. Her professional demeanor was being slowly eroded, and the feeling that she was teetering on the very brink of toppling into faux pas was enough to make her grit her teeth.

The phone on her desk rang, jolting her right out of her reverie, and she blinked and snatched up the receiver, pausing a moment to glance at the caller ID and letting out a deep breath when she saw the name that flashed on the tiny monitor.

"Marvin," she said, clicking on the receiver and lifting it to her ear.

"Hi, Val," he greeted warmly and without missing a beat. Either he hadn't discerned the vast relief in her tone or he just didn't choose to remark upon it. It was fine with her, though, and for the first time since she'd walked through the door, she almost smiled. "I just got back from dinner with Pete Cafferty and his wife, so I figured I'd call . . ." He chuckled almost nervously. In her mind, she could see him, wandering around a generic hotel room—the surroundings didn't matter at all—maybe peering out a window at the city lit up around him. "I wanted to tell you that I'll be in New York City in a couple-few weeks. Not sure how long I'll be there, but it should be for at least a four or five days."

"R-Really," she whispered, as though she were afraid to voice her question out loud. A surge of wild hope fluttered to life in her chest—not excitement, no, but a hope mingled with a sense of lost familiarity that she desperately wanted to recapture. "That's great!"

"Yeah, I'm looking forward to spending some time with you, too," he admitted, his voice taking on that quiet hint of reluctance that she knew so well. She supposed that it stemmed from having grown up as the class geek—the smart kid who was good enough to ask for help with your geometry but not the kind of guy that a girl would want to spend her Friday night with, getting all hot and heavy in the back of his or her parents' sedan . . .

There was something about him; a welcome sense of the predictable, the constant, and Valerie swallowed hard, eyes grainy and hot as another emotion nudged aside the security that comforted her as a hateful surge of guilt shot to the fore. She'd betrayed him. Even if that hadn't been the intention, the thousand excuses that rifled through her head all sounded lame, ridiculous—all of them. "M . . . Marvin . . ." she began slowly, her voice betraying her, trembling despite her efforts to keep herself under control.

"Are you all right? You sound really tired," Marvin said. The concern in his tone was enough to bring on the sting of tears. "Why don't you go to bed, Val? Bainey's working you too hard, isn't he?"

"Mister . . .? Oh, no," she replied, pressing a hand to her forehead. "I just . . . I need to talk to you." Grimacing, she wished that she hadn't sounded as pathetic as she knew that she had.

Marvin uttered a quiet grunt. "We'll do that when I come home," he promised. She hadn't missed the hint of anxiety that he'd tried to hide. Old insecurities, maybe? She winced. The very last thing she wanted to do was to hurt him . . .

"It's not like that," she blurted quickly, wanting to reassure him—or was she reassuring herself? "I-I . . . Do you think you could come home a little earlier?" she heard herself asking before she'd really stopped to consider it.

Letting out a deep breath, Marvin didn't answer right away. "I'm sorry, Val," he finally said, and he really did sound like he was regretting the idea of telling her that he couldn't. "I was asked to speak, did I tell you?"

"Uh, no, where?" she asked, ignoring the voice in the back of her head that accused her of trying to avoid telling Marvin what had happened at the club.

The trace of uncertainty dissipated from his tone, lending Valerie a sense of guilty relief. "Randall Pharmaceuticals asked me to fill in at a convention tomorrow. One of the speakers they'd scheduled cancelled at the last moment, so I got the spot, instead."

"That's great news!" she said. It was a big deal, and she knew it.

"Yeah! They don't really fund my kind of research, but there'll be a lot of doctors there who represent some foundations that do."

"Are you ready? Do you have time to be chatting on the phone?" she mused.

Marvin sighed then chuckled. "Probably not," he admitted. "For some reason, though, I just . . ." He trailed off then chuckled again, that nervous little laugh. "It sounds stupid, but I just felt like I needed to hear your voice."

Blinking at the surprising and unusual statement, Valerie couldn't help but smile a little. "I'm really glad you called," she assured him.

"We'll talk when I get home, okay? We can go to that restaurant you love, if you want."

"That sounds good."

"Why don't you go to bed? You really do sound exhausted."

"Yeah," she said, biting her lip as she told herself that everything was fine, that it would definitely be better if she told Marvin in person so that she could try to make him understand that she hadn't actually wanted Evan to touch her at all. "You'll do fine tomorrow; I just know it."

"Thanks, Val. You're the best."

Flinching at his unwarranted praise, Valerie swallowed hard and pressed her lips together for a second before replying. "Good night, Marvin."

"Night."

The line went dead, and Valerie sighed as she replaced the receiver. It wasn't exactly like she was lying to him, was it? After all, she had every intention of telling him what had happened when he came home . . .

' _Admit it, Valerie. You're not afraid of telling Marvin what happened as much as you want to come up with a way to exonerate yourself first_.'

But that wasn't true, was it? She didn't want to do that as much as she wanted to find a way to explain it so that Marvin wasn't hurt, so that he understood that it wasn't something that she'd wanted or encouraged in any way. Maybe she'd had more to drink than she'd thought. It was possible, and she hadn't really eaten much today, either, so that hadn't helped.

Besides, Marvin was a good guy. He'd always been understanding and compassionate. Those were some of the things that had originally appealed to her. He didn't have to be flashy or any of that stuff. His absolute devotion to the things he believed in, the passion for his work and the determination that she'd found so appealing in him were the reasons why she had started dating him, to start with. He didn't have to be anything like Evan Zelig, and to be honest, she didn't want him to be. There was no such thing as a future with a rock star. With Marvin, Valerie knew exactly what her life would entail.

It would be easy to let herself get carried away with a guy like Evan, sure. There really wasn't any sense in denying it, was there? Thousands—millions—of girls fantasized about Zel Roka, didn't they? Teenage girls who daydreamed that they'd meet the man one day, that he'd fall head over heels for them and that they'd live happily ever after in some sort of urban fairy tale. When she was younger, she'd even done it, too, hadn't she? Certainly not about Zel Roka, but about this actor or that musician . . . Twenty-somethings who worked as secretaries or receptionists by day but spent their money on concert tickets, belittling themselves by vamping it up, all in the hopes of scoring a backstage pass where they became fodder for the machinations of the rock star scene. They'd get drunk, do whatever the bastards told them to do—things that they ordinarily wouldn't have ever considered, and they'd be lucky if they weren't diagnosed with some sort of disease or another a couple months later. Those were the girls who ended up living in their run-down trailers and income-controlled tenements in the slums of the cities like New York or LA with a string of babies from rock star wannabes who didn't pay child support and didn't give a great goddamn.

Lips twisting into a sardonic smile that was as devoid of humor as it was paper-thin, Valerie pushed herself away from her desk and grabbed the cup, detouring to the kitchen long enough to rinse it out and place it upside down on a pristine white dishcloth beside the sink before heading off to the bedroom, shutting off lights and checking the locks along the way.

Rock stars.

She knew enough about that type to last her a lifetime. Ironic, really, if she were to stop and think about it. Not for the first time, she had to wonder just how she'd ended up where she was. When she'd decided that she wanted to study law, representing wayward entertainers was the furthest thing from her mind. In fact, she'd never really wanted to do any such thing. No, she was a little torn, having wanted to do something to help families in need but knowing that it wouldn't be very lucrative, and to her, financial security had always been something that she worried about, stressed over, even tended to become obsessed with. In the end, she'd considered going into a field where she could make more money, make sure that she would be able to hoard away that cash, and then she could consider switching.

But representing people like that? No, that was an accident. Sort of.

One of her professors had gotten her an interview with Xavier Bainey, and he had been impressed with Valerie. Though she hadn't actually intended to take an offer without shopping around a bit, so to speak, Xavier had offered to pay off her student loans as well as providing her with a very generous starting salary. The benefits were also nice and Xavier had hinted that she stood a damn good chance at rapid advancement within the firm, and in the end, she'd decided that it was an offer too substantial to pass up.

Her first case was a shoplifting charge against a slightly neurotic daytime serial star in which Valerie had managed to get the teenager off with one hundred twenty hours of community service—a very reasonable sentence, considering the girl had tried to steal more than fifteen thousand dollars' worth of merchandise from Kensington Jewelers. She'd asked to see a few pieces and then she'd managed to call the store on her cell phone, distracting the clerk so that she could slip on out the door in the full view of no less than five security cameras. To be completely honest, Valerie thought that the girl should've gotten a bit harsher of a sentence, considering all she had to say about it was that the jewelry 'was pretty'. Then again, she'd learned fairly quickly that she really didn't have to like her clients to represent them . . .

But that case was enough to impress Xavier, and Valerie was pleased enough with that.

It was one thing, though, to represent a kid who was entirely screwed up because of a mother who had browbeat her daughter into acting and quite another to represent an idiot rock star. Evan was the biggest star she had ever been asked to represent, and she'd wondered more than once if the main reason that Xavier had let her keep the case was because Madison had actually arranged the meeting, too start with. She had very little doubt in her mind that, had Evan asked for someone else, Xavier would have agreed to it, too. Valerie should've just listened to her gut feeling on the matter and stood her ground more emphatically when Madison had resorted to begging.

Then again, maybe she was just cursed. After all, Evan aside, she had more than enough reason to dislike musicians on a whole, and even now, she couldn't help but think that the worst memories in her life had all stemmed from that lot . . .

" _Where's Val?_ "

" _Aw, she's around here somewhere . . . probably outside, playing or something_."

" _I should get her something to eat. You eat the rest of the peanut butter?_ "

" _She's big enough to make a sandwich, ain't she? Just leave her . . . what'd you do with my pipe?_ "

" _You said you wanted to quit. I threw it out_."

" _What the fuck did you do that for? God, if you ain't the dumbest bitch I ever met!_ "

" _Don't get mad; don't get mad . . . What about this? Can't we use this for a pipe?_ "

" _'We', huh? Thought you was quitting it, too_."

". . . _Just enough to calm my nerves, you know? I can't quit shaking_ . . ."

With a grimace, Valerie deliberately shoved the hazy memory aside. It had been a long time since she'd thought about that day, and she really wasn't very keen on the idea of strolling down memory lane, either. Unable to cope with the fresh wave of embarrassment that hit her hard, she veered into the bathroom and grabbed her toothbrush in an effort to preoccupy herself.

It didn't work.

By the time she was done scouring her teeth, she didn't even want to look at herself in the mirror. It was simply too much for her to consider, especially after the club debacle, but her mind was already two steps ahead of her, apparently intent upon making her relive things that she was better off forgetting . . .

" _What the hell's your problem?_ "

" _I don't have a problem_."

" _Then why are you staring at me like that?_ "

" _Why were you fucking Dana?_ "

" _Aw, shit! Why are you making a big deal out of that?_ "

" _Because it is a big deal to me!_ "

" _Don't be stupid, Val. It was just a blow job, for God's sake!_ "

" _Yeah? Then how would you like it if I gave Squeak 'just a blow job'? Would you like that? Would that be okay with you? And if I hadn't come in when I did, you would have fucked her, wouldn't you?_ "

" _Shut the hell up or I'll shut you up, you stupid, mouthy bitch!_ "

Without thinking about it, Valerie lifted a hand, rubbed her cheek. For the vaguest of seconds, she'd almost felt the strike, could hear the sickening echo of knuckles meeting bone, tasted the imaginary taste of coppery blood filling her mouth. The taste was so real that she spit once, twice in the sink. A moment later, her temper ignited once more, and she slapped her hand against the lighting panel to shut it off before storming out of the bathroom and straight to the bed.

Just another thing she could blame on Evan, she supposed as she yanked back the covers and flopped into the bed, jerking the blankets up over her with a disgusted growl. She was proud of the idea that she refused to let those memories dictate her life, and here she was, thinking about them all as though they had just happened yesterday.

No doubt about it, there simply wasn't any way she could possibly deal with him; not the way she had been. She was willing to accept her obligation to represent him, and she would do her best to keep him out of trouble, but hanging out and buddying around with him was simply out of the question. Maybe it was all just fun and games to him, but Valerie . . .

Gaze darkening as she stared into the darkest shadows of her room, Valerie frowned.

She was too old for those kinds of games, wasn't she?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Her_** **_Diamonds_** ' _first appeared on_ _the_ _June_ _30,_ _2009_ _release,_ **_Cradlesong_** _by_ _Rob_ _Thomas_. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Rob_ _Thomas_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _That jerk …!_


	57. 056: Double Trouble

' _Are you lonesome tonight_?  
' _Do you miss me tonight_?  
' _Are you sorry we drifted apart_?  
' _Does your memory stray to a brighter sunny day_ …  
' _When I kissed you and called you sweetheart_?'

 

-' _Are You Lonesome Tonight'_ by Elvis Presley.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

" _Fuck me_."

 _Grinding his teeth together, Evan stared into the brilliant hazel eyes that glowed at him through a half-closed haze of lust. Lying flat on his back, unable to draw anything more than shallow breaths that rasped in the darkness, he could smell her as she held herself above him, braced on one hand and her knees, her other hand slipping down her body, between her legs, a harsh moan tumbling from her lips as her fingers slid into her pussy. He shuddered at the squelching sound as she pumped those fingers in and out a few times before bringing her hand back up, her fingers glistening in the moonlight filtering through the windows. Staring at her hand for a few seconds in complete fascination, she smiled suddenly, laughed unsteadily, her tongue darting out to lick the moisture from her fingers_.

" _Oh,_ hell _, no," Evan growled, grabbing her hand and dragging it to his lips, sucking her fingers into his mouth greedily_.

 _She laughed again, rising up on her knees, reaching down with her free hand to grasp his cock in her hand, only to lower herself on to him. The sensation of his head slipping between the naked folds of slick, hot skin was too much, too wicked, too overwhelming. A throaty sound, almost like a purr but not quite, escaped her as she rose up then down again and again, each time only taking his head into her before pulling away_.

" _Goddamn it, V_ . . ."

"I've _wanted you," she said, her body shaking, quivering. "I've wanted_ this."

 _He groaned again when she squeezed him tight. His body jerked in violent reaction. She laughed, pleased at her undisputed control over him, began to lower herself onto him once more_.

 _Letting go of her hand, Evan grabbed her hips, jerked her down as hard as he could. Her scream echoed in the thickening air, her body convulsing around him as her orgasm took her. Breasts heaving, body quaking, pussy tightening around him, it was too much for him. The first swells of come shot out of him and into her, and with every beat of his pounding pulse in waves of pleasure so intense that it almost hurt. Dazed, disoriented, unable to do anything as his mind struggled to keep up with his body, he couldn't move for a long moment_.

 _Valerie's breaths were little more than gasps. All too soon, she pushed herself up on her knees once more, their bodies separating with an obnoxious pop of wet flesh separating as the suction was released. She scooted down his legs as his orgasm dripped down his cock, down his balls, only to catch the mess with the heat of her tongue, the sound of her greedy slurping electric in the room. "Damn, V," he half-moaned, leaning up on his elbows, fascinated as he watched her bathe him with her mouth. Sucking one of his balls into her mouth, she rolled her tongue over it, rewarded with the sound of his harsh groan as he fell back once more_.

" _You're still hard," she murmured, idly jacking him off with both of her hands. "Why is that?"_

" _Why do you think?" he ground out_.

 _Her answer was a soft laugh as she scooted forward to position herself again. "Don't tease me, V," he warned. She closed her eyes, sliding the tightness of her pussy down over him in one fluid motion. Arching her back, she grasped her heels in her hands and thrust out her hips, ground them against his. Rising and falling, creating a slow rhythm that increased with the sound of her breathing—panting, moaning, begging, and taking. Evan opened his eyes, stared at the gorgeous swell of her breasts as they bounced up and down with the jerky motions of her body_.

" _Damn, you're hot, V," he murmured, his muscles bulging as he fought for restraint that he just didn't possess. "So fucking hot_ . . ."

" _Shut up and fuck me, Roka," she retorted_.

 _He chuckled, but the sound rapidly turned into a groan when she pulled away from him, crawling up over him to grasp the headboard. Evan managed to snag one of her nipples in his mouth, drawing it in deep and hard. Her body shivered as her scent exploded around him once more, and he bit down gently, prolonging her pleasure as he pinched her other nipple between his thumb and index finger_.

 _She was so deep in the midst of her orgasm, her gorgeous face contorted in an expression that bordered on pain as her pleasure intensified, that she didn't seem to notice when he rolled out from under her, positioned himself behind her, lifted her ass just a little higher to position her to receive him. Her pussy gave no resistance at all—she was too wet, too ready for that—and with a visceral growl, he jerked back on her hips as he thrust his forward, savoring the liquid warmth that surrounded him as she opened and closed on him. "Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God_ . . ."

" _What's the matter, V? You gonna come?" he goaded_.

 _She moaned, shoving her body against his, meeting him somewhere in the middle. "Make me," she ground out between thrusts_.

" _Gladly_."

 _He was losing himself, damned if he wasn't. She was so tight that he was afraid that he'd hurt her, but her wanton movements were enough to convince him that she wanted more. The undulation of her body, an involuntary ripple of shivers, was impossible for him to ignore. As though everything within her was reaching, grasping, pulling, she gasped out his name, her body taut as she struggled for a control that she just couldn't attain. Renewing his grasp on her hips, he jerked her back hard. She screamed over and over again, her voice calling out to him, calling out to God, alternately praying, swearing, until words became nonsense_.

 _He could feel it deep inside his balls, the absolute torture right before the end. The tingle, the tightening, the swelling, the surging. Jerking her back hard, grinding his hips against her ass, he held her there, pumped her hard. She screamed, cried, laughed as her body exploded, and he closed his eyes, called out her name as the flow of his orgasm coursed deep inside her_ . . .

"Evan? Oh . . . my . . . God . . . What in the world . . .?"

Evan shuddered and groaned as that voice cut through the stupor of sleep that still beckoned him. He didn't want to wake up, did he? No, he didn't, because . . .

"Wo-o-ow . . . I'm not sure whether I should be really disgusted or thoroughly impressed . . ."

Opening his eyes, struggling for breath, the first thing that Evan realized was that he had only been dreaming; Valerie wasn't there, after all.

The second thing he realized was that, though the woman of his dreams—literally—wasn't actually there, he really _had_ come all over his sheets—a number of times, apparently.

Female giggling, and it was most certainly not Valerie.

The third thing he realized? It was going to be a cold day in hell before he was going to forgive Madison for waking him up from that particular dream . . . "What do you want?" he grumbled, closing his eyes and starting to roll over to go back to sleep. Wincing when he rolled right into a very cold, very wet mess, he heaved a sigh and sat up. "Damn."

"You know, I remember that you used to have issues when you were a teenage kid, but I don't think I've ever seen even you make this big a mess, Evan," she pointed out sweetly.

He snorted and shot her a fulminating glower. It only made her laugh harder, which figured. Sitting up with a marked grimace and a heavy sigh, he glanced around, only to shake his head at what the mess he'd managed to create. "Shit . . ."

"Then again, I don't think you even made this much of a spectacle of yourself when you _were_ a teenager," she mused, grasping the stripper pole and leaning casually against it as she continued to grin at him. "Congratulations, Evvie. You've reached a new level of twisted."

Heaving another heavy sigh, Evan didn't bother to look at her. "What do you want, Maddy?" he growled in the nicest tone he could muster, raking his hands over his face in a defeated sort of way.

"What do you mean, what do I want? You asked me to come over and do your hair, remember? Something about an interview with _Hellion_ magazine later . . ." she drawled. "Guess I can see why you'd forget that, though. Good dream, I take it?"

" _Damn_ good dream," Evan muttered, digging his hands into his hair as he hunched forward with his elbows on his knees. " _Fuck_."

"I'm going to assume that you want to take a shower before I work on your hair," she added in a completely understated, almost dry sort of way that irritated him, nonetheless. She grimaced. "You got some in your hair," she pointed out, then suddenly shook her head. "I don't think I even want to know how you managed that."

"Yeah, whatever," he grunted, tossing the soiled sheet aside and shifting to stick his legs off the side of the bed. "If you're going to keep pestering me, you might as well make me a pot of coffee, will you?"

"All right," she agreed, pushing herself away from the pole and sauntering toward the doorway. "Do yourself a favor, Evan. Open the windows. It reeks in here."

The sound of her laughter lingered in her wake along with the echo of her footsteps on the floor, carrying back to him in the silence.

Damned if he could credit what had happened. Just how long had it been since he'd had something as base as a wet dream, anyway? Half forgotten memories of his teenage years and the mornings that he'd woken up with a crusty sheet slung over his hips made him grimace. In those days, he'd learned how to wash those sheets himself, knowing full-well that his darling mama would've blushed about fifty shades of red—if she'd figured out why his sheets were messed up, to start with. She would, of course, since semen had a very distinct odor, and Evan might've always liked to tease Gin Zelig, but even he had to draw the line somewhere . . .

Of course, there were the rare times when his sister, Jillian would catch him, stuffing his bedding into the industrial sized washing machine. She'd giggle and tease him about his predicament, and he'd shrug it off since he hadn't honestly been too embarrassed about it, in the first place, but as far as he knew, his mother never had figured out anything, and he'd been thankful enough for that, too . . .

The overwhelming problem these days was that fucking kiss, though. If he'd just been able to ignore that particular urge, he'd be a lot better off now. Considering that he knew that it was his own damn fault to start with, he also couldn't rightly blame her for her reaction, either. He'd known at the time that kissing her was the worst idea that had ever crossed his mind. In fact, he'd have been more surprised if she had gone on to pretend that nothing had happened, in the first place.

What he hadn't been counting on was Valerie's abrupt decision to avoid him completely, and the hell of it was that so far, it was working out quite nicely for her. The real reason that he hadn't forced the issue yet was simply because he didn't dare. Sure, he figured that he deserved the unwilling separation, at least on his part, considering he'd known at the time that kissing her was bad. No, the real problem was that being around her might well be an even worse idea, all things considered. There were times when he wasn't sure whether possessing the ability to remember everything was a blessing or a curse. Now was one of those times.

Yanking the sheets off of the bed, Evan let out a defeated breath and balled up the bedding, tossing it onto the floor before stomping toward the bathroom door. Going on two weeks without anything but the most necessary communication from the attorney was wearing thin on Evan's nerves. Something had to give before he ended up doing something drastic—and probably stupid, too . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Sipping a cup of tea in a distracted sort of way, Valerie read through the toxicology report that she'd already examined numerous times since she'd taken on Zel Roka's case. There wasn't any real help there, and she hadn't thought that there would be. Still, she knew that sometimes the biggest hints were the hardest to find.

In the last two weeks, she'd devoted herself to poring over the notes she'd collected, the official reports and the written statements, the taped interviews, all of it, and while she was no closer to figuring out any way to help the errant rock star, she was growing more and more certain of one insular thing: there was definitely something that everyone was keeping from her. The trouble was, she had no idea what that might be and whether or not it would help or hinder Evan's overall case. At the moment, the best course of action available to her was the sketchy idea of going after the responding authorities since more than one person had attested to the fact that Evan hadn't seemed to be under the influence of anything at the time. Too bad she knew as well as anyone that it wasn't unheard of to administer sobriety tests regardless of appearances when there was an accident of that nature. Still, had Evan not been tested, the entire thing would have easily been the fault of the other driver. It was cut and dried. Evan had the right of way; the light was green and had been for a number of seconds before he'd even entered the intersection. By all accounts, he hadn't been speeding, hadn't broken any rules of the road at all. If not for that damned toxicology report . . .

Letting out a deep breath, she set the report aside and reached for another document—this one, Evan's written statement just after the accident. It was the same thing that he'd said all along, the same story. There weren't any discrepancies there, either. He'd decided to go on a beer run, he'd approached the intersection but didn't stop since the light was green, and Mr. Mathis blew through the red light on his side, smacking straight into Evan's car. All in all, it was as straightforward as it came.

So why couldn't she shake the feeling that everyone was lying to her . . .?

Setting aside the reports and the inch-thick file she'd compiled, she set the mug aside and stood up, bracing her hands against the small of her back and arching to stretch. Pulling off her glasses, she tossed those onto the file on the sofa before wandering toward the windows.

Grimacing as the memory of the first meeting after the club catastrophe, Valerie slowly shook her head. Certainly, she wasn't sure what she really had expected. She supposed that she'd thought that he'd act completely different—more of the innuendo and the outrageous flirtations that she'd come to expect from him. What she hadn't really expected was the gentle teasing, almost coaxing nature that he displayed. As though he'd realized that he'd gravely overstepped his boundaries, he'd seemed more like an elementary school boy, trying to get out of trouble after being caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

And for a moment, it had almost worked—until Valerie had reminded herself that it was all just part of his act. He could be entirely too charming, of course he could, when it served his purposes. That was the reason why a man like him was so dangerous. Able to turn on that charisma at a moment's notice and without so much as blinking an eye, he knew damn well what he was doing, and as long as he got his way in the end, he didn't really care about anyone else's feelings on the matter.

No doubt about it, something wasn't right. Even still, there wasn't much she could do if no one was willing to tell her what she wanted to know, was there?

Glancing at the clock, she bit her lip and shuffled over to her desk, retrieving her cell phone. He had to be up by now. It was a little strange that he wasn't when she'd called earlier. At the time, she'd told herself that it was a good thing since he couldn't possibly be getting into any trouble if he was still sleeping.

"Oh, who the hell am I trying to kid?" she muttered as she opened the device and hit the button to connect the call. "He'd _find_ a way to get in trouble, regardless of whether or not his eyes are closed."

It rang three times before she heard the soft beep when the call connected. "Hey, V. What's up?"

Valerie blinked and lowered the phone, staring at it for a long second before pressing it against her ear again. "Maddy? Why are you answering that man's phone?"

Madison laughed as though Valerie had just told the world's best joke. "He's a little busy at the moment, but I can have him call you back, if you want."

Rubbing her forehead as she paced as the floor and back, Valerie shook her head and let out a sigh. "Busy doing what? Please tell me he's not up to something, or I swear, I'll—"

"Relax, sweetie," Madison hurried to say. "He's doing an interview; that's all."

That was enough to satisfy Valerie just the tiniest bit. "An interview? Then that's okay. He didn't answer his phone when I called him this morning . . ."

"Yeah, he was still sleeping when I went over to do his hair. He's being very well behaved at the moment—at least, for Zel Roka, anyway . . . Of course, there's a good chance that his maid might well kill him when he goes back home—or she might end up in tears. Either is possible."

"Maid?" Valerie echoed, shaking her head since she wasn't entirely sure where that comment had come from. Evan's maid only came by early in the morning twice a week to clean everything but the kitchen and the music room since Evan tended to get a little anal about those rooms in particular. "Why would she kill him?"

For some reason, Madison's laughter seemed a little heartier than it probably ought to have been. "No real reason," she quipped between giggles. "I just don't think she's going to particularly enjoy washing his sheets, is all."

That remark didn't really make any sense to her, either, but considering Madison was talking about Evan's bed, Valerie figured that the hairdresser had to be alluding to some sort of debauchery or another and snorted loudly. "Why can't he stay out of trouble for a whole day?" she muttered, more to herself than to Madison.

Madison giggled again. "It's really not what you think, V, I swear. Suffice it to say that he's just not in the best of moods today, God only knows why."

Letting out a deep breath and ignoring the heavy sarcasm in Madison's voice, Valerie decided to let it drop. She wasn't entirely sure that she believed the hairdresser, but she couldn't say that she felt like delving into it any deeper than she already was. As long as he wasn't doing anything illegal or anything that could potentially get him into more trouble with the law, then he was on his own, as far as she was concerned. She wasn't his lover, his mother, or his conscience, and best she remember that. "You swear he's not doing anything he isn't supposed to do?" she asked.

"I'm sure," Madison replied. "You know, if you're so worried about that, why don't you come see for yourself?"

"I'm trying to work on his case, Maddy," she pointed out, unsure why she didn't really want to tell Madison the absolute truth. Evan might have told her; Valerie didn't know, but it seemed to her that talking about the incident would only serve to lend it more meaning than it should have, didn't it? "Just remind him that he promised that he'd abide by my terms, all right?"

"Are you sure that you don't want to remind him yourself?"

"I've got a couple interviews lined up this afternoon," she hedged.

"For Zel's case, you mean?"

Valerie rubbed her forehead as a surge of irritation shot to the fore. Madison sounded like she was fishing for information, didn't she? Why . . .? "Yes. I'm going to speak with Mr. Mathis and his attorney, and then I'm going to meet with the first officer on the scene."

Madison didn't reply right away. "Didn't you already talk to them?"

Valerie frowned at the contrived casual quality in Madison's tone. Of course, there was the off chance that she was just hearing things that weren't there or making too much in her own head of it all, but her instincts told her otherwise. Madison was definitely a little too polished about the whole thing. "Yeah, but there were a few follow up questions I wanted to ask."

"Anyway, just remind him that he agreed to behave, okay? Thanks, Madison," Valerie said before clicking her phone closed with a sigh. She couldn't shake the feeling that Madison knew more than she was letting on, and the only question was, why wouldn't she spill it? Valerie knew well enough that Madison adored Evan, and in that vein, she had to want to protect him, so why was she lying? Or maybe not lying as much as she was just not saying something—something that might be really important . . .?

His case was set to go to trial in mid-November after he finished the mini-tour in late October. That didn't leave much time for her to figure out what was going on, especially if she really was forced to go on tour with that man. Last week, she'd filed a motion to have the judge reconsider his order that she travel with him. She only hoped that he listened, because the very last thing that she wanted to think about was being alone with Evan Zelig for that length of time . . .

There was no sense in worrying over it, though, at least at the moment. Better to keep herself busy, wasn't it? If the judge didn't reconsider, then she'd figure out what she was going to do . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"He looks awful."

"Doesn't he?"

"Mhmm."

Evan leaned to the side, snagging a sheet of staff paper and the mechanical pencil and concentrated on scribbling a few notes as he tried to ignore the running commentary coming from across the living room. He was able to keep a lid on his moodiness during the interview that had lasted just over three hours, and he'd even agreed to pose for a few pictures to accompany the article that was slated to run in the publication next month. He'd even been able to control his temper when Mike had called to tell him that he'd arranged a spot on KROC-95.4 with shock-jock, Tim McCarvell later in the week—an interview that was pretty much guaranteed not to go well since MC Car, as he liked to call himself, tended to try to annoy his guests as much as possible. What he couldn't fathom and was having distinct trouble with now was exactly why Madison had opted to follow him home, and when Bitches stopped by less than an hour ago, the two women had immediately decided that he looked like a good target for their silly chatter.

"Has he been like this all day?"

"Something like that," Madison quipped. "Of course, he looked worse earlier . . ."

"Is that even possible?"

"Oh, sure . . . It's entirely possible . . . If you'd only been here this morning . . ."

Determined to ignore the irritating women, Evan grabbed a pair of wireless earbuds and jammed them into his ears to drown himself in the very loud and discordant mayhem that was Your Monkey's Uncle, a new band out of Cincinnati that Bone had badgered him into giving a listen.

"His bedroom smells like he held a massive orgy—with only one participant, of course."

Evan snorted since he could still hear Madison despite the music blaring in his ears.

Bitches laughed. "Oh? Have you told Bugs about it?"

"Oh, my God!" Madison groaned, covering her mouth with her hands in a show of mock horror. "Bugsy wouldn't be able to contain himself!"

Rolling his eyes, Evan snorted again before tapping the volume control to turn it up.

Bitches stood up, sparing a moment to shake her hips to adjust her tan leather micro-miniskirt before sauntering over to stand in front of him. "You poor baby," she crooned—he could still read her lips, damn it—as she reached out to touch his cheek with a tender hand. He might have believed her if he hadn't seen the tell-tale glint of amusement in her eyes. "But you know what they say, right? Better out than in . . ."

Evan knocked her hand to the side then yanked out the earplugs and tossed them aside as he shot to his feet and started to stomp away. "I didn't have fucking gas, goddamn it!" he snarled.

"Aww, now, Zel, don't be mad," Madison pleaded between bouts of giggles as Evan kept moving in the direction of the one room that neither of them would dare to follow him into: the music room.

Flipping them the finger, he could feel his mood sink from 'bad' to 'worse' with every moment that passed. His expression of his true feeling only served to heighten their amusement, which just figured, considering. He still hadn't completely forgiven Madison for having not interrupted his interview to tell him that Valerie was on the phone, anyway, and her current behavior wasn't doing a thing to appease him, either.

He'd almost reached the sanctuary of the studio when the phone near the house's computer monitor cut him off. Ignoring the two women who were still cracking stupid jokes behind him, he grabbed the phone and smashed it to his ear. "What?"

"Hey, Roka. Just letting you know there's a pretty young thang on her way up to the house."

Evan snorted—he'd been doing that a lot today—and tapped the touch screen monitor to bring up the security camera on the front porch. "Who is she?"

Bone chuckled, and Evan could hear the thickly padded leather chair squeak and groan as he sat back. "Dunno. She asked for 'Meezter Rokaah," he replied, rolling the 'r' with a flourish of his tongue.

Evan frowned since he couldn't see the girl in question. "Great," he muttered under his breath before dropping the receiver back onto the cradle, he flipped through a couple more cameras before sighing in frustration and heading for the foyer, instead.

He'd just stepped through the archway when the soft knock sounded on the metal door. Jerking it open with a curt yank, he scowled at the uninvited guest. "What do you . . .?" Trailing off, his eyes widened as a slow sense of recognition seeped over him. A strange trill raced up his spine, only to explode in his head as his brain slowed to a crawl then stopped altogether. "Y-You," he murmured, unable to look away from her.

A timid little smile surfaced on her features, and she suddenly giggled before throwing her arms around his neck in a blur of motion that he certainly hadn't quite expected. "Meezter Rokaah!" she exclaimed without relinquishing her hold on him. "I find you, yes?"

Evan blinked, his mind still blank as he slowly, almost pathetically lifted a hand to pat her back. "Uh, y-yeah . . ." he stammered stupidly. "You . . . You sure did . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Are_** **_You_** **_Lonesome_** **_Tonight_** ' _recorded by_ _Elvis_ _Presley_ _on_ _April_ _4,_ _1960_. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Lou_ _Handman_ _in_ _1926_ _and_ _recorded_ _by_ _various_ _artists_ _before_ _Elvis_ ' _famous_ _version_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Oh,_ _hell_ …


	58. 057: Honesty

' _I can find a lover_ …  
' _I can find a friend_ …  
' _I can have security until the bitter end_ …  
' _Anyone can comfort me_ …  
' _With promises again_ …  
' _I know; I know_ …'

 

-' _Honesty'_ by Billy Joel.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

". . . And then he said that he was really interested in hearing more, so he invited me to dinner with him and his wife, Becky, but he didn't tell me that he'd also called some of his other associates, too, so there I was, sitting in the middle of one of the most exclusive restaurants in San Francisco with the head of the Jacen Foundation and a handful of the biggest donors on the west coast!"

Valerie smiled at Marvin and set the glass of white wine on the table. They'd gone straight from the airport to the restaurant, deciding that it'd be nicer to let someone else wait on them than it would be to go back to the apartment and rush around to make supper. "I'm sure you didn't have any trouble at all with that," she assured him. "What did they say?"

Fidgeting with his fork, he blushed slightly at the perceived praise and shrugged as though to dismiss it all as par for course. "They gave me a grant for twenty-five thousand dollars along with the promise that they'd match it next year, too."

Leaning forward, Valerie's eyes flashed open wide as her smile brightened. "That's fantastic!"

Marvin's smile dimmed but didn't completely disappear as he let out a deep breath and straightened his nondescript navy blue tie. "It'll help," he admitted slowly, "I mean, it's not really much, but at least I've gotten almost enough to fund a year—eighteen months, if I'm careful."

"What do you mean, it isn't much?" she countered with a shake of her head to the contrary. "It's a lot! Think about how far you can get in that year!"

"I hope so," he said, his eyes giving away a glimpse of anxiety that he was struggling to hide. "It just sounds like a short time, I guess, when I think about how many decades they've already devoted to finding a cure."

The hesitation, the reluctance in his tone just wasn't like the Marvin she knew so well, and she didn't like it, either. So accustomed to hearing him speak with such passion, with such fervor when he was discussing his research, it unsettled her that now he was showing signs of faltering.   "And they're closer to finding a cure now than they ever were before, right? Think of it this way: you've spent years, analyzing their data, so one year's worth of funding really is a huge deal. Maybe you don't know exactly what kind of treatment will work, but at least you know what won't. That's something, isn't it?"

Caught off guard by the impromptu pep-talk, Marvin stared at her for a moment, then smiled, ducking his head slightly in an apologetic sort of way. "You're right, Val. I'm sorry . . ."

Pulling the napkin off her lap and dropping it on the plate in front of her, Valerie sat back and smiled, too. "Don't be sorry," she told him with a shake of her head. "I'm on your side, remember?"

He gazed at her for a long moment, his eyes shining as the light from the electric candle between them flickered and danced. "My own, personal cheerleader," he mused. A hint of a blush surfaced under his skin, as though the idea of having 'his own, personal cheerleader' was just a little too much for him to take.

"When I need to be," she said.

He chuckled and picked up his knife again, carefully cutting a bite of grilled chicken breast and allowing a companionable silence to fall between them.

It was nice, wasn't it, having Marvin at home . . . A times like these, it was easy for Valerie to remember just why she was content with the idea of marrying him, of why she hadn't had a moment's hesitation when he'd nervously plucked up the courage to propose to her. There were lots of reasons, of course, but the one that she appreciated the most was the ease with which they could talk, and whether they were discussing his research or politics or even her job, he'd never made feel even slightly self-conscious. He was a good man, a kind man, and his devotion to his cause was something that she'd always envied on some level. She couldn't really say that she felt his conviction about anything, and most certainly not about her job. She supposed that was why she felt compelled to support him in whatever way she could. Some people wandered aimlessly through their entire lives, never finding that one thing that could lend them purpose. Marvin had found that . . .

It was a little frightening, too. Even now, Valerie wasn't entirely sure that she'd ever find that elusive thing, either, but maybe that was all right. Seeing Marvin's dedication first hand was enough. She didn't have a doubt in her mind that he really would fulfill his goal, and she'd be there to watch him do it. It was a rare and wonderful thing. She might not change the world, but Marvin . . . Well, he just might.

His visit, no matter how brief, was just what she'd needed: the gentle reminder of everything she'd wanted out of life. Whenever she looked at him, she saw the kind of existence that appealed to her, the predictability that went hand in hand with that kind of companionship. After all, their relationship had never been based on the most transient of emotions that others seemed to think was a good, solid reason to get married. Lust and infatuation weren't things that ever lasted.

"You . . . You said that you wanted to talk to me," he finally said without looking up from the plate as he carefully, almost methodically, cut another bite of meat. He looked like he was struggling to maintain a sense of nonchalance but was failing miserably.

His quiet statement was enough to snap Valerie rudely out of her thoughts. Biting her lip as she tried to figure out how to best approach the subject that she knew was going to come out sooner or later, she drew a deep breath and tried to remember exactly how she'd decided to broach the subject.

"A couple weeks ago, I went dancing with Madison," she began slowly, measuring her words carefully. "One of her friends came along, too." She stopped, unsure exactly how to continue but needing to get the confession out of the way. It wouldn't do any good to try to keep it from him. She knew well enough that not telling him about it would be akin to lying, and if the truth might hurt him, a lie would only make it that much worse.

"Sounds like fun," Marvin replied, his tone much more upbeat than the expression on his face. Trepidation seemed to fairly ooze out of him so thickly that she could feel it. Best she get this over with quickly before the shaky hold he had over his own resolve crumbled.

"He kissed me," she blurted, wincing inwardly at the abruptness of her admission. Marvin stopped, dead-still for a painfully long minute. That wasn't exactly how she'd wanted to tell him, but the wave of relief that flooded over her was a welcome and wonderful change. That sense of almost giddy relief, however, was short lived as she waited for Marvin to say or do something—anything.

"Did you . . . want him . . . to?" he finally asked, his tone completely flat, devoid of any actual emotion. Slowly lifting his chin, his face a dark, ruddy hue that bordered on painful, he couldn't quite make himself meet her gaze, and as embarrassed color suffused her skin, she let her eyes fall away.

"Of course not," she insisted quietly. "It's just . . . I didn't . . . I'm . . . I'm so sorry. It all happened so fast, and I—"

All the breath that he'd been holding rushed out of him in a whoosh, and he managed a wan little smile. As though he were trying to reassure her, he reached out and rather awkwardly patted her hand. "It's okay," he told her with a shake of his head. "I mean . . . I doubt this guy's the first to have wanted to kiss you."

For some reason, Marvin's statement only served to make her feel just a little bit worse. He looked like she had just told him that she'd run over his pet dog or something, and she bit her lip, unable to summon even a token smile. "Marvin . . ."

His smile brightened a few degrees. Too bad it looked more like a grimace than an expression of happiness. "No, Val. I understand. I do. I've always wondered why you're with me, you know. I'm grateful, though . . . and a little confused." Chuckling weakly at what he considered to be a joke, she supposed, he shrugged then sighed before finally looking at her. "Guess I can't blame him for it, and you . . . Don't feel bad, okay?" His smile dimmed as his gaze clouded over. "You haven't been feeling bad about it all this time, have you?"

"Of course I have!" she countered, but as fast as her outrage spiked, it crumbled away, too, leaving her feeling a little lost, a little lonely, a little empty. Letting out a heavy sigh, she slumped back in her seat and slowly shook her head. "I kissed another man, Marvin. How can you possibly be so understanding?"

He winced at her softly uttered question, drawing his hand back as he pondered what he wanted to say. "Val . . . did you want to kiss him?" he asked, his voice barely audible, hardly more than a whisper.

Something about the defeated quality of his body language struck her as entirely wrong, entirely warped. That he was trying to understand only made it feel that much worse. Though he'd never said as much, she'd wondered from time to time if Marvin tended to think in terms of taking whatever he could get, and that thought was enough to bring tears to her eyes. Maybe he wasn't perfect, and maybe he wasn't ever going to be what other women would think of as their ideal man, but that kind of vulnerability that she saw in him in that moment was especially poignant because she knew what it felt like just a little too well. "No," she whispered back, her voice trembling, cracking as a solitary tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it away with the back of her hand and shook her head in denial. "No, I didn't."

She would never understand his reaction. If she lived to be a hundred and five, she'd remember that moment, she knew, forever. As though he'd been waiting for that reassurance, for those simple words all along, he suddenly smiled, and this time, it was almost normal and filled with a sense of instantaneous relief. "Then why are you apologizing?" he asked, and his chuckle this time was genuine, too. "You're a beautiful woman. If guys don't want to kiss you, then I'd have to wonder about them."

Valerie blushed and ducked her head as a little smile touched the corners of her lips. It wasn't that she didn't know that she wasn't good-looking. She worked at it every day, didn't she? And certainly she knew that Marvin thought that she was pretty. Then again, it wasn't something that he said very often, and she had to admit that it really was nice to hear every now and then.

"Besides, I'm the one that gets to go home with you, right?" he went on, his demeanor taking on a more philosophical tone. "I mean, kissing someone doesn't mean anything unless you want it to."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

" _Kissing someone doesn't mean anything unless you want it to_ . . ."

Tugging the comfortable gray sweatshirt over her head as she changed for bed, Valerie frowned as Marvin's words ran through her mind again. In the last few days since his arrival in the city and her confession about that night in the club, she'd thought about it a lot—more often than she'd wanted to, to be honest.

' _Don't be stupid!_ ' she told herself for the hundredth time. Of course she didn't want to kiss that man. Why on earth would she? He was everything that she couldn't stand, damn it. It was as though God had sat down, made a list of every single thing about guys in general that ticked her off and, voila! Evan Roka Zelig was born.

' _And if you didn't want to do it, then why are you still dwelling on it? Marvin's forgiven you for it. If you hate Evan so much, then just get over it, why don't you?_ '

Valerie shook her head and pulled on a pair of pink flannel pajama pants, deliberately forcing Evan What's-His-Name from her mind. Her conscience was absolutely right. She was the only one who was still obsessing over it. Marvin hadn't mentioned it again once they'd left the restaurant, and by the next morning, he was back to his usual self, much to her relief. Still, she'd wondered in passing whether or not Marvin's ability to put the incident from his mind was odd. She was his fiancée, for God's sake. Shouldn't he have been a little more perturbed than he was?

' _You're still doing it_ ,' her conscience reminded her.

Wrinkling her nose, Valerie snorted indelicately as she grabbed the brush off her dresser and quickly ran it through her hair. She could hear Marvin in the living room where he was setting up the chessboard and probably pouring a couple glasses of wine. The clock read seven p.m., and she knew that he'd want to go to bed pretty early since he was catching a flight out at nine in the morning, but he was the one who had challenged her to a match, so she had accepted his challenge.

The last four days had been just what she'd needed. Spending her time going with Marvin to the Museum of Modern Art and out to restaurants, passing quiet evenings in the same kind of discussions that they used to have in the early days after they'd first met was enough to remind her, to center her, to ground her. Frowning at her reflection in the mirror hanging over the bureau, she set the brush down and took her time, fussing with her hair. It had been a long time since they'd spent any real time together more than just a day or two, squeezed in between his various meetings and her work schedule. It was a welcome change. They'd even made love a couple nights, and while it was nice, hearing Marvin's light snoring shortly afterward was even more comforting than she could credit.

She headed out of the bedroom and down the short hallway into the living room. Marvin was flipping through the channels, sipping a glass of red wine since he'd already set up the game and was patiently waiting for her. "One of these days, I'm going to buy you a silk nightgown," he remarked with an easy smile as she sat across from him and eyed the chess board.

"I don't like silk," she said almost absently, wasting no time in making the first move. "Too cold."

"I thought all women liked silk," he teased, answering her move with one of his own.

Valerie wrinkled her nose and shot him a droll look as she nudged a pawn forward. "You really shouldn't believe everything you hear."

He laughed again and flipped the channel again, and for a moment, she thought that he was going to do it again, but he paused, his eyes narrowing. "Hey, isn't that . . .? That's your guy, right?"

Choking on the sip of wine that she'd just helped herself to, Valerie quickly set the glass on the coffee table and wiped her chin as she glanced at the television then back again. It was Evan, or rather, Zel, replete with all his rock star regalia, on national television at some function—she wasn't sure what. In any case, Marvin's statement was enough to freeze her heart, mid-beat as a surge of sheer panic rifled through her. Add to that the shock of staring at Zel Roka on TV, and by the time she remembered that she needed to breathe, her head felt like it was about to explode along with the careful sense of contentment that had cushioned her for the last few days. "Wh-What?" she stammered, unable to come up with something better to say.

Marvin didn't notice her behavior. Still staring at the television, he lifted the remote to turn up the volume. "That's him, right? The rock star you're representing . . ."

It took a moment for his words to sink in. Smashing her hand over her heart, she swallowed hard and cleared her throat before she could speak again. "Oh, him . . . uh, yeah . . ."

Uttering a clucking sound with his tongue, Marvin shook his head in wonder. "Wow . . . Rock stars sure are different from the rest of us, aren't they? Look at that girl he's with. She doesn't look old enough to be out with someone like him."

That got Valerie's attention quickly enough. Chin snapping up as her eyes flared wide, she stared at the screen in abject disbelief. True enough, the girl might as well have been glued to his side since was huddling so close to him, looked like she might have been sixteen or so—maybe. Hair so black that it shone blue under the myriad of flashing lights from the hundreds of cameras camped outside the Halifax Regal Hotel, the girl laughed and batted her bright green eyes at Evan like she was staring at some kind of god while he smiled broadly and said something to the reporter closest to him. Her short skirt barely covered her hips, and when she reached up to stroke Evan's shoulder, the hem of the black suede vest she wore rode up, revealing her tummy as she giggled without taking her attention off the man beside her. Sucking in a sharp breath so fast that it whistled, Valerie leaned over to grab the remote out of Marvin's hand and hit the volume button a few times.

"—Surprised to see you, the infamous Zel Roka, attending the festivities tonight," the reporter was saying, raising her voice to be heard over the din of kids who were lining both sides of the cordoned-off red carpet.

Evan chuckled, sparing a moment to hit the woman with that lazy smirk of his as he tucked a long strand of reddish blonde hair back behind his ear. "Well, you know, it's for a good cause, and when JJ invited me personally, how could I possibly refuse?"

The reporter laughed politely. "And about that . . . Not too long ago, there were rumors that you and Ms. Jamison were dating or possibly engaged, so how does she feel about your new girlfriend, here?"

"Aw, she ain't my girlfriend," Evan drawled. "Y'know what they say. We're just _friends_. As for JJ? She's the one who broke my heart when she ran off and got hitched, so she's cool."

Pressing her fingertips against her ear, the reporter nodded quickly. "I'm being told that I need to wrap it up, so one last question: rumor has it that you've got new stuff for us soon. Any word on that?"

Evan grinned and shrugged offhandedly. "Absolutely, then I'm going out on a short tour."

"Looking forward to it! Thanks for stopping to talk to us, Zel!"

Evan held up a hand in a broad wave before slipping his arm around the dark haired girl and escorting her into the building.

"Oh, I can't _believe_ him!" Valerie exploded, hitting the 'mute' button on the remote and tossing it onto the coffee table with a loud clatter as she shot to her feet and stalked over to retrieve her cell phone off the desk. "I let him out of my sight for a few days, and he loses his damn mind!" Hitting Evan's number in speed dial, she paced the floor, casting murderous glances at the television as she waited for him to answer. "He knows the rules, that jerk, and he's breaking every single one of them with that little—and just how the hell old is she? Twelve? Thirteen?" she fumed. "As if he isn't in enough trouble on his own, he _has_ to go looking for jailbait, does he?"

The call was routed straight to voicemail, and Valerie growled in frustration as she waited for the 'beep'. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she blasted, her ire rising fast since she couldn't rightfully yell at him. "Who is that girl, and what the hell are you doing with her _on national television?_ She'd better be your sister, your cousin, or your daughter, do you hear, because if she isn't, I swear to God I'm going to kill you— _kill you_ —and _answer your phone so I can yell at you instead of at your stupid voicemail!_ "

With that, she snapped the phone closed and whirled around on her heel, only to stop short when she noticed that Marvin was giving her his full attention, and the expression on his face . . .

Narrowing her eyes on her fiancé, she stomped over to the chair she'd just vacated and flopped down in a petulant huff. "It's not funny. That moron is going to get himself arrested for statutory rape if he's not careful," she pointed out from between clenched teeth. "Why are you smiling?"

Shaking his head, Marvin's smile widened when it really should have waned. "I'm sorry, Val," he finally said. His tone might have been a little more convincing if he wasn't still chuckling when he said it. "You're right; it's not funny . . ."

Valerie snorted and leaned forward to drop the cell phone onto the coffee table. "Then stop laughing," she muttered under her breath.

He tried, and he did manage to contain himself at last thought he smile on his face remained. "I'm just relieved," he said. "That's all."

Valerie blinked and crossed her arms over her chest, wondering if Marvin had somehow managed to hit his head when she wasn't looking. "Relieved?" she echoed, cocking an eyebrow to emphasize her question. "How so?"

Turning to the side, he bent his knee and spread his arm over the back of the sofa. "Because you're perfect," he said simply.

Valerie stared at him for almost twenty seconds before she replied. "Nobody's perfect, Marvin."

He nodded. "I know. It's just that I always worried . . . I've been away so much lately . . ."

"With good reason," she pointed out, shaking her head in confusion since she still wasn't entirely sure where he was going with that. "It's not like you've just been out, running around and having a good time."

"You're right; you're right. I thought maybe you were starting to resent the fact that I've been gone, and . . . and that you're kind of paying for everything . . ."

He trailed off, staring at his lap. Valerie stood up to move the game board aside so that she could sit down with him, instead. "You think that I don't believe in what you're doing? I do, you know. Besides, I'm busy a lot, too."

He slowly lifted his gaze to look at her, and when his eyes finally met hers, he smiled. "At least now I know for sure," he said, his smile resurfacing. "If you were mad about it, I have no doubt whatsoever that you'd have let me have it by now."

She winced at the meaning behind his words. She hadn't meant to lose her temper like that. Heck, until she'd met Evan, she hadn't realized that she could actually get that angry at any one person and in such a short amount of time. When Marvin continued to laugh, though, Valerie rubbed her forehead and heaved a sigh. "Seriously, it wasn't that funny."

He chuckled for a few more minutes then finally stood up with a contented sigh. "I guess it's getting later than I thought," he said as he reached for his empty wine glass. "Can I take a rain check on that game?"

"Yeah, okay," she replied, reaching for the wooden box for the chess pieces.

He hurried into the kitchen. A moment later, she heard the tap running as he washed out his glass and set it on the towel beside the sink. He was whistling slightly off-key when he came back into the living room again, and he leaned over the arm of the sofa to kiss her temple. "I'm going to go on to bed, then," he told her. "Don't stay up too late?"

"Sure," she said, frowning as she replaced the pieces in the burgundy velvet lined box. He squeezed her shoulder before wandering off as Valerie let out a deep breath and closed the box.

Just what did that idiot think he was doing? He knew better than to mess around with girls that young. Hadn't she warned him and warned him that he just couldn't afford to do anything that might look bad to the court?

Setting the box aside, he rested her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands as another thought invaded her mind—one far worse than the idea of him, cavorting with a school girl.

That kiss really hadn't meant a damn thing to him, had it? Even though she'd thought as much anyway, having the reality of it flaunted in her face somehow made it feel that much worse. As if there had been any doubt at all in her head, there it was: the ugly truth. For all his talk and all his bravado, he was a musician, wasn't he? Just like the rest of them, he didn't care about anything at all except for his warped sense of what he deserved.

Common sense told her that she ought to be pleased. At least his strange fixation on her was over. That he'd chosen a girl who was most certainly too young for him was his problem, because he simply couldn't be seen with someone her age, and whether he liked it or not, he'd have to listen to reason this time.

Valerie closed her eyes for a moment, gritting her teeth against the strange wash of desolation that swept through her—a violent sense of complete melancholy that she didn't want to analyze. A dull ache throbbed in her gut, and she sighed. She'd known all along that Evan would say just about anything to get his way. She'd met guys like him before, and they were always the same: the pretty package that walked and talked and knew how to smile and what to say; the ones who thought they knew all the lines, who knew how to use their body language to get under her skin, or so they believed. Evan was no different from the lot of them; he just thought that he was, and the hell of it all? She'd started to believe that maybe he was . . .

She was right about him all along, absolutely correct in her initial impression of him, which meant that she was a decent judge of character, after all. For that, she supposed, she ought to be pleased, yes.

So, exactly why did she feel like crying . . .?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Honesty'_** _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _Billy Joel's_ _1978_ _album,_ **_52nd_** **_Street_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Billy_ _Joel_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _He'll_ _wish_ _he_ _was_ _dead_ _when_ _I_ _get_ _finished_ _with_ _him_ …


	59. 058: Gypsies

' _And it all comes down to you_ …  
' _Well, you know that it does_ …  
' _Well, lightning strikes_ …  
' _Maybe once, maybe twice_ …  
' _Ah, and it lights up the night_ …  
' _And you see your gypsy_ …  
' _You see your gypsy_ …'

 

-' _Gypsy'_ by Fleetwood Mac.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Keys . . . phone . . . glasses . . ." Valerie muttered under her breath as she double checked her purse to make sure that she had everything she needed. Satisfied that she did, she slipped the bag over her shoulder, grabbed her attaché case off the table, and headed for the door.

Just down the corridor, one of her neighbors—she recognized his face but didn't actually know his name—was getting off the elevator. Quickening her step, she hurried toward it, knowing that if she missed it, it would probably take another five minutes or so to call it back to her floor. "Oh! Hold it, please!" she hollered as she increased her pace once more.

The man glanced at her as his hand shot out to stay the doors, and he stepped back to allow Valerie to edge past him into the enclosed box.

"Almost missed it," he said cheerfully as he let his hand drop away and stepped back.

"Thanks!" she called as the doors slid closed. Pushing the button for the ground floor, Valerie checked her watch as the elevator jerked to life. It was nearly ten in the morning, and she was already running late. Marvin must've inadvertently shut off her alarm when he shut off his before he'd left for the airport. He had, however, left her half a pot of hot, fresh coffee and had even cut and sectioned a grapefruit for her that he left in the refrigerator, along with a note that just said, ' _I'll call you when I land_.' It was enough to make her smile despite her having not woken up on time.

Her cell phone rang, and she slipped the attaché case under her arm to free up her hands so that she could dig the device out of her purse. Frowning when she read the caller ID, though, she opened the phone, wondering absently why her boss was trying to get a hold of her.

"Valerie Denning," she said when the call connected.

"Good morning, Ms. Denning," Xavier said, his voice giving no indication of his true intentions.

"Mr. Bainey, good morning . . ."

"I've got a client waiting for me, so I'll cut right to the chase," he went on. "Tell me, have you seen the papers this morning?"

Frowning as the sense of foreboding she'd felt moments ago escalated into a knot of dread, Valerie stifled a sigh. "Which one?" she asked, absolutely positive that she really didn't want to know what was so bad that Xavier had gone out of his way to call her.

"Any of them," Xavier stated flatly. "Maybe not the _Wall Street Journal_ , but I wouldn't be surprised if their editor made an exception in this case."

Her frown morphed into a grimace. There was only one person on the face of the earth who would cause that big of a ruckus, and she knew it. The real question was, what had he done this time . . .? "I can't say that I've had time to look at any of the papers, no," she admitted, careful to keep her voice as even and neutral as she possibly could.

Xavier sighed. The sound was a bit distorted, as though he were in the middle of taking a drink of coffee or something. "Ms. Denning, I removed you from all of your other cases so that you could focus completely on the charges against Zel Roka and put you in charge of damage control, correct?"

Gritting her teeth since she really hated to be spoken to as though she were nothing more than a wayward child, Valerie shook her head. "Yes, you did," she agreed slowly.

"Then can you tell me who this Lolita is that he was out with last night? The one he was flaunting all over the place?"

"I called him last night, but he hasn't answered yet. I'm on my way over there right now," she explained.

Xavier didn't sound impressed with her answer, though. "You understand exactly how bad this has the potential to be, don't you? If she's underage—"

"Absolutely. I completely agree," she cut him off, wondering if anyone would really notice if Evan Zelig disappeared from the face of the earth.

"You need to make sure that he understands exactly how strict Judge Lister can be," Xavier went on a little more calmly. "If the authorities want to look into it, he has to be sure that there's nothing in the world that can be held against him. Besides, I thought that you were supposed to be babysitting him . . ."

"He doesn't need a babysitter, he needs some common sense," she muttered.

"All right, then be his common sense," Xavier stated flatly.

Scowling as the elevator ground to a stop, Valerie wondered whether or not Xavier really understood exactly how big of a miracle he was really asking of her. "Yes, sir," she managed to say without sounding too pissy, all things considered. Snapping the phone closed, she dropped it into her purse as she stepped out of the box and into the foyer of the apartment building.

She wasn't sure whether she ought to feel completely disheartened or flattered that her boss so obviously thought that she was akin to God. Being scolded like a child just didn't sit well with her, and it didn't do anything to appease her when she was already heading over to the lion's den, so to speak.

All in all, she figured with a dejected sigh as she pushed out of the building and onto the stoop, it was the perfect start to what promised to be just a really, really perfect day . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _So what the hell are you planning on doing? Hiding in here for the rest of your life?_ '

Strumming the acoustic guitar idly, Evan closed his eyes and concentrated on the dulcet tones that normally soothed his nerves. It wasn't working at the moment . . . ' _Maybe_.'

' _Nice, nice, you damn coward. If you devoted as much energy in trying to find a way out of this as you did in hiding, you'd probably have figured it out by now_.'

' _You think I haven't been trying?_ '

' _Well, you certainly didn't seem to mind that she was here this morning, now did you?_ '

Snorting loudly, Evan ground his teeth together when he inadvertently snagged a string with his claw. It snapped with a hideous twang. ' _That totally wasn't my fault! How was I supposed to know that she'd learned how to pick locks—and furthermore, why the fuck do I even have to lock myself into my room at night, I'd like to know, and you don't really have any room to talk. I didn't hear you tossing out any brilliant ideas,_ ' he argued, setting the instrument aside as he got up to find a replacement string.

' _Yeah, well, it's pretty sad when you're blaming me for your lack of self-control. Besides, having Violca staying with you is probably not the best way of convincing V that you miss her_.'

' _Like it matters. She's got that little nutsack over there . . . In town for a 'visit', probably, when he ought to be there all the fucking time_.'

His youkai grunted, likely at Evan's more colorful choices of terms that he'd opted to use when describing Valerie's damned fiancé. Just the sound of that word in his head was enough to unleash a low growl from him, and when he proceeded to do just that, his youkai voice grunted again. ' _Stop feeling sorry for yourself and figure out how to get her back over here_.'

' _I'm trying; I'm trying_ ,' he shot back.

' _Not hard enough, you know, and waking up with Violca fused to your dick isn't really gonna help the situation, now is it?_ '

Letting out a deep breath, Evan ripped the guitar string envelope open and tossed it into the trash. ' _Ah, you just had to go there, didn't you?_ ' he half-pouted, flopping onto the battered old couch and grabbing the instrument once more.

' _Yeah, that's right. I went there. So, got any plans on how to get V to speak to you again?_ '

' _Balls, you're not much good for anything, are you?_ ' Evan countered as he restrung the guitar.

His youkai voice uttered a terse grunt but didn't answer. ' _Maybe_ ,' Evan mused as he tightened the new string, ' _it'll shut up for awhile_ . . .'

Unfortunately, everything his youkai had said was pretty much true. He honestly hadn't thought that things could get much worse after he'd pretty well nixed any chances he had of convincing Valerie that she belonged with him. Too bad that he'd never quite learned that age-old lesson: if you think that things cannot get worse, they can, and most often, they absolutely will. 'Bad' did not begin to adequately describe his current predicament, and the hell of it was, if it wasn't for Valerie, he'd probably have though that he'd been blessed beyond all reason. After all, he was successful in his own right, he had everything he could want or need and probably some things that he'd be better off without.

Unfortunately, too, he didn't really figure that Valerie was going to be pleased about Violca's sudden appearance—a fact that he'd verified early this morning when he'd checked his voicemail—only to be forced to yank the phone away from his head when she'd started hollering at him. He was kind of hoping that he could tell her about the girl before she found out for herself. Apparently, though, Evan's luck just wasn't as good as it used to be . . .

And it didn't really help at all that both Madison as well as Bitches had thought that the unexpected arrival was just too damn funny to be believed. They'd both quite literally spent hours, crowing over the situation. He'd even asked Madison if she wouldn't mind having a houseguest for awhile. Of course, she'd love to, she'd said, but she had to fly down to Miami to check on her new spa that was almost ready to open up down there, and Bitches? Well, he really had considered asking her to take Violca home, too, but he'd discarded that idea about as fast as it had occurred to him since her girlfriend was notoriously jealous and might well have killed Violca upon sight.

In a nutshell, he was no closer to figuring out exactly what to do about his little problem than he was the day he'd opened his door, only to find her standing on his porch with a beat up, old Army issue duffle bag at her feet. There were a few suspect splatters on that bag—weird shades of brownish-rust. Evan suspected that it was blood, though he hadn't gotten close enough verify it. Come to think of it, he didn't really want to know what had happened to the poor bastard who used to own that thing, either . . .

The only room in the entire mansion that was safe was this one because he'd made it quite clear to the girl that she was not allowed in here, no matter what, and after this morning when he'd woken up to find her mouth suctioned around his dick like a feeding parasite, he just might move into this room for the duration . . . Unfortunately, she was mid-to-late blowjob at the time, and before he'd been able to summon the sense to push her away, as well . . .

The knock on the door yanked him rudely out of his reverie, and Evan sighed. Strumming a few test chords on the guitar while he tuned the new string, he was about ready to tell Violca that he was busy, but his head snapped up as the door slammed open, revealing a very, very angry Valerie Denning, esquire.

She stood there with her arms crossed over her chest, wearing a beautifully fitted Gan Isalles business suit with her hair dyed that soft brown shade she seemed to favor, pulled back off her face in a sleek if not entirely too-businesslike arrangement and her glasses perched on the end of her cute little nose. Cheeks pinked with indignant color, the air around her fairly crackling with her energy, she might have been rather formidable if Evan's senses weren't completely spinning just from her very proximity.

Too bad the overall effect was completely lost on him. His brain might have registered what she was wearing, the impression she was striving for, but all he saw was the Valerie from his dreams—blonde hair mussed and tangled and flowing freely, her body glowing with the fresh sheen of sweat from their vigorous fucking, her mouth hanging slightly open, her eyes half-closed, her skin flushed from the sensations that overtook the both of them . . .

' _Knock it off before she kills us, stupid!_ ' his youkai snapped in absolute irritation.

Evan blinked and set the guitar aside, slowly rising to his feet as he wondered vaguely if she could tell that he was currently experiencing the biggest, baddest, hardest boner that he'd had in quite awhile . . . "Hey, V," he greeted, hoping that his voice sounded steadier than he thought it did.

Damned if those eyes of hers didn't narrow on him, and for a split second, he thought that she just might dig his heart out and eat it with a spoon. "Don't you dare, 'Hey, V,' me, Roka," she hissed under her breath and without moving her lips. "You've got—" she checked her watch with a deliberate flick of her wrist before pinning him with that incredible gaze once more. "—precisely two minutes to explain yourself, and your time starts _now_."

He winced inwardly. ' _Damn, she really_ is _mad_ ,' he thought as he stifled a sigh.

' _She's hot, too . . . fuckable-hot_ . . .'

' _Yeah, not helping_ ,' he insisted.

His youkai was undeterred. ' _But look at her! Do you think she's wearing a bra?_ '

' _Of course she's wearing a bra!_ '

' _How can you tell?_ '

' _Well, if you just look at the way she's—Shut the hell_ u-u-u-up!' he growled.

Valerie tapped her foot impatiently and made another show of checking her watch. "I'm waiting, Roka, or are you trying to come up with a good excuse?"

"Now, V, I can explain," he said, holding up his hands in an effort to placate her. It didn't work.

"Good, I'm glad," she replied drolly. "I'm waiting."

' _Da-a-a-amn_ . . .' he thought as he stared at her. She really was just fantastic, wasn't she? So irritated that her nostrils were flaring just the tiniest bit when she breathed while she pressed her lips together in a tight line as she leveled that scowl at him, she looked as though she were trying to decide whether she should continue to wait for the explanation she'd demanded or if she ought to just go ahead and smite him where he stood. Under the circumstances, he couldn't say that he rightfully cared which option she chose, but if she did kill him, at least he'd die happily . . . "Well, see, it's kind of funny really," he finally said though he seriously doubted that she, of all people, would actually see the humor in the situation.

"Is that right?" she replied in a thoroughly unimpressed tone.

"All right," he drawled, ambling past her, out of the music room and heading toward the kitchen. "Don't say I didn't warn you, though . . ."

"Try me," she retorted, following him since he hadn't given her much of a choice. "I could use a good laugh."

Evan grimaced. Valerie didn't see it. "That right? Well, good . . ."

"Cut the crap and spill your guts," she insisted, grabbing his arm to stop him as he reached for the cooler drawer where he kept the beer.

He stared down at her for a long moment. That stupid and insane urge to kiss her was back in spades. Evan squelched it, lest she decide to avoid him for the rest of her life for it. "Umm . . ." he hedged, racking his brain to figure out exactly where he ought to start the explanation. "You remember that story I told you? The one about Belgium?"

She frowned and shook her head, apparently confused as to why he was suddenly talking about that. "Belgium? The gypsy woman who gave you the fake diamond earring?"

He nodded quickly and handed her a beer. She glanced at the bottle then set it aside on the counter. "Yeah, that's the one! She was really old—did I tell you that, too?"

Rolling her eyes, Valerie looked like she was trying hard not to lose her temper. "Get on with it!" she growled.

Evan sighed and popped the cap off his beer, draining half of it in one long swallow. "I told you about her daughter, right?"

He hadn't actually thought that she could look any less impressed than she already did. He was wrong. If her gaze alone could have frozen him solid, it would have, it was that cold. "The result of a one night fling with some guy, yes, you did."

"Yeah, her . . ."

"Evan . . ." she began in a warning tone of voice.

"Okay, okay, okay!" he hurried to say, holding up his hands again in a gesture meant to show his compliance. "Well, see . . . I _did_ tell you that Deet and I were pretty fucked up that night, didn't I?" She nodded once and rolled her hand to indicate that he should continue. "And I told you that she tried to give me her daughter, right?"

"Ye-e-es . . ."

He tossed back the rest of the beer and took his time, rinsing out the bottle. "To make a long story short, the old gypsy died, and I've inherited that daughter."

Dead silence greeted his admission. When he dared to peek over his shoulder at Valerie, he was surprised to see that she looked mildly relieved—not completely relieved, but a little bit. "So you're her guardian?" she finally asked.

"Uhh, not . . . _exactly_ . . ." he said slowly. This was the part of the story that he was more than a little reluctant to tell her . . .

"What do you mean, not _exactly?_ "

"I mean, I'm not exactly her guardian," he clarified. "I guess you could say that I'm more like her . . . umm . . . err . . . uh . . . m-mas . . . ter . . ."

Her eyebrows shot up as her mouth fell open for a moment. "Come again?"

He shrugged and nodded. "Apparently, there was a contract . . ."

"Contract?" she echoed. "What kind of 'contract'?"

Evan shot her a look that stated quite plainly that she, of all people, really shouldn't be asking him what a contract was. "A contract, V—a contract: a formal agreement, usually written, between two or more parties that is enforceable by law."

She blinked and forced her head. "You mean, you signed a contract with her?" she blurted incredulously. "Have you lost your damn mind?"

"She had some damn fine smack," he said in the way of explanation.

"Oh, my God, Evan, if you tell me that you agreed to take her daughter because you were high—"

"Of _course_ not!" he cut in indignantly.

"Then why did you?"

"Because I wanted to _get_ high!"

"And that just makes it all better!" she snapped back. "Do you honestly have a brain?"

Leaning against the counter after he'd finally turned around to face her once more, Evan scratched his chin thoughtfully and slowly shook his head. "It must've been after she told my fortune . . ."

Valerie wasn't really listening to him. Pacing the floor as she rubbed her temples, she was muttering under her breath about the validity of the contract and that she might be able to have it thrown out since Evan, obviously, wasn't in his right mind at the time of signing the damn thing.

"She said that it was obvious by its consistency that I was going to live a long time."

Valerie stopped mid-step and scowled at him. "The consistency of what?"

Still rubbing his chin as he thought it over, he shrugged. "My spunk."

That got her full attention. It also brought on a livid flush as her skin darkened about ten shades of red or more. "Your _what?_ "

Evan finally blinked and glanced at Valerie, who was still looking entirely shell-shocked—and appalled. "My semen, V: ejaculate—orgasm—cum—love-juice—man-bam—cream—and in some parts of the world, 'milk' . . . That's how she told fortunes. She'd have you jack off on the floor, then she'd take this little wooden paddle like one of those 'spoons' you get when you buy a cup of ice cream from the musical truck, she'd swirl it around a little, check to see how thick it was, then she'd tell you whether you were going to die within the next week or so, among other things."

"Oh . . . my . . . God . . ." Valerie muttered, resuming her pacing once more. "You cannot be serious—Oh, wait, yes . . . yes, you could . . ."

Evan chuckled then suddenly frowned, his gaze dropping to the floor as the rest of that particular memory resurfaced in surprising clarity. "She said Deet's life wasn't too long," he admitted quietly, the pain of loss as fresh and harsh now as it had been the day Dieter had died. "I thought she was crazy. Guess she wasn't, after all . . ."

For a moment, Valerie didn't seem to know what to say. Then she remembered why she was there, and she scowled at him again, but she wasn't quite as angry as she was mere seconds before. "Fine, but that doesn't really explain this contract," she pointed out.

"I was getting to it," he told her. "After she told our futures, she said she had some good stuff, but she said that she'd only give it to us if I agreed to take care of her daughter if anything happened to her, so I agreed . . ."

Valerie heaved a sigh and rubbed her forehead. "Okay, let me see this contract."

Evan winced and quickly shook his head. "I don't want to."

"Why?" she challenged, arching an eyebrow to emphasize her question. "Did you sign it in your semen or something else demented like that?"

"No," he assured her as a grin broke over his features. "That would have rocked, though."

Valerie snorted and stubbornly shook her head. "Just let me see the damn thing, will you? There's got to be a way to get you out of it, considering you weren't in a lucid frame of mind at the time."

"Trust me, V, I've already read through it, and even if you could do something about it, I can't just break it," he said.

"Don't be stupid! That girl looks like she's still in junior high school. Exactly how old is she, anyway?"

"I . . . don't rightfully know," Evan confessed, scratching his head as he pushed away from the counter and strode out of the kitchen and into the living room. "I mean, I have a _good idea_ of how old she is, but I don't know for sure."

"Then how old do you think she is?" Valerie nearly bellowed as her temper broke.

Evan winced and shot her a rather apologetic little smile. "Well, I'm pretty sure that she's . . . seventeen . . . maybe . . ."

Valerie just blinked, apparently speechless for the moment. Evan had a feeling that it wouldn't last, and he was right. "Maybe?" she hollered. "Maybe? Damn it, Evan, you're going to end up, charged with statutory rape, and if you do, then there's nothing I can do to help you because you know how old she is!"

"Not really," he replied. "I mean, she might not be seventeen . . ."

"And younger would be even worse!" she half-groaned. "Why do you insist upon constantly doing things that are going to land you in prison? Now where is that contract? The sooner you get her out of your house, the better the chances that you won't get charged with that, too!"

Letting out a long, drawn out breath, Evan grimaced but gestured at the glass doors. Violca was outside doing laps in the pool, but the very last thing that he really wanted to do was to show Valerie that damned contract, and not because of what it said but because of where it was . . . And . . .

"V . . . I don't want to break the contract," he admitted at length.

She stopped mid-stride—she was heading outside, probably to demand to see that contract—and stopped to gawp at him. "Why's that?" she asked in a remarkably controlled tone.

"Her mother's dead, she doesn't understand too much English, and she's not really in the States legally. What do you suppose they'll do with her if the cops get involved?"

"Evan, she _can't_ stay here," Valerie reminded him, but at least she was listening to him.

Rubbing his face, Evan conceded that point with a nod. "Besides, if I broke the contract, I'll be cursed, and I gotta tell you, V, you just don't mess around with a gypsy's curse if you're smart."

Her expression shifted from incredulous to dubious, at best. "You're not seriously afraid of that kind of voodoo-hoodoo, are you?"

Evan stared at her for several seconds before nodding his head in an emphatic 'yes'. "Of course, I am!" he insisted. "You cross a real gypsy, and body parts start falling off; didn't you know?"

"As if that would be a bad thing," Valerie muttered under her breath.

"You'll regret that one day," he assured her.

"When hell freezes over," she countered.

"You're so cold, _Val_ ," he retorted.

"Better cold than stupid," she said as she made her way toward the glass doors once more. "And since when do you call me 'Val'?"

Evan made a face but followed behind her. He had to, really, considering the attorney was probably going to need a translator.

All in all, though, he had to admit that Valerie had taken it all a lot better than he'd expected. He'd fully anticipated more mayhem on her part, and a lot of physical pain on his. Of course, that wasn't to say that he thought that the worst of it was over: hell no. No, there was a good chance that Valerie really was going to hit the roof when she discovered exactly where that contract was, and if he managed to live through that, then maybe— _maybe_ —he could consider himself lucky, after all . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Gypsy_** ' _recorded by_ _Fleetwood_ _Mac_ _on_ _their_ _June_ _23,_ _1982_ _release_ , **_Mirage_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Stevie_ _Nicks_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_ _Valerie_** :  
>  _Good God, just what did he get himself into now …?_


	60. 059: Secrets and Lies

' _Yesterday, I saw you standing there_ …  
' _Your head was down, your eyes were red_ …  
' _No comb had touched your hair_ …  
' _I said, "Get up, and let me see you smile_ …  
' _"We'll take a walk together_ …  
' _"Walk the road awhile," 'cause_ …'

 

-' _Hold_ _My_ _Hand'_ by Hootie and the Blowfish.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _Shouldn't we try to stop her?_ '

Uttering a longsuffering sigh, Evan hesitantly followed Valerie across the living room toward the glass doors that led to the back yard and the pool. ' _I just did_ ,' he pointed out, which was rather stupid, in his estimation since his youkai voice was there at the time and therefore ought to have known that he'd already tried to stop her. ' _She's got a one track mind_ ,' he pointed out, ' _kinda like a pit bull . . . but way hotter_. . .'

' _I_ _dare you to tell her that you just compared her to a dog_.'

' _Nice try, ha ha . . . I'm not nearly that stupid_. _V'd chew me up and spit me out and not leave a damn thing for the vultures._ '

' _Which might be kind of enjoyable, don't you think?_ '

'. . . _Probably_.' Digging his hands deep into the pockets of the faded, ragged, ripped old jeans, he shuffled forward a few steps then quickly darted around her, leaning against the door that she'd just reached for and pasting a wide grin on his face. "Y'know, V, I was thinking . . ."

"Why do those words in particular send shivers of fear straight down my spine?" she muttered, pinning him with a dark look that only got darker when she noticed his shit-eating grin.

He chuckled. "Now, now, put the bitch away until you've heard what I have to say," he coaxed.

She snorted and crossed her arms over her chest but tapped her foot impatiently. "I'll show you the bitch, Roka," she warned through clenched teeth.

The chuckle escalated into a round of laughter. "I can only hope," he teased.

She narrowed her eyes but didn't budge otherwise.

Evan curbed his amusement since she looked like she was pondering new and interesting ways to dispose of dead bodies, preferably his. "Well, it just so happens that I know someone who might be able to help me out. I mean, he's been around for an ass' age, so I figure he's probably run across a gypsy at one time or another, right? Why don't I give him a ring-a-ding, and then you won't have to worry your gorgeous little mind over that contract, hmm?"

Valerie rolled her eyes and uttered a terse 'hrumph'. "What do you take me for, Roka? And why are you talking to me like you're some sort of schmaltzy used car salesman?"

"Now, now, baby—" he crooned, unable to stop the grin that resurfaced on his face.

Heaving a sigh, she looked like she was about ready to clobber him. Why was it that he just couldn't seem to help himself when it came to goading her? ' _One of life's little mysteries_ . . .'

' _You're really sick, Evan. Know that? Sick_.'

He chuckled.

"I am so _not_ your baby. I'm your _attorney_." She drew out the word 'attorney' and emphasized every syllable with the dual-pinched-finger-bob.

"You're a little stressed out today, aren't you?" he asked with a show of concern that she simply wasn't buying. "Tell me what The hEvan can do for you."

The arms crossed over her chest again. "You can show me that damned contract, rocker-boy."

Evan sighed, seeing no way around it but dreading her reaction since he didn't have to be a brain surgeon to know that she wasn't going to like it in the least. "I got you; I got you. No need to be tetchy . . ."

"Tetchy?" she echoed, cocking an eyebrow to underline her question.

He batted his eyes at her. "Yes, tetchy, as in, touched in the hea—"

The eyes narrowed again. "You _really_ don't want to finish that, do you?" she warned.

"Nope, nope, I guess I don't," he said despite his grin.

"I didn't think so. Now out of my way, or I swear on all that's holy, I'll make you rue the day you were born."

"You'd do that?" he countered quietly, enjoying the little game of words more than he probably ought to.

"With a smile on my face," she assured him.

He sighed. Did it really matter? Considering she wasn't about to give up, it was only a matter of time before she actually saw the stinking contract, anyway, and there wasn't much he could do about it at this point, even if he wanted to since it was well beyond a done deal. Pausing a moment to cast her a pleading sort of look, he finally, hesitantly stepped aside and waved a hand in the direction of the door.

She didn't look like she trusted him. In fact, if he was reading her expression correctly, she was trying to decide whether or not he could be trusted. He didn't move to block her again, and she opened the door and stepped outside onto the patio. For the briefest of moments, he considered high-tailing it to the front door and getting the hell out of Dodge, but in the end, he followed her, mostly because he'd missed having her around, and even if she was furious with him, he'd take that, given that the alternative was no V at all.

The rhythmic splashing in the pool drew Valerie's attention, and she stopped, waiting for Violca to finish her lap. The irritation in her aura spiked, and Evan winced inwardly. No doubt about it, Valerie really wasn't going to give the girl a chance. He figured that Violca's proximity to him had already tainted Valerie's opinion, and he hadn't meant to do that.

At least Violca was wearing a swim suit today. Granted, it was a very skimpy pink string bikini, but at least it was something. The first couple days after her arrival, Evan had to insist that she wear one when she was outside since she wasn't inclined to put one on. When he'd heard himself chastising her for her desire to go skinny dipping, he'd very nearly lost his temper since he did want her to wear something but he didn't appreciate that he was starting to sound like some uptight old bastard . . . or like Cain . . .

"Violca . . . Violca! Come here for a minute, please," he called in German, cupping his hands around his mouth to be heard over the sounds she was making in the pool.

She stood up and instantly smiled at him, only sparing a cursory glance at Valerie as she scrambled out of the pool.

"She has the contract?" Valerie asked under her breath as she leaned slightly toward Evan.

"Uh, well, you could say that," he muttered back.

The girl in question grabbed a fluffy white towel off the nearby chair and hurried over to Evan as she patted herself dry. "You want me now, yes?" she asked, her eyes bright as she gazed up at him.

"N-No," he replied, unconsciously taking a step back when Violca moved in closer to him.

Valerie cleared her throat very pointedly, drawing Violca's attention at last. She gave Valerie a very critical once-over and must've decided that Valerie wasn't too bad, because she smiled when she looked at Evan again. "This is your sister?" she asked hopefully.

"My . . .? No, she's not," he said, glancing at Valerie. She looked irritated, likely because she couldn't understand a word that they were saying. "She's my attorney, and she wants to see the contract."

Violca nodded and smiled, her eyes flashing to Valerie. "The contract?" she asked.

Valerie reluctantly glanced at Evan. "What did she say?"

"She asked if you want to see the contract," he told her.

"Would you tell her that I'd like for her to go get it?" Valerie said.

Evan sighed. "W-Well . . ."

Violca giggled and quickly whipped around, catching the length of her long hair and pulling it neatly over her shoulder. Valerie's eyes widened then narrowed as a hot wash of color flooded her cheeks when she got a good look at Violca's back—and the contract that had been tattooed onto the girl's skin along with his scrawled signature just above her ass. Sucking in her breath sharply, Valerie looked like she was about two seconds from committing some form of homicide, though whether Evan or Violca was the intended victim, Evan wasn't sure, and without giving it a second thought, he grasped the girl's shoulders and stepped away from Valerie before the attorney completely lost her cool.

It took her a minute to rein in her shock, and when she finally did, Valerie forced a very tight, very thin smile and opened her mouth but must've realized that Violca didn't understand much English, because she held up one finger to indicate that Violca wait there while she grabbed Evan's arm and dragged him a few feet away. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now," she gritted out quietly, sparing a glance back Violca.

"I swear to God that there's a good reason for it," Evan said, holding up his hands in a submissive sort of gesture that Valerie summarily ignored.

"I highly doubt it, Roka," she snapped. "Why the hell is it printed on her back?"

"Because it's not a standard contract," he insisted. "I told you, right? If I renege on it, there's a _curse_ involved!"

"Yeah, yeah, parts, parts," she scoffed, waving off his worries with a flick of her delicate hand. "Like I care if that part of you shrivels up and dies! You signed her _back?_ "

"Not exactly," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest as he tried to think of a good way to explain it. He couldn't, so he tried the next best thing: the truth. "I thought I was giving her an autograph."

Valerie snorted as her expression grew even more foreboding. She stood still for several moments then pivoted on her heel and stomped back toward the mansion.

"Where are you going?" Evan called after her. Irrational fear shot through him: something to do with the all-too-vivid memory of her absence still too fresh in his mind.

Valerie didn't stop moving as she yanked open the door and started to go inside. "I'm getting a cup of tea before I give in to the urge to kill you," she snapped.

The adrenaline rush that had accompanied the overwhelming fear started to recede, leaving Evan feeling a little light headed and so relieved that he thought that he might well collapse. It was all right as long as she wasn't leaving, he decided. Even still, he was loathe to let her out of his sight, and with that in mind, he shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled off after her . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Standing in the middle of Evan's living room with the girl—Evan had introduced her as 'Violca'—beside her, her back facing Evan as though she were a visual aid, and he was sitting on the sofa, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands dangling limply between, trying to convince her through his actions that he really wasn't at fault for this little misadventure. Too bad she wasn't buying.

Pointing to the second clause of the contract with the telescoping rod that she'd found in her attaché case, Valerie simply raised an eyebrow at Evan in silent question.

Evan frowned at the girl's back and opened his mouth to say something, only to snap it closed once more when Valerie narrowed her gaze at him. "I want to know what it really says," she warned since she didn't really trust him to tell her the truth about it.

He nodded like a good little boy and cleared his throat. "Right, sure," he said, his nodding growing a bit more emphatic, apparently believing that she wasn't going to like whatever he had to say. "Love to, V, but . . ."

"But?" she echoed when he trailed off, impatiently tapping her foot.

"Bu-u-u-ut," he went on, his voice taking on an unmistakably apologetic kind of reluctance and covering about four octaves in the statement of one, one syllable word, "the . . . bikini . . . is . . . tied . . . over . . . it . . ."

Valerie rolled her eyes and flicked her wrist, effectively shifting the pointer at Evan like a fencing sword. It moved so fast that it whistled in the air before coming to an abrupt stop inches away from his nose. "Read it anyway, Roka," she barked.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied quickly, jerking back just a little when she managed to flick the end of his nose with the tip of the pointer. "It just says that . . ." He trailed off with a grimace then rubbed his nose when she flicked him again. "That she will grant me use of her body in return for being under my . . . care . . ."

The pointer fell onto the coffee table then the floor with a loud clatter. Valerie smashed her hands over her face in an entirely defeated sort of way. It took her a few minutes to wrap her head around exactly what he'd said, and when she finally did, she let her hands fall away as she pinned Evan with the most formidable glower as she could manage. He grimaced and shrank back a little, scratching the back of his neck as he gave her a pathetic little shrug. "Is that right?" she finally asked in a deadly quiet tone.

Sensing her absolute displeasure, Evan stood and stepped over the coffee table to pull Violca to the side. He said something to her in German, and the girl shot Valerie a nervous little glance, but she nodded at Evan and made for the stairs as quickly as she could go.

"What did you say to her?" Valerie demanded as Violca took the steps, two at a time.

Evan sighed as he slowly turned to face her once more. "I told her to go get some clothes on," he replied.

"You're telling me that the old gypsy woman gave you her daughter as your own personal sex slave?" she demanded. "Do you have any idea at all how much trouble you're in?"

"Kind of," he drawled, drawing out the words in an entirely reluctant sort of way, casting her a completely disgruntled sort of scowl. "V, I didn't—"

"You didn't _know_ ," she cut him off, sarcasm thick in her tone. "You _never_ know! These things just _happen_ to you, right? Do you have any idea at all just how fast Judge Lister is going to throw the entire _library_ at you if and when he finds out about this? You won't be looking at a little jail time; you'll be looking at a hell of a lot of it, and considering Lister hates you already, you'll be lucky if you're not charged with criminal sexual misconduct, too—labeled as a sexual predator—"

"Predator? I'm _harmless!_ " he insisted.

"Save it for the jury, Roka! Not to mention the charges for that contract, itself . . ." She rubbed her face in a vain effort to calm her soaring temper. It didn't work.

"Charges for the contract?" he challenged. "Why?"

"Because, Einstein," she shot back acerbically, shoving him aside as she snatched up her purse to rifle through it for the Advil that she knew was inside, "it's been _illegal_ for one person to own another in this country for a very, very, _very_ long fucking time!"

"Oh . . . Yeah, that . . ."

Stopping long enough to toss back the pills she'd dumped into her hand, she swallowed hard to force them down and rubbed her forehead furiously. "I knew you were stupid, but I didn't know you were _stupid_ , and, oh, my _God_ , you're even _stupider_ than stupid has a right to be . . .!" she half-groaned, half-snarled.

Draping his hands on his hips, he snorted indelicately and shook his head. "So just what are you trying to say, V?" he challenged.

She froze for about five seconds before letting her hands drop as she swung her head to the side to pin him with a fulminating glower. "I don't care what that so-called contract said, Roka! If you sleep with that girl, you're going to fry in hell!" Then she bit her lip as though something else had occurred to her, and she pursed her lips, grinding her teeth together slowly as she regarded him in unabashed suspicion. "You've already slept with her, haven't you, you man-whore?" she finally asked, her voice deceptively calm.

"I haven't!" he insisted just as his youkai nudged him inwardly. Expression full of righteous indignation melted away, only to shift into a momentary flash of nervous guilt before he managed to blank his features once more, Evan shrugged. "Not _really_ , anyway," he muttered under his breath as he turned away.

". . . Not _really?_ " she echoed, her tone taking on that slightly higher, almost screechy quality. "What does that mean?"

Evan snorted and wrinkled his nose, waving his hands as though the gesture would make her forget what she wanted to know.   "What does it matter?" he countered. "I can't go back in time and demand that she not wake me up with a blowjob! And it wasn't _my_ fault, just for the record!"

"How can that _not_ be your fault?"

"I was sleeping! _Sleeping!_ How was I supposed to know that she'd figured out how to pick door locks?" he hollered back.

"You're not really going to stand there and make excuses, are you?" she growled, eyes flashing, skin mottled in blotches of pinkish-red and crimson.

"Aw, come on!" he snapped, rounding on her with a thorough scowl that she summarily ignored.

"She can't stay here with you!" Valerie insisted. It wouldn't have surprised Evan if she'd started stomping her foot, she looked so petulant. She didn't.

"You think I didn't try to find somewhere else for her to stay?" he shot back.

"Obviously not hard enough!" she retorted.

"Yeah, well, I read what that fucking contract says, didn't I? I don't have a goddamn choice!"

"Please! I leave you alone for a few weeks, and you go out of your way to get into as much trouble as you possibly can!"

"Yeah, like you were actually working all that time," he growled. "I know damn well that you weren't!"

"Shut the hell up, you jackass! I was busy, working on your case—you remember? The one that is going to land you in prison for awhile?"

"You spent the week with Mighty Morphin Midget Merrywether, having _boring_ sex and talking about _boring_ stuff and doing _boring_ whatever it is you do, so what's the big deal?"

"What does it matter to you, what we did or didn't do?" she challenged, the air around her fairly crackling as her anger surged higher and hotter. "And it's _Marvin_ , you ass! This isn't about us, anyway!"

Evan stopped short as the implications of Valerie's words sank in. Slowly turning to face her, he shook his head, eyes narrowing as his brain slowed to a crawl then ceased to function, altogether. Stuck on what she'd said, or at least the meaning behind it all, he opened his mouth and closed it again. He felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him, and he flinched as he struggled to blank his features. "You . . . You did," he said, unable to hide the disbelief, the utter incredulity that he felt.

The painful scarlet flush that exploded on her skin was answer enough, as far as Evan was concerned. Suddenly, he needed to get the hell out of there, needed to put some distance between himself and her. Unable to look her in the eye, unable to do much of anything but shake his head in a completely lost sort of way, he felt as though the floor had started to wobble under him, as though someone had reached out with invisible hands: one clenching his gut, the other slowly, slowly choking him . . .

"You're such an ass," she mumbled, but there was something lacking in her voice. As though all of her anger had been abruptly yanked away from her, she was left with a weariness that spoke volumes. "I just want to beat on you," she went on, her words completely at odds with the lack of viable emotion behind them.

Evan blinked and forced a small smile as he shoved aside the unwelcome ache that had settled in his gut. "O-Okay," he said, taking a step toward her, holding his hands up at his sides in a definite show of surrender.

Valerie let out a deep breath and shook her head, raising her fists, thumping them against Evan's chest a few times. It wasn't hard enough to move him. It wasn't even hard enough to make a sound. "What am I going to do with you?" she whispered, lifting her chin, her eyes unnaturally bright as she stared at him, looking for answers to questions that she didn't even realize that she was asking, and he understood. The somber tilt of her frown, the tightness around her eyes . . . She couldn't tell him anything at all because those things that were eating away at him were the same things that she didn't understand herself.

She wasn't questioning him about Violca anymore, was she? The questions she was asking were about him—about them, and she was doing what she did best: hiding her own feelings behind something— _anything_ —else so that she didn't have to tell herself the truth, and the thing was, Evan had a feeling that Valerie didn't even realize what she was doing, that she'd been living that way for so long that it had somehow become second nature to her . . .

. . . And in the span of that one fleeting moment, he'd seen something else, too, hadn't he? Maybe she didn't see it. Hell, maybe she didn't even know, but he did. For just a moment, she'd felt guilty, hadn't she? He didn't know if she felt bad because she'd upset him or if she felt bad for what she'd done over the week with Marvin. As far as he was concerned, he'd take whatever he could get.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Hold My Hand_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1994_ _album,_ **_Cracked_** **_Rear_** **_View_** _and_ _was_ _recorded_ _by_ _Hootie_ _and_ _the_ _Blowfish_. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Bryan_ , _Rucker_ , _Felber_ , _and_ _Sonefield_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  … _Man, I hate him_ …


	61. 060: Grit

' _The broken locks were a warning_ …  
' _You got inside my head_ …  
' _I tried my best to be guarded_ …  
' _I'm an open book instead_ …  
' _And I still see your reflection_ …  
' _Inside of my eyes_ …  
' _That are looking for purpose_ …  
' _They're still looking for life …'_

 

-' _Broken'_ by Lifehouse.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Mornin', V," Bone called out the window of the small guardhouse as he pushed the button that controlled the electronic gates that barred entrance from the Roka mansion. "Lookin' good, as always, ya."

Snorting indelicately, Valerie shot him a withering glower and shook her head. "Bite me," she muttered under her breath, simply not in the mood to deal with anyone at the moment.

As if he'd heard her, the man's grin widened as a low chuckle escaped. He saluted her as she drove through then closed the gates behind her.

"You are . . . unhappy, yes?" Violca asked rather timidly as Valerie gunned the engine on the long and slightly curving driveway.

"No . . ." she said, unable to keep the clipped quality out of her voice. Glancing at the girl out of the corner of her eye, Valerie let out a deep breath, reminding herself that she really didn't seem to know any better. No, the person that Valerie ought to be angry with wasn't Violca, she supposed, but her mother. After all, what kind of woman would even consider giving her daughter away like that, let alone to a man like Evan Zelig? And then to have tattooed that stupid contract on her back, of all places? As far as she was concerned, there simply wasn't an excuse for any of it . . .

Unfortunately, her temper was a little too short to think completely clearly. Having spent the majority of the night wide awake simply wasn't agreeing with her.

She sighed but ended up having to stifle a yawn with the back of her hand as she pulled to a rough stop in front of the wide porch.

Violca reluctantly got out of the car and watched Valerie as she headed for the front door. Subdued, almost reluctant to follow her inside, the girl bit her lip but picked up her bag and trudged onto the porch behind her.

Valerie rang the doorbell and tapped her foot impatiently. To be completely frank, she wasn't thrilled with the idea of bringing the girl back, but there really wasn't much she could do otherwise. She hadn't realized that Violca's 'hospitality' would extend to her, as well, though maybe she really should have. According to Evan, she was to show proper appreciation to whomever provided her with shelter, and since Valerie had insisted that she take her home with her last night, then she really, really should have known . . .

In fact, it had only taken about twenty minutes for Violca to get the idea into her head that she needed to 'appease' Valerie. The kiss had been not only shocking but also highly disturbing, and not in a good way. Valerie had shoved her away before she could stop herself—sort of a knee-jerk kind of reaction. Luckily, however, Violca had only ended up plopping onto the sofa with a confused expression on her very pretty face.

It had only gotten worse from there.

Valerie had tried to make her understand that she could do a bit of cleaning or something if she really wanted to show her gratitude, but the language barrier had been too hard to overcome, and Violca hadn't understood her when Valerie tried to explain things to her. It seemed that her grasp of the English language was exceedingly limited, but at last, Valerie was able to get Violca installed into the extra bedroom for the night.

Or so she'd thought.

No sooner had Valerie crawled into bed than her bedroom door had opened and a very naked Violca had slipped inside. Shocked into momentary silence, Valerie had only gawped as the gypsy girl had started to approach the bed, a tentative little smile on her face, as though she were trying to assuage Valerie's rising panic.

The next hour or so had been the stuff headaches were made of. Violca hadn't understood why Valerie wasn't letting her do what she had in her mind that she needed to do, and she'd ended up crying, babbling in German or Dutch or whatever the hell language she spoke since it hadn't sounded quite like German, at least to her ears, and what the girl had said, Valerie could only guess. She, though, was entirely too flustered, too frustrated, to try to do anything but escort Violca back to the guest room where she'd closed the door firmly after pointing at the bed and saying the one word that she'd prayed that Violca knew: _stay_.

Then she'd trudged back to her room, locked the door, crawled into bed, and promptly fell asleep—for about an hour.

The next time she'd woken up, Violca was in her bed again, this time cuddling with Valerie in an entirely too-intimate kind of way. Since she couldn't get through to her, though, she gave up and had spent the rest of the night, sitting on the sofa and teaching Violca a handful of words by picking objects up and repeating the name a few times until Violca could replicate it herself.

Evan wasn't answering the door.

Letting her head fall back, Valerie closed her eyes for a long moment. Out of sheer desperation, she grabbed the handle and gave it a good jerk. To her surprise—and relief—the door opened with a soft 'click', and she let out the breath that she hadn't realized that she'd been holding as she stepped inside and set her purse on the table.

"Evan?" she called, knowing that he had to be here somewhere if his door was unlocked.

He didn't answer, but the smallest of his dogs trotted into the foyer and plopped down in front of her, its tail dusting over the floor in a wide arc as it cocked its head to the side to stare at Valerie. Gritting her teeth, she gave the animal a wide berth, sticking as close to the perimeter of the room as she made her way toward the arch that led into the living room. The dog continued to watch her with the utmost interest, but thankfully, it didn't move. Valerie wasn't taking any chances, nor did she take her eyes off the dog until after she'd stepped into the bright, airy room.

Evan was nowhere to be seen in there, and he wasn't in the kitchen, either. The door to his music room stood wide open, and when she glanced out the back doors, she didn't seem him anywhere outside.

She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest as she glanced toward the stairs. The last thing she wanted to do was to go up there, but she couldn't just leave Violca here, either. Valerie didn't doubt for a moment that the minute she did, the girl would bolt for those stairs to find Evan and 'thank' him for looking after her, and that was the one thing that Valerie was trying to avoid.

But the dog trotted out of the foyer and straight past Valerie, who stepped back quickly to keep out of the animal's path, lest it decide that her feet looked yummy or something like that. The dog didn't pay any attention to her, though, and Valerie watched as it disappeared through the doorway of the room where Evan normally meditated.

Narrowing her eyes, she followed slowly, stopping in the doorway when she finally spotted the errant rock star. Sitting on the floor with his legs crossed and his hands on his knees, he had his eyes closed, his back straight, exuding a serene air. The only movements were the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Lightly tanned skin glowing golden in the sunlight filtering through the row of windows, he looked like the epitome of calm.

The dog was lying down on a black velvet pillow that was easily one of the most expensive dog beds that Valerie had ever seen in the far corner of the room and didn't even lift its head when Valerie stepped inside. She wasn't entirely sure that she trusted the animal, but it seemed to be content to ignore her existence, which was just fine with her.

"Evan, we need to talk," Valerie whispered loudly, unsure why she was so reluctant to disturb him.

He didn't move or even acknowledge her presence.

Valerie rolled her eyes. Okay, so she did know that he liked to meditate, but to be honest, she wasn't entirely sure that she really bought into the idea that he really was concentrating. He was something of a human perpetual motion machine any other time, and it struck her as odd to see him sitting so still— _and_ so silent. Shuffling toward him with her arms crossed over her chest, she nudged him with a foot to his left buttock.

He didn't even budge.

Rolling her eyes, she uttered a terse snort and nudged him a little harder. Still nothing.

It occurred to her during the third nudge that there was probably something kind of sick in her fascination for picking on Evan Zelig. It was almost a compulsion, really: the longer he was able to ignore her, the more interested she was in trying to bother him. It bordered on perverse, she figured. All the same, she wrinkled her nose and poked harder.

"I'll let you play with my ass all you want," he murmured without moving and without opening his eyes, "just give me another hour or so."

"An hour?" she blurted before she could stop herself. It took a moment longer for the first part of his statement to register in her head, and she snorted, wondering absently if it'd really hurt him if she smacked him upside the head. "And I am _not_ playing with your ass."

She might as well be talking to the wall for as much of a response as she got out of the rotten man—none at all. Behind her, Valerie heard a soft whisper of movement, and she glanced over her shoulder in time to see Violca peek around the corner into the room. The girl bit her lip but seemed completely reluctant to enter, and when she noticed Valerie's perusal, she blushed and ducked out of the entry once more.

"This is important, damn it," she snapped, nudging him with her bent knee in the center of his back.

He finally popped one eye open. "So is this," he replied mildly.

Valerie rolled her eyes again and shook her head stubbornly. "Like you're really meditating," she scoffed. "Anyway, this is more important."

The other eye opened, and he stared at her, his gaze slowly roving over her from head to foot then back again. He must have decided that she meant business, though, because he shook his head and slowly pushed himself to his feet, crossing one arm over his chest and catching it with a hand to stretch. "All right, you win," he told her with a good-natured grin. "What's up?"

Valerie shot him what should have been a quelling glower. That damned grin of his widened. "Sleep well last night?" she asked, ignoring his question for the moment.

"Like a baby," he quipped, stifling a yawn for good measure.

"Good," she drawled, nodding slowly. "Glad to hear it, of course."

That idiotic grin of his widened, and she had a feeling that he knew damn well that she couldn't say the same. "Did you?"

"No," she snapped, unable to stem the wash of color that infiltrated her skin as her irritation soared higher. "No, I didn't. I was too busy trying to fend off your concubine."

He blinked, probably at her interesting choice of words. "Bet that would've been hot to see," he replied as the idiot part of his grin dissipated, only to be replaced with a wolfish sort of delight.

Valerie snorted and slapped the back of her hand against his bare chest. "There was nothing hot about it, you disgusting jerk. All I wanted to do was to go to sleep, and she kept breaking into my room—"

"So she picked the lock?" He didn't sound surprised.

Valerie narrowed her eyes. "How did you know?"

Evan chuckled and sauntered toward the doorway, leaving Valerie to follow. "I told you yesterday that she knew how to do that," he said in a tone that implied that she needed to work on her listening skills. "Did she give you a blowjob, too?"

"I hate you, Evan Zelig," she gritted out as she stomped through the living room and into the kitchen in his wake. "I really, really, _really_ hate you . . ."

"Oh, come on, V! Live a little, will you? You're young. You're hot. You're smexy, and—"

Valerie shook her head and grabbed Evan's arm as he started to reach into a cupboard for a mug. "Did you just say 'smexy'?"

He grinned down at her before hooking two mugs with his index finger and tossing them, one at a time, into the air. He caught them and set them down, open side up, with a flourish. "Yes, I believe I did," he told her.

"What the hell does that mean?" she challenged.

"It's 'internet' for 'sexy'," he told her as he reached for the coffee pot. "Actually, it's _better_ than being just sexy. I mean, it has more letters, so it has to be, right?"

"You're so wrong," she muttered, sipping the cup of coffee he'd given her.

Evan shook his head and drained his cup before sloshing more into it. "Whatever, whatever," he said. "My point is, there isn't a damn thing wrong with a little girly-girl time, if you get my drift."

Setting her now-empty mug on the counter with a heavy thump, Valerie frowned at the rock star while he filled her cup again, too. "Of _course_ there is," she retorted. "I am engaged—and I don't like women— _and_ she's underage, even if I did, which I do _not_ —just for the record, mind you."

Evan snorted and emptied his mug for a second time. "Hell. Didn't anyone tell you the rules?"

"Rules?" she echoed, pushing her mug in again to get a refill while he was pouring his third cup. "What rules?"

His grin was definitely untrustworthy. "It doesn't count against you when you're engaged and you get a little something-something from someone who is the same sex as you. Didn't you know?"

"Oh, is that right?" she challenged with a raised eyebrow. "I'd think that'd be worse."

"How so?"

Valerie shook her head, wondering just why she was having this particular conversation with the irrational man. Probably because she was exhausted; that had to be it . . . "You wouldn't worry that your fiancée would like the woman better than you?"

"Hell, no, and I'll tell you why," he said as shot her a smug sort of glance. "I've got a penis."

"And?"

He shrugged and shook his head. "No 'and'. Just a penis."

"Idiot," she muttered under her breath.

He wrinkled his nose and held up the empty carafe, frowning as he stared at it rather blankly, as though he couldn't quite feature exactly how it got that way. "Fuck, no," he told her, his voice a little distracted. "Anyway, there ain't nothin' wrong with a little licky-lovin' . . . and I happen to know that Violca isn't too bad at that, either . . ."

"Hrumph," Valerie snorted since she really didn't want to hear anything else about how good Violca was at anything, given the circumstances. "Spoken like a true moron . . . That'd be why you're not married."

"I'm not married because I've yet to find the 'hum' for my 'dinger'," he replied.

Valerie shook her head and gestured at the empty carafe as she lifted her mug once more.

He laughed and turned on the tap to the filtered water to refill the carafe. "Would you prefer the 'Bo' for my 'Diddley'?"

"No, I don't think I would," she said, her voice echoing in the confines of the mug.

"So, why do you look so rough this morning?" he asked as he added grounds to the new filter and closed the swing out drawer.

"I don't look rough," she shot back despite the inner knowledge that she most likely did. Her clothes were fine, as always, but she wasn't entirely sure that she was able to cover the grayish-yellow circles that puffed under her eyes.

"Okay, V, whatever you say," he agreed without missing a beat. "Then why do you have that glazed over look in your eyes like you've either just dropped an eight—which I doubt—or you've been up all night. Trying to fend off the sex fiend, were you? ' _You see 'em comin' at you every night, strung with pretension, they fall for you at first sight . . ._ '?"

Valerie blinked and set her empty mug aside as she shook her head in confusion. "What?"

He grinned and turned around, leaning back on the counter and crossing his ankles. " _'You know their business; you think it's a bore. They make you restless; it's nothing you ain't seen before_. . .'"

"What the hell are you—?" Eyes narrowing, Valerie snorted as a sudden suspicion erupted in her head. "You're quoting lyrics at me again, aren't you?" she asked dryly.

That grin widened. "Maybe."

"Jerk."

He laughed. "Sorry, sorry," he said, sounding anything but sorry. "Jeez . . . lost your sense of humor, too, huh?"

"That girl," Valerie said slowly, deliberately, as she reached for an apple in the basket on the counter, "knows how to pick locks."

The miscreant chuckled. It was an altogether pleasant sound, little more than a low rumble that issued from somewhere low in his throat, that still made her want to choke him, just the same. "I told you that yesterday, V. Why else did you think that I woke up with her lips wrapped around my—?"

"For someone who didn't want that to happen, you don't sound at all sorry for it," she cut in before he could finish his question.

And, of course, he laughed again. "Oh, I'm sorry, all right," he quipped, winking at her as she rubbed the apple on her jacket before biting into it. "Now, had they been _your_ lips drilling for the white oil, I wouldn't have been sorry at all . . ."

Try as she might, she simply couldn't staunch the flow of blood that flooded into her cheeks at his bawdy comment. Heaving a sigh designed to let him know that he was fast approaching the threshold of her tolerance, Valerie took her time chewing the apple as she counted to twenty-five in her head. "Your attorney, Evan. That's all I am," she reminded him a good deal more calmly than she felt.

"I know," he replied, making a face to register his silent complaint. "You keep my fat out of the fire, right? Relax, V. I got you."

His answer didn't actually pacify her in the least. She wasn't entirely convinced that he knew how to take anything seriously, and considering that most people would bow down and let him have whatever he wanted, she figured that was the reason why he thought that none of the normal rules applied to him, anyway. "You said that you knew someone who might be able to help you figure out what to do about all this?" she reminded him, opting to ignore what she couldn't change.

Evan rubbed the back of his head and nodded at the counter across from him since she was closer to it. "Toss me the phone, please," he said, holding out his hand and flopping it up and down a few times impatiently.

Valerie did as he asked, handing over the cell phone without a word.

It didn't take him long to scroll through the numbers until he found the one he was looking for, and when he did, he clicked the 'send' button and held it up to his ear. "Hey, Ben, it's me, Evan . . . Fine, just fine, and you . . .?"

Valerie nudged him aside with her hip, reaching for the fresh pot of coffee to refill her cup. Evan slapped her rear end lightly, which earned him a glower that only made him chuckle all over again.

"I was wondering . . . I mean, you've been around since Hector was a pup, right? So you ever come across any gypsies?"

Valerie raised an eyebrow at Evan but remained silent as she sipped the black coffee.

"Okay, you're right. Hector wasn't even _born_ when you were young. My mistake . . . No, I don't mean those fake gypsies that rip you off at the county fair, I mean real Romanys—the ones who can curse your pecker off . . . Yeah, _those_ ones . . ."

"We could only hope," Valerie muttered. Evan poked her in the side with his index finger, and she jerked away.

"You don't say . . . Really? And you still managed to keep your balls? How'd you manage that?" Evan asked with a chuckle.

The girl in question slipped quietly into the room and skirted around the outer wall, making a bee-line for the refrigerator. She ducked inside, only to emerge a moment later with a plastic container filled with different cheeses that she proceeded to set out on the counter before digging in the cupboard for a pretty white platter. Then she started to slice off pieces to arrange with some thin slices of dark bread.

"You think that'd work, huh? Nice . . ." Evan went on, watching Violca work with an absent sort of gaze, like the kind a worker in a toll booth might have on his face after a few hours of having change thrown at him. "Don't suppose you'd be game . . .?" He chuckled again. "Yeah, I didn't think so . . . Is that right . . .? Nope, I hadn't heard that . . . Yeah, I'm going to catch seven kinds of hell when I call her, I'm sure . . . Absolutely, Ben! When do I ever?"

Satisfied that Violca wasn't going to make any more moves on her, Valerie tossed the apple core into the trash and grabbed a bunch of grapes to help Violca with the platter.

"Okay, I'll give him a call. Thanks. Take it easy."

Snapping the phone closed, Evan grinned when Valerie shot him a questioning glance. "See? I got it all figured out."

Her expression was dubious, at best. "You do?"

He nodded and wandered across the floor, leaning across the island counter to nab a small bunch of grapes that Valerie had just placed on the platter. "Yep. Ben said that the agreement should be loose enough in interpretation."

"Meaning?"

Yanking a grape off the stem with his teeth, he shrugged. "Meaning that she should be able to serve in whatever capacity is asked of her. Contract isn't broken, old gypsy woman's daughter is taken care of, and best of all, I keep my penis! Everyone wins!"

"Debatable," she shot back smoothly. "I'm still serious, though. She really can't stay here."

"Keep your pants on, V . . . or don't—" He leaned back suddenly, his rather condescending grin taking on an entirely goofy sort of tilt. "Hey, you know, she's a 'V', too," he pointed out, waving a finger in Violca's general direction.

Valerie snorted indelicately, opting to ignore his first statement since it wouldn't get her anywhere to point out to him how entirely inappropriate it was. "No, she's not," she replied.

Evan laughed inclining his head toward her. "Okay, V. I forgot. You're the only V, right?"

Rolling her eyes, Valerie pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand, staring at the cheese tray and refusing to meet Evan's gaze. "That's right, Roka," she replied tightly.

Evan breathed out an airy chuckle before plucking a couple more grapes with his teeth.   "Yes, ma'am," he allowed as he opened his phone again and dialed another number. This time, though, he walked out of the room with the phone against his ear, and try as she might, Valerie couldn't quite catch exactly what he was saying.

"Käse," Violca said, holding up a slice of what looked to be cheddar cheese. "Auf English? What is?"

"Cheese," Valerie answered absently, leaning over in a vain effort to hear what Evan was talking about—and to whom.

"Che-e-eese," Violca repeated slowly, then giggled. "Cheese!"

Valerie forced a smile that she hoped convinced Violca of her approval as Evan breezed into the room once more with a spring in his step that made Valerie want to choke him.

"All set," he said, intercepting her questioning glance.

"So just what do you plan to do with her?" Valerie went on.

Evan grinned as he picked up the platter and carried it over to the breakfast nook. Violca followed him obediently and started to sit down beside him until she caught Valerie's disapproving look. Then she slipped onto the bench across from him instead. "Ben said that ol' Cain's looking to hire a part time maid to help Mama clean since the mansion's too big for her to do it all alone. I figure it'd be perfect for her."

"Um, cheese . . .?" Violca asked, eyes wide as she stared at Valerie and tilted the platter toward her.

Valerie sat down beside the girl and carefully selected a bit of bread and a small slice of fresh mozzarella cheese. "Thank you."

Violca smiled finally, and her entire body seemed to relax. "Thank you," she repeated. "It mean 'danke'."

Valerie nodded, satisfied with the girl's attempt at broken English. It struck her again, just how lost Violca looked, and she sighed as twinges of guilt rippled through her for her harsh treatment of her after Violca's untoward displays the night before. "Danke," Valerie said.

Violca's smile widened, and she delicately picked up a slice of bread with a bit of cheese, obviously happy that she'd appeased Valerie, even if it was in just a small way.

Evan grinned then winked at Valerie before saying something to Violca in German. Violca considered whatever he'd said then slowly nodded, and the two of them shared a brief exchange. Judging from his tone, it seemed that he was trying to talk her into something, and in the end, Violca must have agreed because Evan's grin widened as he grabbed some food.

Catching Valerie's questioning expression, Evan paused before stuffing a piece of bread with about four slices of cheese stacked on it into his mouth. "I asked her if she wanted to go live with Mama and Cain," he told her. "I told her that they live on the ocean, and she was sold."

"That was easy," Valerie said, satisfied enough that the girl wouldn't be staying with Evan, after all.

"Good morning, my darlings! Don't you all look bright-eyed and bushy-tai—Good lord, V! What happened to your face?" Madison said as she breezed into the kitchen, only to stop short when she got a good look at Valerie.

Valerie rolled her eyes and dusted her hands together to knock off crumbs. "Thanks, Maddy," she muttered, casting Evan a disparaging glance, lest he should decide to give Madison the long version of the story. "I just didn't sleep very well last night."

"Hmm . . . Maybe you should stop by the salon.   I can call and have Brittany take care of you."

"Brittany? Why not you?" Valerie asked, unable to contain the half-whine in her voice.

Madison laughed and kissed her on the cheek. "Sorry, sweetie, but I'm on my way up to Maine to drop off some things for my parents and visit with them for the weekend before I head to Miami."

Evan's chin snapped up, and he grabbed Madison's hand. "You're going up there? Good, good . . . Mind if you take along an extra body?"

"Depends on whose body you're talking about," she replied.

Evan nodded at Violca, who was still happily eating her breakfast.

Madison's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "And where will I be taking her?"

Evan grinned and sat back, lacing his fingers together behind his head. "She's going to be Cain's new part-time maid in exchange for room and board."

"Is that allowed?" Madison countered.

"Absolutely," he told her. "Nothing to worry about."

"Hmm, okay," Madison said, tapping a long, tapered fingernail against her chin as she considered it. "That won't be a problem at all."

Evan's eyes flicked to the girl in question, and he said something to her that neither Valerie nor Madison understood. She nodded happily and glanced at Valerie, who got the message and slipped out of the booth so that Violca could, too. "It was . . . nice to meet you," she said, throwing her arms around Valerie's neck before she could stop her.

Valerie blinked but didn't push her away, giving her a quick pat on the back as the girl let go. "Nice to meet you, too," she murmured. Madison wiggled her fingers at Valerie as Evan stood up and followed the two out of the kitchen.

Shuffling over to refill her coffee cup, Valerie stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. Now that everything was taken care of, the sheer exhaustion of having stayed up all night was definitely catching up with her, and she'd be better off to go straight home and drop into bed. She'd do that, too—just as soon as she drank her refill . . .

Rubbing her neck, she rolled her head back, letting her eyes close as she let out a long, tired sigh. She almost jumped a moment later when two very warm hands grasped her shoulders, but the warning that had been ready to come out disappeared a moment later when Evan started to massage. "Mm," she half-groaned, unable to stop herself from leaning back just enough to accept the gesture.

Evan didn't speak, opting instead to rub gently as a comforting lethargy spread down her arms and through her body.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" she managed to ask just before another yawn crept up on her.

"Ancient Chinese secret," he quipped. "I'm a man of many talents, V . . ."

"Is that what you call it?" she asked in a bemused tone.

Evan chuckled. "Something like that. Come on."

She uttered a little growl when his hands fell away, only to catch her and tug her out of the kitchen and toward the stairs. "Wha . . .? No. Evan, _no_ ," she protested, trying to pull her hand away but unable to break his grip.

Evan glanced back at her and let out a deep breath. "You're too tired to drive, you know," he pointed out.

Valerie opened her mouth to argue, only to be thwarted by another jaw-splitting yawn.

"I'm being completely selfish here," he informed her as he dragged her up the stairs and down the hallway toward his bedroom.

"How so?" she asked, figuring that she might as well humor him until he let go of her on his own. Then she'd make a break for it . . .

"If you got hurt or killed in an accident on the way home because you're tired, I'll feel guilty because I didn't stop you. Do you know what that kind of guilt will do to you? Have a heart, will you?"

Valerie snorted, mostly because she highly doubted that he'd feel _that_ bad, after all. He tinkered around with the touch-screen panel—she didn't know what he was doing, and without looking up, he jerked his head toward the closet. "Go ahead and pick something more comfortable to sleep in," he said.

Letting out a deep breath, mostly because she thought that it really was mean of him to drag her into a room with a bed so close at hand, she crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm going home, Evan," she said quietly.

"You like it warm, don't you?" he asked, suddenly turning to face her.

She blinked and shook her head, her mind distinctly foggy despite her best efforts to clear it. "What?"

"You don't like cold beds, right?" He gestured over his shoulder at the active display on the touch-screen. "I'll set the temperature if you tell me how warm you want it."

"You . . . you can make the bed warmer?" she couldn't help asking.

He grinned. "It is a waterbed, V," he reminded her. "And we've been through this before, damn it. Remember when you were my girl for the day?"

"Oh, yeah, that . . ." She made a face as a surge of outrage shot through her. How dare he offer her something as enticing as that when there was no way in the world that she could accept? "I'm not sleeping with you, Roka," she gritted out from between clenched teeth.

"You're right; you're not," he agreed a little too easily.

She shot him a very dubious if not entirely pouty scowl. "Oh? Then what are you going to do, then?"

"Relax, woman. Mikey's coming by to fill me in on the tour plans, then the band's coming over so I can listen to some demos," he told her. "That's why I'm turning up the bed temperature—so you don't miss my smokin' hot body."

"So you're not going to try to slip into the bed while I'm sleeping?" she asked cautiously.

He sighed and grimaced. "I know; I know. I'm sorry about that, too."

She snorted and stepped around him, tapping the arrow key in rapid succession on the monitor to raise the temperature control of the water bed. Evan peered over her shoulder and chuckled. "Damn, V. You do realize that you can cook yourself if you get it too hot."

"Shut up, Roka," she shot back as she planted her hands in the middle of his chest and started walking him backward out of the room.

"You're not going to change your clothes?" he asked from the threshold as she hurried over and crawled beneath the coverlet.

"I can't . . . hear you," she mumbled between yawns as she snuggled down and closed her eyes.

She was asleep within seconds, and she didn't feel Evan's hands as he gently removed her shoes and tucked her in. With a gentle smile, he smoothed back the hair that had fallen into her face and kissed her forehead, ignoring the compulsion to crawl into the bed with her, at least until Mike arrived. "Sweet dreams, V," he whispered.

Indulging himself for a few minutes as he stood beside the bed, watching her sleep, he smiled to himself. ' _One day,_ ' he thought, savoring the sound of her light, even breathing, ' _One day_ . . .'

And then he turned and slipped out of the room.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Broken_** ' _released_ _by_ _Lifehouse_ _on_ _June_ _19,_ _2007's_ **_Who_** **_We_** **_Are_** _._ _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Jason_ _Wade_.  
>  ' ** _Everybody_** **_Wants_** **_You_** ' _released_ _by_ _Billy_ _Squier_ _on_ _1982's_ _release_ **_Emotions_** **_in_** **_Motion_** _._ _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Billy_ _Squier_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :
> 
> … I do like his bed … even if it is the tackiest thing I've ever seen …


	62. 061: Seasons Change

' _Would you know my name_ …  
' _If I saw you in heaven_?  
' _Would it be the same_ …  
' _If I saw you in heaven_ …?'

 

-' _Tears in Heaven'_ by Eric Clapton.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

The tick of the clock was obnoxiously loud, like thunder in the darkness outside of the anemic circle of wizened light that emanated feebly from the solitary lamp on the table. He'd lost track of time awhile ago. It seemed to stretch on indefinitely, into an infinite number of moments and seconds and ticks in a place where the distorted shadows and filmy half-light were nothing but ghosts and illusions and matters of perception.

It had been awhile since he'd felt like this. Fingering the pain that still lurked deep down as the stale scent of blood converged in his nostrils, despite the inner knowledge that it simply couldn't be. Slumped over the coffee table, staring through unseeing eyes at the wrinkled bit of twisted paper—the joint he'd rolled some time ago—he smiled, but it was more of a grimace than a grin; more of a wince than an expression of joy.

' _You there, Deet?_ ' he thought as he picked up the joint and flopped against the back of the sofa, gaze roving over the ceiling high above while neither seeing nor caring as he tried not to think, not to remember. There was no answer; he hadn't expected one. The melancholy that assailed him, though, was harsh and bitter and just as fresh as it had been on the day Dieter had died. ' _Damn, man_ . . .'

It had all been brought back, hadn't it? All of those feelings, that sense of loss . . . He hadn't anticipated that.

Maybe he should have.

Two days into the search for a new bass player to replace Dieter in Philansoclantes, Evan's back-up band, and here he was, sitting in the dark, trying to listen to the demo tapes that Mike had dropped off earlier after Evan had nixed every last one that had been presented to him yesterday by the band. He'd given up awhile ago, just before he'd stomped through the house in search of the bag of doobage that Mike had given him just after he'd met Valerie for the first time.

It just felt all wrong, didn't it?

Truthfully, the idea of going out on the road without Dieter wasn't something that Evan really wanted to contemplate. ' _Talk about your double-edged swords_ ,' he thought as he tucked the joint between his lips, let it dangle precariously as he dug a book of matches out of his pocket. The fondest of his memories, both onstage as well as off, included Dieter, and while Evan knew that Dieter would be pissed as all hell if Evan cancelled the tour, he had to admit that the idea had crossed his mind.

" _Listen, Zel, no one would blame you if you postponed or canceled the tour altogether," Mike said, sounding uncharacteristically benevolent, despite the thorough frown on his face as he dug his hands into his pockets and shifted his feet impatiently. "It hasn't been that long since Dieter died, and a lot of your fans were his fans, too_."

" _Isn't that all the more reason to go out and do this?" Evan challenged mildly, tossing the stack of demos onto the table with a clatter. "Besides, saying that I can cancel and shit just doesn't sound like you, Mikey. Can't make money off me that way, can you?_ "

 _He'd meant it as a joke. Mike, apparently, hadn't thought that it was amusing. Narrowing his eyes, he looked like he just might light into Evan, but he restrained himself, probably because trying to maim one's client was not really a good idea, after all . . . "I'm allowed to have a heart sometimes, aren't I?" he grumbled, the edges of his youki flicking uncontrollably with the irritation that he'd fought to contain_.

" _It doesn't fit you," Evan replied evenly. "Don't worry about it. Everything's good_."

 _Mike didn't buy the smile on Evan's face—not really surprising since Evan doubted that he would, either_.

Still, he wasn't in too bad a mood when he'd sat down and started to listen to the demos, and it wasn't that they were horrible, either. Thing was, they didn't sound quite right. Whatever the reason, Evan couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the end result was the same.

' _Like it matters. You just need to find someone who can fill in for the duration of the tour_.'

Deliberately ignoring the sage words of his youkai voice, Evan slowly dragged on the joint and closed his eyes.

' _You know you have to . . . or take Mikey's suggestion and cancel the damn thing_.'

He was being stupid, wasn't he? Dieter was probably having a damn fine laugh over the entire situation wherever he was. God only knew that Evan would be if the situation were reversed. Sad but true, Evan figured that Zel Roka was easily the biggest rock attraction on the planet at the moment. That didn't really mean he had that many friends. Sure, he had acquaintances—lots of those—but people he could actually consider to be friends? Those were few and far between—people he could trust unconditionally; people who didn't care that he was Zel Roka . . . ' _Or people who like me despite being Zel Roka_ ,' he thought with a half-smile as an image of Valerie's face flashed through his head.

Dieter was one of those friends, and losing him was akin to losing family, as far as Evan was concerned.

At least Miss was doing all right. He'd called her earlier to see if she needed anything. She'd sounded tired, but she'd also said that she and Daniel had just gotten home after spending the afternoon at the park. Still, he worried about her, and not for the first time, he had to wonder just how much Dieter had told her. Of course he'd had to tell her that he was youkai; that Daniel was going to be hanyou when they'd found out that Miss was pregnant. Funny thing, that. Now that he thought about it, Dieter had acted rather surprised when he'd found out that she was expecting when he really shouldn't have, all things considered. He'd never thought to ask Dieter how it could be that he didn't realize that he'd gotten Miss pregnant, in the first place. It just hadn't occurred to him, he supposed . . .

Then again, Dieter was like that. Given to impulses and even considered somewhat scatterbrained, only Dieter could actually get away with something like that without looking completely idiotic. The thing was, Dieter really wasn't stupid in the least. His problem was just that he'd have about fifty things going on in his head, and every time something else popped into his mind, it shoved something else aside, so a lot of his ideas were only half-formed, and most of the time, those thoughts were usually linked together in a really strange sort of flow.

But Dieter understood Evan, especially when it came to music. He might've teased Evan about writing silly pop songs that were recorded by bubble-gum bands and overhyped wannabes who ended up digging between the sofa cushions for change when their ten minutes of fame were over, but he _did_ get it. Evan loved to write songs—any songs—even if they weren't the kind of music that had made Zel Roka famous . . .

And that was why Evan missed him.

Letting his head fall to the side, Evan opened his eyes, stared at the glowing ring of the smoldering joint held loosely between his fingers. Better than half of it had burned itself down, resulting in a half inch ash that stubbornly clung to it. With a sigh, he leaned forward, sparing a moment to take one last drag off it before smashing it out in the empty ashtray on the table.

The clock in the living room struck four as he reached for the next demo on the pile. All of the musicians he'd listened to so far had potential, and many of them were damn good, but . . .

But not one of them was Dieter, and that was the entire problem.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Rubbing her forehead as she scowled at the document she'd just gotten from Judge Lister's office, Valerie let out a deep breath and let it fall silently from her fingertips to the desk. Her motion to reverse the order and allow Evan to go on the mini-tour alone was denied. She figured that it would be, but she had to try. "Crap," she muttered, thumping her elbow on the desk and rubbing her face in a tired sort of way.

Sure, he'd been behaving himself quite admirably for the last couple of days since she'd found out about Violca, but that was because he was busy discussing the preparations for the tour. Once he had that out of the way and more time to be bored, she didn't doubt that he'd find some other method of devilry to get himself into, but if he really thought that he could drag her into it, too, he had better think again.

The thing that bothered her the most, though, was just the time that it cut out of her schedule for preparing Evan's case. The trial was set to commence the week before Thanksgiving, and she'd be out with Evan on that damned tour until mid-October, which left her with roughly a month to finish preparing for trial—and hoping for a miracle, because at this point, Valerie was pretty certain that only said-miracle could possibly keep the errant rock star out of jail. She would take the information with her, of course, but the interviews she'd wanted to follow up on couldn't be done unless she could rush them in before they left or hope that she could arrange them after they got back.

All in all, the entire situation was really nothing more than one big, fat nightmare.

If she could just make him understand that he was in serious jeopardy of having to serve time, maybe she could get him to tell her a little more. As it was, she wasn't sure if his ego was so super-inflated that he honestly didn't realize that normal rules applied to him or if he actually thought that she could get him out of trouble, and while the second reason was far more flattering to her than the first, she had to admit, however grudgingly, that Evan might be sure of himself to the point of being cocky, and yes, he tended to aggravate her to no end, but he wasn't egotistical, either.

Checking her watch, Valerie straightened up and exhaled heavily. She had an appointment in an hour to look over both vehicles that had been impounded right after the accident. She'd meant to do it sooner, but the expert she'd contacted had some other things that he was working on and wouldn't be able to meet with her until later in the month. As it was, she would have to ask him to go take a look at it by himself and draw up an official report on his findings since she was going to be gone. Hopefully she'd be able to make an appointment with him to go over his observations in person when she got back.

The trouble was, she really didn't think that she was going to be able to figure out much just from looking at the vehicles herself. The police had assured her that they were being kept in a warehouse, and she figured she ought to be glad that they'd kept them this long since it wasn't exactly standard protocol to do so. Apparently someone had enough foresight to demand that they do so—someone with quite a bit of clout since they'd have ordinarily been released after the investigation was finished. Valerie's bet was on Evan's father, Cain, but she didn't know for sure.

Evan had told her that he was going to be busy all day, which was fine with her. She'd learned over time that a busy Roka was a much more manageable Roka, and since Mike was going to be with him all day, she'd figured that she could afford to do some of her own things without having to worry too much that Evan was out getting into whatever mischief he could find. Grabbing the phone before she headed out of the office, Valerie dialed Evan's cell phone number and waited for him to answer.

"Yeah."

Valerie blinked at Evan's odd greeting. He sounded a little strange, definitely not like his usual self. "You okay?" she asked, unsure why she felt like something was wrong.

He forced a chuckle that was empty and flat. "Who, me? I'm fine. I'm good."

Frowning slightly, Valerie shook her head. "You don't sound 'fine'," she remarked, trying to keep her tone light. "Did something happen?"

Evan sighed, and the background noise diminished slightly. A moment later, she heard the click of a closing door. "Just a little tired, V," he said in that same hollow tone of voice. "Don't worry about me."

Biting her lip, Valerie wondered if he really thought that she was buying his claims that he was 'good'. He probably did. After all, humans were born with the innate ability to lie to themselves and to believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that everyone else believed those little lies, too. "How are the meetings going?"

"Eh, you know," he hedged as though he were trying to downplay everything. "Same old shit. Anyway, I'm kind of in the middle of something right now . . ."

"Sorry. I just wanted to check on you," she admitted.

"Don't worry, V. I'm not getting into anything or anyone that I shouldn't be," he assured her. It was entirely less than reassuring, though. "Hmm. Well, if you're not busy later, I'll be at Affex this afternoon for fittings and shit. Why don't you come on down and help play 'Dress the Roka'—or 'Undress the Roka', if you'd rather?"

"Keep your clothes on, Casanova." Valerie rolled her eyes but finally smiled slightly. At least he was sounding a bit more like the Evan she knew better. "Maybe I'll stop by, though . . . if I have time," she allowed noncommittally.

"You should; you should. I'll tell you what. I'll come pick you up—say, around five? We can go get something to eat then buzz on over for the fitting. Sound cool?"

Glancing at her watch, Valerie sighed. It was one in the afternoon, so she had plenty of time to have a look at the cars before then. "Do I get to pick the place?" she asked before answering him.

"Sure," he said, sounding a lot more animated than he had for most of the phone call.

"And are you paying?"

He chuckled at that, and this time, he sounded much, much better. "I could do that."

She finally smiled and shook her head at his lightning fast mood swings. "Then I'll think about where you're going to take me until you pick me up."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"So how many outfits do you need?" Valerie asked in a preoccupied sort of tone as she leafed through a magazine that had been lying carelessly on the table in the hazy light of the fitting suite.

"Not too many," he replied, bouncing his knee in a distinctly nervous fashion. He hated waiting, and considering how busy he tended to be, sitting around for the last twenty minutes while Keese—most commonly touted as _the_ authority in rock wear—took his sweet time doing God only knew what. "Maybe twenty . . . thirty . . ."

She lowered the magazine long enough to peer over it in a completely droll way, as though she were trying to decide whether he was joking or not. "What do you mean, not many? Twenty or thirty is a lot, you know."

"It is not," he challenged with a grin. "How many suits do you have hanging in your closet at home?"

"I don't know," she scoffed, as though she thought that he was comparing apples with oranges. "Twenty or so per season."

"Well, see? There you go," he stated, nodding his head since she'd just verified what he'd originally thought.

Valerie snorted and disappeared behind the magazine once more. "Not even," she challenged. "I wear those to work every day. Of course I need to have that many!"

"Per season, which means that you own no less than eighty suits, my pookie-pooh," he pointed out.

She rolled her eyes again as she dropped the magazine, tented over her chest. "And you don't need that many since you're only going to wear them for, what? An hour or so onstage every couple nights? And keep your weird pet names to yourself."

He grinned. "Yeah, and in those couple hours, I'm running all over the place, rolling around, jumping . . . all of that, and sweating my ass off in the process."

She blinked and stared at him for a long moment before slowly nodding. "So you're saying that it's basically a couple hour recess."

"Yeah!"

She snorted and shook her head, scowling at him yet again—she'd been doing that a lot this evening since she'd gotten into the car before he'd taken her to dinner. Heaving a sigh, she pressed her lips together and started to bury herself in the magazine once more.

Evan cocked an eyebrow. "Okay, V. What gives?"

"Nothing," she said, her tone a little too neutral to credit. "Nothing at all."

"Liar," he countered. "You go to hell for lying, you know."

"You'll go first for everything you've done," she shot back without missing a beat. "That hair color would be the biggest offense of them all."

Evan grinned and shrugged offhandedly. To be honest, it was rather surprising. Of all things for her to find offense in, she was bothered that he'd actually colored his hair today . . .? "What? You don't like it?"

"Not really," she replied. "Black looks fake unless you were born with it."

Evan's retort was cut off when the door opened suddenly. "Sorry I'm late, Roka," Keese said as he breezed into the room—that was a good way to describe the tiny man's movements. He was like a little perpetual motion machine, and in the number of years that Evan had known him, he didn't think he'd ever seen Keese do something as simple as sit in a chair for more than ten seconds unless he had to. "You haven't done anything stupid, like gain a few pounds, have you?"

Chuckling as Keese's dark brown eyes darted over Evan from top to bottom and back again, Evan stood up and held up his hands. "Well, maybe a pound or two," he teased.

Keese curled his top lip and shook his head. "No, you don't look like you have," he allowed. "Good. I used the measurements that Mike sent over for that spring cover of _Rock It_." Narrowing his eyes when they finally lit on Valerie, Keese cocked his head to the side as he tried to make up his mind about her. "Who is this?"

Evan couldn't suppress the grin that surfaced on his face. "She's my attorney," he replied. He didn't miss the momentary surprise on Valerie's features. She probably expected him to say something outrageous, and while he had been tempted to do that, he hadn't figured that she'd appreciate it.

"Your attorney? You brought your attorney along to a fitting?" Keese wasn't buying it; not by a long shot. "Remember my rule, Roka: no semen stains on the merchandise until _after_ it's paid for."

Valerie's mouth dropped open as violent color exploded under her skin. She looked like she was ready to ream the designer. Evan figured that he'd better diffuse the situation before it blew up in his face. "Nah, seriously, man. She's my attorney. I'm so fucking busy lately that I have to schedule two appointments at once."

"Oh, yeah, those charges," Keese said as though he had just remembered that Evan was trying to keep from becoming a special guest in the big house. "Get him out of trouble," he said, apparently ready to believe that Valerie was, indeed, his attorney. "He's a good kid, even if he does think a little too often with his balls."

"Aww, now leave my balls out of this," Evan grumbled. "So where are these outfits you wanted me to see?"

Keese grinned and abruptly forgot Valerie's existence as he hurried over to the illuminated closet and keyed in the code to unlock the doors. "What do you think?" he asked with a child's giddy sense of excitement as the panels slid back to reveal the neatly arranged outfits, complete with accessories and footwear.

Evan nodded slowly as he wandered forward. The first few ensembles were standard enough: low riding leather pants, a black silk, button down shirt, a red one that looked just like the black one aside from the color, black leather jackets with lots of shining silver studs, and narrow toed black leather boots. ' _Guess you can't get any more 'old school' than that_ ,' he thought wryly. "What are you trying to do, Keese? Kill me?" he complained, holding up the arm of the nearest leather jacket and letting it drop as he shook his head. "Ever been under those damn lights? I'll roast in that."

"Quit bitching, Zel," Keese shot back mildly. "Mike told me that you're doing Rocktoberfest in the new outdoor stadium in Detroit, and lights or not, you'll want those jackets. Then you'll thank me, and if you're nice, I might let you kiss my boots."

"Hmm," Evan drawled, stroking his chin as he considered what Keese had said. Okay, he had a valid point there. The tour was going to wrap up in a blaze of glory when Evan headlined at the very prestigious Rocktoberfest, and this year was an even bigger deal since the new outdoor stadium in Detroit was easily twice as large as the last venue. Fans from all over the world flocked in for the event—a week-long festival dedicated to all things rock, and it was always good for a laugh or two. Vendors set up booths where you could get anything from the edgiest in festival foods—whatever one could skewer on a stick—to tattoos, clothes, gear, bootlegged music, even "rock comics" featuring the hottest bands, of course. Everyone who was anyone in rock wanted to headline that gig, and even he had only managed to nab the top spot a couple times in the last few years. He wasn't sure whether it was a testament to the overall toughness of the fans or some strange sadistic streak that the festival had always been held in mid-October and in one of the northern states, and he couldn't remember the last time that he'd performed at one of them when it hadn't been colder than hell, and somehow, normally raining, to boot. "Okay," he relented with a wolfish grin. "Besides, you can't have too many leather jackets, I suppose."

"Those should fit you without any trouble," Keese remarked as he fussed with one of the ensembles. "The sides of the pants zip from top to bottom, so, you know: easy in, easy out."

Evan chuckled since Keese had always designed his pants like that, and considering there had been times when groupies hadn't wanted to wait long enough for him to strip off a pair of leather pants that tended to cling more when he was sweaty, he'd figured that Keese was like unto a god of sorts for the design of his clothing . . .

The chuckling escalated when Evan spotted the inevitable 'gag' outfits that Keese always tossed in, mostly to amuse Evan—clothes so outrageous that even he would have to pass, and this time was no different. "You're a sick little man," he remarked as he strode past the more 'normal' rock attire and stopped in front of the black spandex body suit hanging anemically on a hanger. Even better, though, was the black leather studded codpiece slung around the hook. " _Wo-o-o-ow_ ," he breathed, shaking his head as he blinked a few times to make sure that he really was seeing what he thought he was seeing. "You've outdone yourself, Keese," he said rather dryly. "In fact—"

"Oh, my God," Valerie commented, her voice rife with her disapproval. Evan glanced at her and grinned. He hadn't realized that she'd followed him into the closet. He must be slipping, he supposed. "N-No-o-o-o . . ."

It was on the tip of Evan's tongue to explain to her about Keese's weird and warped sense of humor, but the absolute horror on her face was enough to make him want to drag it out, instead. "I don't know, V," he said, shaking his head as he eyed the garment again. "It looks pretty awesome; don't you think?"

"No, I don't think," she muttered, carefully keeping her voice down, lest she should offend the designer. "You can _not_ be serious."

"Why? You don't dig it?"

The look that his question garnered was priceless—truly priceless. Valerie looked like she might just slap him—or that she thought that maybe he'd finally lost his mind. "That's awful," she hissed under her breath. "Seriously awful—are you listening to me?"

He chuckled and pulled the garment off the hanger before thrusting it under her nose. "Then you try it on," he said.

She blinked and leaned back to eye the bodysuit with abject disgust. "No way, Roka. Not on your life."

He grinned and intercepted Keese's amused expression then winked at the designer. "Either you do or I do, V . . . You know, the more I look at it, the more I think it'd be cool—you don't think?"

"Only if you're going to do aerobics," she retorted. "By the way, the 1980's called, Roka. Kiss wants their gear back."

He stopped abruptly and stared at her, his eyes shining in obvious admiration. "You know Kiss?" he couldn't help asking.

Valerie rolled her eyes and whipped the limp garment out of his slack hand. "Of course, I know Kiss," she insisted. "Who doesn't?"

"Well, you don't really strike me as a Kiss-kinda-girl, if you know what I mean."

She snorted and brushed an errant lock of hair out of her eyes. "This is absolutely _not_ cool," she pointed out, shaking the bodysuit to emphasize her point.

"I dunno, V . . . I think it's growing on me."

She stared at him for a long moment, as though she were trying to decide whether he was being serious or not. She must've decided that he was, because she let out a deep breath and rubbed her forehead. "You're going to look stupid," she predicted despite the defeated tone in her voice.

Evan chuckled and shrugged. "Okay, I'll tell you what. You try it on, and I won't take it with me. How's that?"

"Then again, why should _I_ care if _you_ look stupid or not?" she went on, more to herself than to Evan. "I don't. That's right. Not in the least."

"Did you see the codpiece, V?" he asked innocently, pulling the tiny leather thong off the hanger and twirling it around on his finger.

Valerie's eyes widened, and she grimaced. For a moment, Evan thought that her head just might explode. With a low string of muttered curses, she glanced at the spandex bodysuit in her hand before pivoting on her heel and stomping out of the closet and toward the bathroom, much to Evan's amusement.

"You're an evil being, Roka," Keese remarked, leaning back with one arm crossed over his chest, his other elbow resting in his cupped hand, his index finger curled over his lips thoughtfully. "Don't think that I didn't see right through what you just did."

Evan grinned, but didn't argue Keese's statement.

"You know, right, that if you actually took some of these outfits with you, that darling Mike would flip."

The grin turned into a bark of laughter. For reasons that he would never quite understand, Keese was absolutely obsessed with Mike—entirely gross, yet somehow extremely entertaining, nonetheless. "Is that why you toss these things in?" Evan asked, reaching for a hot pink feather boa that was slung over a nearby mannequin.

Keese smiled and blushed. "Well, I'd prefer to undress him, but I'll take what I can get." Heaving a sigh, he shot Evan a longsuffering stare. "I don't suppose that he's ready to get that divorce, is he?"

The hopeful tone in Keese's voice was a sad, sad thing. Stripping off his shirt and tossing it aside, Evan spared a moment to stretch before carefully tugging the black silk shirt off the rack to try it on. "Sorry, Keese. Mikey's wife makes him a very happy man."

Keese heaved a long, low sigh then suddenly frowned as the lingering traces of feigned despair vanished, only to be replaced with a thorough scowl. "I was sorry to hear about what happened to Dieter," he said, shaking his head and looking like he might actually cry.

Clenching his jaw as the carefully constructed veil of light-hearted banter fell away, Evan jerked off his jeans and tugged on a pair of black leather pants. "Yeah. Me, too," he said.

Keese rubbed his arms as though he was suddenly cold. "I couldn't believe it when my assistant told me that he'd been shot. You were there, right? I'm really sorry."

"Yeah, I was . . . but don't be sorry," Evan remarked tightly, paying more attention than he needed to as he worked the side zippers of the pants. "Nothing anyone can do about it now, anyway."

"Still, losing a friend is a hard thing," Keese went on, taking on a philosophical air. "Has the band found a replacement yet?"

"No one can replace Deet," Evan growled, unable to control the temper that he'd so carefully held in check all day.

"My bad," Keese allowed with a sympathetic sort of smile that only served to piss Evan off just a little more. "I didn't mean it like that."

Letting out a deep breath meant to calm himself, Evan shook his head, forced a smile that was more of a grimace. "I know. Forget about it."

Keese nodded and then clapped his hands. "Do him proud on your tour, then, Roka. Do it bigger, do it louder, do it harder, right?"

"Yeah," he agreed as the anger started to subside. Not for the first time, he had to wonder exactly what was wrong with him lately—at least when the subject of Dieter came up, anyway. But he didn't want to delve into it too deeply either, not because he was afraid of what he'd find, but because he wasn't sure that he was entirely ready to let go of Dieter's memory, either, and for some reason, he couldn't help but think that he'd have to do just that . . .

The bathroom door crashed open, and Evan turned just in time to see Valerie stomp out. The legs of the bodysuit were too long and gathered around her slender ankles, and the sleeves were too long, as well, so she was tugging those up, but she'd yanked the zipper up all the way to her chin, which just figured. He'd kind of been hoping that she'd leave it unzipped to show a little cleavage—no such luck. Still, she was too cute to ignore, and he couldn't help the wide grin that surfaced on his features. "Nice," he remarked, drawing her attention—and a formidable scowl.

"Stuff it, Roka," she snapped as she stomped over to the couch once more.

"You forgot the codpiece," Evan said, tossing the leather thong at her.

She caught it and opened her mouth, likely to tell him to go to hell. Evan's chuckle cut her off. "You've got to try on the whole thing, V, or else I'll take it with me."

"Oh, you've got to be kid— _Ugh!_ " Valerie grumbled, eyeing the studded pouch with obvious disdain for a moment before heaving another sigh and rather ungraciously stooping over to yank it on. "You should have to pay me for this," she muttered, holding up her hands for a moment to let him inspect the outfit.

Keese was busy choking on his laughter as Evan slowly nodded and grinned. "Looks a little baggy in there," he remarked.

Valerie rolled her eyes, her cheeks reddening just a little more before she yanked a red silk scarf off a nearby table, wadded it up into a ball, and shoved it down into the pathetically caving codpiece.

Keese's choking escalated into wheezing as he fanned his rapidly flushing face with a fluttering hand. Evan snorted and pressed his lips together as he watched Valerie lean over to better inspect her handiwork. She must've decided that it still wasn't enough, because a yellow, a blue, and a green scarf followed the red one in rapid succession before she waved a hand at her crotch and wrinkled her nose. "There," she stated, the blandness of her tone completely at odds with the irritation thoroughly etched into her countenance. "My penis is bigger than yours."

"Yes," Evan managed to say without laughing, though just barely. "Yes, it is."

"Forget Mike," Keese muttered under his breath. "I think I want to do _her_."

Evan chuckled as Valerie plopped down and grabbed the magazine once more. Apparently deciding to take the moral high road in this particular situation, she'd opted to ignore the men. Evan slung the hot pink feather boa around his neck and sauntered over to Valerie. "So what do you think?" he asked, waiting for her to look up.

"What do I think of . . . ? Why are you wearing that?" she asked blankly, staring at the boa.

"It kind of makes the ensemble, don't you think?" he teased, holding up the ends and waving them around like he was a bird.

Valerie was nonplussed. "Whatever, birdman."

"I think it'd look great with your outfit," Evan hinted in a not-so-subtle way.

Valerie shot him a droll look but reached over to nab the end. One deft yank later, and it was wrapped around her neck as she settled back with her magazine once more.

Evan chuckled, wondering absently what it was about her that seemed to even his temperament and even bring a smile to his face. She was like magic, wasn't she?

"When did you learn German?" Valerie asked suddenly without looking up from the magazine.

Turning from side to side as he inspected the pants, he grunted in reply. "Met a guy from Hamburg once. He was about as crazy as they came, and he taught me a lot of it. Why?"

"I didn't think gypsies knew German," she went on, flipping the pages as she looked for the rest of whatever article she'd been reading.

"It's one of Belgium's national languages," he said. "But no, German's a second language for her. Mostly, she spoke Romani with her mother."

"And you don't know Romani?" Valerie asked. He didn't miss the hint of challenge in her tone.

"Some. Not nearly as fluent in it, though."

"Oh? And where did you study Romani?"

Evan shrugged and took the leather jacket that Keese held out to him. "I didn't. I just picked some up when I met her mama."

Valerie stared at him for a long moment then finally shook her head. He figured that she was trying to decide whether or not he was trying to feed her a line. In the end, however, she must've decided that it wasn't important because she opted instead to change the subject entirely. "Those pants make your butt look big," she stated indelicately.

Evan chuckled and peeked over his shoulder at her. "You think?"

She nodded before returning to the magazine again. "Absolutely, Roka."

"Wicked," he breathed, a devilish grin lighting the depths of his eyes. "More for the ladies to hold onto when I'm fucking the hell out of them."

Valerie uttered a sound that was something like a cross between a grunt and a sigh. "Nasty."

"Don't knock it till you've tried it," he replied.

Valerie made a face and lifted the publication a little higher. "No, thanks," she mumbled.

Evan laughed as he shrugged the leather jacket over his shoulders and shook his arms to adjust the sleeves.

He didn't see the trace of a smile that quirked her lips, though.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Tears_** **_in_** **_Heaven_** ' _by Eric_ _Clapton_ _first appeared on_ _the_ _2002 release,_ **_Rush_ ** ( _soundtrack_ ). _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Eric_ _Clapton_ _and_ _Will_ _Jennings_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Valerie_** :  
>  _… A codpiece …?_


	63. 062: Hullaballoo

' _So, so what, I'm still a rock star_ …  
' _I got my rock moves, and I don't need you_ …  
' _And guess what? I'm havin' more fun_ …  
' _And now that we're done, I'm gonna show you tonight_ …'

 

-' _So What_ ' by Pink.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Jesus . . . I'm coming," Evan grumbled as he loped toward the door to answer the incessant knocking that had interrupted his meditation. The knocking escalated into a thorough pounding, and Evan made a face. He recognized the youki thick on the other side of the door; damned if he didn't . . .

"This is yours, right?" Gunnar Inutaisho asked dryly as Violca pushed past him and fairly flew directly at Evan.

"Uh, hey," he said, unable to do more than to pat her back a little clumsily when she plastered herself against his chest, babbling a million miles a minute. Glancing over her head at his second cousin, Evan figured that he'd be better off not to try to bullshit Gunnar since he looked more than just a little irked, and that was something, considering he tended to pride himself on his ability to keep his emotions under wraps. "What's going on?" he asked instead, opting to ignore Violca for the moment.

"You tell me," Gunnar replied acerbically. "I showed up at your father's house to brief him on one of the cases I've been working on, and he stomps out of the mansion with _her_ in tow, shoves her at me, and tells me to deliver her to you—or I was fired."

" _Can_ he fire you?" Evan asked.

Gunnar didn't look amused. "No." Then he shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."

Evan blinked and shook his head. "That's all he said?" he asked.

Gunnar snorted. "Keh! Isn't that enough?"

Opening his mouth to reply, Evan quickly thought better of it and snapped his mouth closed again, unconsciously pulling Violca a little further away from Gunnar, as though the hanyou's very presence could harm her. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on, but it didn't sound too positive, and judging from the expression on Gunnar's face, he was just as flummoxed by the situation as Evan was—and more to the point, he didn't look like he really wanted to know exactly what had happened, either. Rubbing his forehead, Gunnar leveled a no-nonsense look at Evan. "Listen, I don't know or care what happened, but Bas called me about an hour ago, wanting to know if I knew anything since he's apparently been dragged into whatever is going on. I suggest you find out and give your brother a call."

Now, that was surprising. Bas was involved? What the hell _had_ happened . . .? "Okay, okay," Evan relented. "Thanks for bringing her back."

Gunnar rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath that Evan was probably better off, not hearing. Then he turned on his heel and loped off the porch, ducking into a snazzy-looking, midnight blue Maserati before gunning the engine and taking off down the driveway like a bat out of hell.

Heaving a sigh, Evan waited until Gunnar's car disappeared from view before closing the door. "Violca, what happened?" he asked, holding her at arm's length so that he could peer into her face.

Eyes wide and frightened, she shook her head and choked out a muffled sob that she stifled with the heel of her hand. "He scare me!" she half-whimpered as tears pooled and spilled over. "Cold, cold, cold—"

She wasn't making a damn bit of sense. Then again, she seemed to be a little too upset for him to even try to talk to her just yet . . . "Who? Cain? Scary? _Cain?_ " Evan muttered, loathe to hear the answer.

She whimpered again but didn't respond. Evan let out a longsuffering breath and slowly shook his head. "Violca . . ."

"I did a bad thing?" she asked anxiously. Apparently she wasn't about to wait for his answer, because her face crumpled as her loud wail made him grimace.

"I'm sure you didn't," he told her—anything to calm her down before she made his ears bleed. "Cain scared you?" he pressed.

She shook her head quickly, her wide eyes darting to the door then back to his face again. "N-No," she stammered, shaking her head again. "The black devil!"

Evan blinked as his mouth dropped open. "The bla . . .? _Gunnar?_ "

"He look at me like he wants to kill me!" she insisted, letting go of Evan long enough to rub her bare arms as though she were freezing.

Evan rubbed his face in complete exasperation. Sure, he knew that Gunnar tended to look rather condescending, but exactly what had he said or done to put that much of a scare into the poor girl? He sighed. There was a good chance that he hadn't actually done a thing, and Evan knew it. To most people, Gunnar really could be intimidation, personified, and the only person who tended to be worse was Gunnar's grandfather, Sesshoumaru . . .

"Don't worry about him," Evan assured her gently. "He doesn't come around here too often."

That seemed to calm her down a little though not really as much as Evan had hoped. She still kept glancing at the door like she expected Gunnar to blow back through it at any given moment.

Shaking his head slowly, Evan figured that he'd better try to get some answers out of her before she broke down completely. Pasting on his most reassuring smile, he smoothed her hair back off her face and tilted her chin up so that she was looking directly at him. "Why don't you tell me what happened at Cain's house?" he urged gently.

Tears welled up in her eyes again, spilling over as another incongruous wail rattled straight through him. All he could make out was the word 'studio', and he sighed, pretty well able to put the rest of it together in his head. Considering she didn't know any English to speak of, and considering Cain didn't know German to Evan's knowledge, Evan should've realized that there was going to be some kind of trouble. Wincing since he knew how jealously Cain tended to guard his studio, it wasn't surprising that he'd come unglued if anyone other than direct family ventured into his private domicile . . .

He knew from personal experience that Violca tended to be a little overzealous when she wanted to please someone. She most likely thought that she was doing something good by trying to clean in there. A flash of anger flared to life in his gut, and he clenched his jaw to keep himself from erupting in a low growl. What the hell was the matter with Cain, anyway? Evan had told him that Violca didn't understand much English. Did he really have to get so pissy with her for making an honest mistake?

"Don't cry," he told her as he pulled her into a warm hug, her confusion and misery entirely too palpable to him. She really hadn't had an easy time of it, and considering she'd just lost her mother, as well, the tearful display was long overdue, as far as Evan was concerned. "It was a misunderstanding, right? So, don't cry, okay?"

Violca sniffled and nodded quickly, as though she were afraid that she'd displease him if she didn't. He shook his head and gently wiped the tears off her cheeks. "I am sorry," she insisted quietly. "I am sorry . . ."

"Don't be sorry," he told her with a wan smile. "Where's your stuff?"

That question was enough to bring on a fresh round of the waterworks, and Evan grimaced. "I couldn't get it," she told him between wails.

"It's okay," he told her quickly. "I'll have Cain send it down."

She nodded and looked a little less worried. Face all blotchy, nose a hideously bright red, she looked like she was starting to settle down at least, and that was something. Taking her hand, he led her into the living room and gestured at the stairs. "Go on up and take a bath or take a nap," he suggested. "Grab something out of my closet to wear till I can get something sent over for you." She didn't look like she'd slept much if at all, and considering she'd just spent the last eight hours in a car with a very surly Gunnar—amend that—the black devil—Evan figured that she needed to relax a little.

She smiled at him and nodded quickly, leaning up to kiss his cheek before she made a break for the stairs.

Heaving a deep sigh as he watched her go, Evan didn't move till she'd turned and waved at him over the banister. Then he grimaced and retrieved his phone, figuring he might as well get the unpleasantness over with before he called around to see if he could get some clothing arranged for Violca.

He blinked when the phone rang in his hand before he could dial anyone's number. Glancing at the caller ID, he made a face. It was Bas, of course. Gunnar probably called him to let him know that he'd dropped Violca off . . .

"Bubby! What a surprise!" Evan greeted a lot more enthusiastically than he was actually feeling. "What's up?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Bas demanded in lieu of a proper salutation, carefully keeping his rumbling voice low like he was afraid that he was going to be overheard.

Evan scratched the back of his neck and tried to decide the best way to explain the situation to his barbaric brother and thankful that Bas and the ham hocks he called 'fists' were over four hundred miles away. "It's not what you think," he began in a placating tone of voice. "Violca was supposed to help Mama clean the house and stuff. She said that she was trying to clean up the studio, and Cain wigged out."

"That can't be it," Bas grumbled quietly.

"Why's that?"

Bas sighed. "Because Mom showed up last night with Dad in tow. He kept trying to take her suitcase, and she kept babbling something about being a 'big girl' and that she could 'handle it herself' . . . and then she told me that she was going to stay with me for awhile before bursting into tears and locking herself into Olivia's room with my daughter _and_ my mate—and I've not seen hide nor hair of any of them since last night, which thrills Bailey but doesn't float so well with me. So, Dad spent the night on the front porch since he refused to come inside, and every time I hinted that he could tell me what happened, he got this really weird look on his face, kind of like he was considering lighting into me for whatever reason."

"So what did he say?"

"Pfft!" Bas snorted loudly.   "Not a damn thing; that's what. Just turned red and ignored me."

"Cain ignored you? Now that _is_ strange," Evan retorted, unable to keep the trace of bitterness out of his tone. "Maybe Mama told him to shove it up his ass since he tossed Violca out on her ear."

"Dad wouldn't have been that mean," Bas said. He sounded like he believed it. He also sounded like he was making one of those automatic statements of defense without even stopping to think that maybe he was wrong. Not really surprising, was it? He'd spent enough years in Cain's back pocket, so to speak, that it was pretty well second nature to him . . . "So now Bailey keeps asking me if Grandpa's gone crazy, and I'm starting to wonder if he might be onto something . . ."

"Have you tried to talk to Mama? I mean, if Cain really has lost it, that is . . ."

"So, you didn't hear me just tell you that she's gone and locked herself into Livvy's room with Sydnie?" Bas growled.

Evan flexed his fingers, wishing that he had a joint in his hand right about now. "Aw, don't worry about it. I'll give Mama a call and get everything straightened out right now."

"Yeah, fine," Bas muttered.

"Daddy!"

"Hold on," Bas said before pulling the phone away from his ear. "What, Bailey?"

Evan could hear the rapid thuds as Bailey hopped up and down on the floor.   "Gwampa is sitting outside Livvy's door, and he says he won't move till Gwamma comes out! An' he says he'll break the door down if she don't come out an' talk to him! Is Gwampa the Big Bad Woof?"

"Something like that," Bas grumbled then heaved a heavy sigh as the groan of a chair came through the line. "Call her, Evan. Call her _now_ ," he barked. The phone call ended abruptly, leaving Evan staring thoughtfully at the receiver in his hand.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie slowly sipped the cup of coffee in her hands as she stared over the rim without blinking while Evan gave her the short version of the morning's events.

'Unhappy' didn't even begin to describe her feelings when she'd stopped by to drop off a copy of his transcripts so that he could verify that they were accurate, only to be waylaid with the almost earnest request that she run to the store and buy Violca some clothing. Somehow, though, she couldn't really say that she was surprised that the girl was back. Trouble magnet that he was, she figured that it was inevitable, really.

"So what did your mother say?" she finally asked when Evan fell silent, staring rather glumly at the table in front of him.

Wrinkling his nose, he shrugged once before drumming his fingertips against the hard surface. "Not much," he admitted with a long sigh. "When I asked her what happened, she just started to cry and do that high-pitched whiny thing that no man can ever understand." Shaking his head slowly, he rubbed his eyes in a tired sort of way. "Of course, dogs all over the eastern seaboard probably heard her, though . . ." Suddenly, he grinned. "Maybe I should turn on the news and see if there's been any reports about strange dog behavior today . . ."

Valerie rolled her eyes and shot him a stern look.   "I'm surprised at you, Roka! Your mom's obviously upset, and you're making jokes about it!"

"Aw, come on, V! Cain blew an ass gasket, and Mama got upset over it because she's nice like that, and he's a damn bastard! Serves him right, if you ask me, and besides . . . Mama never stays mad at him, even if she should."

"Wow," she remarked, setting the empty cup aside and leaning back in the chair to cross her arms over her chest. "You really hate your father, don't you?"

Evan snorted. "I don't hate him," he muttered, sounding just like a sulking child. "I just don't _like_ him that much. That's all."

"Why?" she challenged, arching an eyebrow. She'd always wondered why he seemed so angry when it came to his father. It was the first time that she felt comfortable enough to ask.

Thumping his elbow on the table, he smacked his forehead into his open hand. "We just don't see eye to eye. Can we leave it at that?"

"He seemed nice enough when I met him," she remarked, careful to keep her tone neutral.

The grimace on Evan's face seemed like it might have been his attempt at a smile. "Of course he did," he replied tightly. "Everyone thinks that he's such a sweet old man, you know."

Pursing her lips at the venom in Evan's voice, Valerie shook her head and drew a deep breath. "Everyone but you." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, everyone but me," Evan growled under his breath. The chair groaned loudly when he shoved himself away from the table, raking his hands through his hair—auburn today—as he paced across the floor and back again. He didn't seem angry as much as he seemed to be highly exasperated, like he wanted her to stop asking him questions that he didn't want to deal with. "Look, V, can you tell me that you honestly get along well with your parents?" he demanded, stopping, mid-stride and pivoting to scowl at her.

Valerie blinked, unsure why she was caught off guard by the question that she really should've known was coming. "Do you want some more coffee?" she asked as she stood up and picked up her mug.

"Now who doesn't want to answer?" he mumbled.

"I just wanted another cup of coffee," she pointed out reasonably—a little _too_ reasonably. "As for your question, no, I don't get along with them."

"Then why are you asking me about Cain?"

She needed to put some distance between them—really needed to. There were too many things that she didn't want to talk about, and in that respect, maybe she and Evan weren't that different. Dredging up memories that were best left in the past was painful, and she, better than anyone, knew that. So why had she wanted to know about Evan's history with his father?

Walking briskly out of the living room, she deliberately took her time as she refilled the mug, drawing a deep breath to steady her shaking hands. Why was she shaking, anyway? A flash of anger shot through her. After all these years, why was it that the mere mention of her parents could still stir up so many feelings . . .?

"Look, I'm sorry I snapped at you," Evan remarked quietly. She hadn't heard him follow her into the kitchen, and she kept her gaze trained on her task as he leaned against the counter beside her. "I didn't mean to." Letting out a deep breath, he shrugged offhandedly, and she stole a glance at him. He looked tired, didn't he? Not physically tired, but mentally tired—exhausted. She hadn't noticed that earlier . . .

Suddenly, his words came back to her: words that he hadn't realized that she'd heard.

" _No one can replace Deet," Evan snarled_.

" _My bad . . . I didn't mean it like that_."

 _Evan sighed. "I know. Forget about it_."

It was his tone that had made her listen—the anger that had sparked to life in the span of a moment. He'd mentioned that they were starting to interview potential candidates to go on tour with the band in Dieter's place, but he had made it sound like it wasn't a big deal to him, and she had accepted his words at face value. She hadn't once stopped to consider just how much of a toll the search for a new bassist was putting on him, had she? Just how much pressure was he really feeling, and just how much of it was he holding in, refusing to let anyone know what it was really doing to him?

"It's okay, Evan," she said with a soft sigh. "I meant to ask you how the interviews are going."

He glanced at her, his expression registering surprise that he quickly covered up with a wide grin that didn't quite reach his eyes—stormy blue that just didn't shine the way they normally did. He must've though that he was fooling her, though, and for the moment, she let him believe that, returning his smile with one of her own. "Eh, you know. Same old shit. Mike said that he was going to go through some other demos he got from a friend of his."

"No one sounds right?" she asked.

Evan shrugged, idly scratching his chest as he considered her question. "I've yet to hear one that can get the bass line from ' _Sextacular_ ' right."

She shook her head, more at the name of the song than at his claim. "You're so twisted."

He grinned—it was closer to a real one at last—and shrugged but didn't refute her statement. "Well, yanno . . ."

She opened her mouth to reply but stopped short when the bigger of Evan's furry beasts from hell trotted into the room. Evan hunkered down and grabbed the animal under his ears, shaking the dog's head back and forth as he petted him. "Ugh, you stink. What the fuck did you get into?" Evan demanded like he expected the monster to answer him.

The dog half-growled, half-whined.

Evan snorted and rolled his eyes, but his smile didn't falter. "Yeah, well, you can just take your smelly ass outside till I have time to give you a bath."

The dog wuffed low in his throat, then glanced at Valerie just as his tail went into overdrive and he lunged at her.

She didn't wait around to see what he was going to do. With an involuntary scream, she hopped onto the counter, racking her shin against the outcropping on her way up and yanking her feet up out of the way moments before he landed on her. "Get him away, _get him away_ , _gethimaway!_ " Valerie hollered.

Evan chuckled, ass that he was, but caught the dog by the collar to haul him away from the counter before he managed to get a nice bite of her. "Now, knock that off," he chided, sounding more amused than stern. "I told you that V's scared of you, and—"

"I'm not scared of him," she hissed, eyes widening when the dog tried to break free from Evan's grasp.

The odious man chuckled again. "Okay, she's not scared of you," he appended in a completely humoring tone of voice. "Get outside before you stink up the entire house, you moose."

The dog barked. Valerie covered her ears and squeezed her eyes closed as the echo exploded in her head. Moments later, though, Evan carefully pulled her off the counter, still laughing, of course, as he wrapped his arms around her and half-laughed, half-crooned in her ear to calm her down.

Valerie didn't see any amusement in the situation, though. Too bad she couldn't quite seem to step away from him, either. Her heart was lodged in her throat, and she was very close to hyperventilating. Evan rubbed her back as his laughter died away. "Come on, V," he finally coaxed, giving her shoulders a comforting little squeeze. "You're stronger than that."

"Shut up, Roka," she whispered, her breathing still rasping and harsh though her heart was finally slowing to its normal rhythm once more.

"He'd never hurt you, you know," he pointed out.

Valerie snorted—the best she could do at the moment.

"Anyway, don't worry about Violca," he told her, abruptly changing the subject. She figured that he was only doing it in an effort to get her to forget about nearly becoming dog fodder. "I talked to Maddy a little while ago, and she said that she'll take her to Miami with her."

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Valerie asked, finally able to pull away from Evan since her knees didn't feel like they were going to give out anymore.

"Maddy can handle her," Evan insisted. "Or did you want her to stay here with me?"

"Maddy's just fine," Valerie quickly agreed, reaching for her cup of coffee. "Did you warn her that Houdini can pick locks?"

Evan grinned and took the cup from Valerie's hand, draining it in one long gulp. "Yes, I did. Maddy seems to think that she can teach Violca some manners."

Valerie scowled at him, more for the unceremonious coffee display than because of Evan's statement. "That'll be the da—Maybe she can."

"Ah, V, always a ray of optimism," he teased. "You're like a cloud on a sunshiny day . . ."

"Shove it up your ass, Roka," she shot back but smiled. "Now, where is Violca? You wanted me to take her shopping for some clothes, right?"

"She's upstairs taking a nap," he replied with an impish grin. "Can I come, too?"

"No," she stated flatly as she sauntered out of the kitchen. "Just give me your credit card."

"Why do you need that?" He was following her, right on her heels.

"How else am I going to buy clothes for her?" Valerie asked, glancing over her shoulder.

He pondered that for a moment then nodded. "Okay," he agreed at length as he veered off, heading toward his music room. "Have them give me a call if they give you any trouble."

She waved a hand at him, starting up the steps. It occurred to her that she ought to have reminded him that she was his attorney, not a personal shopper for an impromptu houseguest. Then again, being able to go shopping on his dime, even if she wasn't going to get anything for herself wasn't such a terrible way to spend an afternoon, either, now was it?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _So What_** ' _by_ _Pink_ _first appeared on her_ _2008_ _release,_ **_Funhouse_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Johan_ _Schmistro_ , _Alecia_ _Moore_ , _and_ _Max_ _Martin_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Gunnar_** :  
> … _Fired_. _As_ _if_ …


	64. 063: Suspicion

' _But for now, I'll walk the night alone_ …  
' _Like a man against the world_ …  
' _A brand new day will shine_ …  
' _Through the avalanche of time_ …

 

' _Now the road's grown long but the spirit's strong_ …  
' _And the fire within still burns_ …  
' _Alone I take my stand_ …  
' _I give you a man against the world_ …'

 

-' _Man_ _Against_ _the_ _World_ ' by Survivor.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Not, uh, not bad," Tay Nash said, clearing this throat and wiping his palms on his ragged jeans in the uncomfortable silence that followed the last, lingering notes of what Evan figured was supposed to be the bass line from ' _Monstrosity_ '.

The kid—Mike had said his name was Julius—shifted from one foot to the other and ducked his head once. The room was cool, but he was sweating. Actually, Evan had to wonder if he was about to pass out or something. In any case, his reaction was totally not 'rock' . . .

"That's one of the harder lines to pick up, too," Frankie added, his low rumble echoing in the barren and clinical room.

Tay shot Evan a nervous glance. Evan ignored him, slumping down lower in his chair and wondering vaguely if anyone would notice if he excused himself to use the john and just never came back. "So, uh, Zel . . . What do you think?" Tay asked.

Very slowly shifting his eyes to the side, Evan didn't move his head as he pinned Tay with a blank stare. "You kidding me? The timing was completely off." Gaze darting to the kid once more—the brat looked even closer to passing out now—Evan slowly shook his head. "Keep practicing . . . Julius, was it?"

Julius nodded, his already pale skin paling even more. "Th-thanks," he muttered, hurriedly bending over to grab the hard plastic case off the floor to pack the bass away. They had one on a stand nearby, but so far, no one had dared touch it, which was just as well with Evan. It was one of Dieter's, and the guys they'd auditioned so far seemed to realize that—and respect it.

The room was completely silent after the door thudded closed behind Julius. Evan could feel the others staring at him, but he stubbornly refused to acknowledge them. Frankie was the first one to interrupt the silence. Clearing his throat, he shrugged offhandedly, as though he were trying for a nonchalant air. It didn't work, but Evan didn't feel like calling him on it, either. "You know, I didn't think he was bad at all," Frankie remarked as he fiddled with the frayed ends of a gaping hole in the knee of his jeans.

Tay didn't say anything, but he looked like he agreed. Actually, in Evan's estimation, the two of them looked tired, and why not? They'd been doing this kind of thing for days now . . .

"Not good enough," Evan growled. Tay and Frankie exchanged looks but didn't argue with him.

Mike blew out a deep breath, his cheeks puffing in the effort. Intercepting the gaze of the two remaining members of Philansoclantes, he jerked his head toward the door and waited for them to leave before he turned to stare at Evan. "The hell, Roka?" he asked, rubbing his eyes as he waited for an answer.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he slumped a little lower in the chair. "What do you mean?"

Mike wasn't buying. "Too fast, too slow, too upbeat, too harsh, the vibe's off, whatever . . . Admit it, will you? It doesn't matter who the hell walks through that door, you're going to dismiss them without really giving them a chance, right?"

"Dunno what you're chattering about, Mikey," Evan scoffed.

The expression on Mike's face darkened considerably, and for a moment, he looked like he might want to slap Evan silly. Drawing a deep breath, probably to squelch that impulse, he shook his head instead. "You think those two want to do this? You think they want to replace Dieter?" he demanded.

Evan's eyes darted to the side, pinning Mike with a cold flash. "No one can _replace_ Deet, Mike."

The chair that the manager had been sitting in scraped across the floor when he shot to his feet, raking his hands through his hair in an entirely exasperated sort of way. Pacing back and forth a few times, he finally stopped abruptly and pivoted on his heel to level a no-nonsense look at Evan. "You know damn well what I mean, so don't give me that. You're not the only one who misses Dieter, you know. Everyone does, but do you really think that he'd want this? Do you?"

" _Bullshit!_ " Evan challenged, rising to his feet, planting his hands on his hips as he glowered at the man. "You're so fucking full of bullshit! You telling me that you think any old bastard will do? Let's just go grab some little prick off the street and slap him into the band, and it'll be okay? Fuck you, Mike. All you've ever cared about is how much money I put in your pocket, so don't get all fucking sanctimonious on me now!"

"Would you just listen to me? Dieter—"

Evan's temper exploded. Kicking a chair out of the way, he grabbed Mike by the front of his shirt and gave him a hard shake. "How the hell would you know what Deet would have wanted? How the hell can you stand there and try to tell me a goddamn thing about it? Why don't you just get the hell out of here and do what you do best: shove your nose up someone's ass and give it a real good sniff to make a few fucking bucks?"

He never saw Mike's fist coming until the pain exploded in his jaw. Head snapping to the side, Evan grunted as the full force of Mike's weight bore him back against the wall with so much force that the room seemed to tremble. "Stop acting like a spoiled little prick," Mike gnashed out quietly, lips curling back, exposing the flash of fangs. "I'll say it one more time: you're not the only one who misses Dieter, but there's nothing you can do, so just deal with it!"

Giving Evan one last shove, Mike let go of him and stomped out of the room, slamming the door so hard that it bounced back open a few times before slowing to a feeble slide that finally caught and latched closed. For some reason, Evan's anger dissolved, too, fizzling out and fading fast, leaving him only with a sense of emptiness that was far, far worse than the ache and sting in his cheek. Turning his head to the side, he spit out a healthy dose of blood and saliva—the result of the combination of Mike's fist and his own teeth that had torn the flesh in his mouth to shreds.

He couldn't help it, could he? Okay, so maybe the others missed Dieter, too. They did. Of course, they did. But Evan knew him better than anyone else. Dieter was one of his best friends, probably his best male friend . . . and the idea of trying to find someone else to fill the void that was left deep inside Evan was daunting, almost terrifying.

Evan sighed and stalked toward the door. Every so often, he felt the need to get away, to just be alone where no one in the world knew him or who he was, one way or another. It used to be a bigger deal when he was younger, and he couldn't say that he'd really felt that kind of urge in awhile, but that familiar gnawing in the pit of his stomach was flickering to life fast. It wasn't so much the feeling that he was running away from anything as much as it was the intuitive knowledge that maybe he was really running toward something entirely different instead . . .

"Roka! Where the hell do you think you're going?" Mike demanded as Evan strode past him in the hallway. "We're not finished, damn it!"

Evan didn't blink and didn't acknowledge his manager's questions.

"Roka!" Mike called again.

"Just pick one, Mike. I don't give a shit, who it is—just do it," he called over his shoulder without stopping as he held his arm out straight, pushing past the metal security door and into the stairwell.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Hello?" Valerie said, patting her neck with a fluffy pink towel and sounding a little winded since she'd just come through the door after a late afternoon jog meant to clear her head so that she could try to look at Evan's case file with a fresh eye.

"Hey, Valerie? It's Mike . . . you haven't seen Roka today, have you?"

Freezing with the towel pressed against her cheek, Valerie grimaced as a knot of trepidation exploded in her belly. "This morning," she replied slowly, carefully. "He said that he had to meet with you and the band today. Why . . .?"

"You haven't seen him since?"

The trepidation was rapidly being replaced by something more akin to sheer panic. "What's going on?" she demanded, cutting to the chase since she simply didn't have the patience to deal with Mike's reticence.

"He disappeared," Mike confessed at last. "He got all pissy, then he took off—God only knows where."

"Pissy?" Valerie echoed, shaking her head as she let go of the towel and planted her hand on her hip. "What happened?"

Mike didn't answer right away. Whether he was having trouble figuring out exactly what he should tell her or if he wasn't entirely sure what had set Evan off, Valerie didn't know, but he finally sighed and cleared his throat. "He's having some trouble dealing with the idea of finding a replacement for Dieter—Not a replacement, exactly," he corrected himself quickly. "Someone to, uh, fill in on bass for the tour, more like . . ."

The near-panic suddenly faded away, only to be replaced by an unsettling lump of worry. "I'll look for him," she offered, glancing at the clock and biting her lip as the impossibility of the situation impressed itself upon her. Realistically speaking, she didn't honestly have a clue where he might be. Shoving that feeling aside, she bit her lip. "Don't worry. I'll find him," she said.

"Thanks, Valerie," he said, obvious relief thick in his voice. "Give me a call when you do."

"Sure," she said, slowly lowering the phone and snapping it closed. It was only after she did that she grimaced. Finding Evan Zelig in a city the size of New York? The longer she thought about it, the more impossible it seemed. After all, she really didn't have a clue where he might be, and even if she did, wasn't she the last person that he'd really want to talk to?

And yet, the longer she considered it, the more she understood. This thing wasn't something that had just started today. No, she'd sensed it coming for awhile now, hadn't she? His little comments, his half-joking tones . . . the look in his eyes that had always seemed so far away . . . She'd seen that expression a few times over the last couple weeks—had seen it but never remarked on it. She didn't know how to remark upon it, and maybe she'd thought that if she said nothing, that it would go away on its own. No, that wasn't quite right, either. She'd thought—she'd believed—that he would tell her what was on his mind if he wanted to, that pressing him for answers would only drive him away . . . but would it have? Really? And if he would have, then didn't that make her just as callous as anyone else—fair-weather friends who only wanted to hear about the good and happy things . . .?

Staring at the phone in her hand, Valerie pulled the towel off her neck and dropped it over the back of the chair beside her before shuffling over to sit on the sofa. She considered calling Madison, but she was already in Miami, and for some reason, the idea of asking her if she had any idea where Evan might have gone bothered Valerie, even if she really didn't understand why.

Quickly hitting Evan's number in the speed dial, she lifted the phone to her ear and waited, not really expecting an answer, she supposed, so she blinked in surprise when he answered after the second ring. "Ah, V . . . didn't figure I'd hear from you tonight," he said.

She frowned. He sounded fine—just fine. "Mike said you disappeared today," she ventured as casually as she could. "Where are you?"

He exhaled—a long, weary kind of sound. "Gotta take a rain check on that one. I'm not in the mood to deal with him now," he replied.

"You don't have to," she assured him. "I told him I'd look for you."

"Oh? Don't have anything better to do, I take it?" he half-teased.

Valerie smiled wanly. "Why don't you tell me where you are?" she prodded.

"I'm at the Met," he said as though it was the most normal thing in the world.

Valerie shook her head, unable to make sense of his words right away. He could have just as soon said that he was blasting off from NASA, it seemed so odd to her. The Metropolitan Museum of Art was quite possibly the last place she'd have expected him to be. He must have interpreted her silence correctly, though, because he laughed quietly. "They just closed for the day, I think."

The clock on the wall read six o'clock. "I thought they were open later than that . . ."

"Nope," he said, "They lock the doors at five-thirty during the week . . . but if you want, I know a guard here. He'll let you in if I ask him to."

She smiled despite herself. "Do you know people everywhere?"

"Eh, he's a fan. Got him a couple tickets and backstage passes a few years ago, so he owes me one. Just go to the west entrance and ask for Ollie."

"Ollie," Valerie repeated. "Okay. Don't take off before I get there."

"All right," he allowed. "Later, V."

The line went dead, and Valerie clicked the phone closed, making a face at the jogging suit she was still wearing. As much as she needed a shower, she wasn't sure how long Evan really would hang around, waiting for her. Even then, he sounded all right, hadn't he? Of course, he always did when he was talking to her . . . Wrinkling her nose, Valerie stood up to strip off her sweatshirt, still clutching the cell phone in her hand. She'd been jogging for a couple of hours, and she'd pushed herself harder than usual, too . . .

"Well, maybe a quick shower," she muttered, dropping the phone onto the coffee table and hurrying toward the bathroom. "Evan Zelig, you'd better wait for me."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan frowned thoughtfully as he stared at the cordoned-off area and the posted sign for the coming attraction: _Dieter Reichardt: Industrial Angels_ . . .

'Industrial Angels . . .? _Fuck . . . Deet would hate that_ ,' he thought wryly.

' _Damn straight, he would_.'

' _What a crock of shit_ . . .'

He hadn't heard about this one, though he probably should have suspected it. What was it about human nature that made everyone just a little more benevolent to someone after he died? Shaking his head, he couldn't help but wonder if this display would be here if Dieter were still alive. For every review that Dieter had received that touted him a modern day genius, there were three more that cut him down, going so far as to allege that Dieter's success was only attributed to his professional relationship with Zel Roka. No, Evan suspected that the main reason that the Met was bothering with such a display was simply to say that they were the first to showcase the 'late artist—a genius before his time, didn't you know—Dieter Reichardt' . . . Morbid, certainly, but how much truth was there in that?

"Nice disguise."

Evan didn't turn to face Valerie, but he almost smiled at the dryness in her voice—almost. "Hey, V."

"The hat's all right," she decided at length, "but that coat? Did you roll a vagrant and take his coat?" she asked. He figured that she was narrowing her eyes suspiciously, but he didn't look to verify it.

"Nah . . . He looked like he could use a few bucks," Evan admitted with a little shrug. "I gave him a Franklin for it."

"You gave him a hundred bucks? For that? Did he fumigate it first?" she shot back.

Evan chuckled, digging his hands into the deep pockets of the coat. "That would've been an extra fifty, and I didn't have that much on me."

Valerie snorted indelicately. It wasn't the first time that he figured she thought he was being a little too liberal with his money. "Well, if that's the case, I've got a few coats I could sell you," she retorted sarcastically. "They're a lot cleaner, too, so they ought to be worth at least two or three hundred apiece . . ."

"I couldn't fit my left nut into one of your coats," he reminded her.

"Then it's a good thing that you don't wear a coat to cover your nuts, isn't it?"

He finally broke into the faintest hint of a smile. "Touché, V . . ." he murmured.

Letting out a deep breath, she fell silent for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her standing in front of the sign with a frown on her face as she read through the announcement. "I'll bet the exhibit is fantastic when it's done," she finally ventured.

Blinking away the bitter thoughts that continued to cling to his psyche like a funeral shroud, Evan slowly turned his head, peered over his shoulder at his attorney. "You think so?"

Valerie smiled—a polite, almost perfunctory sort of expression that he welcomed, nonetheless. "I read a blurb about this in the _Times_ ," she went on, running her finger lightly along the deep red velvet cord that was draped between posts surrounding the area where the display would be set up. "Advanced tickets are going on sale next week for the special premiere."

Evan snorted and turned away from Valerie as a new kind of irritation sparked to life inside him. "They'll drink champagne and murmur to each other how brilliant he was, right? And not a goddamn one of them will have actually known him—or wanted to, for that matter . . ."

She heaved a sigh, likely at the heavy dose of bitterness in his voice. Damned if he could help himself, though. He couldn't. It seemed that nothing was agreeing with him these days. "Mike said that you disappeared today," she ventured as she took a step toward him, her footstep cracking like gunfire as her heels hit the polished marble floor. She moved slowly, as though she thought that he was going to turn tail and run if she got too close or moved in too fast.

He didn't miss the carefully contrived sense of neutrality in her tone and grimaced inwardly. She was walking on eggshells with him, wasn't she? And damned if that was all right by him, either . . . "I didn't disappear," he countered. "I told him I was leaving."

Grabbing his arm, she gave it a good yank to make him turn to face her. "He's worried about you, you know, and I—" Cutting herself off with a harsh gasp as her eyes widened, as indignant color flooded into her cheeks, Valerie's eyes snapped with an inner fire as her keen gaze lit on Evan's swollen cheek and stayed there. "What the hell happened to you? Who did that, Evan? _Who?_ " she demanded.

Evan blinked at the hard edge that had entered her tone along with the steely light that made her eyes glow. She was livid, wasn't she, positively seething, and when he tried to shake off her hand, she tightened her grip. "Don't worry about it," he muttered, opting to brush off the incident since it wasn't that big a deal, as far as he was concerned.

"Don't be stupid," she snapped, letting go of his arm and grabbing his chin, instead, forcing him to face her so that she could better inspect the damage. Her hands were surprisingly gentle, despite the outrage in her voice. "Tell me who did this to you."

"It's fine, V," he protested as a strange sense of warmth flickered to life. It wasn't entirely unfamiliar, no. something about the feeling brought to mind the days of his childhood—the same kind of warmth that always made him feel better after he'd fallen and scratched his knee when his mama would fuss over him and smile at him, ruffling his hair and giving him a cookie with a glass of milk in the comfortable kitchen on the Zelig estate. "By morning, it'll be nothing but a memory, anyway."

"Don't you give me that, Roka!" she snapped. "Open your mouth."

Evan rolled his eyes. "No."

"Now."

She must've missed the first rolling-of-the-eyes, so he did it again. "No."

"I'm warning you . . ." she warned him.

Evan snorted and rolled his eyes for a third time. "No— _o-o-ow-w!_ " he hollered when she stomped his foot to get him to open his mouth. Damned if it didn't work, too . . .

Yanking his face gently but firmly so that she could see inside, Valerie's frown deepened into an outright scowl. "It looks like hamburger!" she gasped, biting her lip as she finally let go of his head. "Oh, my _God_ , Evan! Come on."

Staring in bemusement for all of ten seconds when she grabbed his hand and unceremoniously started to drag him toward the doorway marked 'exit', it took a moment for him to regain his senses, and he straightened his legs to stop the forward momentum, causing her to stop abruptly. She whipped around to glower at him, hands planted on her hips, expression a glorious visage of absolute outrage. "Give it up, woman. I told you, I'm fine," he insisted before she could put together a reasonable argument.

She didn't look like she was having any of what he was saying. "We're going to the emergency room, Roka. Your cheek needs stitches."

"You do realize that doctors don't put stitches into one's mouth very often, and they definitely don't when it's just a cut up cheek," he pointed out.

She snorted, crossing her arms over her chest stubbornly. He really should have realized that she wasn't about to give up so easily. "Who the hell did that to you? And what in the world did he use?"

' _At least she's dropped the ER idea_ ,' he thought wanly as he slowly shook his head. "Not a big thing," he insisted again. "Jesus, you make it sound like I'm fucking dying . . ."

"You know, I got hit back when I wore braces, and my mouth didn't look that bad," she pointed out, tapping the toe of her sensibly rounded black patent leather pump on the floor.

Evan blinked and started to grin but ended up wincing since the motion of his face hurt quite a bit. "You got in a fight when you were younger, V? Were you a closet hellion?" he teased.

She snorted again and made a show of rolling her eyes. "We're not talking about me, Roka. We're talking about you. You've got five seconds to tell me who did this to you."

"Aw, V, does it really matter?" he countered, summarily ignoring her mental timer that was probably already running down.

"Yes, it does," she insisted, flicking her arm to glance at her watch. "Time's up. Was it the bum you rolled for the jacket?"

"I didn't roll anyone," he stated again.

"Did you deserve it?" she demanded, one articulated eyebrow arching as she continued to stare at him.

"No-o-o-o," he drawled innocently—maybe a little too innocently, he figured when Valerie's eyes narrowed. "Well, maybe . . ."

Tossing her hands up at her sides in complete exasperation, Valerie started to point an accusing finger at him. Suddenly, though, her eyes widened, and she stopped short as though something monumental had just occurred to her. "Mike hit you . . .? He did, didn't he?" She didn't pause to have her suspicion affirmed. "Is that why he was so anxious to find you? I'll bet it was! Little bastard! Just you wait till I get a hold of—This is unacceptable—completely unprofessional! I'll file battery charges, damn it! See if I don't!"

' _Hey, Zel . . .?_ '

Evan frowned as Valerie dug her cell phone out of her purse and scrolled through the numbers in the memory. ' _Huh?_ '

' _I . . . I don't think she's mad at us_ . . .'

His youkai voice didn't really need to sound that incredulous, now did it? Evan snorted. ' _No_ . . .'

' _Hey, Zel . . .?_ '

' _Huh?_ '

' _It kind of seems like she's mad . . . because Mike hit us_. . .'

Evan's eyes snapped open wide as that statement sank in. Valerie was stalking across the floor and back with her phone plastered against her head, apparently waiting for Mike to answer the call, and she was still muttering under her breath about professionalism and proper etiquette and how he'd better watch his ass in prison, lest he should be mistaken as someone's bitch . . . Evan grimaced despite the almost giddy amusement that washed through him, and he closed the space between them in a couple of strides, grabbing her phone and snapping it closed as he gently pulled it out of her hand and stowed the device in his pocket.

"Give that back," she demanded flatly.

Evan shook his head and tried to smile. It didn't work nearly as well as he'd hoped. "I told you, V, it's nothing. Besides, you think a pussy like Mike could really hurt me?"

Her answer was little more than a more stubborn set to her jaw as she continued to stare at him.

"Look," he said, figuring that he'd better do what he could before she made good on that threat against his manager, "we had a disagreement, and he took offense to some of the things that I had to say. That's all; I swear."

She didn't look like she believed him completely. Evan heaved a sigh and shook his head before slipping an arm around her shoulders, leading her away from the exit and toward more modern art exhibits. "Relax, V. Have I ever told you how hot you are when you're all pissed off?" he teased, mostly to distract her.

She rolled her eyes and tried to shrug off his arm a couple of times before giving up with a longsuffering sigh and snatching the baseball cap off his head. "I am relaxed, Roka," she retorted as she pulled the hat on and tilted her head back so that she could see him, "and I believe we've covered my hotness before, yes."

"Ni-ice," he said with a little chuckle, using his free hand to tap the bill with his index finger. "I want to show you a really awesome painting."

"Oh?" she countered, adjusting the hat again since he'd managed to tip it down further over her eyes. "Is it a penis or something?"

He laughed and led her through the silent museum. "Nope," he replied easily, feeling a lot lighter than he had in awhile. "Nothing sexual. It's just a ball on a table . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Man_** **_Against_** **_the_** **_World_** ' _by_ _Survivor_ _first appeared on their_ _1986_ _release_ , **_When_** **_Seconds_** **_Count_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Jimi_ _Jamison_ , _Frankie Sullivan, and_ _Jim_ _Peterik_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Just_ _wait_ _till_ _I_ _see_ _that_ _damn_ _Mike_ _again_ …


	65. 064: Bitterness

' _Has anyone ever written anything for you in all your darkest hours_?  
' _Have you ever heard me sing_?  
' _Listen to me now; you know I'd rather be alone_ …  
' _Than be without you; don't you know_?

 

' _Has anyone ever given anything to you in your darkest hours_?  
' _Did you ever give it back_?  
' _Well, I have; I have given that to you_ …  
' _If it's all I ever do, this is your song_ …

 

' _And the rain comes down_ …  
' _There's no pain, and there's no doubt_ …  
' _It_ _was easy to say, I believed in you every day_ …  
' _If not for me, then do it for the world_ …'

 

-' _Has Anyone Ever Written Anything for You'_ by Stevie Nicks.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Tell me something, Roka . . ."

Evan didn't look away from the five dollar kaleidoscope that he'd begged Ollie to open the Met gift shop to acquire. The guard hadn't been able to access the cash register so that he could use one of his many credit cards to pay for it—Valerie had almost had a heart attack when she saw how many he had in his wallet—so Evan had managed to bum a ten off her and left it with Ollie, who promised to pay for the toy once the shop opened in the morning. "Uh?" he intoned in a reasonable facsimile of an answer.

Valerie smiled, her hand resting on Evan's arm as they wandered down the streets of New York City without a real destination in mind. His disguise, as lame as it was, was actually working, much to her surprise. Only two people had recognized him after they'd left the museum, but Evan was able to convince them that he wasn't Zel Roka, even though he admitted that folks often thought he was. Playing it off with a smile and a bit of nervous fidgeting that was entirely put on for show, he'd really gotten away with it. Not for the first time, however, she also realized that Zel Roka's chameleon-like persona helped a lot, too. Having perfected the art of never appearing anywhere in public while looking the same twice, it wasn't unusual for him to slip past nearly unnoticed if he just kept his head down and his mouth closed . . . With the length of his hair hidden under the jacket and the baseball cap pulled down, half of his face was hidden in stark shadows, and that helped, too. He'd teasingly said about a block ago that the darkness was one of his best friends. She understood now what he was saying, she supposed.

That was all beside the point, though. At the moment, she was busy trying to keep him from running into anything since he wasn't paying any attention at all to where they were going. "How do you know so much about art?"

"I feel like I'm on a massive acid trip," he said, completely ignoring her question. "You should check this out, V!"

Rolling her eyes, she couldn't help the soft little laugh that slipped from her. There was something entirely childlike in his demeanor, a part of him that she'd never really seen before. Sure, she'd seen glimpses of it here and there, but it was the first time—the true first time—that she'd seen it in its entirety . . . and it was sweet.

It had taken a couple hours of wandering through the Met for her to realize that he really hadn't made any sexual innuendos at all, hadn't actually tried to do more than hold her hand or guide her around with an arm slung around her shoulders, but those gestures had been more of a tool in order to keep her with him, to keep her moving, and all the while, he'd murmur little side notes about the art that they were seeing: things she hadn't known, but that she hadn't doubted was completely true. He could have been a curator or a tour guide, and it had fascinated her.

And it also scared her—scared her more than she wanted to think about, because it was that Evan—the quiet and contemplative one—the one who spoke in hushed tones about anything and everything, who knew why having certain dogs in certain portraits from certain periods in time were meant to be a symbol of someone's unequivocal devotion to their king or that faceless woman in one of the most famous portraits of the twenty-first century was actually a mannequin from a Los Angeles department store window that the artist had seen one time during a business trip . . . That Evan didn't seem to realize just how sweet and charming he really was. That Evan was the one who was the apple of his mama's eye—the darling little boy who just wanted someone to smile at him and tell him that he'd done a good job. That Evan who thought that life could be innocent and so far removed from the nastiness that lingered just outside of his circle of light; the one who could pen a love song that sounded so sincere, so heartfelt, that she wondered who the song had been written for—those songs he wrote but sold to other people to sing. That Evan would be so easy to fall in love with, wouldn't he?

"Tell me who taught you what you know," she pressed again though she doubted she'd get much more of an answer out of him than she already had.

"About what?" he asked, sparing a moment to cast her a quizzical glance before shaking the plastic bits in the kaleidoscope and lifting it to his eye again.

"About art, Roka," she reminded him, tugging on his arm to keep him from smacking right into a telephone booth.

"Oh, that," Evan said, waving a hand in a dismissive sort of way. "Took a couple art history and theory classes in college . . . and Mama loved to take me to the Met when I was a pup."

She stopped mid-stride for a moment and stared at him, amused for some reason over his choice of words. "When you were a pup?" she repeated, unable to hide the smile that came through in her tone.

"Uh . . ." he muttered then grinned. Under the stark light of the lights lining the sidewalk, Valerie didn't miss the hint of a blush that rose to the surface of his skin, adding a vulnerability to him that she rarely saw—a vulnerability that was wholly endearing. "It's a family thing," he went on, stowing the kaleidoscope in his pocket and ducking his head as he quickened his pace.

Valerie had to hurry to catch up with him, and she had to hide her lingering amusement. "You'd better be careful," she said as she fell into step beside him. "Otherwise, I'm going to start doubting that you're as dumb as you pretend to be."

Evan wrinkled his nose and scrunched up his shoulders. "I'm dumb," he insisted, casting her a somewhat lopsided, entirely cocky sort of grin that she knew better: the grin that she knew how to deal with. On some level, it relieved her. On another? She didn't want to think about that too long. "Really, really dumb," he went on.

"No," she said slowly, shaking her head as she stared at the sidewalk under their feet. "You're really not, are you . . .?"

"There you go again: overanalyzing everything," he scoffed, digging his hands into the pockets of his jeans, bunching up the God-awful army coat around his hips. "It's a really bad habit of yours, you know. Why do you have to make sense out of everything and everyone?"

"Is that what I'm doing?" she challenged, quirking an eyebrow as she turned her face to look at him. "Overanalyzing you?"

"All I'm saying," he replied, tilting his head to the side, keeping his gaze lowered as he considered everything, "is that it'd be easier, wouldn't it? Write me off as dumb—the idiot rock star."

There was a hint of something else just beneath the almost teasing tone of his voice, something darker and sadder and even a little bitter—something that she didn't think he realized was there. For some reason, she got the impression that those emotions were ones that he'd carried around for so long that they'd come to be second nature to him . . . but why?

"Why would I do that if you're not?" she asked quietly.

"Did you ever notice, V, that parents have a shitty habit of labeling their kids, whether they realize they're doing it or not?" he countered, answering her question with one of his own. Flicking a hand as though he were trying to discount the importance of what he was saying, Evan grinned a little sardonically. "I mean, I'd like to think that parents probably try not to do that, you know? But they do. They _always_ do. Just like when I have kids of my own one day, I'll probably do it, too—and my kids will hate me on some level for it. It's a vicious cycle that can't be broken, and the more you tell yourself that you're not going to do it, the worse it is."

"How very cynical of you," she muttered. She didn't entirely disagree with him, but . . . "So what was your label?"

He chuckled again, but this time, he actually sounded amused—entirely amused. "I just told you," he replied with a rather saucy grin and accompanying wink. "I'm the dumb one."

"Oh?"

He nodded, grabbing her arm to stop her as they neared a street vendor selling hot dogs. "Gimme two dogs and two Cokes," he said, digging into his pocket for his wallet.

Valerie rolled her eyes and started to open her purse. He hadn't had the money to buy the stupid kaleidoscope; he certainly didn't have the money for two hot dogs, either.

"What do you want on those?"

"Everything," Evan replied.

Valerie snorted as she handed over a twenty dollar bill to pay for the food. "One plain and one diet soda, please," she corrected, "and you now owe me thirty bucks."

"Yeah, yeah . . . You wanted one, too, V?"

Nudging Evan with her elbow, Valerie took her change and dropped it into her purse, then took the hotdog that the vendor held out—plain—before grabbing a few napkins and slowly shaking her head. A hot dog in one hand and a soda in the other? She was starting to feel distinctly like a cave man, no thanks to Evan Zelig . . . "You're such a hog," she pointed out.

Evan grinned at her and accepted his dog. "Have a good one," he called over his shoulder as he started away.

"Thanks," Valerie hurriedly said, grimacing as her shoes unpleasantly pinched her toes. Why she'd chosen to wear wool slacks and pumps was entirely beyond her. The wool slacks were fine since the evening was slightly chilly despite the marked dampness hanging in the air, but the pumps? Not the best decision on her part, but then, she hadn't expected that Evan was going to want to trot all over the city, either . . .

"Over here," Evan said, veering to the right, down a quieter street—if there was such a thing in New York City—that ran along the edge of the river. The streetlamps were a little farther apart, and the throngs of people crowding the sidewalks were sparser. It was a street that Valerie would probably have avoided if she were alone. For some reason, though, she wasn't nearly as worried as she might have otherwise been when she was with Evan . . . "Anyway, where were we?" he asked.

Valerie blinked and shook her head, momentarily lost as to what, exactly, he was asking her. Then it dawned on her, and she sighed, giving up on the idea of trying to eat the hot dog while they were walking—not really a horrible thing since she normally avoided food like that, anyway, since it didn't really have any actual nutritional value to speak of. But there weren't any trash cans to be seen, either, and in the end, she just held the sandwich and kept walking, wondering absently if she could talk him into helping her out so that she could open her soda at least. "You're the dumb one," she reminded him, "which, by the way, I don't really believe."

"I am; I am," he insisted around a mouthful of hot dog. He, apparently, didn't have any trouble with walking and eating at the same time.

"Oh?" she challenged mildly. "Then what are your siblings?"

He laughed and almost choked but managed to swallow before he ended up coughing food all over himself—and her. "That's easy," he said without stopping or faltering. "Bella—my big sister—she's the princess, of course."

"Does she have a princess complex?" Valerie couldn't help asking.

Evan chuckled, stuffing the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and swallowing it right down without chewing more than once or twice. "Not really, but her husband wouldn't care if she did."

Valerie rolled her eyes but smiled. Evan's understated playfulness was back in spades, it seemed . . . "And Bubby—you met him—he's the smart one—the serious one—the dependable one: the triad of terrific—the troika of tantamount . . . the apple of my father's thighs, don't you think?"

Snapping her mouth closed at Evan's rather colorful choice of words, Valerie shook her head and shot him a warning look that was completely lost in the filmy darkness. "Aren't you being a little harsh?" she asked pointedly.

Evan tossed the cardboard hot dog wrapper into a trash can next to a stone bench. Valerie took the opportunity to sit down, glad to have a moment off of her feet since the last thing she wanted to do was to tell Evan Zelig that she needed to take a break. He seemed to realize, though, that she hadn't even touched her food yet, and he sat beside her: silent indication that he was going to allow her to eat at last. "You aren't hungry?" he asked, gesturing at her untouched sandwich.

"You can eat and walk at the same time," she said, breaking the foot long hot dog in half and handing him part of it. "I can't."

Evan took it, setting his soda on the bench between them next to hers. "But yours was plain! There wasn't anything to spill!"

"You're not supposed to eat while you're moving. It's bad for digestion," she said, turning the hot dog from side to side, frowning as she tried to figure out the best way to go about eating it.

"That's swimming right after you eat that's bad for digestion," he corrected. "Anyway, no, if you want to know. I'm not being overly harsh on poor ol' Bubby; trust me."

She really didn't know what to say to that. Sure, she had thought that Evan's brother seemed nice enough the one time she'd met him, but then, she wasn't raised with him, either, and she knew better than anyone that first impressions could be deceiving, didn't she? After nibbling off a couple bites of mostly bun, she gave up on the hot dog and handed the rest of it to Evan, glad to be rid of it. I didn't take him long to devour it, too, which didn't really surprise her, either.

"So what were you?" Evan asked, stifling a belch with a balled-up fist as he tossed the trash into the can behind Valerie.

"I didn't have a label," she replied, deliberately striving for a brighter tone than the question actually warranted.

"None?" he replied.

She couldn't quite see his face, and she reached over, tugging the hat off his head so that she could at least make out something in the shadows. "Nope, none."

"Oh, _I_ get it," he finally said as though he'd made sense of it all in his head. "You're like my younger sister, right? The baby? And you just don't want to admit it."

"No," she stated flatly and in a tone that she could only hope he understood meant she didn't want to talk about it anymore.

"Come to think of it, I think that Maddy was the princess, too," Evan mused. She wasn't sure if he had got the message or simply gotten sidetracked. Either worked for her, and that was fine. "Considering how her daddy is, I don't think that 'princess' is the right word, exactly, but . . . well, maybe . . . Did you know that when she was little, she was kind of a tomboy? I don't think I saw her in a dress till she made the cheerleading squad in middle school . . . 'Course, she got busted, giving the quarterback on the football team head, and she was stripped of her spot on the squad . . ."

Valerie sighed and shook her head. Madison never had told her that story, but considering her friend's propensity toward all things deviant in nature, she wasn't entirely surprised by it, either.

Evan trailed off, silent as the somewhat distant sounds of the city played out in the background. His mood had shifted again, hadn't it? What she couldn't see on his face, she could feel in the air around him: a slight melancholy that she'd sensed when she'd first found him inside the museum.

She frowned as the question repeated itself in her head: the one that she'd heard all evening—the one that he'd never actually answered. She'd witnessed some of Evan and Mike's disagreements before, of course, but . . . but this one had to be different, didn't it? Why in the world would Mike have hit Evan? No, it didn't make sense to her, and as infuriating as Evan could be at times, she just could not—could _not_ —wrap her brain around the idea that his own manager had actually struck him.

"Will you tell me what you and Mike were fighting about?" she finally asked, her voice low, almost soothing.

He seemed surprised by her question, but he sighed. "I told you, V—"

"Yeah, that you popped off, and he got mad about it. I want the truth, Evan," she insisted.

He wasn't going to answer her. She could feel him silently pulling away from her, closing his feelings deep down inside himself.

"It's because you don't want to replace Dieter," she blurted suddenly, unsure exactly where her words were coming from, but even as they spilled over, she knew that they were true. "That's what you were fighting about, wasn't it? Evan . . ."

"I don't want to talk about this," he muttered, burying his face in his hands as he hunched forward, elbows on his knees, shaking his head slowly, so slowly.

"Because it hurts?" she challenged softly. "Of course it does, Evan! Dieter was your friend. You think that I didn't realize that the two of you were close? There was just something about you when you were together—this unspoken thing that I didn't understand, but _you_ did, right? And Dieter did, too . . ." Trailing off, Valerie sighed, wishing that she could make him understand, wishing that she could say something that could make him feel even a little bit better, and knowing all too well that she simply couldn't. "He was your friend," she whispered again sadly, miserably.

And just what did she really know or understand about any of it really? The truth of it was that she hadn't had any real, true friends, at least, until she'd met Marvin and later, Madison. Always afraid to let anyone get too close, she would have rather been alone than to let anyone near enough to hurt her, to let anyone close enough to know the things about her that she was too embarrassed of to deal with. She'd had friends, sure, but not in the way that Dieter and Evan were friends; not at all, and if she were truly honest with herself now, she knew damn well that as much as she adored Madison, there was and probably always would be a certain fear down deep that if Madison ever, ever found out about her past that she'd turn her back on Valerie, too . . .

The thing was, she'd also managed to convince herself over time that she didn't want anyone that close to her, didn't need to confide everything to anyone because, really, what good could possibly come of it? Disappointment and misunderstanding were all that lingered . . . and that was all right, wasn't it?

Wasn't it . . .?

"It's like they're trying to forget about him," Evan whispered, his voice startling her out of her reverie.   "Frankie . . . Tay . . . Mike . . . Especially Mike . . ." Heaving a deep breath—a weary breath—Evan shook his head. "Just because someone can copy a riff or carry a line doesn't mean shit, you know?" Hand reaching out in front of him, opening slowly, grasping at nothing, only to close around a fistful of air . . . "There was this . . . I don't know . . . chemistry, I guess . . . It sounds stupid, right? I mean, it's just the backup band . . ."

"It doesn't sound stupid," she countered, touch his hand hesitantly, gently. "It was your dream, wasn't it? To play onstage together?"

"Yeah," he rasped out. "Yeah . . ."

His fingers were cold as he curled them over hers, gave them a little squeeze—a gesture of thanks . . . maybe. A group of boys wandered past, laughing and joking and shoving each other in a playful sort of way. Valerie doubted that any of them was over fifteen or sixteen, and they acted as though they didn't have a care in the world. Evan watched them in silence. They took no notice of the two figures sitting on the bench. Teenagers having a good time on a school night, possibly out later than they should be, and what did it matter when the years would pass quickly enough, and maybe the memories that they each retained of this night in particular would live on in their minds long after everything else had changed . . .?

"You don't realize a damn thing when you're that age," Evan murmured as he watched the boys turn the corner and disappear into the night. "Deet never did. Neither did I . . ."

"So what are you going to do, Zel Roka?" she asked.

Letting go of her hand, he stood up suddenly, shuffled over to the metal railing that ran the length of the sidewalk as far as Valerie could see. "I don't know," he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm just going to leave it to them, I guess. I can't be objective right now, even if my life depended on it."

"But you want to do the tour, right?" she ventured at length. Though he didn't sound any less confused, the anger that had been so thick around him had slowly started to dissipate.

"Yeah . . . No . . . Yeah . . ."

She smiled to herself. As vague as his answer was, she thought that maybe she understood what he meant. He did want to go out and do the tour; of course he did, and he knew deep down that Dieter would want him to do it, too, and maybe it was all right to be just a little afraid, wasn't it? She didn't even try to delude herself into believing that Evan was okay. He wasn't, but he would be in time . . .

"Tell me something, V," Evan finally said, his voice as quiet as the breeze that lifted the fringe of Valerie's bangs, pushed them back off her face with infinitely gentle, albeit invisible, fingers.

"What's that?"

He let his head fall back, stared at the murky, darkened sky like he was trying to see stars where there were none to see. His profile in the hazy light of the city on the far side of the river captivated her, and she knew somewhere deep down that the image of him, standing alone, leaning on the railing as he gazed up into the night, wrapped in the sadness and vulnerability that he'd tried so hard to hide, would stay with her forever along with the innate understanding that the painful throb deep in her chest that made her eyes sting with unshed tears hurt her more than she ever wanted to admit.

"Who do you feel sorrier for?" he finally asked, his voice soft, whispering, almost pleading.

"Feel sorry for?" she echoed, not fully grasping his question.

He turned to face her slowly, a smile touching the corner of his lips despite the seriousness in his gaze. "Yeah," he said, shrugging offhandedly. "Who do you think is more pathetic: the bastard who writes that one song that breaks your heart . . . or the person who can't do anything but listen to it?"

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Has Anyone Ever Written Anything for You_** ' _by_ _Stevie_ _Nicks_ _first appeared on her_ _1985_ _release_ , **_Rock_** **_a_** **_Little_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Stevie_ _Nicks_ _and_ _Keith_ _Olsen_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
> … _Pathetic_ …


	66. 065: Overreaction

' _Never insecure until I met you; now I'm bein' stupid_ …  
' _I used to be so cute to me, just a little bit skinny_ …  
' _Why do I look to all these things? To keep you happy_ …  
' _Maybe get rid of you, and then I'll get back to me, hey_ …'

 

-' _Unpretty'_ by TLC.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Have I told you just how nice it is to spend the day with you, Evvie?"

Settling back against the side of the hot tub with a cold bottle of beer, Evan grinned at his sister. "Yeah, a few times," he told her. "It's okay, though. I didn't really have anything planned today . . ."

Which wasn't entirely true. He was supposed to sit through another round of bass auditions, but after having talked to Valerie the night before, he was positive that he simply couldn't do it, and he'd called Mike early this morning to tell him that he trusted the band to choose someone to fill in, at least for the mini-tour. For his part, Mike had seemed quite relieved, and Evan supposed that he couldn't really blame his manager for that.

So he had just finished meditating and was trying to decide how not to get into trouble for the day when Jillian had showed up on his doorstep with a bright smile and a huge bouquet of red and orange flowers. It seemed that Gavin was out of town on a business trip for the last couple days at some boring old stockbroker conference, and he'd mentioned that there was a video game convention there over the weekend, so she'd told him that he should stay and go to said-convention, which gave her plenty of time to catch up with family since she and Gavin had just gotten back after spending the last couple of months at their ranch in Montana. He'd be flying in later on tonight, so he said that he'd just pick her up at Evan's house when he got back into the city.

"Well, you know, I'm sorry I didn't call sooner," Jillian Zelig Jamison apologized with a guilty pout. "I was planning on staying with Daddy and Mama, but, well, things are just so strange up there . . ."

"Strange? How so?" Evan asked.

Jillian shrugged and shook her head, eyeing the sky, probably trying to decide whether she ought to put sun block on or not. She must have decided that she didn't need it, but she did lean halfway out of the hot tub to root around her bag for a rubber band to hold her hair back. "Because Mama's still staying with Bassie—didn't you know?"

"Still?" he echoed, pushing himself to his feet and grasping Jillian to turn her around so that he could help her braid her hair. "You mean she's still mad at ol' Cain?"

Leaning on her elbows, Jillian nodded and waited patiently as Evan gently divided her hair and started to plait it. "And she bursts into tears if you mention Daddy's name, so I didn't bug her, you know?" She sighed, her back sagging between her shoulder blades in a completely defeated gesture. "Bassie said that he hasn't gotten anything out of Daddy, either, but you know? Daddy's gotten to be a real grouch, too . . . Bassie said that he thinks it's because Mama refuses to go home with him. I think he just needs a nice, big cake."

"He needs a nice, big _something_ ," Evan muttered. It didn't really make any sense to him. After all, his parents never fought— _never_ —not even when they had disagreements before. The whole situation was a little weird, if you asked him . . .

"Anyway, Mama said that she's fine, even though I know she's not, and Daddy just kind of kept muttering under his breath—I didn't really catch what he was saying, though . . . So, I thought it'd be better if I drove back to the city and spent the day with you instead."

Reaching over her shoulder to take the rubber band away from Jillian before she snapped herself with it or cut off the circulation to her fingers since she'd been wrapping it around and around since she'd started chattering, Evan quickly fastened the end of the long braid and settled back in the hot tub with a sigh. "I'll give her a call later," he said.

"Oh, don't!" Jillian insisted, pulling a small compact out of her bag to inspect his handiwork. "Mama told me not to tell you anything at all, you see? She's afraid that you'll cancel your tour because you're worried about her, she said."

Letting out a deep breath, Evan slowly shook his head. That figured. Gin would be the first one to hide something from him if she thought that it'd interfere with his plans. She was more important to him by far, but . . . but if he did cancel or postpone even one show because of her, she'd feel guilty, and he knew that, too. "All right," he agreed slowly. He didn't like it, but what else could he possibly do?

"Don't worry, Evvie. They'll work things out; you'll see. They love each other too much not to, right?"

He stared at Jillian for a long moment—long enough to see the hint of worry in the depths of her gaze, the slight strain around her eyes, and he forced a smile. He'd thought originally that they'd had a disagreement over Violca, but maybe that wasn't the case at all. If they still weren't talking, then it had to be something bigger than that, anyway . . . "Yeah, you're right," he agreed, mostly to pacify and hopefully reassure her. "Knowing Cain, he probably said something craptastic about the old man that upset Mama . . ."

"That's possible," Jillian slowly allowed. "I hadn't thought of that . . ."

"It'll be one of those stupid things that they'll sit around and laugh about later," he predicted. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. The only real bone of contention between his parents was Gin's parents—Evan's grandparents—or more to the point, her father, the hanyou of legend, InuYasha. InuYasha and Cain had never quite seen eye to eye, after all . . .

Apparently satisfied with Evan's explanation, Jillian finally smiled then rolled her eyes and wrinkled her nose as she scooted in close and grabbed a handful of Evan's currently-orange hair. "This color is awful," she stated flatly. "I mean, you kind of look like that scary clown guy . . . What's his name . . .?"

Evan scratched his head and frowned as he thought about Jillian's question. Then he snapped his fingers and grinned. "Oh, you mean Lothor the Killer Clown?"

Jillian blinked in a rather blank way. "Lothor? Who's that?"

He sighed and shook his head but chuckled. "You know, the clown from that movie, _Clown School_? The one who murdered everyone with the poisoned clown makeup?"

Rolling her eyes again but giggling just the same, Jillian fluttered a hand to dismiss Evan's statement. "No, silly! That clown . . . what's his name? Oh, yes! Bozo!"

Evan snorted. "You don't think Lothor the Killer Clown was scary, but you're afraid of Bozo?"

Jillian rolled her eyes and laughed. "I don't watch movies like that! Gavvie says that they'll give me nightmares!"

Evan grinned and pulled Jillian against his side, slinging an arm over her shoulder as he drained half of his beer. "That's only because Gavin would sit there the whole time, picking at the plot and dissecting the police investigation and all that."

Jillian giggled and snuggled closer against her brother. "He would, wouldn't he?"

Evan nodded and set the bottle aside so that he could tap the tip of Jillian's nose. Her eyes crossed as she watched his finger, and he chuckled. "Yes, he would. That's why he sucks at RPGs . . . he spends too much time fuming over plot inconsistencies to play the damn game."

"But he kicked your ass at _Death Valley Drag Racing_ ," she reminded him.

Evan snorted though his grin remained in place. "That's only because you bought it for him the day it was released."

"I did, didn't I?" she giggled.

"That's okay, Jilli. I've got a plan for the next tournament—and you're going to help me."

"I am?"

He nodded. "Oh, yeah . . ."

"I love being a part of the plotting!" Jillian decided, wiggling her shoulders in anticipation. "What'll I get to do?"

Evan chuckled and kissed her forehead. "It's simple, and you'll love it. All you've got to do when Gavvie's on one of his damn winning streaks is sit in his lap and wiggle around a little bit."

Jillian's pale blue eyes widened as her mouth rounded in a complete look of wonder. "Oh, that's a really good plan!" she nearly squealed, clapping her hands happily. "You can beat him a few times when he drags me off to have his way with me!"

Evan laughed outright at that. It wasn't exactly what he'd figured, but yeah, that would work, too. Leave it to Jillian to take it one step further than he had in his head . . .

"Sex and racing . . . Who'd have thought that they'd go together so well?" Jillian gushed.

"It's only because you're just a sex kitten," Evan teased.

"Could I have a word with you, Roka?"

Evan sat up straight and peered over Jillian's head in the direction that the voice had come from. He'd recognized it right off, of course, just as he'd sensed her presence when she'd stepped outside moments before. A broad grin spread over his face as he mumbled to Jillian that he'd be right back and climbed out of the hot tub.

"V!" he greeted, stopping long enough to retrieve a towel from the cabinet nearby before heading toward the bristling attorney.

Arms crossed over her chest, tapping her manicured nails in an entirely impatient sort of way, she tapped the toe of the Brinkham leather bootlet—maybe he'd gone shoe shopping one time too many with Madison—as she waited for him to come closer. Before he could reach her, though, she pivoted on her heel and stomped back inside, giving him no choice but to follow her. When he glanced back at Jillian, his grin widened. She was leaning on the side of the hot tub, arms folded on the edge with her chin resting on her forearms and making no bones about watching the unfolding debacle with very avid interest. Winking at his sister, he pulled the doors closed and waited for Valerie to drop the proverbial gauntlet.

"Mind telling me who _that_ is?" Valerie demanded, making no bones about her meaning when she jerked her head toward the window that overlooked the pool and the hot tub.

"Who?" he asked, adding a few innocent blinks for good measure.

Valerie wasn't buying. He didn't figure that she would. "That—That—That—"

He very nearly laughed at the way she kept waving her hand in the general direction of the hot tub. "Careful, V," he warned slowly, carefully, unable to bury his amusement at the brilliant display of jealousy. "Remember what happened the last time you said something mean about a woman? You ended up being my girlfriend for the day . . ." Trailing off after the blatant reminder, Evan scratched his chin thoughtfully. "On second thought, say what you want, V. I could use a pretend girlfriend for a week or two . . ."

Valerie snorted, but the seeds of doubt had been well and truly planted. Staring at him for several moments before shifting her attention out the window, she didn't comment right away, and Evan figured that if he looked closely enough, he might just see the wheels in her mind turning . . . "All right," Valerie said with a ticked-off sigh. "I'll bite. Who is she?"

"O-O-O-Oh," Evan drawled, "you mean the girl in the hot tub?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and for a moment, Evan wondered if she'd figured out a way to kill him and hide the evidence. "Don't play with me, Roka," she warned.

He chuckled and held up his hands. "Okay, okay, you win," he relented. "That's JJ."

"JJ?" she repeated, shaking her head. Apparently the name meant nothing to her—not surprising since no one else actually called Jillian that. "The woman who had the party the other night? The one where you were flaunting Violca?"

Nodding slowly, Evan grinned. "Yep, that's her."

Valerie snorted, her cheeks pinking in irritation. "You mean your _ex-girlfriend_. I've seen pictures of the two of you together. Isn't she married? What are you doing? Trying to break them up?"

"Hell, no," Evan scoffed. "The only people I want to break up are you and Mickey Mouse."

" _Marvin_ ," she growled.

"Yeah, him. Anyway, you've got it all wrong! It's not like that! Jilli and I—"

"You know what? Save it, Roka! I don't care who you spend time with as long as you remember that you must be on your best behavior, and—"

"Hey, V?"

"What?" she snapped.

Evan schooled his features. "Remember when I told you that I have a younger sister?"

"Yeah, so?"

Ducking his chin, Evan leveled a steady look at her. "So-o-o-o . . ." he prompted.

Valerie snorted and threw her hands up at her sides in a completely exasperated sort of way. "Listen, rocker-boy, I don't have time to humor you and your—" Cutting herself off abruptly as his words started to sink in, her eyes flared wide as she swung around to face him, as even more color exploded under her skin. "She's your _sister?_ " she blurted before she could stop herself.

"Now don't you feel she-e-e-eepish?" he asked, bleating like a sheep to draw out the last word.

She was going to hit him. That was the thought that registered in his mind mere seconds before Valerie thumped her fists against his chest. "You're such a _jerk!_ " she bellowed. "I _hate_ you!"

He couldn't contain his amusement, and trying to do so was just making it that much worse, and the more Valerie pounded, the harder he laughed, which only served to irritate her more, which manifested itself in even more pounding and even more laughter . . .

"Oh . . . Am I interrupting something?" Jillian asked as she stepped into the living room from the back hallway that led to the cabana rooms. She was fully dressed with her bag slung casually over her shoulder and a friendly smile on her pretty face.

"No," Evan choked out, vision blurring as tears pooled in his eyes.

Valerie jerked away from him like a scalded dog, her already flushed face now a crimson hue that looked almost painful. Drawing herself upright with as much dignity as she could muster, she nodded once at Jillian and studiously avoided Evan's amused gaze.

Clearing his throat as his humor finally died down, Evan wiped his eyes and tried to school his features. It didn't work. "Jilli, this is my attorney, Valerie Denning. V, this is my little sister, Jillian Jamison."

"Pleased to meet you," Jillian said, extending a hand toward Valerie. The attorney accepted the gesture, albeit looking a little less than comfortable. If Jillian noticed, though, she didn't remark upon it. "Evvie, I'm sorry, but I've got to run."

"But you said you were going to spend the day with me!" he complained.

Jillian giggled and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. "Gavvie called to tell me that he got an earlier flight, so I'm going to go pick him up, and as much as I love you, you just can't compare to him . . ."

"Aw, I guess," he muttered.

"Anyway, I'd love to stick around and watch the rest of your slap-fest, but I'd much rather spend the rest of the day in bed with my mate. Ciao!"

Evan chuckled as he watched Jillian's jaunty departure. Valerie just stared after Jillian with a rather confused expression on her face.

"I've seen her before," Valerie remarked after the sound of the closing front door drifted back to them.

"Well, yeah . . . You said you've seen her in pictures with me," he reminded her.

"Mm-mm," she intoned, shaking her head slowly. "I've seen her somewhere else . . ."

Making a face since the cut off jeans he was wearing were growing more and more uncomfortable by the second, Evan started to unfasten them—until he intercepted the narrow-eyed glower that Valerie was directing at him. "All right, you win," he grumbled, heading toward the stairs so that he could change his pants without Valerie having a fit—or worse, deciding that she was going to leave.

He made quick work of changing, grabbing the first pair of pants that he laid hands on: a pair of black hakama that he normally wore when he was training. Nothing beat them for comfort, though, and he ran out of his room as he cinched the ties at his waist.

Valerie's expression was much the same when he finally reached the living room again. She still looked like she was trying to figure something out, but when she glanced at him, she did a double take as her eyebrows shot up in question. "You're wearing a skirt," she stated flatly and without looking away from the hakama.

"It's not a skirt, woman," he shot back with a grin. "They're called 'hakama'—and if I were to wear a skirt, I think I'd look better in a micro-mini, don't you?"

"Hakama," she repeated. "Whatever you call them, they look like the bottom half of one of those old fashioned things women wore—a riding habit—and your knees are entirely too knobby to look good in a micro-mini, Roka."

Evan rolled his eyes as he finished tying the hakama. "In your dreams, V! I'll have you know that my grandparents sent these to me, and you really shouldn't make fun of a gift, you know. That aside, I can't believe you said that! I mean, don't get me wrong, you do have nice legs—damn nice legs, so you don't have to be jealous of my sexy knees."

"There's nothing at all sexy about bony, pointy, chicken knees," she shot back. "Now tell me where I've seen your sister before!"

Evan blinked at the abrupt change of topics then grinned since he knew damn well that Valerie was very likely to spend the entire day obsessing over exactly where she might or might not have seen Jillian before if he didn't answer her. "Jilli's a model," he told her with a grin. "At least, she used to be. She doesn't do it much anymore."

Valerie's eyes widened. "That's right! She was the spokesmodel for Travion Cosmetics a few years ago, right?"

"Yeah, I think so," he agreed. "She also did some swimsuit layouts and a number of ads for Han Sigures . . ."

"Uh huh."

Picking up the stack of mail that Bone had brought in earlier, Evan frowned as he sorted through it. "Then she did some work for PITA and a couple other nonprofits, too."

"Uh huh."

It never ceased to amaze him, just how many pieces of junk mail he got when no one else was supposed to have his address. Dropping a few more envelopes into the trash, he shook his head. "When we were little, everyone thought we were twins."

"Uh huh."

Evan blinked and turned his head to eye Valerie, only to blink in surprise when he noticed that she was staring rather intently at him—and she wasn't blinking at all. "Uh, V?" he asked tentatively.

She didn't respond. Evan frowned and glanced down to see if he could figure out why she was staring. It all looked normal to him, but judging from the direction her eyes were trained, she must have been staring at the gaping sides of the hakama near the waist. Normally he wore something underneath since they kind of hung open, but he was in such a hurry to get back downstairs to Valerie that he hadn't bothered to mess with that today. "V?"

"Hm?"

"You want me to pose?"

That question did the trick. Blinking rapidly, her face darkening in color once more, she uttered a high pitched, nervous laugh   "Don't be stupid," she scoffed. Abruptly, she headed for the kitchen, only to return a minute later with a half-empty bottle of water in one hand and the plastic cap in the other. "Anyway, how's your cheek?"

He frowned and had to pause for a moment to figure out why she was asking him something like that. "Oh, that . . ." he said when it finally occurred to him that she was probably talking about the scrape he'd gotten when Mike had decided to be completely ass-tastic the day before. "It's fine."

She frowned at him like she was trying to decide whether or not she believed him.

"You could check it if you want . . . just come over here and slide your tongue into my mouth, baby."

Snorting indelicately, she shook her head, her cheeks exploding in a pretty flush. "Jerk," she muttered. It did the trick though. She dropped the current subject, which was just as well.

Evan sighed. As much as he'd love to tease Valerie longer, he'd rather make sure that she didn't disappear on him again. "So, dare I hope that you came by because you missed me?" he quipped instead.

Valerie shook her head and took a very small sip of water. "Miss you like I miss having braces," she shot back smoothly. "I just wanted to know what all I need to pack for this mini-tour of yours."

The question was surprising in a way, yet wholly expected, too. Valerie was one of those people who seemed to thrive on planning, so he should have thought about that. Evan, though, never really thought about that kind of thing till the last second, and so his traveling gear didn't really account for much. Besides, if he forgot something, there were always more than enough bodies around to send someone out to get whatever he'd missed. "Just bring whatever you want, V," he replied with a nonchalant shrug. "Clothes . . . Girly stuff . . . Whatever you think you need, but don't stress out over it. If you forget something, we'll just pick it up on the way."

"You know, Roka, we need to talk about this habit of yours of just buying things without even batting an eye," she pointed out. "Just because you have more money than God doesn't mean that you should be out spending it all the time."

He almost laughed at her—almost. "I don't spend money all the time," he argued. "I mean, I'd hardly call a five dollar kaleidoscope and a couple hot dogs a lot."

"Whatever, whatever! You know what I mean," she accused, setting the now-empty water bottle on a nearby table and peering down at herself to make sure she didn't dribble water, he supposed. "I've seen you leave more money as a tip than you spent on an entire meal, which is saying a lot, pig that you are. Everything in your house was custom made, wasn't it? I don't even want to know how much you spent on all of that . . ." Trailing off for a moment as a rather strange sort of expression crossed her features, Valerie shook her head and shot him a quick glance. "Well, I _do_ want to know how much your bed cost," she admitted at length.

Evan chuckled. "You like that, do you?" he teased. "I don't remember off the top of my head," he said, which was a lie. He did remember, mostly because he rarely forgot anything.

"Ballpark," she replied.

Rolling his eyes, he stretched his arms over his head and leaned back. "A lot," he hedged. "Why? Want to buy one? You don't have to, you know. Just move in with me, and you can use mine any time you want."

"Cute, Roka," she muttered. "I don't want your tacky bed. I'd rather just get one of my own."

"You sure?"

She sighed and shook her head in a completely melodramatic kind of way. "Positive."

He chuckled and turned his attention back to the rest of the mail that he hadn't gone through yet. Valerie walked over, peeked around his arm, nabbing the unopened envelope out of his fingers before he could drop it into the trash. "You get invitations to the Black and White Ball?" she blurted as she ripped it open.

"Yeah, though I can't say that I've actually gone to one of them. Normally, I'm out on the road—and I will be this year, too."

Staring at the elegant invitation, she slowly shook her head again. "What's it like to be you?" she murmured. She hadn't really asked him that, and he knew it. He figured that everyone wondered that at some point. There were times when he was walking down the street, surrounded by bodyguards when the mayhem was wild when he'd spot someone walking along without a care in the world, and he'd wondered, too, just what it would have been like if no one had heard of Zel Roka. He supposed that was normal, wasn't it?

"I'll take you next year," he suddenly promised.

Valerie blinked and looked up from the invitation, and for a moment, she seemed surprised. That surprise, however, was quickly masked, hidden behind a perfunctory smile. "Sure, you will," she said. "By this time next year, you'll have forgotten all about me—or you'll be sitting in prison being someone's bitch."

He laughed and dropped the rest of the mail in the trash since he doubted that any of it was worth reading, anyway. "Sorry, baby. I'm allergic to penises that aren't mine."

She snorted loudly and flipped the invitation over, giving it one last, long look before dropping it into the trash, too. "Oh, yeah," she suddenly said, brushing her hands together as though to dismiss her moment of awe. "I heard your new song on the radio on the way over here. I thought you weren't going to release it . . . I mean, it sounded good—I like the way you remixed it . . . I was just surprised . . ."

"Hmm?" he intoned, cocking his head to the side, staring at her with a quizzical expression on his face. "' _V_ '?"

"What?"

He shook his head, grabbing a glass that he'd used earlier for orange juice off the stand to take it back to the kitchen. "No, the song—' _V_ ' . . . They edited the hell out of it, didn't they? Damn, I hate it when they do that . . ."

"Edited?" she echoed, her expression blanking in confusion. "' _V_ '? No . . . it was that other one—the one you wrote for Dieter . . . ' _Piece of You'_ . . ."

He hadn't heard her right. He couldn't have heard her right. As though time suddenly froze, as though everything had been sucked into a vacuum, everything including the sound of Valerie's voice was sucked away into a dull roar.   ". . . _The one you wrote for Dieter_ . . . 'Piece of You' . . . 'Piece of You' . . . _for Dieter_ . . ."

He didn't feel the glass in his hand crack, didn't feel the heat of his own blood flowing from the gash in the palm of his hand as it spiraled around his wrist, down his arm, didn't hear Valerie's scream when the blood dripped onto the floor. He didn't feel anything, hear anything, comprehend anything—anything at all—as a rage so powerful, so consuming exploded out of his control, surging forth in an ugly emotion, and something deep inside him snapped.

Lashing out at whatever was closest—the sound of shattering glass adding to the din in his head, splintering wood, crumbling plaster . . . everything, everything—and nothing at all . . . The blackest rage that had built up inside him snapped as sense and sensibility was shoved aside in favor of action, emotion, anger. He wanted to destroy, to hurt something, to hurt himself, to feel the pain that ran rampant inside him. The ugly explosion of uncontrollable ire boiled over and roiled through him, the visceral howl surrounding him in a mask of destruction, the tumult of the wind and the earth and the things that he simply could not control . . .

And suddenly, he felt it—arms? A strange dampness on his chest, the wild hammering of a beating heart . . . Blinking slowly as the howling in his head subsided, Evan blinked and frowned.

"Stop it," Valerie whispered, half-pleading, half-crying. "Evan, stop . . ." Silent sobs wracking her body as she clung to him, terrified of the outburst of his temper, of the things she'd seen in those moments . . .

Terrified of him . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' _Unpretty_ ' _by_ _TLC_ _first appeared on their 1999 release,_ **_Fanmail_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Dallas_ _Austin_ _and_ _Tionne_ _Watkins_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _What the hell did they do …?_


	67. 066: Mouse Trap

' _Desperado, why don't you come to your senses_?  
' _You've been out ridin' fences for so long now_ …  
' _Oh, you're a hard one, but I know that you got your reasons_ …  
' _These things that are pleasin' you can hurt you somehow_ …'

 

-' _Desperado'_ by the Eagles.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie didn't know how long she stood there, holding onto Evan, squeezing her eyes closed against the things she'd just witnessed. Unable to process it all, unable to make sense of anything, she wasn't even sure where she'd found the nerve to do what she had done in the first place.

She'd thought that he'd known, that he'd given his blessing to release the tribute song for Dieter. She'd thought that he'd be pleased that the radio stations were all clamoring to get it on the air, and, though the song itself had brought a tear to her eye as she'd driven to Evan's mansion, she'd thought that it was such a beautiful gesture—a song full of the love for a friend—that she hadn't actually stopped to think that he wouldn't be pleased, had she? And she certainly hadn't thought . . .

Of course, she knew that he had a temper. She'd seen it a few times since she'd known him. She'd honestly believed, though, that she'd seen him when it was at its worst. Now she knew that she hadn't, because the lightning fast change in him . . . She shivered and jumped, uttering an involuntary squeak as the last bits of the mirror that hung over the table where he'd been sorting through his mail finally lost its temerarious hold and fell, crashing on the wrecked remains of splintered wood and debris that littered the hardwood floor. In the span of moments, he'd managed to destroy everything within reach . . . But the smashed table, the broken mirror, the gaping hole in the wall didn't frighten her nearly as much as what she'd thought she'd seen. In that instant, the flash of his eyes . . . Why had they seemed to glow red? Surely she'd been seeing things—she had to be, right? It wasn't normal, not that. Then again, everything had happened so fast . . .

So lost in the confusion of her own mind, she didn't realize what was happening until Evan finally took a step back. His hands were trembling, gently feeling her arms, her body, as though he were searching her for something—she didn't know what. Gathering what was left of her shattered composure, Valerie ground her teeth together, willing herself to be calm when all she felt like doing was screaming. But there was nothing sexual in his touch, was there? Just a strange sense of urgency as he looked her over, an absolute sense of panic as he finally, reluctantly, met her gaze. "Jesus, V . . . did I . . . did I hurt you?" he whispered, his eyes darting back and forth as though he were searching her face for any sign of a lie.

She stared at him for a long second, her brain processing his question painfully slowly. "I'm okay," she managed in a husky, rough tone. "Evan . . ."

He nodded vaguely, let his hands drop as he quickly turned away from her, only to stop short when he got a good look at the destruction he'd wrought. "Damn," he muttered, sounding as shaken up as she felt, he reached out with a shaking hand to touch the broken frame that used to house the mirror but yanked it away before he could touch it. "Damn it . . ."

Valerie rubbed her arms through the thin fabric of the linen suit she wore. She wasn't cold; not at all . . .

He sank down on the floor, propping his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. Valerie grimaced when she noticed the blood smeared on his arm. It looked like it was starting to dry, but it had to have been a pretty bad cut.

Hurrying into the kitchen to retrieve the first aid kit that she knew was kept under the sink, she quickly dampened one of the dish towels under the faucet before returning to the living room again. Evan hadn't moved an inch, and he jumped when she gently reached for his injured hand. "Don't worry about me," she said, carefully wiping away the blood on his arm, his hand. "How bad is it?"

"It's okay, V," he muttered but didn't try to pull away from her, either.

Frowning as she carefully pulled his fingers back but blinked at what she saw. Superficial scrapes and a few cuts, but nothing that really accounted for the amount of blood that he'd shed. There was one puncture wound in the center of his palm, but it didn't look that bad; not really, and it was already starting to dry up, too . . . "I think you'll live, rock star," she murmured, brushing aside the fear that was still licking at her stomach. "Let me put a couple bandages on it . . ."

He sat still long enough for her to finish wrapping a gauze strip around his hand. He was still agitated; she could feel it radiating off him in waves. The trouble was she wasn't entirely sure what was bothering him most: his outburst or the song that had set him off, to start with.

Pushing himself to his feet, raking his hands through his hair again, he paced the floor, emotions on the rise once more, only this time, she had a feeling that he was more upset than angry . . . and 'upset' was something that she could deal with. "Fuck . . . fuck . . . _fuck_ . . . I'm sorry, V . . . I'm so sorry . . ."

Sitting back on her heels, Valerie heaved a sigh and shook her head. "Stop apologizing, Evan," she said. For some reason, it was only serving to make her feel worse. "Look . . . Don't you have a say over what is and isn't released? I can . . . I can talk to them, right? I'll tell them that you only recorded that song for Dieter, not as a single . . ."

"Depends on the contract, V," he muttered. "Even then, if they've already started the pre-release bullshit, there's not much I can do about it now. They listened to it and figured it was the most marketable thing I've done, so they pulled a fast one and put it out there before they bothered to run it past me."

"Then don't you have to power to stop it? It's your song, Evan, and—"

"And it's a _business_ , V! That's the bottom line: _business_ —it's about how much money can they soak out of you. It's not about art, and it's not about vision. The music is secondary in this industry. All they see is the bottom line, and once that bottom line starts shrinking, they dump you like yesterday's garbage. I've see it happen . . . and one day, it'll happen to me, too."

Biting her lip, she frowned at him. There was something entirely defeated about his stance, his words, his tone, and she didn't like it at all. "Are you just going to let it go?" she asked quietly.

"No," he grumbled, casting a furious glower at her, only to stop short when he caught sight of the wreckage he'd created. The angry bravado seemed to fade as quickly as it came, and he grimaced. "You're sure I didn't hurt you?" he asked suddenly, his gaze still darkened, staring at her as though he expected her to lie. "You're _sure?_ "

"I'm fine," she insisted once more. He'd frightened himself, hadn't he? Badly, at that . . . Letting out a deep breath, Valerie pushed herself to her feet and headed toward the kitchen to find a broom and dustpan.

It didn't make sense to her. How could Evan's label release a song without his permission? Surely there had to be something regarding that in the books because it just seemed completely wrong. The real problem was that she wasn't sure if she could do anything about it.

After grabbing the gear out of the utility closet in the kitchen, Valerie had to spend a few minutes, rummaging through the drawers to find some trash bags, but she stopped short when she stepped back into the living room again. Evan stood near the glass doors with his back to her and his cell phone pressed to his ear.

"Yeah, why don't you tell me, Mike? What the hell's going on? Why is that song being played on the radio when I told you that I didn't want it to be released as a single?"

His anger was coming back. She could see it in the clipped way he moved, in the snap behind every step he took. Anger, though, was fine, as far as she was concerned, and she could even understand exactly why it bothered him. If she were him, she'd be mad, too. He wasn't anywhere near the rage he'd showed before. It was more of a slow simmer than an all-out burn, and while she almost wished that she'd kept her mouth closed on the subject, she was also kind of glad. Considering the violence of his initial reaction, she couldn't help but think that he was at least somewhat better off since he was home instead of out in public or worse . . .

"Goddamn it! I told you! I don't give a shit how marketable anyone thought it was! You know why I wrote that, and you know how I felt! I didn't write it for some little bastard to call in to dedicate it to his little girlfriend, and I didn't write it so that everyone could get out their fucking lighters and wave 'em in the air at a show . . .! No, I don't, and— _What?_ "

Valerie cringed as Evan's volume rose, and without a second thought, she set the cleaning supplies aside, closing the distance between Evan and her, laying her hand on his forearm. He glanced at her, seemed to calm down just a little, which really wasn't saying much, all things considered.

"No," he stated flatly, his tone leaving no room for discussion. "Forget it. I don't care, Mike. I'm not doing it."

Slapping the phone closed, he looked like he wanted to throw it. Valerie took it out of his hand and sighed. "What'd he say?" she asked, not really wanting to hear the answer, but figuring that if he didn't get it out of his system, he was going to explode all over again.

Evan snorted indelicately, planting his hands on his hips as he glowered past her out the doors. "Cocksucker said that he didn't know a damn fucking thing till it was too late, but he's got the balls to tell me that those fat ass bastards want me to do a video for it this weekend before we leave on Monday."

"What are you going to do?"

"Keh! I'm not making that fucking video," he growled. "They can figure it out, right? I mean, they figured out every fucking other thing out themselves."

Letting out a deep breath that lifted the tendrils of hair that had escaped the severe ponytail she'd pulled her hair back into just before leaving her apartment, Valerie nodded. "And there's nothing you can do about it?"

He stared at her for a long minute, eyes narrowed, as though he were trying to see into her head. "You already heard it on the radio, right? You don't know how this works, do you?" Turning away from the doors, Evan dragged his hands over his face and shuffled over to the sofa. "Wicked Soundsations didn't just send that song to the station you heard it on, V. You can bet your pretty little ass that they sent out copies of it to every major radio station in the States—easy publicity for the album, right? So all those stations that want to be the biggest and best and trendiest and quickest on the uptake will play the hell out of those new releases. It's too late to stop it once it's been sent out, see? Even if they asked everyone to send the copies back, it'd do more harm than good. You can't yank something that's already been put out there, and that's what Wicked figured when they opted to fuck me in the beginning."

"But there's got to be something," she replied weakly, grasping the implications of what he'd said even if she didn't like it. "What about your contract with them? Surely there's something in your contract . . .?"

Shaking his head, Evan managed a wan if not rather tolerant little smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Of course there is," he told her with a shrug, as though it didn't really matter. "I'm not completely stupid, I guess . . ."

"So fight them, Evan! It's your song— _your_ work! Can't you fight them on this one?"

"And after months and months of legal bullshit? After my label dumps me for causing so much trouble? After they make it damn near impossible to find another decent label because I'll be a notorious troublemaker? It'd cost them millions, V, and they'd spend it, sure. I'd win the case—maybe a few million—but it won't change the fact that the song is already out there. It won't stop its release because that's already been done. I gotta tell you, I don't need their fucking money."

Valerie didn't reply. She'd never heard Evan talk like that before. The same man who had told her that his family had though that he was stupid? She shook her head. He wasn't—really wasn't; not in the least. The biggest rock star on the planet? And he, better than anyone, understood just how precarious that position could be . . . "So you're just going to let it go?"

Flopping back against the sofa, Evan sighed and stared at the ceiling. "I can't stop it," he finally said, "but I'm not going to help it, either."

She fell silent, too, slumping beside him, staring at the ceiling the same way he was. His words kept tumbling around in her head, over and over again. He might understand it all well enough, but she couldn't say the same for herself. A single thought hounded her, though, and she frowned. "So they knew that they were breaching your contract and did it anyway."

"Sounds about right," he agreed darkly.

"That's despicable," she muttered.

"No, V, it's just business."

She snorted and uttered a terse 'hrumph'. "I wish you'd let me nail their balls to the wall," she muttered, pushing herself off the sofa and stomping over to grab the broom and dustpan.

"Don't," he said behind her. She heard him stand up but ignored him as she dropped the pan on the floor and started to sweep the broken glass and mirror and plaster dust and splinters of wood together. "Here," he murmured, taking the broom from her.

"Let me help," she insisted.

Evan smiled and shook his head, and this time, it was almost genuine. "I don't need you to clean up _this_ mess, V," he told her. "Why don't you go on home? I'll be fine."

She blinked and stared at him, unsure what she ought to make of his uncharacteristic insistence that she should leave when he usually went out of his way to talk her into sticking around. After a moment of watching him, she sighed then knelt down, pulling the whisk broom off of the dustpan to start gathering up the debris.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Okay, so I must admit that I rather like this, too."

Leaning to the side to peer around the edge of the grill, Evan smiled when he caught sight of Valerie, covered to her neck in the frothing, foaming water in the hot tub. Hair caught up in a jumble of loose curls that she'd piled carelessly atop her head, eyes closed as she savored the soothing heat of the quad jets, her cheeks flushed from the slight steam that rose from the surface of the water, she looked prettier than he could credit. "Want some company?" he asked, only half-teasing.

She didn't even open an eye. "Aren't you busy making my dinner? You don't have time to lounge around in the hot tub, Roka."

He chuckled and then heaved a very loud, very pronounced sigh designed to let her know what he thought of that. She ignored him which wasn't at all surprising.

' _You scared her_.'

Wincing inwardly at the not so subtle reminder, Evan ground his teeth together. He had scared her. He knew he had. He hadn't meant to, which didn't really matter and kind of smacked of making excuses. There really wasn't anything that he could say to justify his behavior, and worse, she'd seen it all, every last moment of his absolutely unconscionable rage. Frustrated, certainly, and maybe he had a right to be. But . . .

But just what did Valerie think of him now? He made a face as he ducked behind the grill once more, pretending that he was absorbed in cooking the steaks that he'd chosen for dinner. He had a feeling that she was still worried about him, and that wasn't exactly a good excuse for her to hang around. That was the real reason he'd told her that she ought to go home, after all. Well, that and he'd kind of wanted to be alone at the time.

Not that he minded having her underfoot. He didn't. He just didn't necessarily want her to sit there, staring at the direct result of his inability to control his damn temper.

In truth, he'd been more than a little surprised when he saw the amount of damage he'd done. The table and mirror had been bad enough—both of those were antiques that Gin had bought and restored by hand, just for him when he'd first bought his own place, but the wall . . . The grimace was back in spades. Thanks to his temper, there was now a good three foot hole where he'd punched and dug through it, and he was pretty sure that he cracked one of the support beams, too. If Valerie hadn't been there to stop him . . .

' _Knock it off. What's the point? So she saw you at your worst. There's not much you can do about it now, right? Just don't do it again_.'

How long had it been since he'd lost his temper like that? Easily years, yes, and he had to really think about it to find the answer. It was back when he was still in school—junior high . . . Madison had start seeing an older kid, and, while she'd made no bones about the idea that she was just having fun and didn't want a serious relationship, the boy hadn't quite gotten the message and had gotten all bent out of shape when he saw Evan and Madison goofing around after school. Evan had his arm around her shoulders and was telling her about a party she'd missed over the weekend, and the guy hadn't liked it. It was bad enough when he'd stood over her, screaming at her like a damn fool, but when the bastard made the mistake of slapping Madison . . . Well, Evan still didn't remember much of the fight that followed, but he knew exactly how much it had cost Cain for the hospital bill since Evan had broken the kid's nose, arm, three of his fingers, and a couple of his ribs, too.

Strange, wasn't it? Cain Zelig was as upper-ass-crack as they came, and yet, all he'd said to Evan was that he should have broken the kid's damn legs, too.

That was also the one and only time that Madison had ever truly been angry at him. She hadn't spoken to him for almost two weeks until he swore upon his mother's life that he would never fight anyone while he was in a rage again.

He'd scared her, too.

"Hey, Roka!"

Blinking away the unpleasant memory, Evan quickly flipped the steaks. "Yeah?"

"I need a refill," Valerie called.

Evan smiled just a little and dropped the tongs over the handle after he closed the lid. "Is that right? Since when did I become your slave, woman?"

She shot him a knowing look, almost a smile, and shrugged. "You like it, and you know it."

He opened his mouth to form a retort but snapped it closed, giving a little shrug and a nod as he wandered over to her. "Will you be the queen of my harem when I'm old and gray?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows, purposefully running the tip of his index finger over her hand as he took the glass.

She rolled her eyes and tried to splash him but missed. "No," she said flatly.

"Aww, come on! The queen of my harem? Who wouldn't want that? You'd get to lord your power over the other girls, _and_ you could share my bed at least . . . twice a month, give or take . . ."

"You're already gray," she replied sweetly, reaching over her shoulder for a magazine.

"My hair is not gray," he informed her haughtily as he stalked over to the outdoor bar. "It's silver—or platinum, if you'd prefer."

"Gray is gray is gray is gray, Roka. You're a premature gray, and you might as well learn to deal with it."

"Actually, it's closer to white than silver. Geez, _Val_ , didn't you learn your colors when you were a child?"

"Shut up, Jeeves. I'm getting thirsty," she said. "You wouldn't happen to have one of those little service bells, would you?"

Evan chuckled as he poured more wine into her glass and carried it over to her. "No, I don't, but I could get you one," he offered as he hunkered down beside the hot tub.

She smiled at him as she sipped the wine, but that smile dimmed then faded slowly. "Are you sure that you're okay?" she asked, letting the teasing banter fall away, eyes clear and bright and somber.

Reaching out with the hand that was still wrapped in loose gauze, Evan smoothed an errant lock of hair back and tucked it behind her ear. "I'm sure," he told her. "V, uh, I'm really—"

"Stop it, Evan," she interrupted firmly, stubbornly. "I already told you, you don't have anything to apologize for, remember? They were wrong for doing what they did to you." She sighed and shook her head, biting her lip as she scowled at the glass of wine in her hand. "I really wish you'd let me look into it," she muttered.

"I would if I thought it'd make a difference," he told her. "I'll get over it, V. Don't worry about it."

She stared at him for a minute, a probing kind of expression on her face. Trying to figure him out, maybe, and he wondered fleetingly just what she saw—Zel Roka the incorrigible rock star or Evan Zelig the man . . .?

The trill of his cell phone cut through the moment, though, and with a sigh, Evan pushed himself to his feet and strode over to retrieve the damned device off the prep table near the grill, but when he saw who it was, he nearly opted not to take the call. Unfortunately, he'd keep calling since he never had been good at taking hints, and in the end, he flipped the phone open and brought it to his ear. "What, Mike?" he barked in lieu of a greeting.

Mike sighed and cleared his throat, probably anticipating an argument. Evan squared his shoulders. "Yeah, listen, Roka . . . Can you talk?"

"About what?"

Mike exhaled slowly. Evan figured that he was puffing on one of those smelly-assed cigars that he favored whenever he was trying to deal with something that wasn't particularly to his liking. "Okay, fine. Then just listen to me. You wanted me to keep tabs on Matthis, right? Well, I just got off the phone with one of the nurses, and she let it slip that he's being moved to a nursing home tomorrow."

"What? Why?" Evan demanded, abruptly striding toward the doors. "That doesn't make sense."

"Yeah, I know. She said that Matthis' insurance won't cover the rehabilitative services that he needs, so the hospital doesn't have a choice. Seems that Matthis' attorney came by the other day, and she overheard them talking. His attorney says he doesn't have much of a civil case against you since you weren't technically at fault even if you were higher than a damn kite at the time of the accident . . . and she said that Matthis seemed all right with that—said he didn't want to sue you, anyway."

"Sounds like the nurse has a problem with loose lips," Evan snorted, glancing quickly out the window to make sure that Valerie hadn't noticed his hasty departure. She had settled back in the tub once more, eyes closed, head back . . . "Is that right." It wasn't a question.

"It's fucked up, if you ask me. Matthis isn't that old. He'd be fine if his damn insurance would just suck it up, but no, they'd rather toss him into a nursing home—a _nursing home_ , for Christ's sake! Like a damn roach motel—they check in, but they don't check out . . ."

"All right, Mike. I get your point. I'll take care of it."

"No, Roka, you can't! You waltz in there and offer to cover everything, and he'll soak you for everything you've got!"

"You just said that he told his attorney that he didn't want to sue me," Evan muttered.

Mike snorted and exhaled sharply—definitely those damned cigars . . . "And maybe he was just saying it loudly enough for the nurse to overhear on purpose! Ever think of that, genius?"

"And maybe he didn't," Evan shot back.

"He's right, you know. It wasn't even your fault, and—"

"Forget about that," Evan cut in coldly, his temper soaring for entirely different reasons. "I mean it, Mike."

"All right, fine. Whatever. Just don't do anything stupid! Think about this for once, will you?"

"Don't worry about me," he insisted stubbornly. Clicking the phone off while Mike was still in mid-tirade, Evan shut it off completely for good measure. Sure, he had a valid point. It happened all the time. Anyone who had achieved the level of fame and notoriety that Evan had tended to become a prime target for that sort of thing, and he knew that. That didn't really absolve him of his responsibility, though, and even if it did, Evan knew damn well that Bill Matthis had a wife and two kids, one of whom was still in high school, the other in college, and there wasn't any way in the world that he'd be able to provide for that family if he was stuck in a nursing home.

No, he didn't really have a choice, did he? As much as Mike would hate it, it was something that Evan had to do, and it was for himself as much if not more than it was for Bill Matthis . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Desperado_** ' _by_ _The_ _Eagles_ _first appeared on their 1973 release,_ **_Desperado_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to Glen_ _Frey_ _and_ _Don_ _Henley_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Mike_** :  
>  _Damn stupid kid …!_


	68. 067: Solitude

' _I'm safe up high; nothing can touch me_ …  
' _But why do I feel this party's over …?_  
' _No pain inside, you're my protection_ …  
' _But_ _how do I feel this good sober_?'

 

-' _Sober'_ by Pink.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

A huge crack of thunder woke Valerie with a start. Eyes flashing open, it took a moment for her disoriented mind to decipher her whereabouts as the dull patter of rain striking the windows tried to lull her back to sleep.

She was in Evan's room: in Evan's bed. She hadn't wanted to leave him alone last night, not after seeing firsthand how upset he was, so she'd stayed. She'd gone to bed shortly after Bone had left with the dogs. He was taking them to Evan's parents' house for the duration of the mini-tour—standard protocol, Evan had called it. To her surprise, though, she hadn't had to argue with him about where he was going to sleep. When she'd woken up around three in the morning, she'd found him in his music room, but he was concentrating so thoroughly on the song he was hammering out that she didn't disturb him.

Glancing at the empty side of the bed, she almost smiled. He wasn't there, and it didn't look like he had been, either. A tiny prickle of guilt rippled through her, but she ignored it. He was the one who had told her that she could use his bed, after all, and then he'd rolled his eyes and shook his head, assuring her a few times that he would be on his best behavior, he promised.

Of course, Evan's idea of his best behavior still left something to be desired, but that was all right. The point was that he had kept his word last night, and she felt better for having been here in case he needed her.

Heaving a sigh, she sat up and rubbed her face. The clock beside the bed read ten a.m., but the skies outside the windows didn't appear to be in agreement. Overcast and somber, rainy and dull, it was one of those days that she'd consider staying in bed if she didn't have anywhere she needed to be. Then again, she really ought to check and see what Evan was up to. With any luck at all, he was downstairs, brewing up a pot or two of coffee . . .

Pushing aside the thick comforter and grimacing as the cooler air hit her bare legs, Valerie resisted the urge to curl up in the sinfully warm bed and stood up to stretch. The oversized sweatshirt she'd found in Evan's closet still reached mid-thigh, even with her arms extended over her head, and when they dropped to her sides again, the hem of the sweatshirt almost reached her knees. Maybe she could talk him into letting her have it. After all, he didn't really strike her as a sweatshirt kind of guy, anyway . . .

Wandering through the mansion, she frowned. The place was entirely too empty, wasn't it? It _felt_ empty, and she knew as she reached the bottom of the stairs that she was alone. She still checked the rooms, though, padding across the shining floors, peering into every room she passed. The room where he usually meditated in the morning was empty. His music room was, too, though there were a couple of hard guitar cases arranged against the ratty sofa, ready to go on the mini-tour, she supposed. There was something kind of sad about the emptiness, about the sight of those old cases . . . gray duct tape running along the side of one of them like the seam had split at some point and he'd just slapped the tape on to hold it together, a handle secured with bright yellow wire of some sort, scuffs and scrapes marring the textured plastic, they were leaning haphazardly, almost like an afterthought . . .

But where was Evan?

Biting her lip, she leaned in the doorway frowning at the instrument cases. He hadn't mentioned having to be anywhere today.

Sighing, Valerie pushed herself away from the jamb and shuffled toward the kitchen. He _had_ started a pot of coffee, though. She could smell it, and when she stepped into the usually bright room, she smiled just a little. He'd set a cup out for her, turned upside down with a spoon arranged on top of it beside a plate with a blueberry bran muffin under a crisp white linen napkin. The napkins amused her, and she'd teased him about it during dinner last night. Who'd have thought that a rock star would own something as refined as linen napkins, anyway? He'd smiled and laughed it off, telling her that when one was a barbarian like him, then one needed something to wipe one's hands clean.

" _Yeah, but you could use paper towels. It would fit your image better, wouldn't it?_ "

 _Evan's grin widened as he stuffed a huge hunk of steak into his mouth. "I happen to be a big fan of trees, V. I'd rather use these than to hear a million of them crying at me every time I reached for a napkin. 'Sides, I pay for laundry service. What else would they have to do if I started going paper?_ "

Wrinkling her nose as the memory faded, Valerie shook her head. A rock star with a green conscience? Now that was amusing, absolutely . . .

Taking her time as she broke pieces off the muffin and nibbled on it between sips of coffee, Valerie leaned against the counter, savoring the quiet and the understated feeling of warmth that had nothing at all do to with the drink in her hands. It was a novel sensation, wasn't it? When was the last time that anyone had tried to do anything for her, even something as simple as leaving breakfast out for her? Okay, so it was just a muffin and fresh coffee, but it was enough since she'd never been too keen on a large, heavy meal first thing in the morning. Evan liked to tell her that it wasn't healthy, of course, and he tried to get her to eat more, but he didn't really press her on it, and in the end, he understood what she wanted.

It was strange, wasn't it? She prided herself on her independence, on her ability to take care of herself. She'd had boyfriends in the past that had tried to do things for her, too, so what was the difference now? That Evan wasn't her boyfriend, or . . .

Biting her lip as she savored the fragrant coffee, she knew the answer to that question, didn't she? Of course she did. The difference—the very real difference—was that Evan knew that she could do for herself and appreciated that part of her. He didn't try to use it against her, to make her feel like she was dependent upon him. He didn't do things for her in an effort to assert himself as somehow superior to her, to try to show her that he owned her in some way.

Maybe he had to grab a few things to take with him on tour. Then again, she seriously doubted that Evan could do something as simple as walk into a department store without drawing some kind of notice. Worst case scenario would be a mob scene in the middle of Bloomingdale's . . . No, he really would have sent someone else to grab those little things that he needed, she was sure. So the question was, where had he gone . . . and what kind of mischief was he getting into . . .?

Rinsing the cup and plate in the sink, Valerie was about to leave the kitchen when she spotted the notepad on the island counter. From where she stood, she could see the bold writing on it, but she couldn't read it. Stepping closer, she frowned as she stared at it: nothing but what looked to be a phone number in Evan's unmistakable scrawl.

Did that have something to do with Evan's strange disappearance?

Reaching for the cordless phone, she only hesitated for a moment before dialing the number and lifting the handset to her ear . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Raising his hand to knock on the door jamb, Evan glanced up and down the length of the hallway to make sure that no one was watching him. As far as he could tell, no one was, which wasn't entirely surprising. After all, he'd gone to great lengths to hide Zel Roka before he left the mansion.

"May I help you?"

Pushing the half-tinted glasses up with a knuckle, Evan nodded once and hitched his shoulders under the hopelessly plain if not very expensive tweed blazer. "I hope so," he replied, stepping into the understated but tastefully decorated office. "It's about one of your patients."

The middle aged woman behind the wide oak desk slowly rose to her feet and leaned forward, gesturing at a vacant chair before she started scooping together files that were scattered over the leather-bound blotter. Mother Clarissa Connolly, the administrator of Sacred Heart Hospital shot him a curious glance as she worked but didn't say anything else. He stepped forward and slipped into the seat, waiting silently until she was finished rearranging things.

When she was done, she sat back down with a brisk exhalation and pasted on a businesslike smile—not too wide, and not too friendly, but definitely polite. Evan had seen that kind of smile a million times before . . . "What can I do for you, Mister . . .?"

"Zelig," Evan supplied smoothly, crossing his legs and settling back for the duration of the discussion at hand.

Not surprisingly, the woman's brown eyes widened, and she sat up a little straighter, unconsciously rubbing her hands together as her smile brightened by degrees. "Zelig, you say? Are you related to Gin Zelig?" Laughing suddenly, she waved a hand as though to dismiss her own words. "What am I saying? Of course you are! You look just like her, don't you?"

"She's my mother, yes," he replied, his own smile surfacing at the mention of his darling mama.

The woman blinked and shook her head then laughed again, her hand fluttering near her throat as her cheeks pinked just a touch. "She's your . . .? She doesn't look old enough to have a grown son, but I suppose that I have known her awhile . . ." Intercepting Evan's raised eyebrow-ed look, she cocked her head to the side and shrugged. "I don't know her well, of course, but I've spoken to her a number of times in regards to the hospital. An absolute darling woman, of course . . . Tell me, what can I do for you, Mr. Zelig? You wanted to ask about a patient?"

"Yeah," he said, pinning on his own version of the businesslike smile. "William—Bill—Matthis. He was in a car accident a few months ago . . . back and leg injuries . . ."

She frowned as she considered the name he'd given. Suddenly, though, she nodded. "Mr. Matthis! That's right. He was hit by a musician, right? Umm . . . Zel Roka . . .?"

He nodded. "That's him."

She nodded and folded her hands together on the desk. "He's going to be transferred, I think . . ."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," Evan remarked. "What about therapy? Doesn't he need rehabilitative services?"

"He does," she agreed, and to her credit, she didn't look at all pleased about the situation, either. "There's a good chance that he won't ever fully recover if he doesn't go through with rehabilitation, but his insurance won't cover it, either, and there's just nothing we can do about it."

"Sure you can," Evan interjected smoothly. "Keep him here. Give him the rehab he needs."

She sighed and sucked in her cheek like she was trying to figure out exactly what Evan was saying. Spreading her hands wide, she shook her head. "I wish that we could do that. I wish that Sacred Heart could operate like that, but the mandates state quite plainly that we cannot administer services to anyone without insurance unless it is on an emergency basis."

Uncrossing his legs and leaning forward, Evan rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the woman for a long moment. "You misunderstand me," he said quietly. "I'm not asking you to give him charity. I'll be happy to pay for whatever treatment he needs."

"Oh," she blurted, sitting back as she considered that. "It'll be costly," she went on. "We're looking at a good year of intensive rehabilitation in his case, and that's in best case scenario . . ."

"I didn't ask what it is going to cost," he replied. "You can't really think that I don't have the money, do you?"

"Ah, no," she hurried on to say, her cheeks pinking slightly at the hint of irritation in Evan's voice. "It's just . . ." Trailing off, she shook her head, her eyes narrowing as she slowly regarded him. "Why? Why do you want to pay for it?"

Evan sat back and shrugged as she opened a drawer beside her and pulled out a form. "Zel Roka's a friend of mine," he said simply. "He feels really bad about the accident, and he just wants to make sure that Mr. Matthis' family doesn't suffer any more than they already have."

She smiled again, and this time, she looked like she understood. "I see. That's good. Okay, if you'll fill this out, I'll make sure that Mr. Matthis isn't moved, after all."

He did as she asked while she made a few phone calls to stop the transfer. By the time she was finished, so was he, and he stood up and offered his hand with a smile.

"All taken care of," she told him as she got to her feet and took his hand warmly in both of hers. "You must get your generosity from your parents."

He chuckled and shook his head, pushing up the sides of the blazer to stuff his hands into his pockets. "I don't know about that," he replied. "Do you think I could see him? Mr. Matthis?"

"Oh! Of course!" Hurrying around the desk, she gestured for him to follow. "I'll show you to his room."

"Thank you."

Following her down the pristine white hallway, ignoring the abrasive smells of cleansers and disinfectants, Evan finally let out an inward sigh of relief. He hadn't slept at all last night, worrying about what he could do to stop the transfer. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Mike was right. To have Zel Roka walk in and offer to pay just wouldn't have worked. Either he'd have been perceived to be trying to buy his way out of trouble or he'd look like a complete heel, and chances were good that Mike had also been right about the prospects of financial ruin, too. That didn't really worry him nearly as much as the idea of the man not being able to provide for his family again. Even if he ended up flat broke, it wasn't like his family didn't have more than enough money, and, though he didn't use it now and didn't think about it often, he also had a huge trust fund that his mother had set up for him before he was born. All that aside, however, the only real option that he had was this one: resorting to the upstanding Evan Zelig to foot the bill, to take responsibility where the idiot rock star couldn't.

"I had the opportunity to talk to Terri Matthis yesterday—she's his wife," Mother Clarissa said as they stepped off the elevator on the third floor of the facility. "She was so upset over the idea of her husband being transferred to the nursing home . . . She'll be so pleased when she finds out that he's going to be taken care of, after all."

"Good," he replied, only half-listening.

"Here we are." Stepping back, she gestured at the open doorway, smiling encouragingly when he didn't step past her right away. "Would you like me to introduce you?"

"Oh, no," he said, inclining his head to her in silent thanks. "You've done more than enough for me, thanks."

She waved a hand and laughed softly. "I just wish there were more good Samaritans like you in the world," she admitted as she checked her watch. "I've got a meeting that I'm running late for, but if there's anything else I can do for you, please don't hesitate to let me know."

"I'll keep that in mind," he assured her. She patted his hands before hurrying away, leaving Evan standing just outside Bill Matthis' door.

Raising his hand, he tapped his knuckles against the jamb then stepped inside. There was room for two occupants, but the first bed was empty, and he couldn't see around the curtain that had been drawn to separate the bed areas.

"Mr. Matthis?" he greeted as he moved aside the curtain.

The man sitting up against a few pillows in the mechanical bed blinked and scowled at him as though he were trying to decide whether or not he knew Evan's face. "Who are you?" he asked.

"My name's Evan," he replied. "I'm a friend of Zel Roka's."

Pale blue eyes widening just a little, he nodded slowly and grimaced when he tried to shift himself. "Roka, you say?" He's all right, isn't he? Mr. Fischer—my lawyer—he said that he was okay . . ."

Evan chuckled and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "He's fine; just fine."

Matthis looked relieved, and he slumped down just a little. "Good, good . . . Been meaning to apologize to him, you know? I mean, no matter what they say, it was still my fault . . ."

"Eh, don't worry about it. Roka's dealt with worse than that."

Matthis laughed though he didn't look entirely convinced. "My boy . . . He's a big fan, see? He'd never speak to me again if Roka had been hurt worse . . ."

"He's a fan?" Evan asked, finally breaking into a small smile. "Is that right?"

"Yeah . . . posters and stuff all over his room. Couple years ago, he bugged me for a guitar for Christmas. He said he wanted to be more famous than Zel Roka." Matthis chuckled and shook his head. "I think he's got quite a ways to go."

"You know, Zel's going to be doing a show at Madison Square Garden toward the end of his mini-tour in October. If your son would be interested, I think that I could get a couple tickets and backstage passes for him," Evan drawled thoughtfully.

"W . . . Really?"

He nodded. "Sure. I'll send them over later."

"That'd be fine, just fine," Matthis allowed, finally offering Evan a real, genuine smile. "Can you tell him thanks? I mean, you know . . ."

Evan shrugged and pulled over a chair. "Sure."

Matthis sighed, his smile fading, and he shrugged in what was supposed to be a nonchalant sort of way. "I, uh, hate to rush you off, Mister . . . uh, Evan, right? They're going to move me soon. A nursing home . . ."

"No, they're not," Evan said. "That's what I came here to tell you."

Matthis shook his head, frowning in confusion since he wasn't quite grasping what Evan was trying to say.

"I talked to the administrator of the hospital," he said. "Don't worry about your treatment. It'll all be covered. Just concentrate on getting better for your family."

It took a minute for Evan's words to sink in. caught between trying to make sense of it all and misplaced pride at the idea of taking a hand-out, he looked like he might just argue with Evan over it.

"Zel asked me to," he said quietly before Matthis could form an argument against it.

"But . . . Why . . .?" he mumbled, ruddy cheeks deepening in hue. "Why would he do that?"

"Well," Evan drawled, "he's not a _complete_ asshole—just when people are watching."

Matthis scowled at the thin coverlet and sighed. "I can't accept charity," he muttered under his breath, stating what Evan had kind of figured.

"Then don't think of it as charity. Think of it as keeping you _off_ charity. I mean, that's what would happen otherwise, right? Relying on the government to take care of your wife and kids is kind of the same thing, don't you think? Actually, it's worse, isn't it? If you did that, then you'd be sponging off of the taxpayers instead."

He obviously hadn't thought of it that way, and the slightly irritated expression on his face confirmed it. "Is he paying for it?" he grudgingly asked.

Evan shrugged. "No," he said. "I am."

Shaking his head, Matthis scowled at him, trying to see through him, trying to understand why Evan would do such a thing. "Why?"

He chuckled. "Let's just say that Roka's helped me out a few times, and I owe him."

Matthis barked out an incredulous laugh. "Must've really helped you out a lot, then. My bills . . ."

"Don't worry about it. Just get yourself better."

"Th . . . Thanks," he said. He looked like he wanted to argue with Evan, but he also looked relieved—really, really relieved, and Evan had to wonder just how long Matthis had been worrying about everything, to start with. "Tell him that I'm sorry, will you?"

Evan grinned and nodded. "Absolutely."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

' _What is he doing in there . . .?_ '

Sitting in the small café across the street from the Sacred Heart Hospital, Valerie sipped the weak tea she'd ordered and stared out the window at the entrance of the facility where she'd assumed that Evan had gone.

She's called the number on the notepad and was surprised when she'd discovered that it was the reception desk at the hospital, but it wasn't until she was on her way there that she remembered why the name had sounded so familiar to her.

It was the hospital where Bill Matthis was being treated.

Glancing at her watch, she frowned. It was nearly noon, and she still hadn't seen him leave. In fact, she was beginning to wonder if he really had gone there when a flash of silver caught her eye, and she blinked. The man's height was right, build was right though she had to wonder where in the world he'd found the tan blazer he was wearing . . . He was wearing glasses, so she couldn't really see his face, but that didn't matter. His bearing was right—everything about him was right—except for one very, very wrong thing . . . Snorting indelicately, she stood up and dropped a couple dollars onto the table to cover the cost of the tea before hurrying out of the restaurant. Luckily for her, the 'walk' light had just flickered on, and she dashed across the street, trying to reach Evan, who was holding up his hand to hail a taxi.

Three days before leaving for the start of his tour, and he'd cut his hair off . . .? If Mike didn't beat him, she just might . . .

"Evan!" she yelled when he started to get into a cab. He stopped and looked at her, his expression blanking, and for a moment, she wondered if he was going to get into the vehicle and ignore her. Leaning down, he seemed to say something to the driver before closing the door and standing up straight, hands in his pockets as he waited for her to reach him.

"What were you doing?" she asked breathlessly when she finally reached him.

"How'd you find me?" he countered, completely ignoring her question.

"I called the number on the notepad in the kitchen," she explained. "Now tell me what you're doing here."

He chuckled, but she could sense his reluctance. "Maybe you should think about becoming a detective instead of a lawyer, V," he quipped, turning on his heel and starting down the street.

Rolling her eyes, she caught up with him, laying her hand on his arm to stop him. He stopped, all right, staring down at her fingers for a long moment. The gesture brought to mind that awful night at the benefit party and Evan's cold demeanor at the time. A sudden and strange sense of unfamiliarity washed over her, and she hurriedly yanked her hand away. "Did you see Bill Matthis?" she asked, willing as much bravado into her tone as she could muster, shoving away the unsettling sense of uncertainty as best she could.

He sighed and started walking again. "So what if I did?" he countered almost belligerently.

"Why would you?"

Definitely belligerent . . . "Does it matter?"

"Maybe! Evan!" she grabbed his arm again, and this time, she tugged hard. His was acting entirely bizarre, wasn't he? Just what was he doing? "Why won't you tell me? And what in the hell did you do to your hair?"

"My hair?" he echoed, casting her an almost startled look. "That's what you're worried about? My hair?'

"Considering what you'll be doing in a couple days, do you really think it was smart to cut it off?" she countered, unwilling to admit that she actually preferred him with long hair.

He snorted and moved faster, like he was trying to get away from her, and maybe he was. "Don't worry about it. I'll just have one of Maddy's girls put extensions in, anyway. No big deal."

It was her turn to snort, and loudly at that. "All right; fine. Tell me what you were doing at the hospital then!"

Stopping so abruptly that a couple ran into them from behind, Evan didn't say anything while Valerie muttered some words of apology to the irritated pedestrians. "Why? So you can tell me how stupid it was?" he demanded quietly. "Save it. Mike already said as much, and I don't need to hear it again."

"Why would I think that checking on him was stupid?" she snapped when he grabbed her elbow and pulled her out of the middle of the sidewalk and into a shaded alcove off to the side of a building. "Actually, I think that's really _decent_ of you, if you must know, and Judge Lister—"

"—Isn't going to find out about it," Evan hissed, scowling down at her. "I mean it, V. Besides, does it _look_ like Zel Roka went to visit him?"

Valerie blinked and slowly shook her head as his question sank in. "Why? Why didn't you go as Zel Roka?"

Rolling his eyes as though he thought that she ought to know the answer to that, he snorted. "Keh! Aside from the security issues that'd cause, why else do you think?" Letting out a deep breath, he ran his fingers through his neatly clipped hair. "They were going to move him to a nursing home," he finally said. "His insurance wouldn't cover physical therapy, and he needs it if he wants to regain proper use of his legs again. Listen, I don't give a great goddamn how stupid it was, and I don't give a shit if it was the same as admitting guilt. It wasn't right. He's got a wife and family."

Valerie sighed at the defensiveness in his tone more than at what he had to say. The lawyer in her could understand why he'd think that she might tell him that visiting Matthis was a bad idea. The humanitarian in her had to agree with his reasoning, though. "So you just didn't want him to fall through the cracks in the system, you mean?" Nodding slowly, eyes widening as the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place in her head, Valerie smiled as her eyes grew hot and prickly. "So Evan Zelig offered to foot the bill since Zel Roka couldn't."

He looked rather surprised that she'd figured it out so easily . . . or was he just surprised that she wasn't giving him the practical lawyer talk? "Maybe it's stupid," he muttered, cheeks pinking slightly like he was embarrassed for letting his emotions show. "I just kept thinking that I couldn't save Dieter, and . . . and maybe I just needed to save _someone_ . . ."

Valerie stared at him for several moments as he shuffled his feet, glared at the concrete. That little boy innocence was back in spades—the child waiting to be punished for some perceived wrongdoing, and she laughed softly. "I could kiss you," she murmured without realizing that she had spoken out loud.

His head snapped up, and to her surprise, the slight blush on his face darkened a few shades. "Wh-What was that?"

Waving a hand quickly, she forced a high-pitched laugh and started walking again. He caught up with her and fell into step beside her. "Nothing," she lied, hoping, praying that she wasn't as red-faced as she suspected she might be.

"Uh uh," he countered, suddenly grinning like a lunatic. "You said that you could kiss me, didn't you?"

Rolling her eyes, tamping down the acute embarrassment that surged through her, Valerie snorted and stepped onto the curb, holding up a hand to hail a taxi. "Don't know what you're talking about," she lied as a cab pulled up beside her.

"I do; I do," he insisted, crawling into the vehicle behind her before she could close the door. "You _did_ say it! You know, I'd let you, of course."

Wrinkling her nose, Valerie leaned forward to give the driver instructions. Evan barked out his address before she could supply her own.

"You _have_ the fare, don't you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow since he'd effectively altered their course.

He smiled at her, and despite his appearance, it was definitely a Zel Roka smile. "I got it," he assured her. "But if you still want to kiss me . . ."

"Dream on," she shot back, turning her face toward the window. "Maybe you should get your hearing checked, rocker-boy."

And, of course, he laughed at her.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Sober_** ' _by_ _Pink_ _first appeared on her_ _2008_ _release,_ **_Funhouse_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Alecia_ _Moore_ , _Nathaniel_ _Hills_ , _Kara_ _DioGuardi_ , _and_ _Marcella_ _Ariaca_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Did she just say what I think she said …?_


	69. 068: Twenty-Four Times Two

' _Turned away from it all like a blind man …_  
'Sat on a fence but it don't work …  
'Keep coming up with love but it's so slashed and torn …  
'Why, why, why?  
'Love …'

 

-' _Under Pressure'_ by Queen and David Bowie.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"So what do you think?"

Slowly wandering around the cabin that was much larger than she'd figured it would be, Valerie's eyes shifted to take in everything, from the extra long though somewhat narrow bed that was bolted to the floor beside the two doors: one that opened into a rather cramped but fully functioning bathroom, or so Evan had claimed, and the other, a closet that already held his clothing, the granite table affixed to the floor beside the window on the passenger side of the bus and the two thickly cushioned, rich blue suede upholstered bench seats on either side of the table. Rich, darkly stained wood cabinets in the small kitchenette . . . a television that was almost as wide as the bus that folded flat against the roof when it wasn't in use . . . a sinfully comfortable looking sofa covered in the same dark blue suede as the benches . . .

And, naturally, stands for Evan's guitars and a nearly full sized keyboard, all secured to the floor—a shame since it was covered in a very thick and really soft dark blue pile carpet. "You don't have any walls," she said with a frown. "Well, except for the bathroom . . ."

"Don't need walls," Evan said with a shrug. "I mean, I'm the only one on this bus, anyway."

She shook her head and slipped off her shoes, burying her toes in the carpet. "Hmm . . . I think you should have rented one for me, too," she decided with a grin. "If I have to travel with you, then I should at least get to do it in style."

Evan chuckled, flopping down on the sofa with a satisfied grunt. "Rent? Come on, V! This sucker was custom built—and it cost more than I care to think about." His grin widened. "Good thing I didn't have to pay for it, right?"

Rolling her eyes, she smiled, too. "As if it would have made a difference to you if you did have to buy it," she shot back. "You have more money than God, remember?"

"As true as that may be," he said, pushing his faded Wikked Boys tee-shirt up so that he could scratch his belly, "I don't really feel badly for making the powers-that-be pay for this, either."

Valerie nodded since she couldn't rightfully blame him for that. He was still riding high from the absolute rush of adrenaline he'd gotten last night from the small show he'd done at the Manhattan Civic Center to celebrate the release of his new album and the impending tour. He'd only done five songs, and he was in and out of the facility at a speed that had amazed her. He'd said that he really couldn't stick around long after shows anymore because of the security issues it presented, and he'd seemed a little sad about that part of it. Still, he was so hyped up after they'd gotten back to the mansion that he'd quite literally been bouncing off the walls. Valerie had ended up, crashing out on the thick rug in front of the fireplace sometime around three a.m., but as for Evan? She'd be surprised if he had slept at all.

He reached for a paper that Mike had handed him earlier—a tentative list of dates and venues that Evan was supposed to look over. The manager had explained that the schedule wasn't set in stone, that it was likely to change daily, but that it gave a rough outline of their travel plans.

Frowning as she stared at his hand, she shook her head. She'd noticed earlier that there wasn't even a slight mark where he'd hurt himself the night he'd lost his temper. He had just laughed and told her that he simply didn't scar. Valerie, however, wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. He must not have hurt himself as badly as she had thought to begin with. She'd noticed when she bandaged his hand that it wasn't too deep, but maybe he was just a really fast healer. She'd heard of people like that before, anyway . . .

With a raised eyebrow, she nudged the one thing that seemed out of place—a plain cardboard box with a stamp on top that read 'Roka'—with her foot. "What's this?"

Evan's grin widened as he slid off the sofa and reached for it. " _Epic!_ They remembered to pack 'em for me!"

"Pack what?" she demanded, kneeling down and waiting impatiently for him to open the box.

With an almost giddy laugh, he tugged the flaps back and pulled out a tee-shirt. "Check it out!" he insisted, shaking the garment before holding it up to show her.

Valerie blinked and gasped, her eyes widening as she gawped at the garment, hot color flooding into her face. A black shirt with an image of her— _her_ —silkscreened onto it. It was one of the pictures from that damned photo shoot though not the one used on the album cover. Nope, it was worse. Situated on that bed with the rumpled sheets arranged around her, she was lying flat on her back with her knee bent and Evan—complete with a shit-eating grin on his face—between her legs, resting his cheek on her stomach. "Oh, my God," she moaned, covering her face with her hands.

He laughed. "Aww, come on! It's not like anyone can see your face, right?"

Which was true enough. Her head was turned away from the camera—the one saving grace of it all, she supposed.

Evan flipped the shirt around. "Look, look!" he insisted.

She really didn't want to, but she did, slipping her fingers apart and peering through the cracks. She shouldn't have done it, because the back was almost— _almost_ —worse than the front. ' _I did V with Zel Roka_ ,' it said . . . "I am _so_ going to _kill_ you," she grumbled.

He ignored her. Having yanked the Wikked Boys tee-shirt off, he'd opted instead to pull the new one over his head, which just figured, didn't it? She wasn't ever going to be able to live that down . . .

"Here," he said, tossing another one at her. She caught it and blinked at it like it was some kind of mysterious artifact.

"What am I going to do with this?" she grumbled and chucked it back at him, irritated even more since she just couldn't keep from blushing every time she look at or thought about what was on the stupid garment.

Evan grinned like a complete idiot and shrugged. "Wear it. Sell it." Eyes widening, snapping his fingers, he chuckled. "Send it to Eddie Munster!"

That earned him a really scathing glower. "It's Marvin, you jackass— _Marvin!_ And I'd rather die a million deaths than send it to him, thank you very much."

"Why's that, V, hmm?" he asked, blinking at her in the most innocent yet nasty way that he could manage. It was pretty bad.

She heaved a sigh and shook her head. "Six weeks . . . on a bus . . . with you . . . God help me."

"Ze-e-e-e-e-el!"

The door that separated the driver's compartment with the rest of the bus slammed open and a blur of motion that was Bugs whizzed into the cabin. Valerie's eyes widened as she watched the slender man zoom past her. Good Lord, she hadn't realized that a body could move that fast, had she?

"Hey, Bugsy," Evan greeted with a good natured chuckle. "Oof!"

"How _could_ you try to leave without saying goodbye to me, you horrible, horrible man!" Bugs whimpered, black eyeliner running down his cheeks in a completely vampy sort of way. He'd lunged at Evan in a whirl of black lace and satin in a rather melodramatic and decidedly old fashioned sort of mourning dress that had been reworked so that it ended just above the man's knees. "Break my heart, why don't you?"

"Aww, I'm sorry, babydoll," Evan crooned, rubbing Bugs' shoulders, apparently not too interested in getting rid of him, either. "What do you want me to bring home for you?"

Bugs leaned back to stare at Evan for a moment before huddling against his chest, tucking his head under Evan's chin. "Besides you, you mean?"

"Uh huh."

Bugs sighed. "Well, if you see anything tall and blonde with bulging muscles and bulging pants, that'd be just fine," he decided. "Oh, and if he doesn't speak English, that's fine, too."

Evan chuckled and rubbed Bugs' arm. "I'll see what I can do."

Opting to ignore the two, Valerie pulled open the closet to shove her suitcase inside. Evan had sworn that she really didn't need to bring anything fancy, that if she did need something like that, he'd be more than happy to send out for it, and since he was the reason that she had to be there, she figured it was a fair enough trade. Instead, she'd bought a lot of comfortable and casual clothes—jeans, sweaters, sweats for lounging around on the bus—and he'd said that it was fine. Of course, he'd also said that she should have brought some slinky satin negligees, too. ' _Jerk_ ,' she snorted inwardly despite the hint of a smile on her face.

Bugs gasped suddenly, sitting up straight and pointing at Valerie in an entirely accusing sort of way. "What is _that_ doing here?" he demanded indignantly, his voice absolutely trembling with righteous outrage.

Evan chuckled and tugged Bugs back against his side. "Now, now, babydoll. No need to be nasty. There's more than enough of The hEvan to go around, right?"

"Not for _that_ ," Bugs insisted, turning an exaggerated pouty face on him. "He's _mine_ , sister, so you'd best step right off, you feel me?"

Valerie blinked and stared rather blankly at the two men, cuddling on the sofa. Evan was grinning—not really surprising, all things considered—while Bugs was still mid-' _moment'_. To emphasize his point, though, he stuck out his tongue at her, huddling closer to Evan's side. "You're not going to cheat on me, are you Zel Roka?" Bugs demanded.

Shaking her head, Valerie said nothing as she headed for the exit. Evan didn't seem to be in a hurry to get moving, and she'd rather take a minute to buy a newspaper before willingly allowing herself to be locked away with him for the next six weeks.

"V! Sweetie!" Madison called as she hurried over to catch Valerie in a quick hug.

"When did you get back in town?" Valerie asked when Madison stepped back.

Madison waved a hand dismissively but smiled. "We caught the red-eye last night. Miami is so _not_ my town, but Bugs would probably fit in rather nicely. Anyway, I just needed to drop Violca off before I go home and crash for a day or two."

"Drop her off?" Valerie echoed, shaking her head in confusion. "I thought you were going to keep her with you."

"Oh, she's doing much better now," Madison insisted happily, glancing back to where she'd left the girl, standing just outside Evan's bus. When she saw Valerie, she wiggled her fingers in greeting, a bright smile surfacing on her pretty features that made Valerie want to grind her teeth together just the same. "Besides, I'm flying out to London the day after tomorrow. The Queen's Ball, you know . . ."

"You're going to the Queen's Ball?" Valerie blurted. It never ceased to amaze her, just how casually both Evan as well as Madison could drop names of such affairs without so much as batting their eyelashes.

Madison looked properly aghast at the mere suggestion. "Bite your tongue, V!" she scolded. "As if I'd go to something that stuffy." She sighed at the befuddled expression on Valerie's face then laughed. "I have some clients who are flying me in to do their hair."

"You know, maybe you should go to it," Valerie mused thoughtfully. "You could catch yourself a prince or something—or a duke, at least . . ."

Madison wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "Ew . . . a lifetime of very boring, very proper sex? No thanks," she said. "I think I'll pass."

Valerie laughed and hugged Madison again. "Why can't you come along on this stupid tour?" she whined. "It'd be livable if you were here . . . You can _not_ leave me alone with that man!" Then she sighed in a thoroughly defeated sort of way. "And that girl . . ."

"Relax, Valerie, I swear, she really is behaving herself a lot better now. She won't try to climb into bed with anyone—unless it's a mutual thing."

"How did you explain that to her?" Valerie asked suspiciously.

Madison smiled and dug a pale peach lip balm out of her purse. "I just talked to her," she explained as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

She narrowed her eyes. "You know German?"

Shaking her head, Madison spared a moment to smile at her before returning to her work of touching up her lip balm. "Nope, but I have a friend who translated for me. Anyway, he stayed with us while we were in Miami, and now Violca understands things a lot better than she did before."

"Wow," Valerie said, unable to suppress the admiration in her tone.

"Of course, that doesn't mean that everything'll be perfect," Madison went on as she snapped her compact closed and stowed the gear back in her purse again.

"Why's that?"

"Because Violca says that she's definitely in love with Evan, or rather, with Zel Roka."

It took a minute for Madison's statement to fully sink in, and when it did, Valerie snorted. "You're kidding, right?"

Just why did Madison look so damn amused, anyway? "Nope. She says . . . Oh, how did she put that again?" Tapping her chin as she scowled thoughtfully and lifted her gaze heavenward, she concentrated on remembering. "Ah, yes! She says that he's a 'beautiful man'. Yes, that was her word: beautiful."

"About as beautiful as an ingrown butt hair," Valerie grumbled, her growing sense of relief popping like an overinflated balloon.

"Hey, Maddy. Hey, Valerie," Mike said as he strode over, sunglasses perched atop his head with a palmtop computer open in his hand. "You're traveling in Zel's bus, right? We've got to get going."

"Have fun, V, and stop looking like you're heading to the gallows," Madison teased, leaning in to kiss Valerie's cheek before grasping her shoulders to turn her around and giving her a little shove.

A heavy sigh escaped her as she trudged back toward the bus. Bugs stepped off, and Violca was nowhere to be seen. Valerie figured she was already on it. Farther down, the members of the backup band were boarding their busses, and the road crew that hadn't left yesterday were on the last one. Most of that group were security since the techs and roadies were sent out early to get things set up for the opening show in Detroit.

Still, she couldn't help but feel that with every step she took, she was moving in closer and closer to a ticking time bomb just waiting to blow up right in her face . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _Yeah . . . Didn't this stop being funny about three states ago?_ '

Stifling a sigh, Evan nodded slightly as he concentrated on keeping his gaze off the two women who were currently sitting at the table, stealing glances at one another , which would have been a lot better, he figured, if they didn't look like they were each plotting the other's painful demise. If they actually made it all the way to Detroit without incident, he'd be amazed—and thankful.

To be completely honest, he wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. If he didn't know better, he'd swear that Valerie was jealous or something. Of course, she didn't care, and why should she? She had that royal thorn in his side, Marvin, right? That's what she said, anyway, minus the royal thorn part. Still . . .

It was actually a little ridiculous, and even though it was kind of amusing right now, he knew well enough that the novelty was going to wear off pretty damn quickly.

But damned if it wasn't the strangest thing. From the time that Valerie had gotten back onto the bus, only to find Violca sitting square on his lap and covering his cheek with kisses, she'd looked as though she were fit to kill.

Of course, that wasn't all of it, either; not by a long shot.

Violca was still very eager to please Evan though she seemed content to let him keep his clothes on. What she wanted to do, though, was everything else she could possibly do to make him happy, from fetching his guitar when he started to reach for it to checking his water bottle every ten minutes to make sure that it was properly chilled for him to, well, anything else she could possibly do, and that might have been all right by him, but . . .

But it certainly wasn't all right with Valerie. She'd started off by simply frowning at Violca, but after the first hour or so, she must have decided that she needed to beat Violca at her own game, and basically, they were pretty well competing with each other to see who could do something as stupid as retrieve a guitar string out of the case when one broke with an ungodly harsh twang.

And it wasn't that he didn't want Valerie to do those kinds of things for him. It was more that he didn't want her to do them just because she didn't want someone else to do them. He wanted her to do that stuff because _she_ wanted to, damn it . . .

Violca stood up and grabbed a bottle of beer out of the stocked refrigerator, carefully popping the cap off as she shuffled toward Evan. "You need a fresh one, yes?" she said.

Evan smiled politely and nodded in thanks as he took the bottle and lifted it to his lips.

Apparently, though, that was the wrong thing to do. "Need I remind you that you're not supposed to be drinking?" Valerie asked, nose buried behind the pages of a book she'd picked up awhile back when they'd stopped to refuel the busses.

Evan didn't remind her that she hadn't seemed to care if he drank beer or not in weeks. "Wouldn't want to waste it," he said instead but slipped it into the cup holder built into the thick wood table beside the sofa.

The attorney stood up and strode over to them, pinning Violca with an ill-humored scowl as she retrieved the bottle and drained half of it in one long gulp.

"For Zel!" Violca protested. At least her grasp of English had improved somewhat during her time with Madison.

Valerie shook her head and carried the beer back to the table. "He's not allowed to have it, Violca," she pointed out a little too calmly.

Violca turned her pleading eyes on Evan. Glancing up from the acoustic guitar on his lap, he blinked and tried not to fidget. "It's okay," he told her with a little smile. "I wasn't thirsty, anyway."

"She hates me," Violca insisted, crossing her arms over her chest and kneeling on the floor beside his feet.

"Ah, she doesn't hate you," Evan hedged, trying to reassure her despite the knowledge that Violca probably wasn't very far off the mark.

"She does," Violca argued unhappily. "It is because she loves you, too!"

That gave him pause, and he couldn't help the grin that surfaced at the idea Violca had presented. "You think so?"

The intrigued expression on his face didn't seem to please Violca in the least, either. "You see it, too, no? But my mama tell me, you will be my man! She—" She pointed accusingly at Valerie. "—Wants to kill me! She wants me to die!"

"No, no, of course not! That's ridiculous; I swear it is!" Evan hurriedly said.

"She's talking about me, isn't she?" Valerie loudly demanded. "What did she just say?"

Blinking rapidly as he glanced from Violca to Valerie then back again for good measure, he shrugged. "Who? Her? About you? Uh uh . . ."

Valerie's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he had the distinct feeling that she'd stopped considering Violca's imminent demise in lieu of entertaining some fantasies that had a lot to do with making Evan's body disappear without a trace. "You are such a liar," she stated flatly. "I hate liars . . . and girls who don't know when to stop throwing themselves at men who are so obviously not interested . . . At least, they'd _better_ not be . . ."

He grinned. He couldn't help himself. A jealous V was a very endearing V, wasn't she?

' _Endearing? You realize, right, that you're about two steps from having your ass handed to you_.'

' _Yeah, I know . . . small price to pay, all things considered, don't you think?_ '

His youkai voice snorted indelicately. ' _As long as you remember that it's_ your _ass, not mine_.'

' _You know, technically speaking, my ass_ is _your ass, so—well, you get the picture, right?_ '

' _Hmm, you're kind of an asshat, aren't you?_ '

He chuckled to himself. ' _Probably_.'

' _Yeah, whatever, but you know something even better, asshat?_ '

' _What's that?_ '

' _Both of the ladies are staring at you funny right now_.'

Snapping back to reality, Evan pressed his lips together when he saw that his youkai really had been serious, after all. Both Violca and Valerie _were_ staring at him, and both of them had equally quizzical expressions on their faces.

"Is losing your mind also a part of your touring ritual?" Valerie asked dryly, turning her attention back to the book in her hands once more.

He laughed. "Could be. It's entirely possible."

His amusement was short-lived, however, when Violca latched onto his left foot and started to massage. "Oh, damn," he breathed, slumping lower where he sat. It felt good—damn good, and for the briefest of moments, he forgot that he really shouldn't be encouraging the girl. "Wo-o-ow . . ."

Violca giggled happily.

"Ow!" Evan barked, sitting up straight and yanking his foot away from the girl when the book that Valerie had been reading smacked into the center of his chest. She glowered at him, arms crossed over her chest, and when he met her gaze, she shook her head meaningfully.

Stifling a sigh, Evan shook his head. About the only bright spot in the entire situation as far as he could tell was that they should be in Detroit by evening. What worried him most was exactly what would happen once they reached the hotel because he had a full night of bullshit to take care of: a couple interviews, a television appearance, a short signing at one of the record stores that was helping to sponsor the show tomorrow night, and both Tay and Frankie had hinted that they'd like for him to find some time to jam with them awhile since the search for a new bassist had barely ended before they'd left the city . . . If he got to see his own hotel room tonight, he'd be damn lucky.

He could only hope that Valerie and Violca didn't kill each other before he figured out exactly what to do with the gypsy girl because that was the last thing that he had the time or the inclination to consider . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Under_** **_Pressure_** ' _by Queen_ _and_ _David_ _Bowie_ _first appeared on Queen's_ _1982_ _release,_ **_Hot_** **_Space_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Queen_ _and_ _David_ _Bowie_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _It's gonna be a long-assed six weeks, isn't it?_


	70. 069: Los Angeles

' _Nine months on the road_ …  
' _Don't know if it's night or day_ …  
' _A little gypsy blood_ …  
' _Sure seems to go a long way_ …  
' _Time's getting' tough_ …  
' _So, I'm getting tougher_ …  
' _Just let the music rock these blues away_ …'

 

-' _City'_ by Y &T.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Flopping into a thickly upholstered chair beside the bed, Evan heaved a sigh and draped his forearm over his eyes. One a.m., and he'd just gotten back to the hotel after doing a slew of interviews with people he'd rather spit on than speak to since most of them already had the answers they wanted to hear in their heads long before he'd ever walked through the door and sat down.

Three days into the tour—two shows under his belt—and it felt like it'd been a year since he was home. Normally it took at least six months for this kind of feeling to grip him, and he had very little doubt in his mind that it had more to do with the battling women than anything else. He'd already known that women were strange creatures. In fact, he'd known that for quite awhile, but those two were something else entirely. Valerie wasn't so bad though he could tell that she was fast approaching her limit, but Violca had apparently decided that Valerie was her nemesis, and the looks they exchanged, the tension that seemed to emanate from the both of them . . .

He sighed. Something really had to give. It really, really did. If it didn't . . .

He considered ignoring the curt knock on the door. Given his mood at the moment, he wasn't fit to keep anyone company, but the unseen visitor wasn't dissuaded, and when the fourth round of tapping started, Evan growled under his breath and hauled himself out of his chair, set to tell whoever was on the other side of the door to go get fucked.

"Hmm . . . you look like hell."

"I didn't know you were in LA," Evan said, blinking in surprise.

Gage Jordan leaned casually against the door jamb, shoulder length jet black hair shining bluish in the ambient light of the hotel hallway. Shrugging one shoulder, he grinned lazily, shaking his head just a little as he met Evan's gaze. "For now," he allowed, flicking his wrist without taking his hand out of his pocket to check the time. "But I heard that you were here, so I had to see your face for myself."

"Yeah, it's been awhile, hasn't it?" Evan allowed with a wolfish grin. "Want to go grab a beer?"

Pushing himself away from the door frame, Gage merely lifted an eyebrow as Evan pulled the door closed and started down the hall. "You can have your beer," he agreed easily enough. "I would prefer something a little less . . ."

"American?" Evan supplied.

Gage chuckled indulgently. "I wasn't going to say that," he replied smoothly with only the barest hint of an accent adding a slight lilt to his words as they pushed into the stairwell. "I was going to say 'barbaric'."

Evan laughed. "Heard you quit teaching at the university," he commented. "Thought you loved being a professor."

"What I loved were the girls," he corrected with an unrepentant grin. "The teaching was secondary."

"Yeah, well, you were the best Prof I ever had," Evan said with a shake of his head. "The others were all as dull as dishwater."

"And you were the first student that I found to be even mildly compelling—who didn't wear a skirt, of course."

Evan grinned and rounded the landing to take the next flight of stairs at a jog. True enough, he supposed. He had spent countless hours in Gage's office, debating the merits of musicians and genres—not just the current bands but all kinds of music from just about every period in history. To him, it had been something of an eye-opener to meet someone, even a college professor, who knew as much about music as a whole and who could so readily see the evolution that had shaped and inspired every successive generation of musicians. Somewhere along the way, maybe during those hours of often inspired if not outright heated debate, the two had become friends, and that was where the line between teacher and student had dissolved. Gage, born to a French mother and an Irish father, called himself native Frenchman whose love of music was rivaled only by his appreciation of pretty girls, most of them students in his classes. Gage Jordan wasn't stupid, however, and he had managed to get the hell out of Dodge well before any of his liaisons had come to light.

"I heard about your legal problems, Roka," Gage remarked about the time they'd hit the second floor landing. "It doesn't sound like you."

"Don't worry about it," Evan replied. "It's all good."

"It is?"

With a nod and a grin, Evan chuckled. "Hell, yeah. You should meet my attorney . . ."

"The one I saw in the newspaper? Beating on you, wasn't she?"

Evan laughed—he'd forgotten about that—and shrugged offhandedly. "Ah, she loves me. It's just a matter of time before she figures it out for herself."

"Ever the optimist, I see. I would have thought that your success would have jaded you by now."

"Nawp, not me," Evan quipped, shouldering open the door that led to the lobby.

They hadn't taken more than a dozen steps toward the hotel bar when a group of fans that had somehow managed to get past security darted at him. Gage didn't seem to mind and even looked rather amused as he stood back while Evan signed a few autographs.

He'd taken to staying in nicer hotels a couple years ago, mostly because of the security factor. From where he stood in the lobby, he could see the crowd gathered outside through the wall of smoked glass and shook his head. Those kids would camp out there until after Evan had left the city, and most of them probably didn't have tickets to the show, either. Mike had been talking about bringing in tighter security, too, especially after Dieter's death, and while Evan could understand why he was worried, he knew that he'd eventually end up sneaking out to sign some autographs and talk to some of the ones who thought nothing of spending a couple of nights, parked outside the Grande Tower Hotel, just hoping to get a glimpse of him . . .

After giving his autograph to everyone who asked, Evan nodded politely and waved, gesturing at Gage that he was finished. He'd figured out a long time ago that if you gave the fans a bit of what they wanted, they tended to be more than happy to let him do what he wanted, too—in this case, have a nice, quiet drink in the bar with a friend.

"I was sorry to hear about Dieter," Gage remarked after the waitress had brought their drinks. Sitting in a booth in a dimly lit corner of the establishment and far away from the windows that overlooked the garden in front of the hotel, they were basically alone, which suited Evan just fine. "He was a good friend, no?"

"He was," Evan replied with a half-hearted smile.

Gage sighed, idly turning his snifter of brandy on the table. "I have no words of wisdom to impart you. I wish I did."

Shaking his head, Evan reached for his bottle of beer, slowly drained half of it. "I've heard it all before," he said. "Don't worry about it."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie stepped into the bar with a notepad and pen in her hand. She wasn't sure why she couldn't sleep. Maybe it was the unsettled feeling that she'd had ever since she'd boarded Evan's tour bus four days ago. After trying to drift off for more than an hour, she'd decided that maybe a glass of wine would help, but for some reason, the idea of drinking that glass of wine alone seemed unbearable tonight.

She'd expected the mini-tour to be insane, of course. She hadn't realized that it would be complete bedlam. The busses were usually parked in a secured area at the venues where Evan was going to play, and then they were shuttled to the hotel, usually in limousines, where they would be dropped off at a side or back entrance to avoid the crowds, which was good, all things considered. The crowds were huge despite the fact that Mike was trying to keep everything quiet. There were always the inevitable leaks, and when one kid spotted Evan coming or going, it didn't take long for that kid to text every single person he knew, and then the madness began all over again.

It was frightening, and seeing all of it happening was slowly giving her a whole new respect for Evan who never lost his temper with a fan who wanted an autograph even though he knew that they needed to get moving in order to keep to the schedule, never complained about the long hours spent, confined on the bus when she knew damn well that it had to be driving him crazy, and though it was early in the tour, she'd heard enough of the roadies saying that Zel Roka was, hands down, the best rock star to tour with. Quite a few of them had been a part of Evan's crew for years, so she supposed that it said something about him, didn't it?

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie glanced around the bar, only to stop when she spotted Evan, sitting in the corner at a table with a man she didn't recognize.

Her first instinct was to find a seat elsewhere since she didn't really want to intrude, but he looked up suddenly then grinned, waving a hand to invite her over.

In the end, curiosity won out over reticence, and she approached the table, slipping into the seat beside Evan when he scooted over. "Hey, V. Thought you'd be sleeping by now."

"I wasn't tired," she replied.

Evan grinned. "Oh! V, this is an old friend of mine, Gage Jordan. Gage, this is Valerie Denning—my attorney—and the future Mrs. Zel Roka."

"When hell freezes over," Valerie muttered under her breath.

Gage's dark eyes flared wide, then he smiled, and Valerie blinked. Good looking didn't even begin to describe him; not at all. He had the easy bearing of a man who knew what his worth in the world was and wasn't afraid to embrace it, a silent grace that manifested itself in a sense of quiet wonder—the kind of man that might walk past her in a store or on a street, and she'd look twice just because of the ease in which he moved. Long fingers, carefully manicured nails, he reached out, took her hand, brought the back of it to his lips as his eyelids fluttered closed—the blackest, thickest eyelashes she'd ever seen fanning demurely over his cheeks . . . "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Denning," he said, his voice rich and deep and smooth.

"Likewise," she replied, unable to keep the hint of bemusement out of her tone.

"All right; all right. Enough of that," Evan interjected, grasping Valerie's hand and pulling it away from Gage's grasp.

He chuckled, understanding Evan's action for what it was. "She's too old for the likes of you," Evan said, leaning forward as though he meant for Valerie not to hear the comment.

"I think I could make an exception for her," Gage replied, casting Valerie a rather devilish wink.

"I'm not old," Valerie pointed out.

"That's true," Evan allowed, "but Gage tends to like his girls a little more on the teenage side, if you know what I mean."

Valerie wasn't sure exactly what to make of that. In fact, she wasn't entirely certain whether Evan was teasing or not. Both of the men laughed, though, leaving her feeling like she was missing some inside joke, but she didn't have time to dwell on it, either.

"I shall buy you a drink," Gage said, smiling just a little.

Valerie opened her mouth to reply, but Evan was faster as he gestured for the waitress. "That's okay. I got it."

"Then I will be sure to pay for the second one," Gage replied as Evan ordered her drink. A soft beeping sound interrupted him, and he smiled apologetically as he dug his cell phone out of the inner pocket of his impeccably tailored jacket. "It's my sister," he said. "I must take this. Excuse me for a minute."

Valerie watched the man get up and step a few feet away with a rather bemused smile on her face.

"Oh, come on," Evan grouched, only half teasing. "He's not _that_ good looking."

"Yes, he is," she replied.

Evan snorted and shook his head. "Forgot about Calvin, did you?"

Shifting her eyes to the side, she almost laughed at the thoroughly disgruntled expression on his face. "Of course I didn't forget about _Marvin_ , but there's nothing wrong with looking, is there?"

He narrowed his gaze. "Yeah, I think there just might be," he muttered.

She laughed and sipped the wine that the waitress set in front of her. "So how did you meet a guy like that?" she asked.

He sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Valerie giggled. "It means that you just don't seem like the type to have friends like him. You know: suave. Smooth. Sensual."

For a second, he looked a little irritated, but he must have thought twice about it because he grinned. "Met him in college, if you must know."

Valerie did a double take, narrowing her eyes as she tried to decide whether she thought he was teasing or not. He didn't look like he was pulling her leg . . . "You went to college?" she asked slowly.

Evan shrugged and finished off his beer before answering. "Didn't we talk about this before? Had to. Ol' Cain insisted."

"Since when do you do anything that anyone makes you do?" she countered, "And if we did, I don't remember it."

He wrinkled his nose since he never really liked to talk about anything that even remotely had to do with his father. "It's a long story, V, and pretty damn boring, too, and you know what happens when I get bored, right . . .?"

She knew that he was trying to dance around the subject, but since he wasn't being completely obnoxious for once, she figured that she might as well let it go. "Were the two of you in the same classes or something?"

"You could say that," Evan replied. "He was one of my professors."

That surprised her. After all, Gage didn't look any older than Evan—and Evan didn't really look like he was over thirty, either, for that matter. "A professor? He is?"

"He was," Evan corrected. "Nowadays, he's just a bum."

"A bum, now am I?" Gage asked as he slipped back into his seat once more. "Sorry for the interruption. My sister wanted to tell me about her concert earlier."

"Oh, yeah? Where is she this week?" Evan asked.

Valerie frowned. His sister was a musician, too? Was she famous?

"She's in Madrid. She was rather nervous since she hasn't been onstage since before she got pregnant."

Evan snapped his fingers and sat up straight. "That's right! She married that bastard of a manager of hers, didn't she? How's her baby?"

Gage shook his head. "Bernard is a very nice man," he corrected, casually sipping his drink. "I simply despise him on principle—and Luke is just fine—the apple of his mother's eye, of course."

"Zel!"

Evan sat up and looked over toward the doorway in time to see Violca hurry into the bar. Her smile widened as she approached, but her eyes were locked on the rock star, much to Valerie's everlasting chagrin. When she reached the booth, Evan leaned toward Valerie. She pinned him with a formidable glower before he could suggest that she move to allow Violca to slip into the booth, too. He started to open his mouth to ask anyway but was cut off short when Gage stood up and gestured at the bench. Violca blinked but scooted in.

It hadn't taken Valerie more than five minutes to figure out that, while Madison was right about Violca's understanding of the situation in general, the girl had also decided that she wanted to land herself a rock star sugar daddy by training her sights on Zel Roka. Maybe it was completely jaded of her to think, but there just wasn't any way that Valerie could accept let alone believe that Violca was in love with him. She didn't even know him or anything about him, not really.   As far as Valerie could tell, Violca didn't even know Evan's real name, for God's sake, so she might give the girl infatuation at best, there simply wasn't any way possible that she actually loved him.

Of course, that didn't really stop Violca from making a complete fool of herself, either, and Evan, miscreant that he was, wasn't really helping Violca get a grasp on it. If anything, his refusal to set the girl to rights was only serving to exacerbate the situation.

And that, unfortunately, left Valerie in the very unpleasant position as the big heavy—yet another strike against the jerk-face rock star. She'd have to be an idiot not to know that Violca now regarded her as the enemy, and why not? She'd made it her mission to thwart Violca every time she caught her up to her little tricks. She had to. There was just too much at stake to let things go as they were—like Evan's freedom, for starters. There was just no way around the idea that he'd be slapped with statutory rape charges if anyone found out about their relationship . . .

Rubbing her forehead as she felt the distinct throb just behind her eyes that served as a precursor to the monstrous headache that she could sense coming on, Valerie drew a deep breath and cleared her throat to gain the girl's attention. She did, all right, but she also managed to draw both Evan as well as Gage's gazes, too, which just figured. "Ev-Zel, you need to tell her that she cannot be inside a bar," Valerie muttered under her breath as she leaned in closer in the hopes that only he would hear her.

"Aw, come on, V, it's late, and this isn't just some random bar," he pointed out reasonably—a little _too_ reasonably.

She shook her head. He really was enjoying himself far more than he ought to. "I'm serious, E-Zel," she corrected again. Mike had pulled her aside before they'd left New York City to remind her that no one else knew Evan's real name and that she needed to call him Zel, too, at least in public. She was finding that to be one of the more challenging things to remember . . .

"Okay, okay," he replied. "Violca, I—eh?"

Valerie glanced at Evan, only to find him staring across the table with a rather amused expression on his face. Following the direction of his gaze, she blinked.

Gage and Violca were carrying on a conversation, it seemed, and weren't paying the slightest bit of attention to Evan or Valerie at the moment.

"He knows German?" she asked, leaning toward Evan so that she could whisper.

Evan shook his head then shrugged. "Possibly," he replied, glancing at her before shifting his attention across the table once more. "He's speaking Romani."

"Romani? He knows Romani? Is _he_ a gypsy?"

Evan chuckled. "Not quite, V, but it wouldn't surprise me if he knew one or two."

"Why?"

He grinned at her. "You'd understand if you knew him better," he replied. Not exactly the answer she was looking for, but the soap opera unfolding across from them was far more interesting at the moment. She wasn't sure what Violca had said, but Gage made a soothing kind of clucking sound, reaching out to cover both of her hands with one of his.

"What did she just say?" Valerie asked Evan quietly.

Evan glanced at her and smiled. "She told him that her mama died, which is why she's traveling with me."

Wrinkling her nose since it bugged her to no end that she just couldn't understand a single word they were saying Valerie poked Evan in the ribs and jerked her head toward Gage and Violca impatiently.

"He asked her if she'd be more comfortable with other Romanis."

". . . And . . .?"

"And she said that her mother told her that there weren't any more."

She poked him again when he fell silent. "Well?"

Evan's grin widened as he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, looking entirely smug if not a little relieved. "It seems that Gage knows of some others, and he's offering to take her to meet them."

Valerie blinked and stared at Evan for a long moment. "He knows other gypsies?"

"Apparently."

"Well, why didn't you talk to him about it sooner?"

Rolling his eyes, he chuckled and slipped an arm behind her, resting on the top of the bench. "Because I didn't know that he knew of any," he explained. "See? Everything works out if you just give it a chance."

"You mean that she _wants_ to go with him?"

Nodding slowly, he gestured for the waitress to bring another round of drinks. "Yup."

Valerie scowled. On the one hand, sending Violca with Gage was an answer to the current dilemma. On the other, was it really all right? Just what did she know about this guy, anyway? But Evan trusted him, didn't he? Furthermore, he seemed to think that it was a great idea, too. Then again, Evan also thought that sneaking into a morgue to 'borrow' a body bag was a good idea, so going strictly by his judgment might not be the soundest thing to do . . .

Violca seemed to be completely enthralled with the man, though, and that was something, wasn't it? In fact, she hadn't taken her eyes off of him since she sat down, even when Evan spoke to her. Eyes round with absolute wonder, she seemed to be entirely entranced.

On some level, it irked the hell out of Valerie. For a girl who supposedly loved Evan, it seemed like an awfully easy dismissal. She sighed. ' _Knock that off, Valerie!_ ' she scolded herself. It wasn't like she wanted Violca to remain hung up on Evan, did she? It was easy to see that Evan didn't and never had returned Violca's affections, so what did it matter if the girl's feelings weren't as deep or genuine as they should have been. Just why did it bother her, anyway? She should be glad that Violca had done a complete one-eighty . . . Shouldn't she . . .?

Gage stood up and stepped back to allow Violca to slip out of the booth, too. She positively beamed at Evan and Valerie. "Thank you so much," she said in English. "You will . . . take care of Zel, yes?"

"Yes," Valerie said, caught off guard by the complete lack of contention in the girl's demeanor.

Evan grinned, nudging Valerie to move so that he could stand up, too. She did, stepping back so that he could hug Violca. Then he said something in German and kissed her on the cheek.

Violca giggled and glanced almost nervously at Gage, but her smile didn't falter as she waved quickly at Valerie and fairly ran out of the bar. Slipping back into the booth, Valerie just didn't know what to make of the girl's abrupt departure.

"Don't worry," Gage said, slipping his hands into his pockets as he faced Evan with a smile. "I will make sure that she is taken care of, I promise."

Evan nodded. "Give me a call if you have any problems."

Gage chuckled. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Denning. See that this one stays out of trouble, no?"

Valerie smiled politely and nodded. "If that's possible," she allowed.

Evan grinned and nudged her over with his hip as he sat back down again. "I never go looking for trouble," he insisted.

"No, it just finds you, yes?"

Evan's grin widened. "Something like that."

Gage inclined his head, his gaze flicking over to Valerie for a long moment. Then he nodded as though he'd figured something else, but if he had, he didn't remark upon it. Patting Evan on the shoulder, the man turned to go, his gait easy and fluid, and he didn't look back.

"You didn't really believe that she was in love with me, did you?" Evan asked quietly.

Glancing over at him, Valerie's frown deepened. Staring at her with a slight smile touching his lips, he was watching her in a completely open and frank kind of way, and despite the brown contacts that he was currently wearing to mask his true eye color, she could see the amusement that lent his expression a certain brilliance and warmth.

"She said she was," Valerie pointed out. Heaving a sigh, she shook her head. "Is it really okay to send her with him?"

Evan shrugged, reaching past her to nab his beer. "He'll help her out," he assured her. "If nothing else, Gage loves women, so you don't have to worry about that."

She shot him a look that stated quite plainly that wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear. "He does realize that she's underage, right?"

Evan chuckled. "I believe he's taking her to Europe to find the other gypsies he knows."

And that wasn't really the reassurance that she was after, either. Still, it seemed as though there wasn't much that she could do about it, one way or another, and she sighed since she really didn't have any options other than trusting Evan this time around, so she opted instead to let it go. "How did your interviews go?"

Evan's good humor slowly faded. "They went," he replied with an offhanded shrug.

"Not good?"

"You learn pretty quick that interviewers either don't know shit or they already have the answers in their heads before they ever meet you," he explained.

"And which ones did you have to deal with today?" she prompted.

Evan let his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling for a minute. "Eh, you know, been doing this for awhile, so the ones I meet these days are usually the ones who already know everything about me, or so they think."

"And do they?"

"Do they what?" he asked quizzically.

She sighed and shook her head since he ought to know well enough what she was asking. "Do they know everything about you?"

The look he shot her was enigmatic—a hint of amusement, a little chagrin, the barest hint of irritation, and something else—something she couldn't quite get a handle on—something that she couldn't define . . . "No," he replied quietly, seriously. "They really don't know jack shit."

"Okay, so what _did_ they ask you, then?" she questioned as she sipped her wine.

He turned his face to look at her but didn't lower his chin. "Same old, same old," he hedged. "You know, stuff about the new album . . . was I planning on doing a more extensive tour . . . why you were in my bushes . . ."

"Oh, you're such an ass!" she grumbled, pushing at him to get him to move.

Evan chuckled and half-stumbled out of the booth. Valerie scooted out and shot him a purely chagrined look which only made him laugh harder. Shaking her head, she crossed the floor, leaving him alone with his ill-placed amusement.

It was only after she was safely ensconced in the elevator taking her to the floor where her room was that she broke into the barest hint of a smile, and by the time the doors slid open, she was laughing out loud, too.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _City_** ' _by_ _Y &T_ _first appeared on their 1989 release,_ **_Ten_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Al_ _Pitrelli_ , _Jimmy_ _DeGrasso,_ _and_ _Phil_ _Kennemore._.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _What_ _a_ _jerk_ …


	71. 070: Insanity

' _Oh, I get hysterical, hysteria, oh, can you feel it; do you believe it_?  
' _It's such a magical mysteria_ …  
' _When you get that feelin' better start believin'_ …  
'' _Cause_ _it's a miracle, oh, say you will, ooh babe_ …  
' _Hysteria when you're near_ …'

 

-' _Hysteria'_ by Def Leppard.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Rain pounded against the bus, a thousand dull plops as they struck the windows, splattering wide, running down the panes of glass in a spider web of motion.

It was the monotony that he couldn't stand.

On the bed across the bus, Valerie stirred and sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes and looking adorably confused. "Where are we?" she asked.

Setting the guitar aside that Evan had been holding but not playing, he stood up, pacing the length of the floor and back to stretch his legs. "Not sure," he replied over his shoulder. "I think we're close to Ft. Worth."

"Is that where your show is?"

"Yep."

"Tomorrow night?"

He shook his head. "Straight off the bus and into sound-check, then straight from the show, back on the bus and heading for Tallahassee, Florida." Scratching his head—his hair was a kind of funky shade of ratty brown—he shrugged. "I think . . . Then again, it might be New Orleans—somewhere down there."

Cocking an eyebrow, Valerie smiled just a little. "Losing track of your own schedule?"

"After awhile it all looks the same, V," he told her with a grin of his own.

"If that's how you feel about it, you'd think that the same would apply to your women."

He chuckled, grabbing a pillow off the sofa and using it as a soccer ball as he bounce it rather pitifully off his knee a few times. Not quite the same effect, was it . . .? "You mean that it'd all start looking the same after awhile? Hell, no! Different colors of baby fuzz, if you know what I mean."

Rolling her eyes, she reached behind herself and grabbed a pillow to whip at him. He ducked and laughed.   "You throw like a girl," he jeered.

Valerie snorted and scooted off the bed, stomping past him to retrieve a bottle of water out of the fridge. "You know, your schedule makes no sense at all. You start out in Detroit, then to LA, then to Ft. Worth, then to—" She leaned in to check the schedule taped to the refrigerator. "—Denver, Colorado—how you got Tallahassee _or_ New Orleans out of that is entirely beyond me . . ."

He grinned and kicked the pillow, nailing Valerie in the ass. "Score!"

"Jerk," she retorted flatly, popping the seal on the water bottle and draining a quarter of it. "Anyway, it's no wonder you get so confused. I would be, too, if my schedule looked like yours."

"Aw, c'mon, V! Are you saying that you're not thoroughly enjoying the life of a rock god?"

"You've been promoted to 'god' status?" she countered.

He nodded. "Epic, right?"

She rolled her eyes and wandered over to sit at the table, turning her face toward the window. "I don't remember approving that memo."

"Baby, I don't need no stinkin' memo to be promoted to rock god," he shot back.

She shook her head but otherwise ignored his commentary. They passed the signs indicating that they were entering the Dallas-Ft. Worth Metroplex, and Valerie sighed. "I thought it was always supposed to be sunny in Texas," she remarked.

"Any state you're in is sunny enough for me," Evan quipped, grabbing a dumbbell that he'd been lifting earlier and pumping it a few times.

"Oh, my God . . . that was the cheesiest thing you've ever said," she half-groaned.

Evan shot her an entirely unrepentant grin. "Now, see, I thought it was pretty damn good."

"You would," she muttered, but he didn't miss the hint of a smile turning up the corners of her lips, either.

"I absolutely would," he agreed.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

It was madness—sheer chaos. The bus was pulled up as close as it could possibly be to the VIP gates of the Ft. Worth Municipal Arena, meaning that there was only about two hundred feet that they'd have to get through before they reached the relative safety of the outer yard, and as she peered out the window at the assembling security team, she slowly shook her head. Sure, there had been some fans hanging out at the places where Evan was going to play before, but most of them had congregated around the hotel. Not the case here . . . "There's got to be a thousand kids out there," she said quietly, "or more."

Evan grinned. "Word must've got out that we weren't staying here overnight," he said. "Besides, they'd have showed up early, anyway. Wouldn't surprise me if some of them had been here all night."

Listening to him, Valerie shook her head. It wasn't a big deal to him, was it? All of the insanity that seemed to erupt wherever he went was just par for course in the day of the life of Zel Roka.

The sliding door opened, and Robbie, one of the two drivers for Evan's bus, stuck his head in. "They're ready for you, Zel," he said.

"Thanks." Turning toward Valerie, his grin widened, the excitement of the moment radiating off him in nearly palpable waves. "Ready?"

She wasn't entirely sure that she was, no, but she sighed and stood up, slipping on her shoes and following Evan to the front of the bus. The roar of the crowd was deafening. Valerie felt dazed as she stepped down behind Evan. Someone slung a coat over her head, but not to protect her from the rain that had slowed to a cold drizzle as much as it was to hide her from the fans, she supposed. It wasn't the first time that this particular scenario had played out, but it was the first time that it was on such a large scale. Normally, she was asked to remain on the bus until well after Evan had been swept off in a waiting limo or something before she would be taken to the hotel to wait for him. All of it was for her own safety, she knew, but that didn't mean that she hadn't felt an unwelcome and unsettling sense of anxiety at those times. She'd felt as though she had been abandoned, and that was a feeling that just didn't sit well with her.

In fact, it would be the first time that she got to actually see the whole show, too, since the same sort of precautions had been in place at the other venues. About an hour before the show ended, she had been escorted back to the hotel, which meant that she'd only actually seen about half of the performances from the safety of the skybox with a handful of others.

But the hundreds of screaming voices hit her with a physical presence like being struck full-on and pushed back by a heavy wind. Those voices melded together into an indistinct roar, and Valerie was powerless to do anything except be carried forward by someone's strong arm around her. She heard Evan's voice calling out to the crowd, but she couldn't make out what he'd said, either, and he'd sounded like he was so far away. It was one of the most surreal and frightening things she'd ever felt, and by the time the doors closed behind them inside the shocking quiet of the VIP foyer, she was shaking like a leaf, holding onto the coat that was still covering her head and shoulders so tightly that her knuckles were white.

"Woo yeah! _Fuck_ , yeah! _Woo!_ " someone yelled. "That's a hell of a crowd! Goddamn! _Goddamn!_ "

Valerie winced when someone tugged on the coat, reluctant to give up the strange sense of security that it offered her. "You okay, V?" Evan asked. She forced her eyes open, blinking as the harsh light accosted her vision, only to find Evan staring down at her in a worried sort of way. Smoothing her hair back with gentle fingers, he slowly shook his head. "It was kind of nuts, eh?"

A late sense of irritation washed over her, and she knocked his hand away with a scowl. "I'm fine," she muttered tersely, angry at her own strange reaction.

He let out a deep breath and nodded. "Didn't doubt it for a second," he lied with a smile.

Down the hallway, one of the tech crew stuck his head out of a doorway. "Roka! Move your ass! We need you for sound-check!"

Evan ignored him. "You want to come along?" he asked casually. "Or I can have Bone take you to my dressing room if you'd rather hang out there."

"I said I'm all right," she bit out. "Lead the way."

Eyebrows lifting as he stared at her for a long moment, he finally nodded, shrugging on the jacket that he'd tossed over her head just before she'd stepped off of the bus. Then he grabbed Valerie's hand and pulled her along behind him down the corridor.

That corridor actually let to another corridor then another and another—a winding network of hallways that seemed to lead nowhere. Pointing down one of the hallways as they passed, Evan spared a moment to grin down at her. "My dressing room's down there," he said. Intercepting the quizzical expression on her face, he shrugged. "I've played here lots of times," he explained.

"How long does sound-check take?"

"Not too long unless they've got to do some huge adjustments. The crew's still got their records from the last time we played here, so it shouldn't be a big deal. When we play new venues, though, that can take a little longer."

"So there's actually work involved?" she teased. "Who'd have thought it?"

He chuckled and gave her hand a little squeeze. With a start, she glanced down at her hand, clasped in his. In that moment, she hadn't realized that he'd taken hold of it, had she? Pulling it away, she couldn't help the slight blush that stained her skin, and when Evan glanced back at her, he chuckled again and grabbed her hand once more. "It's kind of an art," he went on, opting not to remark upon her attempt to gain her freedom.

Snorting loudly, she gave up for the moment since she knew he'd just reach for her again, Valerie shot him a look designed to let him know what she thought of his arrogance. He didn't see it, which just figured. "It's more of a pain in the ass when you're looking at a show with more than one or two acts. The people in charge tend to get a little pissy if you're running late or running over . . . Rocktoberfest is usually a pain in the ass that way . . ."

"That reminds me," she said, tugging on her hand, only to have his tighten around hers. "Who's opening for you tonight?"

"Another local band," he told her. "They had a big battle of the bands contest. The Funk Skunks won."

"The Funk Skunks?" she echoed, unsure whether or not she really buy that one. "What kind of name is that?"

Evan laughed and turned around long enough to tweak the tip of her nose. "Mike said that they used to be called the Fucker Suckers, but the PR folks in charge of the contest weren't too keen on printing that on their flyers and shit."

Snapping her mouth closed, Valerie shook her head. "Yeah, I'm not touching that one," she muttered.

Grinning at her, he jerked his head toward somewhere in the distance. "Hear that? Frankie's already getting it started."

Shaking her head, Valerie quickened her pace so that she was walking beside him instead of behind him, dragged along like a child. The throb of the drums seemed to echo all around her, growing louder, then softer then louder again. "Why'd they start without you?"

"Percussion always does . . . Then Tay and I'll mess around some . . . and, uh, Pete, I guess . . . Then me again. Vocals are always leveled last."

Valerie frowned at the sudden shift in Evan's mood. Gone was the good natured smile, and the slight frown that replaced it was telling. She's noticed during the shows she'd seen that Evan tended to avoid the stand-in bassist, but she wasn't sure if maybe she wasn't reading more into it than what was really there. Worrying about Evan too much was just as bad as not worrying at all, wasn't it? She sighed.

"What's the matter?"

Forcing a smile, Valerie quickly shook her head. "Not a thing," she insisted.

Rounding the corner, Valerie's eyes widened as they stepped into the arena. Places like this seemed so much smaller when she watched from above, but standing there in the midst of it, so to speak . . . It felt overwhelming, didn't it?

Some of the roadies were rigging up the two gargantuan screens that flanked the stage while others were checking the metal light frames, making sure that they were properly affixed to the stage. There had to be at least two hundred people or more, and all of them were moving like a well oiled machine, and while she had to admit that their work was flawlessly efficient, the real testament to their skills was that, according to Evan, they could have the entire set torn down, packed up, and be on the road, heading for the next venue within two hours after the show ended.

"Pretty damn cool, isn't it?" Evan said quietly beside her.

Valerie nodded without taking her eyes off the stage, fascinated by the skill they possessed in doing their jobs. Then she sighed as she stared at the myriad of shirts—black ones that all read, ' _The Crew Did V with Zel Roka_ ' on the backs. She's already told him in no uncertain terms that she wasn't amused. He'd just laughed at her, of course.

"There's Bone," Evan remarked, raising his hand to point at the bodyguard, as if Valerie wouldn't be able to spot him. Taller, bigger, broader than anyone else there, Bone stood out like a sore thumb. "Stay with him, okay?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him that she was a little too old to need a babysitter. She nodded instead, though, when she finally got a good look at his face.

He wasn't frowning, exactly, but he didn't look happy. His gaze was trained on the stage, or more exactly, on the bassist standing off to the side, patiently waiting his turn to play, and on impulse, Valerie leaned up and kissed Evan on the cheek.

He blinked and glanced at her, his eyes registering his confusion at her abrupt action. Then suddenly, he broke into a wide grin, a boyish grin, and laughed as he let go of her hand and loped over toward the stage. "Hey, Bone!" he called without breaking his stride. "Go take care of V, will you?"

Valerie's eyes narrowed as she slowly shifted her gaze. Why did it seem like every single head in the arena had just turned to stare at her?

"They've all be wondering who 'V' is," Bone remarked as he sidled up next to her. "So now they know."

Stifling a sigh as hot color flooded into her face, Valerie wondered if anyone would rat her out of she wandered over and bludgeoned Evan Zelig with his own microphone stand. It looked decently heavy, after all . . .

As though he read her mind, Bone chuckled and slipped an arm around her waist and steered her toward the center of the arena. "Come on, V. You can see better from over here . . ."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Testing, testing, one, two, three . . ." Evan spoke into the microphone. "Testy, testes, testicles . . ."

Valerie rolled her eyes but giggled, shaking her head at Evan's brand of demented humor. Sitting in a folding chair with a plate of food that one of the roadies had brought her, Valerie picked a grape out of the fruit salad and popped it into her mouth. Bone stood nearby, talking quietly into his cell phone, coordinating the plan for their departure after the show, he'd said.

A guy standing near the stage pressed his hand against the headset he was wearing and gave Evan a thumbs up. "Give me a level, Roka," he called.

Evan sang a quick scale a couple of times.

"Again."

After a few minutes of that, the man nodded. "Okay. Go ahead and do a song."

Evan grinned and grabbed the guitar slung over his shoulder, strumming it a few times.

Glancing back at Frankie, Evan nodded. The drummer held his sticks over his head, tapping them together in an even cadence before the band launched into a song.

It was one from Evan's first album called ' _Down on Me_ ', but her mouth dropped open when she heard the words since he'd apparently decided that a new, updated version was in order—as if the original lyrics weren't bad enough . . .

 

 

"' _My name is Mikey, can't you see_ . . .  
' _I got no balls and a tiny pee-pee_ . . .  
' _When I go, I gotta squat to wee_ . . .  
' _And I love them boys in the paparazzi_ . . .  
' _I manage Zel Roka 'cause he makes me horny_ . . .  
' _Because he's more man than I'll ever be_ . . .'"

 

 

"Oh . . . my . . . God . . ." Valerie muttered under her breath then pressed her lips together to keep from laughing out loud. Exactly why he had to be so damned twisted was entirely beyond her, and she must be going a little nuts, considering that the more she thought about those lyrics, the funnier they became in her mind . . .

"Don't worry. That one isn't nearly as bad as some of the others he's come up with," Mike remarked as he came up behind her.

Biting her bottom lip lest she laugh right in Mike's face, Valerie nodded slowly and stuffed another grape into her mouth. A flash of anger sparked to life—she still hadn't quite forgiven the man for hitting Evan when he was already down.

"Is he behaving himself with you?" Mike went on with a frown as he stared at Valerie like he expected her to lie.

She nodded and cleared her throat, standing up and setting the plate on the metal chair, her back stiff and straight, her tone civil at best. "Yes, he is," she replied, trying her hardest not to hear the words that Evan was singing. He'd moved on to something about Mike stuffing socks in his pants so no one knew that he had no penis . . .

"Good," Mike said though he still seemed to be a little unsure as to whether or not he really believed her. "Meant to ask you about that back in LA, but the start of a tour is always a little insane."

Valerie didn't reply right away. To be honest, she hadn't realized that Mike was even in LA until just after the show since she knew he hadn't gotten onto one of the busses, to start with. Evan had told her that it was normal, that more often than not, Mike just flew in for shows when he had time—or if he had to bitch him out for some perceived ill.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Mike finally asked. Valerie could feel the man's gaze on her but didn't look to verify it. "He's not behaving, is he?" He sighed. "I'll talk to him; I promise."

"And do what?" she countered, the simmering anger surging up like a flash fire. "Hit him again? That's okay; I can handle Evan just fine without _your_ help."

The manager blinked and stepped back as though Valerie's ire was a palpable thing. Holding up his hands, he sighed again and slowly shook his head. "It wasn't like that," he hurried to explain. "Sometimes the only way to deal with Zel is to get down on his level, and—"

"Is that right? So he hit you first?" she challenged, her tone much calmer than the expression on her face.

Mike grimaced. "No, he didn't, but you don't know Zel like I do. He—"

"If that's the case, then you're pretty sad, aren't you? He just lost one of his best friends, not to mention the fact that he saw it happen and couldn't do a thing to prevent it! If you know him so well, then you should know that your insistence that the show go on isn't good for him! Even _I_ know that, and of course _I_ don't know him _nearly_ as well as _you_ do . . . right?"

"You think I didn't try to stop him?" Mike countered. "I did. I told him that we could cancel; that people would understand."

"Was that before or after you hit him?" she growled, eyes flashing, temper unleashing completely. "Let me tell you something. If I were Evan, I'd have pressed charges against you for battery, and you certainly wouldn't be my manager. How _dare_ you lay a hand on him, and I promise you this: if you ever— _ever_ —do it again, I swear to God that I'll bury you, regardless of what Evan says."

Mike nodded slowly then suddenly smiled as though something made sense to him. Valerie narrowed her eyes but he didn't clarify. "I understand," he finally said with an apologetic sort of shrug. "You know, I just wanted to thank you. At least he's not getting into as much mischief as he used to since you're around."

She wasn't entirely ready to let it go, but satisfied that she'd made her point crystal clear, she crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her gaze toward the stage once more. Evan was singing another song now, one that seemed to be about how big Bone's . . . bone . . . was . . . "Oh?"

Nodding, Mike stuffed his hands into his pockets and bobbed his shoulders dismissively. "Between him and Dieter . . ." Barking out a rather terse laugh, he shook his head. "Those two were always getting into some kind of trouble, and the hell of it was, most of the time, they weren't even really trying to . . . Both of them were way too smart, you know? So when you take two people who are too damn smart for their own good, toss them onto a bus for hours at a time, add in some booze or other . . . stuff . . . Eh, it was just a recipe for disaster, I guess. God only knows how many times I had to dig their asses out of trouble—or jail . . ." He didn't laugh as he trailed off, but he did smile. It was a little sad, though, and Valerie had to wonder if Mike missed Dieter as much as Evan did . . .

"There was one time that I had to bail them out of jail in Biloxi . . . They snuck out of the hotel and ended up, wandering the streets at four a.m., and I get a phone call from the police station saying that they were both busted for peeing on a statue of the Virgin Mary outside a church."

"Evan did that?" Valerie asked. Even for him, that sounded pretty awful.

Mike let out a deep breath then chuckled. "He said that they weren't _trying_ to pee on the Virgin Mary, they were just peeing, and the statue just happened to be there, but Dieter . . ." Trailing off for a minute, Mike looked sad despite the wan smile on his face. "Dieter said that they couldn't find a fire hydrant."

Valerie laughed despite her lingering irritation with the manager and shook her head. For some reason, that sounded about right . . .

"Then they were kicked out of Seattle. They drank a couple bottles of whiskey then figured it'd be interesting to try to dig up the oldest grave in the city. Dieter had heard about it on the news or something—maybe they'd looked it up on the internet. Who knows? So the two of them get caught desecrating this grave, and the story they gave the cops was that they just wanted to see if the 'old dude's' body had completely disintegrated yet. Can you imagine?"

Pressing her lips together, Valerie nodded slowly. Yeah, she really could imagine that . . .

"The dumbest thing about the whole thing was that the graveyard was right across from a police station," Mike added almost as an afterthought. "Hell, if I had a dime for every scrape I've had to dig the two of them out of over the years, I could retire a millionaire a few times over . . ."

Valerie shook her head and smiled. Something about his tone, the expression on his face . . . "You miss Dieter, too, right?" she asked.

Heaving a sigh, Mike looked a little embarrassed but finally nodded. "He doesn't think I do," he said, inclining his head in the direction of the stage. "He's always regarded me as an enemy," he admitted. "Goes with the territory, I guess."

"He's having trouble dealing with it," she allowed.

"You think I don't know that?" Mike grumbled. "You know, the first time I met him, I knew he was going to be big, but he was in a band with Dieter and the others, so when Wicked Soundsations wanted to sign him— _just_ him—he told them to go fuck themselves. Deet was the one who talked him into signing . . . I don't know that Deet ever really wanted to make it big as much as he just wanted to jam with his friend."

Valerie blinked and shook her head. She didn't know that. It spoke volumes, though, as far as she was concerned. The depth of Evan's relationship with Dieter . . . Maybe she really hadn't understood it completely, and maybe she never would. "He's avoiding the new bassist, isn't he?" she asked as she stared at the men on the stage.

Mike sighed again, rubbing his forehead in a weary sort of way. "Yeah, he is," he said. He didn't sound like he knew what to do about it, either, and he laughed kind of sadly. "If I point it out to him, he's liable to come unglued . . ." He chuckled and shrugged again. "Then you'd bury me, right? But if I don't . . . Well, it's pretty obvious, what he's doing. There was even a write-up about it in the _Los Angeles Sunset_ after the show . . ."

Valerie nodded but didn't reply. She could understand exactly what Mike was saying. If it was obvious even to her, then she supposed that it was worse than she knew. Sure, she could understand Evan's reticence, and she knew that, to be fair, she'd have to admit that he was dealing with things better than she might if she were him. Unfortunately, she didn't have any ideas about how to change it, either . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> __**'Hysteria'** by Def Leppard first appeared on their 1987 release, **Hysteria**. Song written by and copyrighted to Joseph Elliot, Richard Allen, Phil Collen, Steve Clark, Mutt Lange, Rick Savage.  
>  == == == == == == == == == ==  
>  **Final Thought from Evan:**  
>  I thought the new lyrics rocked …  
> 


	72. 071: The Five Letter Word

' _Remember when you ran away_ …  
' _And I got on my knees and begged you not to leave_ …  
' _Because I'd go berserk_?  
' _Well! You left me anyhow and then_ …  
' _The days got worse and worse_ …  
' _And now you see I've gone completely out of my mind_ …'

 

-' _They're_ _Coming_ _to_ _Take_ _Me_ _Away'_ by Napoleon XIV.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan blinked when the checker board went flying across the room, scattering little red and black missiles through the air as Valerie sat back in her chair, heel resting on the seat, knee drawn up to her chest, staring innocently at her upturned nails.

"You're kind of a sore loser," he pointed out mildly, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms over his head.

"Blame it on Lars," she said, jerking her head toward the closed door and the driver beyond. "He hit a bump."

"Of course he did," Evan allowed with a husky chuckle. Three games into the checker tournament that Valerie had suggested after the tenth time that he'd told her that he was bored since they'd boarded the bus after the show, and Valerie had apparently had enough. She was down to one king that was backed into a corner while he had five kings that were closing in fast. He wasn't actually trying to win, but . . .

"He did," she insisted without as much as batting an eyelash. "I think he might have done it on purpose, too."

"I'm sure he did," Evan agreed, the humoring tone on his voice so thick it could have been cut with a cleaver. "Don't worry, V. I know where all the pieces were on the board."

Wrinkling her nose, Valerie flipped her hand over to inspect her nails from the other side. "That's okay," she replied airily. "You would've lost, anyway."

He chuckled since they both knew that the odds of that happening were slim and none. "Damn . . . I'm so bor—"

Hazel eyes flashing to meet his without blinking, Valerie cocked an eyebrow. "Finish that word and die, Roka," she said.

He grinned wolfishly and got up, wandering over to the refrigerator to rummage around for the half of a foot long double meat Italian sub that he'd ordered just after sound-check but hadn't had time to finish before the show. "But I am," he pointed out reasonably enough. "You know, usually after a show, the guys would have this bus full of girls that they'd picked out for me, and—"

Cutting himself off abruptly when Valerie's shoe smacked into his ass, Evan craned his neck to grin over his shoulder at her, wiggling his butt in a wholly exaggerated way. "Well, baby, if you really _want_ to play with my ass . . ."

She wasn't impressed, and the other shoe quickly followed suit. "You're _all_ ass, _baby_ ," she shot back.

Evan blinked and broke into a huge grin that he quickly hid in the sanctity of the refrigerator. Sarcastically or not, he kind of liked hearing her call him 'baby', didn't he?

' _Damn . . . her voice is smooth as butter_ . . .'

' _Hell, yeah_ . . .'

' _Think we can get her to fuck us?_ '

Evan heaved a sigh and grabbed the sandwich and a beer with the same hand before closing the refrigerator. ' _Not likely . . . unfortunately_ . . .'

His youkai sighed, too.

"You're plotting something over there; I know it," Valerie stated as he turned around and started back toward the table.

"Who? Me?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Now I'm _sure_ of it," she muttered. "Spill your guts, Roka. I'm on to you."

"Naw," he said as he dropped into the chair across from her and started to unwrap the sandwich, "but I wish you were."

"Were what?" she asked, blinking in a rather blank way.

"On to me," he replied, sparing a moment to give her a lecherous grin and wink before stuffing the sandwich into his mouth. "Do you have any idea just how badly I want to fuck the living, breathing _hell_ out of you?"

Eyes flaring wide, pretty blush exploding under the surface of her skin, she blinked and for a moment, she could only stare at him. Cheeks blossoming in even darker color, she recovered quickly enough, sorting indelicately as she flicked a hand as though to wave away his outrageous statement. "Y-You're so gross," she muttered, leaning across the table and snatching a hunk of bread off the end of the bun.

Carefully ripping the sandwich in half, he handed her the part she'd attacked and slumped back in his chair. "Aw, come on, V . . . You can't seriously tell me that sex with good ol' Manastecles actually makes you come."

"My sex life with _Marvin_ is _none_ of your business, Roka," she stated haughtily. He figured that if looks could kill, he'd be six feet under—possibly further . . . maybe more like six . . . hundred . . .

"Yeah, yeah. Best two minutes of your life, right?" he countered. Why was it that he just couldn't leave well enough alone . . .? Well, it might have had something to do with the absolutely adorable way she pursed her lips just before she handed him his ass or maybe it was the way her eyes ignited when her passion rose. Angry, maybe, but Evan knew—just knew—that the luminance in her gaze would be the same whether she was glaring at him or egging him on in bed . . . Besides, where was she going to go? She was trapped on the bus with him via court order whether she liked it or not.

"You know, there's more to life than just sex," she huffed, shaking her head as she methodically picked the salami off the sandwich he'd handed her. "I feel a little sorry for you if that's all you care about."

Chuckling softly at her attempt to take the moral high ground, Evan shook his head and reached for the meat she was removing. "Of course there's more," he allowed with a careless shrug. Tipping his head back, he stuffed the salami into his mouth. "Never said there wasn't, but there's got to be something, doesn't there? We're talking about the bastard you're going to spend the rest of your life with, right?   Let's face it: Maynard's not winning any awards in the personality department, so the least he can do is get you off."

Shaking her head, Valerie took her time chewing a bite of the parts of her sandwich that she hadn't discarded. "For your information, Roka, all that is just a myth."

"All what is?"

She rolled her eyes as though she thought that he was being obtuse for the hell of it. "Orgasms—at least, when it comes to women."

"A myth?" he repeated, shaking his head. "What kind of myth are we talking about here?"

Heaving a sigh—he was positive now that she really did think that he was only pretending not to understand her—she shot him a droll look before uncurling her leg and wandering over to the refrigerator. "Women don't orgasm," she finally said, her voice muffled by the appliance. "It's just something that we pretend to do so that men like you don't end up with bruised egos."

Evan laughed. He couldn't help it. In fact, he almost fell off his chair, he was laughing so hard. He laughed so hard that his stomach started to ache, and when he didn't stop laughing, he grunted between guffaws when Valerie stomped over and shoved him off his chair.

"And who the hell told you that bunch of bullshit?" Evan gasped out as he sat up slowly and wiped his watering eyes.

Valerie snorted indelicately and shook her head, draining half a beer in one long gulp. "It's a known fact, you moron," she countered. "Of course, _you_ wouldn't believe me. You're a _guy_ , after all . . ."

Somehow, he managed to rein in his amusement—barely. Schooling his features, he shot her an innocent smile and climbed back into his chair again. "V, honey girl, I've got to tell you you're wrong. Women come. In fact, they come more often than men do _and_ they come harder than men do, too. I'm kind of jealous, but that's beside the point. I swear to God that once Maddy came for half an hour, straight: no lie."

"You're so full of shit you stink, Roka," she muttered, rolling her eyes as she sucked down the rest of the beer.

Slapping his hand down on the table, Evan grinned, which earned him the legendary narrowing of the eyes. "Tell you what. Because we're such good friends, I'll help you out. After all, I'd feel damn bad if you married that little weenie and condemned yourself to a lifetime of unfulfilling sex."

"I am not sleeping with you," she gritted out from between clenched teeth.

Evan wondered if she was going to permanently injure herself if she got any redder but didn't remark upon it. He'd used the phrase, 'blew an ass gasket' a number of times in his life, but he had to think that Valerie was probably closer to doing it for real than anyone else he'd ever seen. "That's not what I was going to suggest, but if you _want_ to—"

"I don't."

He laughed at her clipped tone. "Settle down, settle down . . . Geez, _Val_ , you're going to hurt yourself if you get any more worked up than you already are."

She glanced around, probably for something to brain him with but otherwise ignored his statement.

"Why don't you give me ol' Darwin's phone number? I'd be happy to give him a call and school him on exactly what to do to make sure that you're screaming like a ten dollar whore in bed."

She grabbed his acoustic guitar and held it by the neck like a baseball bat.

"Okay, okay! Man, you're touchy . . ." he grouched, holding up his hands to keep her from bringing down the wrath of V on his beloved guitar.

Satisfied that she'd curbed his offers, at least for the moment, she lowered the guitar and planted her hands on her hips, glaring at him with a bright red face and looking for all the world like she was trying to decide if she could get away with eating his spleen or something. "I told you once, Evan: what Marvin and I do or don't do is really none of your business."

Evan nodded then shrugged, knowing damn well that he really ought to leave well enough alone. He knew it, of course, but . . . "Yeah, sure. Just one last question?"

"Evan . . ." she began in a warning tone.

"Is it one of those teenage gropes at night? Make sure all the lights are off, hidden all nice and clean under the covers? A minute or two of clumsy fondling while you count the number of cars that pass by the headlights that move across your ceiling?"

She stared at him, her expression impassive. If it weren't for the slight flicker behind her eyes, he might have thought that he had actually been completely off base. Too bad he saw it and recognized it, though he really should give her props. He'd almost believed her—almost.

"So when he sticks his pecker in you, you shift around a little, not because it feels good but because he's just not that great at finding the target, right? But he thinks it means that you like it . . . and you lay there for a couple minutes while he grunts and wiggles, and then he chokes a little, his body goes all tense and he's done. Then he rolls over and goes to sleep, and you get to feel like you did your duty, and all the while you're wondering if that's really how it's supposed to be."

"You're such a jerk, Evan," Valerie said quietly as she dropped the empty bottle into the wooden crate beside the refrigerator that the beer had been delivered in. "I don't know why that surprises me. I thought that maybe you . . ." Trailing off, she suddenly shook her head and strode over to the bed, tossing back the blankets and crawling under them. "You can sleep on the sofa."

Evan thoughtfully stared at her huddled form for a minute, wondering exactly why it was that he never could just leave well enough alone.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

" _Then he rolls over and goes to sleep, and you get to feel like you did your duty, and all the while you're wondering if that's really how it's supposed to be_ . . ."

Sighing into the darkness, Valerie flopped over onto her back and tried to ignore the words that just kept running through her head.

Anger had run its course long ago, sometime after Evan had shut off the lights and stretched out on the sofa, leaving her with a sense of confusion that she just couldn't shake, an overwhelming sense of emptiness. After that, she'd started to wonder exactly why his little scenario had irritated her. Easy to say it was simply the derogatory assessment, but was it really?

Or maybe . . .

Maybe it was that he was just a little too close to the truth that upset her the most . . .

"V? You sleeping?"

She didn't answer him. What would it matter if she did? He had to know that she was still awake. Why else would he bother talking?

He heaved a sigh not unlike the one that she'd done a few minutes before. "About what I said earlier," he mumbled, "sorry about that. It's just . . . You know . . . A woman like you deserves better than that—way better . . ."

Scowling, Valerie bit her lip, unable to decide what to make of Evan's quiet statement.

He chuckled suddenly, but there wasn't any real humor in it. If anything, it sounded rather sad. "Ah, what the hell? Who am I to talk? What the fuck do I know about that kind of thing, anyway?"

"Have you ever been in love before, Evan?" she asked quietly.

He didn't answer right away. She was starting to think that he wasn't going to when he finally did. "Once," he replied. "It was a long time ago."

Sitting up, Valerie hooked her hands around her raised knees, staring into the darkness surrounding the sofa. "Oh? What happened?"

"I couldn't find her," he said simply. It must have made perfect sense to him, but it didn't make any sense at all to her. "Eh, it was a long time ago—nine? Ten years ago, maybe . . .?"

"What happened?"

He let out a deep breath, and she could hear him sit up, too. "Nothing really. I just thought that she might have been the one. I had her for one night, and when I woke up the next morning, she was gone."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Making a face, Valerie shook her head. "I asked if you'd ever been in love before, not if you'd had a one night stand. You've had more than enough of those, haven't you?" she muttered.

"I know what you asked," he corrected. "There was something about her. It just felt . . . _right_."

"That's lust, Evan," she said, strangely disappointed, though she couldn't rightfully say whether she was disappointed in him or in herself. "Love isn't the same thing."

"And you know this?"

"Of course I do. You think that I don't understand the difference?"

"Then tell me, V, what is it?"

Pushing the blanket aside, Valerie stood up, shuffled over to the sofa and sat in the chair beside it. "Lust is something that wears off over time," she said simply. "It doesn't ever last."

She could feel his gaze on her. All she could see, however, was a shadow hidden inside the recesses of a larger, slightly lighter one. "I think it can," he countered mildly.

"You do."

He shifted slightly, more of a change in the aura that surrounded him rather than an actual sound. "If you look at someone every day and you think, 'This person's beautiful . . .' then you realize that there's no one else on earth that shines as brightly as she does—and all you ever want to do is to make her happy . . ."

"Careful, Roka," she chided. "That almost sounded romantic."

"I don't know about that," he said with a chuckle. "Besides, I totally stole all that."

"From who?"

He chuckled again. "Dieter. Heard him say it once to Miss."

"I should have known," she sighed but smiled just a little. "Did she buy it?"

"Of course she—No. No, she didn't."

Valerie laughed softly and shook her head. "The concert was good—well, aside from the sea of breasts . . . Dieter would've been proud."

"Aw, you didn't like that?" Evan teased half-heartedly. Then he snorted, and the change in his mood was abrupt. "The sea of tits was the highlight of the whole damn show . . . Everything else sucked monkey balls," he countered. "The bass kept missing, always two beats behind everything else . . ."

"It _sounded_ good to me," she assured him.

"No, it didn't."

"Are you sure you're being objective here?" she asked quietly, seriously. "You're not being overly harsh on Pete because of Dieter, are you?"

"I'm being overly harsh on Pete because he sucks ass," Evan growled.

She nodded. His temper was rising fast—too fast. "People are starting to notice that you go out of your way to avoid being anywhere near him," she went on.

"What do you want me to do, V?" he challenged suddenly. "You want me to go hang out with him? Make him my buddy?" Heaving a sigh, as though it had somehow deflated him, he shook his head. "I can't . . . and I don't really want to."

"You don't have to go that far," she told him. "Can't you just leave it alone for the good of your tour?"

"I'm trying," he snapped in complete exasperation. "It's just not that easy."

"And you think everything in life comes easy, do you?" she asked. "But it is your tour—your music—and you're the one that people pay money to see."

"Your point?" he grumbled pointedly.

"My point," she went on slowly, "is that if you keep avoiding Pete's side of the stage, the people on that side of the audience are being cheated."

Evan uttered a terse grunt. "Can we drop this if I promise that I'll try harder next time?"

It wasn't exactly the answer that she'd hoped for, but she figured that it was better than nothing. "I suppose," she allowed, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand.

"You believe in God?" he asked suddenly, quietly, like he'd been thinking about it for some time, but wasn't sure what his actual opinion was.

"God?" she echoed, shaking her head. "Yeah . . . I guess so . . ."

He nodded, considering her answer. "Do you think there's something out there after we die?"

She sighed, understanding what he was really wanting to know. Unfortunately, she wasn't any closer to answering that particular question than he was. "I . . . I don't know," she finally admitted. "I guess I'd like to think so."

"Because you want to think that a part of you will always exist?" he challenged.

She shook her head then shrugged, picking at a bit of lint on her sweatshirt. "Maybe . . . or maybe I just don't want to think that our lives don't matter—that it doesn't matter what we do, it'll all be for the nothing in the end."

"That makes it sound kind of hopeless," he admitted, shifting slightly, a whisper of movement that she could hear but couldn't rightfully see.

"What do you think?"

He sighed. "I . . . I don't know," he admitted quietly. "But sometimes . . . sometimes when I'm on stage? It's like . . . like I can feel him." He chuckled suddenly. "Do I sound fucking crazy or what?"

"No, I don't think you do," Valerie replied. He sighed again, but she could feel the heaviness in his very aura letting loose, little by little. Yawning yet again, though, she shook her head. "As much as I'd love to stay up and discuss the afterlife with you, Roka, I'm tired, and I'm going back to bed."

"Can I come with you?"

Valerie got up and padded back toward the bed once more. "No."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

Evan snorted then heaved a melodramatic sigh.

Curling up in the bed, Valerie's eyes started to drift closed. The sleepiness that had eluded her for so long was crashing down on her with a vengeance.

She was almost asleep when Evan's voice jerked her back to semi-consciousness. "V?"

"Hmm?"

He didn't answer right away, but Valerie heard a couple rustling sounds as Evan stretched out on the sofa again. ". . . I'm bored."

She would have rolled her eyes if she was able to open them. As it was, she grunted something entirely unintelligible before snuggling a little deeper under the blanket. "Shut up, Roka," she finally grumbled. "Just go to sleep already."

The last sound that she heard was Evan's husky chuckle just before she drifted off to sleep . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _They're_** **_Coming_** **_to_** **_Take_** **_Me_** **_Away_** ' _by_ _Napoleon_ _XIV_ _first released_ _in_ _1966_. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _N._ _Bonaparte_ _(Jerry_ _Samuels)_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Lust, huh …?_


	73. 072: Daybreak

' _Wastin' away again in Margaritaville_ …  
' _Searchin' for my lost shaker of salt_ …  
' _Some people claim that there's a woman to blame_ …  
' _But I know it's nobody's fault_ …'

 

-' _Margaritaville'_ by Jimmy Buffett.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

The passing blare of a car horn brought Valerie rudely back to her senses, and she sat up quickly, blinking as she looked around to find the source of that sound.   It took a few minutes for her mind to catch up with her body, and when it finally did, she heaved a frustrated growl and flopped back against the thick pillows once more.

"Jackasses . . . honking their damn horns at the crack of . . ." Glancing at the clock, she snorted. ". . . Ten . . ."

She needed coffee in the worst way.

"Evan?" she called, figuring that since he tended to be a lot more coherent than she was first thing in the mid-morning that maybe she could talk him into making the coffee for her.

There was no answer.

Grudgingly sitting up, Valerie slowly shifted her gaze around the bus' interior. Everything was just as it should be with one glaring exception—no Evan.

He wasn't in the bathroom. The door was wide open.

So where in the world was he?

"It's not like he could just get up and decide he had to go somewhere," she muttered, tossing the blankets back and rolling out of bed with an irritated snort. Knowing that man, he was off somewhere getting into one kind of trouble or another. She was starting to think that he just really didn't know any constructive ways to stay out of it.

Stomping over to the sliding door that separated the bus from the driver, she slapped the panel to release the lock and gave it a good shove.

"Morning, V," Lars greeted without taking his eyes off the road ahead of them.

"Morning," she replied, bracing herself in the doorway to maintain her balance as the bus slowed slightly to take a fairly sharp curve. Then again, it wasn't going nearly as fast as it should be. That was odd, but Valerie didn't remark upon it. "Where's Ev—Zel?"

"Roka?" he replied, his brow furrowing thoughtfully. "You check behind the bus?"

Valerie blinked and shook her head. "Behind the—? Why would he be behind the bus?"

Lars chuckled as though he thought that she'd just asked something kind of stupid.

Making a face, she ran back through the bus and into the bathroom, grabbing the blind cord and giving it a good yank. Eyes widening, she spotted the errant rock star. Jogging behind the bus, he was safe enough between the vehicles, and since they were basically smack in the middle of nowhere, she figured that he probably wasn't too worried about safety or paparazzi, either, for that matter, which was a good thing since he'd opted to do his running without a shirt on, wearing only a pair of loose black shorts.

Letting out a deep breath, she spared a moment to watch him. Golden blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail that swung carelessly behind him, he was wearing a set of cordless earphones, probably listening to music or something. How fair was it, really? He moved with such a grace, almost a certain kind of elegance that most ordinary people were never able to attain, and as loathe as she was to admit it especially to him, she couldn't help but appreciate exactly how beautiful his body really was. Shouldn't it have been enough that he was tall and good looking? Broad chest that wasn't so wide that it made him look like some kind of bodybuilder . . . narrow waist . . . six-pack abs . . . sinewy strength that seemed so entirely effortless . . . and the symmetry of motion in every single thing he did—she wouldn't have described him as cat-like, no . . . more like an elk or a deer: one of those beasts that moved with such skill, such precision that it could mesmerize the person watching them. Why did every single part of him have to have such perfect proportion? It certainly wasn't because he went out of his way to take care of himself. Sure, he did like to jog like he was doing now, and yes, she'd seen him spar with Bone and with his brother, but she knew damn well that he didn't even bat an eye over the idea of putting things into his body that could potentially hurt him.

It just wasn't fair, damn it. She woke up every morning after trying to get a decent night's rest, ate things that were good for her, tried to do some sort of exercise every day, and she knew that if she were to slack off, it wouldn't take long for it to show on her figure. Ugh, she hated people like Evan Zelig who didn't really have to work to maintain the body they had . . . even if he _was_ extremely easy on the eyes . . .

Biting her lip, Valerie hurried back into the main part of the bus, pausing only long enough to pull on her jogging shoes. She'd worn sweats to bed last night, so she didn't bother to change as she darted to the front of the vehicle again. "Stop the bus," she ordered.

Lars took his eyes off the road long enough to give Valerie a questioning glance.   "Yes, ma'am," he agreed, reaching for the button on the instrument panel that connected all the busses in the line. "Pull over. V wants to jog with the boss."

A few minutes later, Lars got the okay to stop the bus, and he opened the door with a wide grin. Stepping down into the faded grass beside the road, she bent over to stretch out for a minute as Evan came loping around the side. "Everything okay?" he asked, frowning in concern as he closed the distance.

Valerie straightened up and shot him a haughty look as she jogged past him.

He laughed and ran after her. A moment later, the bus ahead of them rumbled and crept forward, slowly gaining speed as it pulled away.

"Do you do this a lot?" she asked, breaking into a comfortable jog—just fast enough to give her a good workout, not so fast that she had to kill herself to keep up.

"Just when I can't stand being cooped up in there," he said, jerking his head at the bus ahead of them. He fell into step beside her, their feet creating a rhythm as they hit the pavement. It was impossible to tell just how long he'd already been running, but she figured that he couldn't have been up to it very long. He hadn't even broken a sweat yet . . .

"I'm surprised that Mike lets you."

Evan rolled his eyes. "He's not my father. Hell, if he were, I'd have run away from home about the time that I learned how to walk. 'Sides . . . he's not here."

She glanced at him and shook her head. "But he got on the bus last night, didn't he? I know he did . . . He's on that one with Bone . . ."

"He got on the bus," Evan allowed with a shrug. "Needed to bark at Bone. Then he got right back off again—a meeting or something. Who knows? Mikey doesn't like traveling on busses so he normally just flies in for the shows."

"Why don't _you_ fly to your shows?" she asked, her voice starting to take on that breathless quality.

"Eh . . . fly around the country, only to have more fucking time, stuck in a damn hotel? No, thanks, V. I'll pass."

"So there _is_ a method to your madness . . ."

He chuckled. "Well, that . . . and if I flew, then I'd never be able to shake Mike off my ass, now would I?"

Uttering as much of a laugh as she could, she rolled her eyes then glanced down at the road to make sure there wasn't any potholes for her to trip over, but when she caught a glimpse of Evan's feet, she gasped. "Why are you barefoot?" she demanded, stumbling slightly as she shot him a disapproving glance.

He caught her elbow and steadied her. "I never run with shoes on; I told you," he replied calmly.

"And I thought it was bad enough that you're out here with just those stupid shorts on," she muttered, increasing her pace just a little. "It's got to be, what? Sixty degrees? Maybe sixty-five? And you don't have the common sense to put a shirt on at least . . ."

"I'm fine, V," he argued mildly. "I'm hot blooded, remember?"

Snorting loudly, Valerie shook her head and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

Speeding up, he shot out ahead of her, only to turn around and run backward with a ridiculous grin on his face. "Ah, much better . . ."

"You're going to trip and fall on your big, fat head," she pointed out.

"I'm telling you, V, the view out here is spectacular."

Glancing from side to side without moving her head, she wrinkled her nose. "It's nothing but rock, Roka. Twenty feet of rock on both sides of the road."

He chuckled. "No way," he argued. "By the way, you're not wearing a bra, are you?"

She could feel the blood explode under her skin but stubbornly kept moving. "None of your business," she growled. "Now shut up or I'll get back on the bus."

His chuckle escalated into a full-out laugh, but he did turn around and fall in beside her once more.

The exercise, though, was starting to work on her. She'd always appreciated how physical exertion could improve her mood . . .

They ran along in silence for awhile. Every so often, Valerie would alter her course to avoid as much of the exhaust fumes as she could from the bus ahead of them. Glancing at Evan, she was pleased to see that he had finally developed a fine sheen of sweat. Granted, she'd prefer for him to be drenched from head to foot, but she'd take whatever she could get . . .

"It's going to be a really great day," Evan ventured, breaking the companionable quiet that had fallen as they jogged. Valerie didn't reply as a car passed on the left. Kids inside were yelling, probably because Evan's bus had 'Zel Roka' painted three feet high on the side panels—not good for trying to remain inconspicuous . . .

' _A great day, huh?_ ' she thought to herself as Evan waved at the kids—boys, all of whom seemed to be trying to lean over each out and out the windows to get a glimpse of the rock star. Smiling to just a little, she quickened her pace. Maybe he was on to something there . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"How's the tour going, sweetie?"

Evan grinned and flopped back on the bed with the cell phone to his ear. "It's going all right, Mama," he replied. "How are things at home?"

"Oh, just fine," Gin assured him. "Trying to get everything ready for the children's Halloween party at the hospital and all that . . ."

"So you and Cain worked things out?"

She sighed quietly—she probably didn't mean for him to hear it. "Everything's fine," she stated again.

"What did he do to land himself in the dog house?" Evan asked quietly.

"I-It was nothing," Gin said brightly—too brightly. "Just a misunderstanding . . ."

"A misunderstanding," Evan echoed, rolling onto his side and frowning at the wall. "Helluva misunderstanding if you went to Bubby's house for . . . how long? A couple weeks? Three?"

"Don't worry about us," Gin hurried on to say. "Don't you have a big show tonight?"

"Tomorrow night," he corrected. "Anyway, you're more important to me than a gig."

"You're such a sweet boy!" Gin told him. "I just love you!"

He could hear the smile on her face coming through in her voice and chuckled. "Love you, too, Mama," he said.

Gin sighed and hesitated, as though she wanted to say something but wasn't sure how to do it. Evan waited, knowing that she'd get around to it sooner if he didn't press, and he was right. "How . . . How is she?"

"She?" he repeated with a thoughtful frown. "V, you mean?"

"Um, no . . . That girl—Violca."

Something in Gin's tone gave him pause. She sounded almost grudging, like she didn't want to ask any such thing but felt that she had to. It wasn't an inflection that Evan was familiar with, at least, not from his darling mother. "Violca? She's all right. In fact, a friend of mine took her with him. He said he knows some gypsies, so he'll see if they'll take her in."

"That's good," she said with a sigh of relief. "I was afraid I was a little too . . . mean . . . to her . . ."

That made Evan sit up straight. His mother? Mean? To anyone . . .? "How were you mean?" he asked slowly.

"W-Well . . ." she hedged.

"Mama?"

"It wasn't a big deal," she said, her tone a very strange mix of whine and belligerence, and then the belligerence took over. "I meant what I said. I just should have been a little more diplomatic about it, is all."

"What did you say to her?" he couldn't resist asking.

"I'd rather not say," she replied haughtily.

"That bad, eh?" he teased despite the prickle of curiosity that was driving him a little insane.

"I've got to go, sweetie. Break a leg at your recital!"

The line went dead, and Evan sighed then chuckled. Only Gin would call a rock concert a recital . . .

Heaving a sigh, he scooted off the bed, reaching for the first pair of jeans he touched inside the bag someone had brought into the hotel for him. Fascinating, wasn't it? Gin just wasn't a mean person, and he knew that better than anyone, which only fueled his desire to know what she'd said to Violca. It couldn't have possibly been nearly as bad as she thought, though. Then again, Violca's grasp of the English language was shaky at best, so even if Gin had been over the top rude, she probably hadn't even realized it, anyway . . .

He was just pulling up the jeans when a curt knock sounded on his door. It was probably the interviewer that Mike had mentioned on the telephone earlier—a pushy woman named Jennifer Ecco that Evan normally tried to avoid like the plague. ' _Sleep with a woman one time, and she thinks she has the right to ask me about everything under the damn sun_ . . .' Making a face, he reached for a tee-shirt. "Come in."

The door opened, and Jennifer sashayed into the room with a catty smile on her carefully polished face and a scrawny guy who looked like he might have just finished high school right behind her. "Hi, Zel," she greeted in a tone as close to a purr as he'd ever heard as she extended her hand, careful not to chip the candy apple red polish on the nails that Evan was pretty certain were fake.

All the same, he shot her a saucy grin as he tugged the shirt over his head and pulled it down. "How's it going?"

She smiled, dark brown eyes glowing as she slowly, methodically looked him up and down. She was trying to stalk him, wasn't she? He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the given situation. In times gone by, he might have taken her up on the unspoken offer, after all, she really was something to look at, and she knew it. She ought to. Evan figured she'd spent enough money on herself through the years that if she didn't look absolutely spectacular, she needed to sue a couple plastic surgeons. Very large, perfectly shaped, absolutely gorgeous breasts that were a little too firm to be real, beautifully tucked waistline, soft thighs that were just too slender not to have become familiar with the art of liposuction, a nose that used to be a bit more on the Grecian side of things was now more apt to be described as 'pixie' . . . Even the platinum blonde hair that hung to her waist was entirely too light to match up with the black eyebrows that were meticulously plucked—all in all perfect—maybe a little too perfect . . . or maybe a little too much of someone else's idea of perfection . . .

The flash of hazel eyes stared at him from the recesses of his mind, and he smiled. Jennifer could stand to learn a few things from a certain attorney he knew if she really wanted to see what 'perfect' could truly be. He knew damn well that it didn't matter if she was wearing top of the line designer fashions straight off the runway in Paris or a pair of jeans and a soft little sweater, Valerie wore her clothing; they didn't wear her, which was something else that Jennifer had yet to figure out. There wasn't a surgeon alive who could make _that_ particular woman any more gorgeous than she already was . . .

Still, he took her hand and kissed it since that was obviously what she wanted of him. She rewarded him with a very coy smile. "Thank you for taking time out of your schedule for me," she said. "This is Dane, my photographer. Do you mind if he takes a few pictures? Maybe over there on the bed . . ."

He knew the drill well enough. Stretching out on the bed, he posed for the first ten minutes or so until Jennifer decided that they should move on.

"Your new album debuted at the top of all the charts this week, so congratulations on that," Jennifer said as Evan dropped into a chair in the middle of the huge hotel room. "Of course, that's to be expected from a man of your caliber, right?"

He smiled. "I'd like to think that the new album can stand on its own merits."

"Hmm, of course, of course," she agreed with a wave of her hand. "Let's talk about your new single, okay?"

"Well, I—"

"It's just racing up the charts and promises to be your biggest single to date! Everyone's looking forward to hearing it live, right? So what's the delay with the video?"

"I'm not making a video for it," he replied when she finally decided to let him put a word in, edgewise.

Eyes growing round in exaggerated surprise, she shook her head as she leaned forward to pat his hand like she thought he was being confrontational just for the hell of it. "Is that so? Why ever not?"

"I have my reasons," he said.

She ignored the clipped tone in his voice. "Now, let's see if I did my homework on you right, shall we? Word is that you wrote it for Dieter Reichardt, your bassist who was so brutally gunned down in cold blood just months ago right in front of you. All of us saw you go down, too, and your fans were so grateful that it was just Dieter and not you that was really hurt. Do you have any kind of response for those in the media who are lambasting you for caving under pressure and recording this song to appease those radio stations and video channels that only want to play your less racy songs?"

"Who the fuck cares what a bunch of blowhards have to say about a damn thing I do?" Evan countered, the last nerve in his body fraying at lightning speed. Just Dieter? Just Dieter . . . "If I listen to anything they had to say, I'd have given up music a long time ago. As for Deet? He was one of my best friends."

"Of course he was," she said, the sudden concern so intense in her voice that it nearly choked him. After a moment that he supposed she meant to convey her condolences, she gave a brisk little sigh and pasted on her very best broadcast smile. "So you're denying that there's a correlation between your record setting sales in the first week of your album's release and ' _Piece of You'_?" she asked.

Grinding his teeth together, he reminded himself furiously that he had yet to lose his temper with anyone in the media, and he wasn't about to start now. Maybe. "If I wrote the song just to bring in sales then I guess I'd give a rat's ass, but I didn't, so let's just leave it at that."

She jotted some notes on the steno pad in her hands and shot him a syrupy sweet smile. He knew her game a little too well. What she was jotting on that paper was what would eventually end up in her article, and he had a nagging suspicion that she wasn't writing down his words verbatim, either.

Stifling a sigh as she went on with her next question, Evan pasted on as much of a smile as he could muster and tried to look like he was paying attention—and like he wasn't two seconds from standing up and demanding that she and the photographer who kept clicking away get the fuck out of his hotel room.

It was going to be a long interview, wasn't it . . .?

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Hurrying down the hallway to Evan's room, Valerie laughed to herself and quickly ran her fingers through her hair. She felt unaccountably good. Then again, after nearly a week of limited exercise, the morning jog probably had more to do with her good mood than anything else.

In fact, after her shower—a nice, hot one that she'd stood under for at least an hour—she felt more relaxed, more like herself, than she had since she'd left on this little adventure.

So good, in fact, that she thought that she'd go find Evan and see what he had planned. Of course, there was a good chance that he was going to be busy with interviews or something, and she knew that Mike had mentioned to him earlier that it'd do them some good for Evan to sit down with the band and have a jam session—anything to get a little bit of practice in. Still, she was kind of hoping that she could talk him into grabbing something to eat with her since he didn't have a show today. He didn't like to eat before going onstage, and then he ate like he'd never seen food before when he was finished.

Tapping on his door, she waited.

"You waiting for Zel Roka?"

Turning toward the sound of that voice, she glanced at the rather scrawny young man who had spoken. He was waiting a little further down the hallway in front of the elevator. When he noticed that he'd gotten her attention, he blushed a little then shrugged, adjusting the leather bag on his shoulder.

"He'll be busy awhile," the guy said, nodding at Evan's door, his face reddening as he shuffled his feet and avoided Valerie's gaze.

"Is someone in there with him . . .?" she asked cautiously. The kid was acting weird, no doubt about it, and that didn't go over with her very well.

"Dane McCarthy," he said, ducking his head slightly in greeting. "I'm a photographer for _Buzz!_ magazine . . ."

Nodding slowly—okay, so she recognized the name of the hard rock publication—she stepped back. "Valerie Denning, Zel's attorney."

Dane cleared his throat and tried to smile. It looked more like a grimace. "I'm here with a, uh, co-worker . . . She was doing an interview."

"Okay," Valerie said slowly, wondering why it felt like she was trying to pull the kid's teeth. "So why will it be awhile?"

She hadn't thought that it was possible for him to blush any redder. She was wrong. Face a deep crimson, he shrugged again and made a lame gesture at the door. "They're, uh . . . old friends, if you get my drift . . ."

Eyes flaring wide as the implication finally sank in, Valerie unleashed a few choice curses before grasping the door handle and giving it a vicious yank. It wasn't locked, which was a good thing. If it had been, she just might have hunted down an emergency axe or something to bust it. The door flew open, smacking hard against the wall, and Valerie stopped short at what she saw.

Some bottle blonde bimbo was crawling all over Evan with one hand down his pants and the other buried in his hair, her face hidden in the curve of his throat. Evan had his eyes closed, his face contorted in a tortured grimace, his hands holding onto her upper arms like he couldn't decide whether he wanted to push her away or drag her closer.

Valerie cleared her throat and shook her head. If the door slamming open didn't interrupt the two of them, what made her think that a stupid sound like that would . . .? "Just what the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" she growled, refusing to move in any closer since she wanted to kill the both of them.

The woman slowly turned her head to stare at her, a catty smile on her face. She must've thought that Valerie was the unfortunate girlfriend or something, and for one brief instant, she almost—almost—crossed the floor to flatten her—or yank out a couple handfuls of that fake ash-blonde hair of hers . . . Both of those options would be entirely satisfying in completely different ways, as far as Valerie was concerned.

Evan took the lapse in her attention to yank her hand out of his jeans. He looked irritated, but Valerie had to wonder whether he was irked with that woman or with her for interrupting. "Do I really have to remind you of our agreement, Mr. Roka?" Valerie asked stiffly, crossing her arms over her chest and deciding that the woman just didn't deserve any of her attention at the moment.

"Not really," he replied, grasping the woman's arm and escorting her to the door. "She was just leaving anyway. Later, Jen."

"Zel! But—"

He didn't wait for her to finish, closing the door firmly in her face. Valerie ground her teeth together and waited for whatever he had to say.

To her surprise, though, he didn't even try to explain. Pausing just long enough to fasten his jeans, he strode over to grab his cell phone off the nightstand beside the bed and dialed a number before smashing it against his ear and stalking over to the balcony doors, throwing them open as a cold burst of air swept into the room. "Yeah, Mike, it's me. Do me a favor, will you? Tell _Buzz!_ that that's the last time I'll talk to Jennifer Ecco, and if they send her again, I'll refuse to talk to her. Got it?"

Letting out a deep breath, he stalked over to the wet bar and dug a bottle of water out of the small refrigerator. "Not exactly. Just humor me, all right?"

Clicking off the phone, he dropped it onto the counter along with the plastic bottle cap, draining the entire thing in one long quaff.

Valerie frowned. If she was inclined to light into him before, the thought was rapidly diminishing. Something about that woman had really rattled Evan's cage, and that was enough to quell her irritation. She still had questions, sure, but given the foreboding expression on his face, she wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to ask them, either.

"I need a drink," Evan muttered under his breath as he grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair and yanked it up over his shoulders.

She knew the feeling. At the moment, she kind of felt like she could use one, too. "An ex-girlfriend?" she asked mildly, following him out of the hotel room and down the hallway toward the stairs. The woman and her photographer-friend were gone, thank God. All things considered, Valerie just didn't feel like seeing what would happen if Evan were to run into them again any time soon.

"Hardly," he snorted, pushing into the enclosed stairwell and taking the steps two at a time. "Thought I told you already, I've never had one of those."

Rolling her eyes since she didn't really believe that claim in the least, Valerie charged down the stairs behind him. "Whatever, Roka," she replied dryly. "I'm glad, though . . ."

He glanced at her in an almost startled sort of way. Then he grinned and chuckled, and he finally looked like the Evan she knew. "Would you be jealous, V?"

"As if!" she shot back as they rounded the landing between floors. "However, if she was your girlfriend, I'd have to wonder about your taste in women."

"Didn't think she was pretty?"

Valerie shrugged and shot him a look. "Sure . . . if you like Barbie dolls. Was there any part of her that wasn't artificially inflated, shrunk, moved, lifted, lowered, or otherwise bulldozed?"

Evan laughed and grabbed her hand, increasing his speed as he dragged her along behind him. "Yeah, I kind of thought that, too. What about you, V? Have you had any work done?"

She snorted again and considered dealing him a good shove for a moment. But if she did, he'd drag her down with him . . . "I work damn hard on my figure, I'll have you know," she replied haughtily. "What you see is what I was born with."

"Is that right?" Evan said with a wolfish grin.

Valerie smiled despite herself. "That's right, Roka."

"Damn," Evan murmured, smiling in obvious approval. "Damn . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Margaritaville_** ' _by_ _Jimmy_ _Buffett_ _first appeared on_ _his_ _1977_ _release,_ **_Changes_** **_in_** **_Latitudes,_** **_Changes_** **_in_** **_Attitudes_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Jimmy_ _Buffett_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
> … _They bounce_ …


	74. 073: Valerie's Song

' _We ended up at the grand hotel_ …  
' _It was empty, cold, and bare_ …  
' _But_ _with the rolling truck stones thing outside_ …  
' _Making_ _our music there_ …'

 

-' _Smoke on the Water'_ by Deep Purple.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Hey, Roka, did you do something with my—Oh, my God . . ."

Slumped over the table holding an apple in front of his face, Evan didn't look at Valerie as she stepped out of the bathroom, toweling her hair dry. That wasn't entirely odd aside from the fact that he had a look on his face like he'd never actually seen an apple before. No, the strange thing was . . . his hair . . .

"Is there a reason that you're channeling your inner Heidi?" she asked, resuming her towel-drying and nodding at his head and the two braids he'd pulled his hair into. If those weren't bad enough, he'd actually managed to find a couple pony tail holders with oversized orange marbles that he'd wound around the base of those braids. She was a little afraid to find out where he'd found those . . .

He blinked a few times then looked both ways, as though he thought that she might have been talking to someone else. "Who? Me?" he finally asked.

She opened her mouth to reply then snapped it closed again. He didn't seem to be completely 'there', anyway. "Did you smoke something while I was taking a shower?" she asked instead.

"Did you hear that, Apple-chan? She wants to know if we smoked anything."

Valerie narrowed her eyes and sucked in one cheek as she stared at him. "Are you seriously talking to that apple?" she questioned.

"I think she wants to eat you . . . Don't worry. I won't let her. I think you're my new best friend . . ."

Rolling her eyes, she leaned forward, neatly grabbed the apple out of his hand, and bit a healthy chunk out of it before he could stop her. "Mmm," she teased, wiping a dribble of juice off her chin with her knuckle. "Apple-chan tastes _go-o-o-o-od_."

He stared at her like she'd just walked in and announced that she'd killed his dogs. "V-V!" he exclaimed, covering about five octaves in just one letter, jumping up from the table and backing slowly away from her. "How _could_ you? Just . . . _how?_ "

"Get a grip, Roka," she retorted, biting into the apple for a second time. "It's a piece of fruit, not your friend."

"Well, not _anymore!_ " he insisted. "Not since you _ate_ it!"

"Okay, seriously: _did_ you smoke something while I was in the bathroom?" she demanded.

Evan snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and literally throwing himself back into the chair once more. "I wish," he muttered. "But _no_ , I'm being _good_."

She wasn't about to feel sorry for him. "So why are you wearing your hair like that?" she asked instead.

"Like . . .? Oh!" Pulling one of the braids over his shoulders, he picked at the clear rubber band that secured the end and started to remove it. "I was bored," he admitted with an impish grin. "You didn't like it?"

"Sure," she remarked between bites of apple. "If you were an eight year-old girl, maybe."

"I'll have you know that I'd be a _beautiful_ girl," he shot back. "You'd be jealous of me."

"Like hell," she scoffed, scowling when he reached across the table and plucked the apple out of her hand, biting off damn near half of it in one go. "You just ate your friend, you know."

"I was putting him out of his misery," he told her.

"Whatever," she muttered, shaking her head. "Did you do something with my hair dye?"

"No, why?"

She sighed. She had been pretty sure that he had, but he'd sounded way too innocent when he'd replied, and there weren't any tell-tale signs that he was lying. "Maybe I forgot it at the hotel," she allowed.

Leaning to the side, he grabbed the acoustic guitar and shrugged offhandedly. "Why do you need that shit anyway?" he asked, his words slightly slurred when he stuck a pick between his teeth to free up his hands so he could tune the instrument. "Your hair's pretty. Why hide it?"

"Why do you hide yours?" she countered.

"Well, duh, V," he replied. "I like being able to walk down the street sometimes."

Leaning back, she propped her heel up on the seat and hooked her hands around her knee. "And if I had kept my hair blonde the first time you met me, what would you have thought?"

"That doesn't count, woman," he said in a tone that bespoke his belief that she ought to know as much already.

"Why doesn't it?" she asked.

He spared her a droll glance before pulling the pick out of his mouth and strumming a few chords. "Because it wouldn't have changed the fact that I wanted to fuck you then . . . and still do, by the way."

"Why do you have to make everything so difficult?"

"I don't do it on purpose," he assured her. "Anyway, you can't really tell me that I'm the only guy who ever told you that he wanted to bend you over a table and fuck you till you scream."

Opting to ignore that since it wouldn't really do her any good to point out how inappropriate his commentary was, she flicked a hand at the guitar in his hands. "Play something for me," she said.

His head shot up, and he stared at her like he couldn't believe what she'd just asked him to do. "R-really?" he asked quietly, eyes shining happily. "You really want me to play for you?"

She couldn't do anything but stare at him for a long minute, captivated by the expression on his face, the look in his eyes. There was a certain childlike awe in his features, like he'd just gotten the very best present for Christmas or something, and she had to wonder why. He was a musician, right? He was used to playing songs for people, wasn't he? So why . . .?

And that thought was enough to snap her right out the impromptu trance that he'd managed to snare her in. He was a musician, damn it, and musicians were the absolute worst. Why couldn't she remember that all the time? Clearing her throat, forcing her gaze away, hoping that he hadn't noticed her momentary lapse, Valerie cleared her throat and gave a careless shrug. "Sure, just nothing perverted, rocker-boy," she said a little more dryly than she meant to.

He didn't seem to notice that. "Take all the fun out of it, why don't you?" he grumbled despite the goofy grin on his face. "Something unperverted . . . unperverted . . ."

"Is that even a word?"

His face contorted as he shifted his gaze heavenward, concentrating on exactly what he wanted to play for her. "It is now," he stated matter-of-factly. "Unperverted . . . unperverted . . ."

She giggled. She couldn't help herself . . .

"Oh, I know . . ."

The first notes were familiar to her, but it seemed like they should have been played slightly differently or maybe on a different instrument . . . Even still, it was a pretty song, and when he started to sing, she smiled.

 

 

"' _Lying beside you here in the dark_ …  
' _Feeling your heart beat with mine_ …  
' _Softly you whisper—you're so sincere_ …  
' _How could our love be so blind ..?_ '

"' _We sailed off together_ …  
' _We drifted apart_ …  
' _And here you are by my side_ …' 

"' _So now I turn to you with open arms_ …  
' _Nothing to hide, believe what I say_ …  
' _So here I am with open arms_ …  
' _Hoping you'll see what your love means to me_ …  
' _Open arms_ …'"

 

 

She listened in silence, smiling slightly at the feeling that he could put into lyrics that he didn't write. When he finished, he looked at her in a decidedly nervous sort of way, and she clapped, which made his grin widen. "You liked it?"

"That was really sweet," she told him.

He made a face, as though being told that he'd done something 'sweet' was an awful thing. "Aww, couldn't you say that it was sexy or something?"

Heaving a sigh, Valerie shook her head. "You're hopeless," she said. "Utterly and completely hopeless."

He chuckled and launched into another song—this one with a lot more groove than the first: grungier, sexier . . .

 

 

"' _You make me weep and wanna die_ …  
' _Just when you said we'd try_ …  
' _Lovin', touchin', squeezin' each other_ …' 

"' _When I'm alone, baby, all by myself_ …  
' _You're out with someone else_ …  
' _Lovin', touchin', squeezin' each other_ …' 

"' _You're tearing me apart every, every day_ …  
' _You're tearing me apart, oh, what I can I say_ …  
' _You're tearing me apart_ …' 

"' _It won't be long yet, till you're alone_ …  
' _When your lover, oh, he hasn't come home_ …  
' _Cause he's lovin', touchin', squeezin' another_ …' 

"' _He's tearing you apart every, every day_ …  
' _He's tearing you apart, oh, girl, what can you say_ …  
' _He's tearing you apart_ …  
' _And it's your turn, girl, to cry_ …'"

 

 

Valerie giggled as he finished the song with a cocky grin on his face. "Zel Roka doing cover songs," she teased as she clapped in appreciation of his efforts. "Who'd have thought that?"

"A good song is a good song, regardless of who wrote it," he informed her though the grin hadn't faded at all.

"I know those songs," she ventured. "Who did them originally?"

He gasped in mock outrage, clutching at his chest as though she'd shot him or worse. "Sacrilege, woman!" he insisted. "They're _classics!_ "

"Yeah, whatever, Roka," she muttered. "Just tell me, will you?"

He heaved a sigh, slowly shook his head. "Journey, V: _Journey_. I don't know. I might have to seriously reconsider marrying you . . ."

"Get a grip! Those songs are really old!" she argued. "And I don't think that I ever agreed to marry you, in the first place."

Evan chuckled and winked at her. "Are you kidding? Who _wouldn't_ want to marry me? I'm a rock god, remember, which would make you a rock god _dess_ . . ."

"Hmm, and have to share you with your legions of fans, most of whom take off their shirts and shake their boobs at you during your gigs? You know, I think I'll pass," she remarked acerbically.

"Yeah, the sea of boobs is pretty damn awesome, isn't it?" he asked with an enthusiastic grin.

She shook her head. "Not really."

He shot her a knowing look as he idly strummed the guitar. "Are you trying to say that it wouldn't get you all kinds of hot and bothered if you got to look at a sea of penises?"

"No, I really don't think I would," she countered mildly.

"Ri-i-ight," he agreed dubiously. "I dunno, V. You seem like a potential cock fan to me."

"Disgusting," she said, leaning on the table to push herself to her feet. "Just so you know, women aren't anything like men when it comes to things like that. All a man has to do to get turned on is to _think_ about a woman's body.   Women aren't that way."

She pulled her hairbrush out of her overnight bag and wandered back to the table again. Usually she blew her hair dry since she couldn't stand to sleep with wet hair, but Evan had ruined that yesterday when she caught him trying to use it to blow up balloons. "You still owe me a hair dryer," she pointed out.

He waved a hand but didn't take his eyes off the guitar. "Yeah, yeah. Add it to my tab, will you?"

Shaking her head, she cocked an eyebrow at him. He still hadn't paid her back for the night at the museum. That he was paying for everything on the mini-tour was irrelevant, as far as she was concerned. After all, she had been ordered to go with him, so it wasn't a vacation or anything like that. "Speaking of your tab . . ."

"Oh, yeah," he said, setting the guitar on the table and getting up to go locate his wallet. "Here you go," he said, dropping a hundred dollar bill on the table. "That should do it, right?"

She reached for it, letting him take the brush out of her slack hand. Folding the bill in half once, she pulled her purse off the back of the chair as Evan gently gathered her hair and started to brush it. He was surprisingly gentle.

"I love your hair, V," he stated at length, his tone soft, breathy.

Valerie snorted. "Why? Because it's blonde?"

"I don't care what color your hair is," he told her. "I just think it's shit that you try to downplay your looks because you think that people don't take you seriously otherwise."

Rolling her eyes, Valerie pulled the guitar off the table and adjusted it on her lap. "Maybe you should try it, too," she told him. "Then you wouldn't have to worry about whores disguised as reporters who throw themselves at you."

He chuckled at the not-so-subtle jibe. "I feel so dirty," he told her. "I feel so . . . _violated_ . . ."

Craning her neck to pin him with a thoroughly unimpressed stare, she blinked once, twice. "And if I hadn't come in when I did? You would have slept with her, wouldn't you?"

He seemed a little taken aback by the irritation in her voice. She snorted inwardly. Of course she was irritated. She was his attorney, and she'd told him that he had to behave himself, damn it. It certainly didn't have anything at all to do with the idea of him sleeping with anyone. Nope. All she wanted—the _only_ thing she wanted—was for him to keep his nose clean until the trial.

Even if it killed him.

"I had no desire whatsoever to sleep with her, no," he clarified. It was the same thing he'd maintained at the time, and she wasn't really any closer to believing him than she had been then.

Shaking her head, she just couldn't quite leave it alone, could she? Even now, it still pissed her off every time she stopped to think about it. Walking into that room where he stood with that woman . . . her hand down his pants, his face contorted, so obviously enjoying her attention . . .

"You don't understand," he said quietly, gently dragging the brush through her hair again when she finally lowered her head, unable to look at him any longer. "Why the hell would I want to sleep with someone who has no respect for me? No respect for what happened to Deet . . .?"

That gave her a moment's pause. Something in his voice . . . "What did she say about him?" she found herself asking.

He sighed. "Just that everyone was happy because it was 'just Dieter' who got shot and not me—paraphrasing here."

Valerie went entirely still for a long moment. It took a few more moments to tamp down the urge to drive right back to Denver to let that woman know exactly what she thought of that. "That bitch . . ."

"I slept with her a few years ago," he admitted at length. "It was after a show, and she said that she'd make it worth my while if I let her ask a few questions, and I was a little drunk—I mean, the minute I stepped off stage, one of the roadies stuck a fifth of Jack Daniels in my hand—and I was so fucking hyper already and I didn't have anything else to do . . ."

She couldn't help the little snort that escaped her. "So you have sex with someone because you're drunk and hyper and don't have anything else to do? How flattering . . ."

"No," he clarified. "I slept with her because she wanted me to."

For some reason, that sounded even more pathetic to her, didn't it? Sleeping with someone because they wanted to? It was . . . sad.

"Anyway, she wanted to this time, too. Difference was, I didn't want to."

"You looked like you were enjoying it enough," she muttered under her breath. She hadn't really meant for him to hear her, she supposed, but he did.

He chuckled, but there was something kind of sad behind it, too. "I was trying to control my temper so I didn't do something stupid, like bust her in the chops," he explained. "Damn, you jump to a lot of conclusions."

"With good reason, you slut," she grumbled.

This time, his chuckle was warmer, more genuine. "I _am_ a slut," he agreed.

"You're not supposed to be okay with that," she pointed out.

Setting the brush aside, he buried his hands in her hair and gently massaged her scalp. "What's the big deal? It's not like I was cheating on anyone or hurting anyone, right? Besides, most of the time, the women have come on to me."

Valerie had to shake herself a little to keep from falling asleep. "If that's the case, then why say yes all the time?" she challenged. "Just because they offer doesn't mean you have to accept."

"Well, I didn't say that I didn't want to," he told her. "I just _said_."

"Then I feel sorry for you. You've never had a girlfriend, right? You just sleep with women—any woman—as long as she wants to? How can you stand that?"

Evan snorted and heaved a sigh as he stepped away from her and flopped into his chair again. Face shifting into a thorough pout, he crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly. "Didn't you answer your own question, V?" he asked suddenly, quietly.

She blinked and shook her head, unsure what exactly he meant. "How did I answer my own question?"

Rubbing his face, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "How can I stand it?" he repeated, his voice muffled by his hands. "But I've never actually had a girlfriend, right? So how can miss something I never had?"

Damned if that wasn't completely logical, too. "So why haven't you had one?" she asked instead.

Lifting his face out of his hands, he shot her a blank sort of stare. "Had one what?"

"A girlfriend, Roka. Pay attention, will you?"

"Oh, that," he said, slumping back and scrubbing at his head for a few seconds. "They never wanted me, I guess."

Pursing her lips, Valerie shot him a droll glance. "You just said that they wanted to sleep with you," she reminded him.

He nodded, apparently believing that everything he was saying made perfect sense. "They did," he explained simply. "They just didn't want me to be their boyfriend, V."

"That makes absolutely no sense," she muttered, idly rubbing her fingertips over the old guitar's strings.

"No, it kind of does," he contradicted. "You know what I mean, right? Like if you see a really wicked sports car, and you want to take it for a drive, then you realize that you don't really want the car, you just liked the idea of being able to say that you drove one."

"You're comparing yourself to a sports car?"

He shrugged and grinned. "Maddy said once that she figured that girls just never assumed that I'd be interested in being with just them or some shit. Not that it matters, because it doesn't. None of them were the one for me, anyway."

Valerie nodded, frowning over what he hadn't said. It bothered him a lot more than he liked to let on, didn't it? That sadness, that bitterness she'd seen glimpses of from time to time . . . It all worked together, didn't it? Had he really been treated like that his whole life? The guy who was good for a fun time, a one night stand, but not someone you'd want to take home to meet the parents?

Staring at the guitar on her lap, she frowned. Traces of half-forgotten memories were coming back slowly—one of the few good memories she could recall . . . sitting beside her father, a burning cigarette dangling from his lip as he played his beat-up old guitar with one eye squinted closed to keep the smoke at bay . . .

A little girl's sing-song voice echoed through her head . . . " _Daddy, can I try that?_ "

" _Well, I dunno, Tigger . . . think you can handle it?_ "

" _I can do it! I can do it!_ "

 _He laughed softly, his voice a little ragged from the smoke, or maybe it was from other substances that she hadn't understood at the time. "Okay, but don't drop it. If you do, I'll bust your ass_."

" _I won't," she promised, bouncing up and down on the cracked old black vinyl hassock_.

 _Pulling her into his lap, he set the guitar in front of her. "Your arms might be too short to do it," he mused. "Give me your hand_ . . ."

 _Coughing slightly as the cigarette smoke congealed around her, she scowled in concentration, determined to master what her father was teaching her . ._.

Hand wrapping around the fret, biting her lip as she checked her fingers, she strummed the first chord, and it sounded just right.

She didn't look up as she played the part she knew. It didn't amount to much: a few repetitions of the song's intro. When she finished, though, she had a smile on her face, inordinately pleased that she'd remembered what she'd learned so long ago.

"I didn't know you could play the guitar," Evan mused quietly, as though he were afraid that raising his voice would ruin the moment.

"I can't," she replied with a shrug. Handing the instrument back to him, she laughed. "That was it—the extent of what I know."

"I'm impressed," he said.

Valerie rolled her eyes but her smile didn't diminish. "It was _Smoke on the Water_ ," she retorted. "It's one of the first songs that anyone ever learns, hardly a musical masterpiece. It's not like I'm ready to go out and land a recording deal or anything."

"But you played it perfectly," he countered. "Perfect rhythm and everything."

"It was a silly song," she insisted, unsure why Evan's praise made her feel so bashful.

"Who taught you to play it?" he asked.

She supposed that was the logical thing to ask. It still gave her pause, though, and her smile faltered but didn't completely disappear. "My father," she said, shrugging casually, trying to convince him that it wasn't a big deal, hoping that the truth wouldn't lead to more questions.

"Your father's a musician? Is that right?" he asked, eyes widening. "Was he in a band?"

Rubbing her forehead, she grimaced. Evan didn't seem to notice. "Uh, yeah, I think he was . . ."

"Really? _Nice_ . . . He did some gigs, right?"

"A . . . A few," she muttered.

Snapping his fingers, his grin widened. "Ah-h-h, I get it . . . Your father was out on the road or something a lot when you were younger, right? That's why you're so down on it . . . You know, I'd love to meet him. Does he still play now?"

"No," she said, wishing he would drop it, irritated at the enthusiasm on his face. "Evan, can we drop it?"

"How big did he get? Just a few local gigs or what?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she said, raising her voice to cut through stupor that the word 'musician' seemed to inspire in Evan.

He blinked and glanced at her, only to do a double take when he got a good look at her face. "I take it you don't really get along with him," he mused, shaking his head. "Sorry . . . I didn't realize . . ."

Dragging the brush off the table, Valerie stood up and took her time in putting it back in the overnight bag. "It's fine," she lied since it really, really wasn't. The last thing—the very last thing—she wanted was to talk about her parents, especially to someone like Evan Zelig—someone who would never, ever understand. "Why don't you play something else for me?" she suggested, hoping that he'd leave it alone and let her change the subject.

"Okay," he agreed easily enough. "But this time, I get to pick the song."

"You did the last time," she informed him, smiling slightly in relief that he was going to let it slide.

"Yeah, but you chose the level of sanitation," he argued. "Oh! This is one of my favorites . . ."

Settling back in her chair once more, Valerie rolled her eyes when he picked the raunchy chords of a recent song that she was pretty sure described having an orgasm. The censors hadn't quite realized it though, and it had been all over the radio back when she was in college.

The knot of trepidation brought on by the mere mention of her parents, however, took longer to disburse. Lurking in the back of her mind like an ugly thing, just waiting to lash out, to hurt her again . . . No matter how long she tried to forget, it lingered and festered . . . She'd thought that she'd gotten past all that; she really, really had. She'd thought . . .

Then again, maybe it never really went away . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Smoke_** **_on_** **_the_** **_Water_** ' _by_ _Deep_ _Purple first appeared on_ _his_ _1972_ _release_ , **_Machine_** **_Head_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Ritchie_ _Blackmore_ , _Ian_ _Gillan_ , _Roger_ _Glover_ , _Jon_ _Lord_ , _Ian_ _Paice_.  
>  ' ** _Open_** **_Arms_** ' _by_ _Journey_ _first appeared on_ _their_ _1981_ _release_ , **_Escape_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Steve_ _Perry_ _and_ _Jonathan_ _Cain_.  
>  ' ** _Lovin_** ', ** _Touchin_** ', ** _Squeezin_** ' _by_ _Journey_ _first appeared on_ _their_ _1979_ _release_ , **_Evolution_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Steve_ _Perry_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Evan_** :  
>  _V can play guitar … Nice_ …


	75. 074: The Road to Ruin

' _Breakin' rocks in the hot sun_ …  
' _I fought the law and the law won; I fought the law and the law won_ …  
' _I needed money 'cause I had none_ …  
' _I fought the law and the law won; I fought the law and the law won_ …'

 

-' _I Fought the Law'_ by Sonny Curtis and the Crickets.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Valerie yawned as she stepped out of the small gas station with a bottle of juice in one hand and a bag of caramel rice cakes in the other. She'd stolen one of his leather jackets because she'd said that it was too cold outside and was wearing it over a pair of faded jeans and a plain black tee-shirt that hugged her body in all the right places. Pausing long enough to glance both ways in the parking lot, she wandered in his direction. Hell, she was even sporting the prerequisite oversized sunglasses, and with the way her gorgeous golden blonde hair blew in the breeze, she looked every bit the rock goddess that he'd teased her about before.

' _Stop staring, stupid! If you don't sneak those back on the bus, your whole evening's gonna be shot_.'

He made a face. True enough. He'd spotted a sign about thirty miles ago that was old and faded but that had been compelling enough that Evan had insisted that they stop so that he could pick up a few things even though they were, for all intents and purposes, smack dab in the middle of nowhere. As luck would have it, though, there was one very large hurdle to overcome . . . and Valerie just might be able to help him out with that . . .

She was closing in fast on his chosen hiding place, and as she started to head for the bus, he reached out and grabbed her arm, dragging her over behind the gas pumps where he'd been hunkering down for the last ten minutes.

"Good God!" she gasped, yanking her sunglasses off so that she could glare at him properly. "What the hell are you doing? Trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Shh!" he hissed, furiously pressing his finger to his lips. "You're going to get me caught!"

Narrowing her eyes, she shook her head. "All right. I'll bite. What are you up to now, Roka?" she asked with a weary sigh.

Evan grinned at her obvious reluctance and leaned back long enough to peer over at the busses—and the one person he was trying like hell to avoid. "Well, V, see that little store over there?"

Slowly looking over her shoulder at the store she'd just left, she shrugged. "So?"

"Yeah, see, there's a little room in the back that sells fireworks."

It didn't take her long to figure out exactly where the conversation was going, and she sighed. "How many did you buy?"

He grinned and gestured at the two big bags on the ground beside him, both of them packed so tightly that the plastic was distended and misshapen in a number of places. "Sweet, huh?"

Valerie grimaced and stifled a groan. "If you had a brain, you'd be dangerous," she muttered. "What do you need me for?"

Evan chuckled and rubbed his hands together. "I need you to go over there and get _him_ away from the bus so that I can sneak all this stuff on."

Drawing a deep breath then letting it out slowly, Valerie peeked around the gas pump and glanced at Evan before looking back once more. "By 'him', you mean Mike, right?"

Evan nodded enthusiastically.

"And how am I supposed to get him to move?" Shaking her head quickly, she waved a hand to stop him before he started to speak. "I thought he never travels on the busses."

"Well, sometimes he does," Evan allowed. "I swear to God, he only chose to do it this time to piss me off . . ."

Setting the juice aside, Valerie caught the edge of one of the bags with her finger and pulled it back. "You're going to get arrested for this," she predicted.

"Nah . . . but if I do, I've got my attorney with me."

Heaving another sigh, she grabbed her juice and shook her head as she got to her feet again.

"V!" he hissed, careful not to raise his voice.

"Stay down, Roka, or it'll never work."

He chuckled and leaned to the side, peeking around the gas pump again to watch Valerie in action.

She strode over to Mike, who was leaning against the bus, talking on his cell phone. Evan was too far away to hear the conversation, but after a moment, Mike hung up and slipped the phone into his pocket then crossed his arms over his chest and listened to whatever Valerie was telling him. They exchanged a few words, and then she started back in the direction of the store, and to Evan's amusement, Mike followed her.

Once they'd disappeared in the building, he grabbed the bags and dashed for the bus. He'd have to thank her properly later. Maybe he could convince her to enjoy the fireworks display with him . . .

He'd just finished stashing the fireworks in the closet when Mike stepped through the doorway with Valerie close behind. She leaned to the side, shot Evan an apologetic kind of grimace. He winked at her, but turned his attention to Mike instead. "You're not really going to hitch a ride in my bus, are you?" Evan asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Actually, no. I just wanted to tell you I just got off the phone with the general manager at the Floel Civic Center. They're having a problem with some of their electrical systems, so we're going to have to cancel the tomorrow night's gig."

"What about the one on Friday?"

"He swore that the problems would be fixed by then," Mike said.

Evan grunted. "Hell . . ."

"Anyway, there were some security issues that Bone wanted to talk to me about, so behave yourself, will you?"

Evan didn't respond, but he did salute as Mike turned to leave. "Damn," he muttered, plopping onto the sofa with a dejected air. Of course he knew better than anyone that sometimes these things happened. It didn't mean that he had to be happy about it, though, and since he was supposed to be doing a show, it also meant that he'd have nothing—absolutely _nothing_ —to do tomorrow afternoon and evening. That wouldn't be such a bad thing if he didn't already know damn well that there was no way that Mike was going to think it was okay for him to go out for a night on the town.

"A night off?" Valerie remarked with a half smile as she popped a mini rice cake into her mouth. "What in the world will you do with yourself?"

"I'll think of something," he assured her. "You could keep me occupied. I was kind of thinking about you and me and a bottle of baby oil . . . Want to hear more?"

The bus lurched and started to move. Valerie dug another rice cake out of the bag and whipped it at him. He caught it in his mouth and grinned at her. She arched an eyebrow and slowly shook her head. "I think I'll pass," she said dryly.

"You sure? It sounds like a good way to spend some time to me . . ."

Valerie dug a cardboard air freshener out of her pocket. It was shaped like Oregon—the state they were currently passing through—and she turned it over to read the back of the package.

"Let me guess," Evan drawled, grinning rather obnoxiously at her, "souvenir for Manford?"

Lifting her eyes without moving her head, she stared at him blankly for a long minute. "Souvenir?"

"Sure . . . Okay, it's cheesy, but if it's from your heart I'm sure that he'll just love it . . ." he went on.

"This isn't for Marvin," she countered mildly. "It's for you."

"For me? You bought me an Oregon-shaped air freshener?"

"It's all they had," she explained. "And yes, it's for you."

"Why would you buy me something like that?"

Valerie bit down on the edge of the plastic and ripped it open. "Because you're the single most vile and disgusting person I've ever had the misfortune of sharing a bathroom with," she stated flatly.

He laughed as she headed for said-bathroom. "Yeah, but what do you think a bathroom's for?" he called after her.

"Always knew you were full of shit," Valerie shot back without missing a step. "At least this way, I won't have to smell it."

"No, you'll just have to deal with perfume-y shit," he said, tipping his head back to watch her as she pushed open the bathroom door and disappeared around the corner.

"Better 'Ye Olde Pine' than ass," she hollered.

"That's totally debatable," he insisted. A minute later, she reappeared with the empty plastic wrapper. "Ugh, I can smell it all the way out here."

"Like I said," she retorted, "you've got no one to blame but yourself."

"But I smell like flowers," Evan complained.

"No, you don't," she said, pulling off the leather jacket that was way too big for her and hanging it in the closet. "You really, really don't."

"Yeah, Mama always said that I was the smelliest of her kids," he admitted.

"Not surprising," she muttered, settling down with a newspaper. "Now be quiet. I'm trying to read."

Letting out a deep breath, Evan hauled himself out of the sofa and ambled over to the closet where he'd stashed the fireworks.

Bottle rockets, a brick of firecrackers, cherry bombs. He'd even bought a couple Roman candles and some others that he wasn't too familiar with but that looked like they packed a pretty good punch. All in all, he figured that if he was going to get bitched out by Mike for it later, he might as well have some fun with it now, and with a stupid grin on his face, he glanced up, only to see Valerie, craning her neck so that she could peek over her shoulder to see what he was doing.

"So, V," he said, his grin widening by degrees, "you wanna go have some fun with me . . .?"

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"This has to be the weirdest thing I've ever done," Valerie mused as she sat on the Astroturf that covered the top of the bus. Sure, she'd noticed that there was a ladder leading up to a hatch just behind the driver's seat on the bus. She'd figured that it was in case they wanted to attach luggage or something to the roof. It wasn't. Nope. It was because there was an actual putting green up there. Huddling against the two foot high wind guard, she slowly shook her head. The roof had an eight inch ledge all the way around the perimeter for safety, she supposed, although it wasn't nearly big enough to actually stop someone from falling. Then again, how often did people actually think about getting in some putting practice on top of a bus, anyway?

Evan chuckled and stuffed a foot long piece of pre-singed PVC pipe into the golf cup, and Valerie narrowed her eyes. "Wow," she muttered, completely nonplussed, "you've done this before."

He didn't deny it. In fact, he winked at her instead. "You want to do the honors?" he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the wind created by the moving vehicle.

"No, thanks," she said, huddling a little deeper in the jacket that Evan had slung over her shoulders before he'd hustled her up the ladder. "I'm cold enough as it is."

"I'll warm you up later, baby," he promised with a rather wicked chuckle.

"I'll pass," she muttered despite the infusion of color that filtered into her cheeks.

"Okay!" he announced, jamming a bottle rocket into the length of PVC pipe. "I figure I can get away with some of these before Mikey figures out what's going on." Lighting the fuse, he leaned back on his haunches, laughing like a lunatic when it launched out of the pipe and whizzed into the air.

Valerie shook her head but smiled. "If you know that Mike's going to gripe at you about this, why are you doing it?"

"Mikey's problem is that he thinks like a manager," Evan replied, dropping another bottle rocket into the makeshift launcher. "I think he might have had a sense of humor at one time or another, but after a year or two of doing what he does, it kind of disappears."

"Is that how it works? Are you sure it doesn't have more to do with common sense?" she asked, pulling a huge brick of explosives out of the nearest bag and frowning at it. ' _Twenty-four rapid fire reports_ ,' she read. Somehow, that didn't really sound like something they should be launching off the top of a moving bus . . .

Evan lit the bottle rocket and stuck another one into the shaft in quick succession. He'd fired off six or seven of them when the next bright idea came to him, and Valerie's mouth fell open, a million scenarios running through her head—none of them positive—as he jammed about six of them into the opening after tangling about a hundred firecrackers to the stems and twisted the fuses together, uttering a strange and unsettling twittering sound not unlike a mad scientist the entire time.

"Oh, that has 'fail' written all over it," she muttered, shaking her head and watching for the impending doom that the vision foretold.

He shot her a triumphant grin just before slouching over it to light the super-wick.

"Did you see that? Did you see that? _Did you fucking see that?_ " he hollered as the six rockets shot up and in every conceivable direction. Valerie yelped and jerked the collar of the leather jacket over her head when one of them exploded directly above. "Woo!" he screamed, standing on his knees with his face tipped up to the sky, "That was _wicked!_ I'm a _god!_ "

"A god, my ass! You're a damn moron!" she yelled back, still hidden in the relative safety of the jacket.

He didn't seem to notice that he'd nearly blown her up. "Gimme another one!" he demanded, waving a hand in her general direction.

She snorted loudly—he didn't hear that, either—but plunked the twenty-four-report brick out of the bag and shoving it toward him with her foot.

"You want to light this one, V?" he asked suddenly, glancing over his shoulder at her.

Opening her mouth to tell him that she wasn't about to perpetuate his deviant behavior, she blinked in surprise when she heard herself say, "Okay."

His grin widened as she scooted toward him. "With that?" she asked, gesturing at the smoking stick that looked like incense in his hand.

"Here," he said, carefully handing it to her. "Don't burn yourself."

That earned him a scathing look since he'd just gotten done trying to blow her up. His grin widened, and she wrinkled her nose, gathering her hair in her free hand to keep it from flying all over the place. She lit the fuse and scooted back. "Oof," Evan grunted when she propelled herself straight into his chest. Locking his arms around her, he chuckled.

She was about to tell him to let go of her when the first chamber fired with a horrendous screech and more smoke than Valerie had anticipated.

"Ni-ice," Evan said.

Valerie giggled, forgetting that she meant to protest as the second report shot into the air.

The small explosions high overhead were beautiful—small blasts of hundreds of glittering spots. The last one was bigger than the others—sparkles that rained down only to explode like the ones before it.

"Is that one finished?" she asked, her ears popping from the monstrous noises. All twenty four of the chambers had unleashed the most ungodly screeches which, in her opinion, was the best part of the whole thing.

"Think so," he said. "You want to pick the next—?"

The trill of his cell phone cut him off, and he heaved a sigh as the bus beneath them started to slow down.

"You're busted, Roka," she said pleasantly.

Evan snorted and shook his head but let go of her so that he could dig the phone out of his pocket.

Grabbing another firework out of the bag, Valerie scooted away to set it up. Somewhere in the commotion, she'd tossed away the lighting stick, but she figured that didn't matter since the bus was pulling over, anyway, which also meant that the wind was dying down, as well.

"Something wrong, Mikey?" Evan asked innocently.

Valerie giggled to herself. She wasn't sure exactly what kind of explosive this one was, but the canister was roughly six inches across and at least a good foot tall on a wide plastic base and a the thickest fuse she'd ever seen. Basically, it promised to be pretty spectacular, she figured, and, grabbing Evan's lighter off the Astroturf beside her, she leaned down to block the slight breeze that persisted and lit the fuse.

It shot off with a high pitched squeal that shot right through her, and she covered her ears as the first explosion rattled like thunder high over the bus.

"Oh, _damn!_ " Evan said, dropping his phone and standing up quickly. Valerie grasped his hand to haul herself to her feet, too, staring in awe as the bright white flash exploded into a thousand streaming lights that belled out from the center, streaming streaks of glittering purple light that slowly fizzled out and died away.

"That one was really pretty," she said, tugging on Evan's forearm to gain his attention. "Did you get more of those?"

"That was the only one they had," Evan told her without lowering his gaze. "Figures, damn it . . ."

"Roka! Get down here, goddamn it!" Mike yelled, standing on the road beside the bus with his hands on his hips and looking completely unimpressed.

"Is he going to yell at me, too?" Valerie whispered, rising up on her toes to get closer to Evan's ear.

"No-o-o-o," he drawled then shrugged offhandedly. "Maybe."

"But I didn't buy those; you did."

Evan grinned and opened the hatch in the roof.   "Don't worry. I won't tell him that you were helping me out."

Valerie didn't know whether or not she believed him, but she followed him down the ladder and off the bus, anyway.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Okay, okay, party's over. That was all of them, right, Roka?"

Evan grinned and puckered his lips at Mike in an entirely mocking sort of way. "Yeah, that was it."

"Good. Then can we get going?"

"Sure, sure . . ." Evan drawled. "Keep your pants on, Mikey."

Mike sighed and shook his head then waved a hand to indicate that everyone should get back on his perspective bus so that they could move out again.

Valerie wrinkled her nose, her eyes still shining softly when Evan took her hand and headed back to the vehicle. "That wasn't so bad," she said, giving a tug to free herself. It didn't work, but it was a good effort.

"What? You mean the bitching?"

She nodded. "I figured he'd let you have it."

"Maybe he got laid."

"And he did let you set off the rest of the fireworks," she added thoughtfully, like she was trying to decide whether she had read Mike wrong or not.

"That wasn't nearly as magnanimous as you think," he remarked with a saucy grin. Letting go of her hand, he stripped off his jacket and tossed it carelessly over the back of a chair.

"Slob," she said, snatching up the offending garment and striding over to the closet. "And why do you say that, anyway?"

He snorted. "Keh! He just wanted to make sure that I didn't have any left when we get to the hotel."

She laughed. She hadn't thought of that. "That's ridiculous! It's not like you can set them off in the hotel," she scoffed.

Evan chuckled, but there must have been something in the sound of it that gave her pause because she slowly pivoted to give him 'the look'. "Oh, my God . . . You've done that before, haven't you?"

His grin widened.

She sighed and rubbed her face, looking like she couldn't decide whether she ought to be stern—or laugh outright. She opted for the 'stern'. "What did you do?"

He chuckled again, sitting at the table with a bottle of beer and a booklet that someone had handed him earlier. ' _The Heaven: Zel Roka, an Unofficial Biography'_. Should be good for a laugh, at least . . . "It was just firecrackers, V, nothing big."

She stared at him for a long moment before turning to hang her coat in the closet. "You set off fireworks _in_ a hotel? Are you serious?"

"Yup . . . I swear to God, Dieter was a genius. See, he figure out how to put a really long fuse on a brick of them, and—"

"A brick of them?" she echoed, shaking her head incredulously. "You've got to be kidding."

"Nope. Anyway, we borrowed a metal pot from the hotel and hid it in Mike's room . . . ran the fuse under the door—we stayed at a lot cheaper places back then—and set it off when he was in bed." He laughed, leaning back in the chair. "I don't think I've ever seen Mikey move so fast before—or since . . ."

Still shaking her head, she made a face as she sat across from him. "How is it that you're still alive?" she asked, looking properly horrified over what he'd told her.

Evan shrugged and grinned. "The lid of the pot got embedded in the ceiling."

She looked even less impressed by that.

"Well, I told you, right? Sometimes you get bored . . ."

"You got beat up a lot as a kid, didn't you?" she pressed.

Evan laughed. "Nah," he insisted. "Everyone loved me."

She didn't look like she bought that completely, but she heaved a sigh and leaned forward to pull the booklet out of his hand. "An unofficial biography? Is it accurate?"

Shrugging, he swigged the beer and tossed the cap into the trashcan. "Eh, stuff like that is printed all the time. Besides, it's not like anyone really knows the real story, so it's all good."

Flipping through the pages, Valerie frowned. "You were born in Chicago to a crack-house whore who died when you were five?"

"Ah, yeah, that . . ." he mused, rubbing his chin.

"But I've met your mom," she said thoughtfully, disapprovingly. "Does she know you said that?"

"Better a lie than the truth," he replied. "I don't want my family to get caught up in my life; not like that, anyway."

"Still . . ."

Rolling his eyes, he set the beer on the table and snorted. "It doesn't matter," he said. "The people who matter to me know the truth. Mike knew I wanted to keep my family out of everything, so he made up some stuff. That's all."

Her frown deepened into an outright scowl as she continued to read. "You were raised in foster homes?" she muttered. "You think that's all right?"

"Well, that does happen, doesn't it?" he pointed out. "Besides, it does say 'unauthorized', right?"

Tossing the booklet down on the table, Valerie stood up suddenly and headed toward the bathroom. Without another word, she closed the door behind herself, and a moment later, he heard the click of the lock being secured.

Evan watched her go, scratching his head thoughtfully. True enough, Evan wasn't too happy about the lies that Mike had encouraged and, to some extent, helped to perpetuate, but he understood why it was important to do that. Covering up who he really was . . . It was important to him to protect his family from the insanity that came with being related to a rock star. He didn't want to hear stories about reporters, camping out on his parents' lawn or following them around, hounding them for a story. It was to protect their privacy, and even then, it wasn't like the subject came up very often anymore. Those lies had been out there for so long that Evan didn't really think about them.

That they obviously bugged Valerie was apparent, but he didn't doubt that she'd realize eventually that it was all for the best because as much as it bothered him, too, the alternative was unacceptable in his estimation.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _I_** **_Fought_** **_the_** **_Law_** ' _by_ _Sonny_ _Curtis_ _and_ _the_ _Crickets_ _first appeared on_ _their_ _1958_ _single_ _release_. _Song written by and copyrighted to Sonny_ _Curtis_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _I_ _like_ _big_ _booms_ …


	76. 075: Deviant Behavior

' _Because I'm somewhere in between_ …  
' _My love and my agony_ …  
' _You see, I'm somewhere in between_ …  
' _My life is falling to pieces_ …  
' _Somebody put me together_ …'

 

-' _Falling to Pieces'_ by Faith No More.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Are you finished yet?"

"Hold your horses, woman. You're making it crawl back up again."

"We're going to get caught if you don't get a move on it."

"You realize, right? There's an art to this . . ."

"There's no art involved, Roka. Can't you just . . . I don't know . . . force it out or something?"

"If I force it, there's a good chance that something _else_ will come out—something that neither you nor I will like, though for entirely different reasons."

"You're so gross." Valerie heaved a sigh and shook her head as she glanced up and down the hallway through the smallest crack in the door that she could manage and still see.

Oh, the day had started out normally enough. Waking up in a nice, comfortable hotel bed at the Seneca Rotundra, one of the trendiest of the most upscale hotels on the west coast and definitely the nicest one in Portland, Oregon, she'd had a wonderfully quiet breakfast of fresh grapefruit and about a gallon of coffee when she'd gotten a message on her voicemail from Evan that he was down at a local radio station, doing a ten minute interview to promote the new album but that should she miss him desperately—his words, not hers—that he'd left his room key at the front desk and that she should feel free to cuddle naked in his bed and wait for him.

Which, of course, she hadn't done, but she had laughed, so if that was his goal, he'd succeeded in spades.

Still, despite his statement that it was only a ten minute interview, he hadn't come back to the hotel for nearly three hours. He hadn't mentioned that he had to stop by the television station for an interview and to perform a song for _Wake Up, Portland_ 's ten o'clock segment, and, not surprisingly, he was in a pretty bad mood, considering Mike had waited until they were on their way to the station to ask him if he would mind performing ' _Piece of You_ ', which, naturally, Evan had minded quite a lot. In the end, he said that he'd done a really, really antiseptic version of 'V'—he got no brownie points from her for it—and that had, in a roundabout sort of way, led to this . . .

It might not have been so bad if Mike had left it alone at that, but he hadn't. Valerie was picking at the huge steak dinner that Evan had ordered from room service for her when the man had stalked in, leveled a no-nonsense look at the rock star, and informed him in no uncertain terms that he was absolutely not to even try to leave the hotel. It seemed that some of the kids who had bought tickets for the cancelled show were camped outside and more than a little bummed about the whole thing, and the local police along with the hotel security staff were worried about those same kids' safety. Evan had later told her that security was such an issue this go-round because of last year's debacle outside a hotel where another rock band was rumored to have been staying. Three kids were trampled to death when someone had hollered that the band was coming outside. It was a fluke, of course. There had been a number of off duty police officers around at the time to provide some extra authority. The band, however, was notorious for their anti-police stance, and the crowd had taken their cue from them.

Of course, the other reason—far more important, in Valerie's opinion—was that Evan simply could not afford to get into even the slightest hint of trouble, all things considered. He had to keep his nose clean, like it or lump it—at least until after court.

But anyway, after spending the next hour or so whining and complaining about being treated like a child—something that Valerie had found extremely amusing since he kind of was acting like one—he'd grabbed her makeup bag and started to root through it.

" _What do you think you're doing?" she asked mildly_.

" _Just looking._ "

" _What for?_ "

 _He shrugged and shot her his version of the 'best little boy in the world' smile. Looking back now, one might have thought that she should have realized that he was up to no good. She didn't. "Just looking . . . hey, can I borrow this?_ "

" _You want to borrow my lipstick?" she asked, arching an eyebrow since she wasn't sure why he'd want to borrow such a thing_.

" _Oh, and these, too?_ "

" _My body spray and nail polish? Pink Blush isn't really your color, you know_."

" _Color doesn't matter," he assured her. "It'll work . . . it'll be awesome._ "

 _Little alarm bells were clanging like crazy in her head. She ignored them. "Why? What do you want with that stuff?_ "

 _He grinned and dug a lighter out of his pocket. "Come on, V. Want to see something hella cool?_ "

She probably should have said 'no' at that point. Unfortunately, her curiosity was getting the better of her, and considering he was already on his feet and tugging her by the hand toward the door, she was already in it, she supposed.

And she'd stood outside Bone's door, watching with her arms folded over her chest as Evan painted a five-foot penis on Bone's door with Pink Blush nail polish. Then she'd blinked and stepped back when Evan lit it on fire with the disposable lighter that he'd picked up to set off the fireworks earlier.

"Oh, my God!" Valerie gasped, unsure whether she should laugh or get the hell out of Dodge. Evan was cackling, though, thoroughly pleased with his shenanigans, and when Bone threw open his door a few moments later, he had to jump back to keep from being singed in the flames that were engulfing the wet nail polish. The head of security was bare-ass naked with a hideous, fluorescent orange condom on. The girl in the bed—Valerie had no idea who she was—screamed when she saw the flames, which only served to make Evan laugh harder as he carted around, grabbed her hand, and took off down the hallway at break-neck speed.

By the time he'd slammed the door to his room, he was out of breath and doubled over, and Valerie wasn't much better. Then they'd crept down to the next floor where Tay and Frankie were holed up and set their door on fire after a few spritzes of body spray. Those two cussed Evan out pretty thoroughly as they tried to put out the fire with the nearest thing on hand—Frankie's leather coat.

But when Valerie asked if Evan was going to repeat the process on Mike's door, Evan grinned broadly and shook his head. Nope, according to him, he had something much, _much_ better—and far, far fouler—in mind for him . . .

So they'd spent the next hour and a half in Valerie's room while he ate a huge pot of beans with a side of steamed cabbage. Valerie wasn't sure that it was a good idea, all things considered, but it'd be a couple of days before she'd be stuck with him in the confines of the bus again, so she figured that if it was bad, she could always lock him out of her room. It did occur to her that there was something fundamentally wrong with what he was doing, but again, curiosity bit her hard, and she held her tongue . . .

He refused to explain things to her, though, even after he'd returned from the front desk where he'd schmoozed a copy of Mike's key off the girl at the desk, much to Valerie's annoyance. She had a fair guess as to what he was plotting—maybe. Then again, a part of her really wasn't entirely convinced that even Evan could be that . . . that . . . disgusting . . .

The desk girl had given him a few keys, one of which was Mike's, another of which was Bone's. Evan said that Mike was in a meeting, so that should be safe, but Bone was downstairs, probably listening to Tay and Frankie bitch about Evan's juvenile antics. Evan had left her in the hallway to distract Bone, should he come back before Evan was finished setting the next trap, but nothing had happened, and he'd hustled her away from Bone's room fast after he reemerged.

Down the hallway and around the corner, he'd unlocked Mike's door and pulled her inside. The first thing she noticed was the thick metal padlock on Mike's suitcase.

" _He's a little paranoid, don't you think?" she asked, waving a hand at the lock_.

 _Evan grinned and chuckled. "Hell, no. He learned pretty fast, but he did it the hard way_."

" _What? Did you do something to his suitcase before?_ "

" _Not me, and not that one," Evan replied, grabbing the pillow off the bed and groping it as he gave it the once-over. "Good, good_ . . ."

" _What do you mean? What did you do?_ "

" _I told you, V, I didn't do anything. Deet was pissed at him because he'd confiscated his eightball, so he got revenge_."

" _What's an eightball?" she asked, frowning at him since she wasn't fond of having to admit that she didn't know something_.

" _Crack cut with heroin," he replied. "It was back when Deet was using a lot heavier_."

 _She wasn't sure if it was worse that Evan knew what it was or that he'd said it so matter-of-factly. There was something inherently horrifying in it, wasn't there? Letting out a deep breath, she crossed her arms over her chest, hating that part of Evan's world and everything it stood for_.

 _As if he could read her thoughts—maybe he'd read her expression—Evan sighed and shook his head. "He was busted for drug possession later that year. Prison was hard on him—Miss dumped him when he got arrested because he'd promised her before that happened that he'd stop . . . but when he got out, he was clean, so I guess it was worth it, in a really fucked up way_."

" _You don't sound like it was worth it," she pointed out quietly_.

 _Evan shrugged and tossed the pillow back onto the bed. "He was a lot different after he got out of there," he explained. "Meaner, you know? Wouldn't talk about it, not even to me . . . Read in the paper that one of the inmates in Deet's cell block was murdered, but I never heard the details. Guess it doesn't matter, right? All he wanted to do after that was forget about it . . ." Shaking his head, he had an uncharacteristically thoughtful frown on his face—no, more of a confused one . . . "Anyway, he managed to talk Miss into giving him another chance when he was paroled, but it was hard on him because Daniel didn't really know him. Miss was pregnant when he got sent to prison, and Daniel was nearly two years old before she'd let Deet see him_ . . ."

" _I didn't know that_."

 _He shrugged again, pasting on a sad facsimile of a smile. "Yeah, water under the bridge, right? Anyway, back to business_ . . ."

 _She let the subject drop since he seemed more interested in letting it go than chewing it to death, anyway. Staring at the suitcase again, she bit her lip, questions forming in her mind with an almost perverse resolve. Narrowing her eyes, almost afraid to hear the answer, Valerie shook her head. "So how did Dieter get revenge?" she asked slowly, dubiously_.

 _Evan spared a moment to cast her a much more Evan-like grin before he reached for the other pillow on the bed to continue his inspection. "He shit in Mike's suitcase_."

 _Valerie's mouth dropped open as her eyes bulged slightly, as she snorted indelicately. "Nuh-uh!_ "

" _Yuh-huh!" Evan protested. "He did! He_ totally _did! Mike was so pissed that he wouldn't speak to either of us for a week unless it was deathly important. Best week of my life_ . . ."

 _Rolling her eyes, Valerie pressed her lips together, refusing to laugh on principle. Somehow, Evan's tale didn't surprise her, even if it did gross her out to no end_.

"You need to hurry," she hissed, turning her head to glance back at him, only to stop short, eyes flaring wide when she saw him sitting on one of the pillows with his pants pulled down. At least she couldn't see certain parts of him from her vantage point . . . "What are you doing? _Put your pants back on!_ "

Evan rolled his eyes and hissed for her to be quiet. "Now, that'd kind of defeat the purpose, now wouldn't it?"

"What purpose? What are you doing?" she demanded.

Evan stared at her for a moment then wrinkled his nose. "I'm going to fart into this pillow—if you'll be quiet and let me concentrate."

"You're going to— _Ew-w-w-w-w!_ That's so _gross!_ " she blurted. "And why would you do that in his pillow?"

"Because if you fart into someone's pillow then leave it alone, they'll get a good, healthy whiff of it when they go to bed, and I happen to know that Mikey sleeps face down, so it's the perfect way to get him. 'Course, it only works with a feather pillow, so we got lucky there. Now be quiet so I can—"

"That's _disgusting_ ," she announced as though he didn't already know that much.

"Well, yeah!" he replied as if he figured that the disgusting factor was a given. "Seriously, though, if you keep talking to me, I'm never going to be able to do it."

Valerie uttered a little 'hrumph' and checked the hallway once more. It was empty. "What do you mean, it only works with a feather pillow? What does that have to do with it?" she demanded.

Evan's face scrunched up in complete concentration, which only made her roll her eyes. " _V!_ " he whined. "I'm serious! Stop distracting me!"

"Answer the question, Roka."

Heaving a sigh—he must've figured that she wasn't going to let him alone until he gave in, he shook his head and rolled his eyes, wiggling his butt on the pillow like he was trying to make himself more comfortable. "I don't know exactly why, but I imagine that it has something to do with the density of the pillow. Feathers are denser than foam, and a gust of wind—like a fart—would pass into it a lot easier, but it's also dense enough to keep it in there no matter how long it stays unmoved—just don't fluff the damn thing . . ."

"That sounds like a crock of shit," she informed him, cocking an eyebrow.

"I told you that I don't know the particulars. I just know that it works."

"And who told you this, great God of Perversion?"

He grinned. "My cousin, Morio did, and he didn't actually _tell_ me about it—he _showed_ me. Care to hear how?"

Making a face, Valerie quickly shook her head. "Ugh, no . . ."

Waving his hand toward the door again, Evan's grin widened, and with a heavy sigh, Valerie glanced out into the hallway once more.

"I can't believe you talked me into this," she muttered under her breath as she resumed lookout duty.

In truth, she wasn't entirely sure _how_ he'd managed to convince her to go along with his antics. She supposed that it had seemed interesting at the time—bending the rules after a lifetime of walking the straight and narrow, maybe . . . or maybe it had something to do with the mischievous glint in his eyes when he'd unceremoniously decided that she ought to be his partner in crime . . .

And she supposed that she'd have to admit, at least to herself, that she was having fun—in a really demented, twisted sort of way . . .

The most ungodly sound made her cringe. Muffled by the pillow, sure, but it sounded awful, just awful. Unable to stop herself, she shot him a horrified glance. "I think you need to go wipe," she told him.

Unfortunately, her commentary only increased his amusement, and he nearly fell off the bed, he was laughing so hard. Apparently he still possessed the sense of humor of a five year old, but then, she already knew that, too. "It's roses, V! A dozen of them—maybe two!"

Grabbing the second pillow, he was literally howling in laughter. Valerie was about to tell him just how messed up he really was when the smell hit her hard. "Oh, my _God_ ," she gasped, fumbling with the door, yanking it open, and darting into the hallway. He was rank—grossly, sickeningly rank—and she covered her nose and mouth with her hand, half scared that the hideous stench had managed to follow her into the hallway.

A couple minutes later, Evan stumbled out of the room, his eyes unnaturally bright since he'd laughed himself to tears. He didn't stop to say a word as he grabbed her hand and dragged her down the hallway to the fire escape.

Valerie sighed again, but finally laughed as they dashed up the stairs, two at a time . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Do you have any idea how much money it's going to cost to repair the damages you've done? Of course you don't, and you don't care, either. You're damn lucky that management isn't kicking us out or having you thrown in jail for destruction of property. You burned Bone's door!"

Evan carefully schooled his features since he didn't figure that Mike was quite as amused as he was. "I also burned Frankie's door, too . . . or maybe it was Tay's . . . Not sure . . ."

That earned him a scathing glower. Valerie shifted in the chair beside him, her hands folded demurely in her lap, feet tucked back under her chair looking like the picture of innocence.

' _She should be getting reamed, too_ ,' his youkai pointed out sullenly.

' _Nah . . . I mean, it was all kind of my idea_ . . .'

' _But she went along with it—and it was her girly crap that you used to set said-doors on fire, in the first place_.'

' _The penis was pretty awesome_ . . .'

' _The orange condom was better_.'

' _That's true . . . remind me to ask Bone later where he got it, will you?_ '

' _M'kay_.'

"Are you listening to me, Roka?"

"Absolutely," he replied without as much as batting an eyelash.

Mike heaved a sigh, draped his hands on his hips, and continued to glower at Evan. "You're not. I _know_ you're not. I can _tell_ you're not, damn it."

"I am; I swear!" Evan lied. "I mean, it's not like I was trying to hurt anyone . . ."

The scowl on Mike's face shifted into a suspect frown. "Isn't that the same thing that Dieter and you said when you set the hotel room on fire in Pittsburgh?"

Pressing his lips into a thin line to keep himself from laughing outright, Evan feigned innocence. "That was an accident," Evan managed to say without grinning.

"What'd you do that time?" Valerie asked, leaning toward Evan and whispering her question without taking her eyes off Mike.

Clearing his throat, Evan leaned toward her to whisper back, "Deet wanted to see if he could do that trick where you light a match and spit booze on it."

Valerie blinked a few times then shot him a quick look. "Did it work?"

"A little too well," he replied. "Set the curtains on fire, and they went up like a forest in a drought."

She nodded slowly and sat up straight once more. Mike rolled his eyes and rubbed his forehead in a weary sort of way. "The point is," he went on sternly, "you cannot run around causing trouble just because you're bored. Are you listening to me?"

"Mikey?"

"What?"

Evan shrugged and pressed on his ear a few times. "The whole fucking _hotel_ is listening to you."

"Yeah, but are _you?_ " Mike countered.

"I hear you; I hear you. Bad Zel."

Mike didn't look impressed, mostly because Evan still looked anything but contrite. "I'm not joking, Roka, and I mean it. Keep it up, and you'll be sleeping on that damned bus all the time because no one in their right mind is going to let you stay in their hotel."

"Aw, come on, Mike," Evan said with a sigh. "What the hell else is there to do around here? Nothing, that's what."

"Then find a hobby," Mike growled from between clenched teeth.

Evan made a face and pointed at Valerie. "I had hobbies! She banned them all! If you want to bitch someone out, then you should do it to her!"

"Way to throw me under the bus, Roka," Valerie muttered.

"Any time, baby," he quipped.

"Jerk."

He chuckled.

"Pay attention, will you?" Mike snapped. Letting out a deep breath, he looked downright exhausted, and for the briefest of moments, Evan almost felt sorry for him—almost. After all, he didn't actually dislike Mike. In fact, if he had to admit it, he'd say that he respected him for the most part. Sure, there were times when Mike would say or do something that would rub Evan the wrong way, but that was part of his job, and Evan knew that, too. Mike wasn't a bad guy, per se—he just had a sucktastic job, and while Mike might well bust Evan's chops often enough, it could always be worse.

Of course, that didn't mean that Evan was above making the man squirm. It was his considered opinion that Mike would be bored out of his mind if Evan behaved himself all the time. "What do you want me to do? Write a letter of apology to the hotel?"

"I want you to start thinking before you do stupid shit," Mike growled. "Do me a favor and stay in your room for the rest of the night, will you? Just stay the hell out of trouble."

"Mike . . ." Valerie said suddenly, her voice lowering an octave in a smooth drawl.

"Yes?"

Smiling sweetly, the attorney got to her feet and very casually patted the manager on the arm. "I think you need to get laid," she said. "I hear it's good for de-stressing."

Mike's mouth dropped open, and he stared for a full minute before he turned on his heel and stalked toward the door. "I give up," he grumbled, slamming out the room with a deafening 'bang'.

Evan burst out laughing. "I can't believe you told him that!" he gasped between guffaws. "I really can't believe you told him that!"

"Well, it's true," she retorted defensively. Slowly turning to eye him, Valerie's eyes brightened by degrees as the tiniest hint of a smirk turned up the corners of her lips. "He hasn't figured out what you did to his pillows yet, has he?"

Winding down to a wide grin, Evan shrugged. "I doubt it."

She thought that over and nodded. "He's going to bawl us out again when he does, isn't he?"

Evan's grin widened. "Very possibly."

Her lips twitched, and she grabbed his hand to drag him toward the door. "Come on."

"Hey . . . Where are we going?" he asked but made no move to pull away.

She didn't slow down as she hustled him down the hallway. "I'm kind of bored," she admitted, "and since you just got me in trouble, the least you can do is buy me a couple drinks."

Evan chuckled and followed her into the stairwell and down the steps. "Whatever you want, V. Whatever you want . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Falling_** **_to_** **_Pieces_** ' _by_ _Faith_ _No_ _More_ _first appeared on_ _their_ _1989_ _release,_ **_The_** **_Real_** **_Thing_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Billy_ _Gould_ , _Roddy_ _Bottum,_ _and_ " _Big_ " _Jim_ _Martin_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Hahaha! She told him that he needs to get laid …!_


	77. 076: Conjugal Visit

' _Wake up call, caught you in the morning_ …  
' _With another one in my bed_ …  
' _Don't you care about me anymore_?  
' _Don't you care about me? I don't think so_ …'

 

-' _Wake Up Call'_ by Maroon 5.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _Five . . . four . . . three . . . two_ . . .'

"And just where do you think you're going, Roka?"

'. . . _Damn it_ . . .'

Slowly turning on his heel, pasting on a tolerant little smile when he came face to face with the foreboding head of his security team, Evan shrugged offhandedly and tried to affect a nonchalant air. "Hey, Bone. What's up?"

Bone crossed his arms over his meaty chest and leaned back, eyeing Evan through half-closed eyes. "They don't need you," he stated flatly, seeing right through Evan's show of feigned innocence. "Besides, weren't you supposed to be doing an interview or something?"

Evan wasn't about to give up, though. "Eh, come on . . . you still pissed off about that door thing?"

"Not really," Bone replied with a grin. "Pretty good one, if you ask me. Now that pillow business, that was pretty awful, you little shit . . ."

Evan broke into a wide smile and slowly nodded. "Yeah, that was wicked, huh?"

"It was _something_ ," he retorted. "Now suppose you tell me where you think you're going?"

"Hell, I've got to get out of here, at least for a little while," Evan said. "Just pretend you didn't see me."

Bone sighed and shook his head, grabbing Evan's shoulder before he could try to slip out the service door in the back of the hotel. "Sorry. Can't do it."

"If this is your way of getting back at me for that prank, man—"

"Nope. I just happen to agree with Mike on this one. Ain't nowhere you can go without drawing notice. Zel Roka's name is money, ya? You don't want to cause that much trouble, now do you? 'Sides, I happen to agree with V on this one. You really, really can't afford to cause any kind of uproar right now, you dig?"

Evan shot Bone a scathing glower, but he couldn't say that he disagreed with either Bone or Mike, not really. He knew better than anyone that there were hundreds of kids out there just dying to get a glimpse of him. He also knew the kind of madness that could happen if he actually did try to leave the hotel. He loved what he did for a living, sure, but sometimes he hated the restraints that went along with all the success, and even reminding himself that he'd ultimately chosen his own lifestyle didn't always remove the sting at moments like this one. Add to that the absolute microscope he was currently being examined under by the court back home, and, well, sure he could see it even if he hated it, too . . . "Damn," he muttered.

"Mike still pissed off at you, ya?"

Evan grinned and shrugged. "I don't know," he said, his grin widening. "He hasn't spoken to me since."

And that, as far as Evan was concerned, was worth far more than the price of a silly prank. That Mike was going out of his way to keep from having to speak with Evan was gold, pure gold . . .

Well, he _did_ go out of his way at three a.m. when he'd come around, pounding on Evan's door to bitch him out for the incident that he'd said had Evan's name written all over it. Evan wasn't very successful in hiding his amusement, which only served to piss off the manager a lot more, and after proclaiming Evan to be a menace to society, he'd stomped off down the hallway, and that was the last time Evan had really talked to Mike in several blissful days . . .

"You know, you could always come with me," Evan suggested, knowing that Bone wouldn't go for it. He still had to try, didn't he?

"You know I can't, man," Bone said, his tone taking on a slight hint of apology. "Just chill, can't you? You only gotta be Zel Roka for another three weeks, right? Then you can be Evan again, and Evan can go anywhere he wants to."

The little pep talk didn't really achieve the desired results. They were holed up in Indianapolis, Indiana because Evan's bus had started to overheat and probably wouldn't be fixed until later on in the evening, and when Madison had showed up, only to whisk Valerie off to a spa in the city, Evan had felt unaccountably betrayed and lonely.

"You know, it ain't really that surprising that V took off with Maddy. It's a woman thing, isn't it?" Bone mused.

"Is it that obvious?" Evan grumbled, giving up as he turned around and headed back down the hallway.

"Maybe just a little," Bone allowed with a rumbling chuckle. "Anyway, don't worry. Think about it, okay? She's been cooped up with you on that bus for the last three weeks, and as much as you might not like it, you're just not a woman. Women need to spend time with women. It's a character flaw."

Laughing despite himself, Evan shook his head. "Character flaw, eh? I don't know if I'd go that far . . ."

"That's because V's totally got you whupped, man. I don't blame you, ya. She's a fine, fine piece."

"I'm not whu—maybe a little," Evan said then heaved a rather dejected sigh. "I just don't get it. V's been having fun with me, right? Right?"

"I'm tellin' you, Roka. It's because you've got the penis."

Evan snorted and pushed through the doors that led to the foyer of the hotel. "Yeah, well, it's not like I can do anything about that."

Bone laughed and clapped Evan on the back. "Don't worry about it. They'll be back after they finish up their girly-thing. 'Sides, did you really want to follow them to the damn spa?"

Evan shrugged. "Hell, yeah! Maddy said something about massages, damn it, which means that they're going to be naked! I _wanna_ see naked, Bone!"

Bone's laughter escalated. "What? You tellin' me you didn't see enough naked Bone the other day?"

"Ugh," Evan groaned, shaking his head. "That's just so wrong . . ."

"Yeah, you walked right into it, little man."

Hitching his shoulders, Evan veered off toward the bar. At least he was allowed to go there without being watched like a hawk . . . "Nasty . . . Oh, hey! Meant to ask you. Where'd you get the dayglo orange condom?"

Following him into the bar, Bone chuckled. "It wasn't dayglo; it was just orange."

"Well, whatever," Evan retorted as he slid into a booth near the back of the room. "It looked good on you. It really, really did."

Bone grinned and sat back, his huge frame taking up the whole side of the table. "What can I say? I wear my colors well."

Waving a waitress over, Evan laughed then heaved a sigh. "So what do you suppose they're doing now?"

Bone rolled his eyes and slowly shook his head. "Get off it, Roka. Mooning over some honey is just not rock, ya."

"Yeah, yeah," Evan muttered, checking the clock on the wall: only three in the afternoon. With his luck, they wouldn't be back for another couple hours, tops, and if they really were gone that long, there was a good chance that he'd be completely bored out of his damn mind by then . . .

 

 

- ** _Madison_** -

 

 

"Hmm . . . You're not really still pouting about us taking off for the spa," Madison asked, watching Evan as he prowled around the bus for a moment.

"Don't care," he muttered, opening the cupboard over the sink and rummaging around for a minute before closing it with a crisp crack.

Valerie grinned, fussing with her hair in the small portable mirror that Madison had set on the table. "Oh, come on, Roka. I'm sure you found some kind of mischief to keep yourself busy today."

"Course I did," he retorted baldly. "Her name was Bunny, and she gave great head."

Madison's lips twitched, probably a little too tickled by Evan's warped sense of humor. Valerie, however, didn't look nearly as amused. Turning her head sharply, she nearly got about four inches more of her hair cut off than she wanted, and Madison sighed. "Hold still, V, or you're going to end up with the worst 'do, ever, and it won't be my fault," she warned.

"You'd better not ruin her hair," Evan grumped, his voice distorted since he was holding a guitar pick between his teeth as he tuned the acoustic. "That would be an act against God."

"What do you care?" Valerie shot back mildly. "You have Bunny, remember? And just what the hell kind of name is that, anyway? Did her parents want to doom her to a life of strippery?"

Evan blinked at Valerie's choice of coined words, and he slowly pulled the pick from between his teeth. "Strippery?"

Valerie snorted and slapped her hand on a newspaper that someone had picked up before leaving the hotel. "Yes, Roka: strippery."

He pondered that for a full minute before breaking into a cocky grin. "Are you jealous, V?" he asked a little too hopefully.

She snorted and flicked a hand to dismiss his question. "Of course not . . . Are you seriously trying to tell me that you broke the conditions that you agreed to?"

That wiped the grin off his face, and he snorted. "I sat in the bar and had a couple beers with Bone, who looks nothing like a stripper named Bunny, if you must know," he muttered. "Geez . . . Get a grip, woman."

Valerie only looked slightly mollified, but at least she turned her head forward once more. "Considering what a whore you are, it wouldn't surprise me if you had gone looking for some girl with more silicone than brains in her body."

"You _really_ sound jealous, baby," he pointed out, his mood improving by the second.

"Shut up," she shot back, cheeks pinking prettily. "As _if!_ The day I'm jealous of some hussy is the day I fall over, dead!"

He opened his mouth to say something. Valerie's eyes narrowed first. "And I'm _not_ your baby."

"It's just a matter of time," he scoffed airily. "Before long, you'll be calling me 'baby', too—as in, 'Oh, baby, harder, _harder, harder! A-A-A-Ah-h-h-h!_ '"

Valerie managed to stare rather blankly at Evan for all of thirty seconds before she burst out in laughter at his over-the-top silliness. "Leave you alone for a few hours, and you completely lose your mind," she replied between bouts of giggling. "Nice . . ."

Madison shook her head, smiling as she carefully trimmed the ends of Valerie's hair. "No, he's always been like that," she maintained, "especially when he's sulking."

"I'm not sulking," he insisted, strumming the guitar as he pinned Madison with a baleful sort of look. "I'm a brooding artist. You've heard of that before, right?"

"Brooding? Pfft!" Madison shot back. "You're sulking just like you did when you were little, and you got in trouble for being a pain in the ass."

"Evan? A pain in the ass? No-o-o-o," Valerie drawled sarcastically.

Madison laughed. "He was always a pain in the ass."

Evan snorted loudly. "I'd _like_ to be a pain in the ass," he countered. "I've offered lots of times, if you remember, Maddikins. You always said that you might be twisted, but you're not that twisted."

"Sorry, Evan, but there are some things that I'd just rather not experience, and that's one of them," she replied sweetly.

He heaved a long, loud sigh.

Valerie wrinkled her nose. "Ugh. That's so gross."

Evan's wicked little grin resurfaced. "Oh? Really? Do you know that from personal experience? And by the way, thousands of gay men seem to think that anal sex just dandy, I'll have you know."

"No, I don't know from personal experience. It just sounds gross, rocker-boy," Valerie replied, "and since I'm neither a guy _nor_ am I gay, then I wouldn't know about that, either."

Evan nodded slowly, a thoughtful frown gracing his features. "So . . . I see . . . and here I thought that good ol' Orville was a kinky kind of guy . . . Of course, he's not very big, so his winkie is probably, you know, a _winkie_ , so if you did have a hankering to try it, he'd be your best bet for the first time."

"You're not _really_ going to go there, are you?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow in a silent warning.

Evan grinned and chuckled unrepentantly. "I think I already did, V."

She stared at him for another minute then heaved a sigh and opted to ignore him instead.

"All right, so what did the two of you do while you were gone—you know: _not_ hanging out with me," Evan finally asked, carefully turning a string to tighten it a little bit.

Valerie turned her head, glanced up at Madison. She grinned and blinked innocently at the surly man. "Nothing, nothing . . . Just went to the spa and had dinner at Cheeks."

"Cheeks?" Evan echoed, eyebrows lifting, disappearing under the fringe of his bangs. "You went to Cheeks for dinner? Without me?"

"That's right," Madison replied sweetly. She was only half-joking when she'd suggested the restaurant to Valerie. Valerie, however, had actually looked rather intrigued.

" _You mean the place where the waiters all wear those little, tiny g-string things?" she asked, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "I've never been to one of those places before_ . . ."

 _Madison laughed. Cheeks was basically the women's answer to Hooters, and while she'd only eaten at the one in Miami before, she had to admit that, eye candy aside, the food really was quite good. "Come on," Madison coaxed. "It'll be fun_."

" _I don't know," Valerie hesitated, tapping her freshly manicured nails on the white marble table where they were drinking tea. Madison could sense it, couldn't she? Valerie's sense of propriety versus her inborn curiosity . . . "Don't you think that places like that are kind of sexist?_ "

" _Well, of course," Madison said, tugging on the lapels of her thick, pink robe. "Isn't that the point?_ "

 _Valerie sighed as the PC part of her personality warred with her absolute intrigue at the very idea of being served by buff men wearing very, very little. "I don't know_ . . ."

 _Madison grinned. "Just think of the look on Evan's face when you tell him where you went to have dinner," she goaded_.

" _Like he'd care if I saw a thousand nearly naked men," she scoffed. "If it were women, it'd probably be different_."

 _Madison snorted as she lifted a glass of white wine to her lips. "Are you kidding? He'll be jealous, all right—jealous that you weren't ogling him in a g-string_."

 _Valerie giggled, her cheeks pinking slightly as she quickly shook her head. "He won't even wear underpants. He won't care, I'm telling you_."

But he did care, if the expression on his face meant anything at all. The sulking had escalated into a full-blown pout, and he set the guitar aside, slumping back in his chair as he crossed his arms over his chest and snorted loudly. "Like you needed to go there to watch some guy parade around in _that_ ," he scoffed. "I would have been more than happy to do that for you. Hell! I'd have done it naked—and I wouldn't charge you an entrance fee, either!"

"No one would want to see something like that, especially when they're eating," Valerie pointed out. "Besides, just because you're a rock star doesn't mean that you know a thing about that sort of job, anyway."

"We-e-ell," Madison drawled, running a brush through Valerie's hair and taking one last look to make sure that her hair was even. "He might know more than you think."

Valerie snorted indelicately, clearly not ready to agree with Madison's assessment.

Pulling the cape off of Valerie's shoulders, careful not to dump hair trimmings on the floor, Madison laughed as Valerie stood up and moved off pull a sweatshirt out of the closet. "You did know that he used to be a stripper, didn't you?"

Pausing for a moment before she tugged the pale gray garment over her head, Valerie shot Madison a distinctly wary glance. "Why doesn't that surprise me?" she muttered under her breath.

Evan chuckled, looking entirely too amused at his own antics. "Those were the days . . . young and dumb and full of co—"

"I think we can all figure out what you were 'full of'," Valerie interrupted dryly, striding over to the wet bar and pulling open cabinets. Usually, Evan kept it pretty well stocked, but since Valerie was along for the ride, he'd told Madison that he'd had to scale back on the contents dramatically. Still, Valerie managed to find a bottle of red wine, and she nabbed a couple glasses before returning to the table once more.

"He really was pretty good," Madison went on thoughtfully as she folded up the plastic sheet she'd placed on the floor under Valerie's chair. "Tell her your stage name, sweetie," she prompted, winking at Evan, who was still mid-pout.

Her question made him perk up pretty quickly, however, and he grinned. "You mean, you can't figure it out?" he teased.

Valerie took her time, pouring wine into the glasses before setting the bottle aside. "Mini Me?" she asked without missing a beat.

Evan's grin widened. "No, but that would have been a pretty good one . . ."

Madison stuffed the sheet into her travel kit—she'd clean it off when she got back to the city tomorrow—and took the glass of wine that Valerie offered her.

"My stage name was 'The hEvan'," he replied happily. "Spelled little 'h', big 'e'—'v'—'a'—'n'."

Valerie was completely nonplussed as she sipped her drink and slowly blinked at Evan. "And that's why you just had to put it on my caller ID? Figures."

"Totally fitting, eh?" he prompted. "My thong even said it, straight down the front of the pouch . . . You know, most of the guys could only have a letter or a shape on their pouches, but mine was so big, I got the full name treatment."

Valerie blinked once, twice. ". . . Sure."

Slipping onto Valerie's lap, Madison giggled and kissed her friend on the cheek. "He should show you, V," she suddenly said, her violet eyes sparkling with a mischievous light.

Valerie kissed Madison's cheek in return and slipped her arms around her waist. "No, he really shouldn't," she replied. "We didn't eat that long ago."

"Do you have the thong with you?" Madison asked, leaning forward, staring at Evan in an anticipation.

"Not on this bus," he drawled.

"There? You see? No thong. Can't do it. Sorry, Roka. I'm sure that the show was just peachy," Valerie said.

Evan chuckled and stood up, ambling toward the front of the bus where he tugged open the door and said something to the driver.

"What are you doing?" Valerie asked dubiously.

The bus started to slow down, and the wine bottle slid precariously as it abruptly jerked over off the side of the road.

"Well, I don't have _the_ thong, but I do have _a_ thong," Evan said. "Lemme go get it."

Madison got up and slipped into the seat that Evan had vacated, reaching for the wine bottle to refill her glass. "You know, I didn't think he'd actually do it."

Valerie got up on her hands and knees, narrowing her eyes as she tried to see outside the window—pretty much an impossibility since it was already dark outside and since they were stopped in the middle of nowhere. "Why does he have a thong?" she demanded. "He hates underpants . . ."

"He doesn't really consider a thong to be 'underpants'," Madison stated. "Besides, Mike has a fit if Evan drops his pants onstage without having something on under them. He's been banned from way too many arenas for showing the audience his junk . . ."

Flopping back in her seat and apparently giving up in her mission to figure out exactly what Evan was up to, Valerie rubbed her forehead, looking anything but amused at Madison's confession. "Why doesn't that surprise me, either? That man . . ."

"Isn't nearly as bad as you thought he was, right?" Madison cut in when Valerie trailed off. Arching an eyebrow, she smiled as Valerie heaved a long, drawn out sigh and slowly shook her head.

"He isn't . . . and he is . . ." she said slowly, as though she were trying to figure out exactly what she meant as she said it. "He can be fun, sure, but sometimes . . . Sometimes he's so infuriating that I just don't know why I bother with him."

Madison considered that for a long moment, nodding as she conceded Valerie's observation. "He's not what you thought he was, is he?" she asked gently, a tender little smile toying at the corners of her lips.

"Sometimes," Valerie allowed. "Sometimes I think I understand him. Others . . .? I have no idea . . ."

"Is that so bad?" Madison challenged. "V . . . Why is it that you always think that you have to understand every single thing about every single person?"

"I don't—" Making a face, she suddenly smiled a bit sheepishly. "I do, don't I?"

"Give up, sweetie," Madison remarked as she leaned over to refill Valerie's empty wine glass. "Even if you understand him today, he'll change the rules tomorrow. He's always been like that."

"But you still say he's your friend," Valerie pointed out, taking the glass and draining half of it in one long quaff.

"He is," she replied simply. Of course she knew that Valerie had never really understood the connection that Evan and she shared, but maybe in time, she would, just as Valerie had never fully believed Madison when she'd said often enough that she had never been 'in love' with Evan, even if she did adore him more than anyone else on earth. But that wasn't her story to tell, was it?

And even if she felt that Valerie deserved to know, there really wasn't any way that she could tell her a thing about it. The biggest secret of them all—that she and Evan were both youkai—wasn't something that could be divulged lightly, and Madison understood that, too. She'd been powerless at the time when Evan's cousin, Samantha had disappeared, only able to stand back and watch as the entire family—one of the most powerful families on the face of the earth—had nearly fallen apart, and though no one had ever told her exactly what had happened to Samantha during those months when she couldn't be found, Evan had said that it was some of the worst shit he'd ever seen. Coming from a guy like him, Madison figured that she didn't want or need details; not ever . . .

The thing was, Madison knew that Valerie's biggest problem was the insecurity that she carried around—insecurity that Valerie thought she kept hidden. It wasn't that she was so in love with Marvin Pinkle that she couldn't stand the idea of being without him. It was that Valerie knew she _could_ be without him and felt safe in the understanding, as ugly as it might be, that, even if he tried, Marvin would never, ever be able to hurt her. Oh, sure, Madison didn't doubt for a moment that Valerie loved him on some level. She wasn't such a horrible person as to agree to marry someone for whom she bore no real feelings. In fact, Madison thought it was kind of interesting, really. Valerie, who professed not to understand whenever Madison had said that she loved Evan but had never been in love with him, still had yet to comprehend that her feelings for Marvin were probably very close to the same. It was just that she didn't want to understand, Madison figured. She only hoped that Valerie would before it was too late.

Evan dashed through the bus with a goofier than normal grin on his face. He didn't stop to say a word, making a beeline for the bathroom as Valerie and Madison exchanged glances. Valerie looked like she was dreading whatever the man had in mind. Madison giggled, figuring that he must've found the aforementioned thong.

"He . . . He's not really going to strip, is he?" Valerie asked, unable to hide the abject dread in her tone.

Madison winked at her. "Probably."

"Oh, boy," Valerie said, tipping her wine glass to drain it before setting it on the table with a dull thud. "Fill it up, quick," she muttered.

Madison laughed, but did as Valerie demanded.

Valerie proceeded to suck down a couple more glasses of wine before she spoke again, and by the time she did, her cheeks had taken on a slight flush, but her voice was fairly steady. "Do you really have to get off the bus in Cincinnati?" she whined. "You can't leave me alone with him! You can't! When I'm alone with him, I do strange things! Save me, Maddy! Please?"

Biting her lip, Madison very nearly burst into laughter. Valerie was completely panicked, if the look on her face meant anything at all. "What kind of strange things?" she couldn't resist asking. "You mean like going along with Evan's pranks?"

"Yes," Valerie insisted, looking anything but pleased about her role in the incidents that Evan had regaled Madison with over the phone. "It's not just that," she went on slowly, knitting her fingers together in a knot of wiggling flesh. "Sometimes I—"

The God-awful trills of the cheesiest sounding stripper music that preceded Evan out of the bathroom. Valerie grimaced and groped for the nearly empty wine bottle, sloshing the liquid as she hurriedly tried to gulp it down before Evan actually emerged.

Madison giggled when he strode out, wearing a skin tight pair of black leather pants and a very, very orange satin shirt that billowed around him like a sack. In fact, Madison was pretty certain that she'd seen it on Bone earlier, though she couldn't be positive . . .

Grasping the ends of a lime green scarf, he tugged it back and forth as he gyrated his hips. Valerie looked like she wanted to close her eyes, but she peeked despite her resolve not to do so.

The shirt came off pretty easily, and Madison giggled as he whipped it over his head then dropped it on the floor. Dancing closer, he flexed his pecs right in Valerie's face, bending his knees, straddling her legs and humping the air. It was all Madison could do not to howl in laughter. Valerie blushed but giggled, leaning back in a vain attempt to avoid Evan's attention.

"This is just really not sexy," Valerie murmured when Evan danced away, sticking out his ass and continuing to shimmy.

"Oh? You don't think so?" Madison countered, pressing a finger to her lips to contain her own amusement.

"Not at all," Valerie replied, giggling when he grasped the waist of his pants and gave them a sharp yank. The seams sides split open as the snaps that held them closed gave way, and he tossed them aside, doing his level best to wiggle his ass for their delectation.

"Look," Valerie said, pointing at Evan's backside, "he's got a wedgie."

Madison choked on a sip of wine, rubbing her nose when the liquid redirected. "Now, be nice," she said, leaning toward Valerie without taking her eyes off the entertainment. "I slept with that . . ."

Valerie shook her head but grinned. "Sorry, aren't you?"

Evan pivoted around, leaning back, thrusting out his hips with his hands behind his neck in the absolutely garish, bright blue thong.

"Kind of," she allowed, giggling helplessly.

Evan stopped, straightening up, planting his hands on his hips and trying to look stern. It didn't really work, all things considered. "Hey! You two hecklers! Pay attention, will you?"

"I think he stuffs," Valerie whispered to Madison, who barked out another round of laughter.

"I do not!" Evan huffed. "I can prove it, you know!"

"Ugh, no!" Valerie said, holding up her hands and squeezing her eyes closed.

Evan snorted and tried to look properly offended. "You realize, right? You've got to tip the dancer . . ."

Rolling her eyes, Valerie leaned forward, nabbing Evan's wallet off the table where he'd left it. To Madison's undisguised amusement, she dug all of the cash out of it and carefully counted it before pulling a couple singles off the top then folding the stash in half and stuffing it down her bra. "Okay, Roka," she said, straightening out the bills and waving them in his general direction.

Evan grinned and danced over to her, pivoting on his heels and grasping the cash with his ass cheeks.

"Eww!" Valerie squealed, letting go of the dollars and yanking her hand away. "Eww, eww, eww, eww, _eww-w-w-w-w!_ "

Madison giggled and reached over to slap his ass.

He shot her a grin and kept dancing.

"I can't watch anymore," Valerie insisted, crossing her arm over her stomach as she half-groaned, half-laughed, only to groan again. Wiping her eyes, unable to staunch the flow of tears that literally poured down her cheeks, she gasped for breath, tried to stop laughing, only to howl even louder.

Evan hooked the sides of the thong and started to edge it lower as he did a very raunchy bump and grind. Madison stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled as Valerie groaned and giggled in turn. Suddenly, though, the attorney bolted out of her seat and toward the bathroom, covering her mouth with her hands.

Evan blinked and stopped dancing. "Uh oh," he drawled, glancing a little nervously at Madison.

"She laughed herself sick?" Madison asked quizzically. "Is that even possible?"

Shutting off the music, Evan grimaced though his grin hadn't disappeared altogether. "Seems so," he said, taking a step toward the bathroom.

Madison stood up and hurried around him. Between the wine and the laughter, Valerie, apparently, had reached her limit. "Back off, Cassanova. Do you really want her laughing herself even sicker?"

Evan winced then chuckled, apparently deciding that Madison might be on to something. She smiled and shook her head. Leave it to Evan to accomplish something that she really hadn't considered before. "Do V a favor and put some clothes on before she comes back out here," Madison called over her shoulder.

Evan sighed, but the sound of his laughter followed her into the bathroom.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Wake_** **_Up_** **_Call_** ' _by_ _Maroon_ _5_ _first appeared on_ _their_ _2007_ _release,_ **_It_** **_Won't_** **_Be_** **_Soon_** **_Before_** **_Long_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Adam_ _Levine_ , _James_ _Valentine_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Madison_** :  
>  _Poor_ _V_ _…_ _kinda_ …


	78. 077: Curiosity

' _Call it mystery or anything_ …  
' _Just as long as you'd call me, I sent the message on_ …  
' _Did you get it when I left it? See this catastrophic event_ …  
' _It wasn't meant to mean no harm_ …  
' _But to think there's nothing wrong is a problem_ …'

 

-' _Mr. Curiosity'_ by Jason Mraz.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Closing his eyes as the dull torrent from the shower tap beat down on him, Evan heaved a sigh and let his head fall back.

Damn, he was tired. Having just finished the third show in two days, he wasn't sure if his body was more exhausted than his mind or vice versa. He loved performing, of course, but there were moments—like this one—when he just wanted a day off to re-center himself, to find himself once more: a day when he didn't have to be Zel Roka unless he wanted to, when he could go out, have coffee at a quiet restaurant, read the paper . . .

Unfortunately, the odds of that happening now were slim and none . . .

Reaching out with a flat palm, he slapped at the shower control to staunch the flow of water. He'd love to stand under it until it ran out, but Valerie probably wouldn't appreciate that, especially since Mike had decreed that they were going to drive straight through from Boston to Las Vegas with the only stops allowed being for refueling, and those had better be necessity, or so he'd warned. Evan had half a mind to tell Mike to shove his schedule up his ass since the only reason they were in that big a hurry was because Mike, as usual, had overbooked Evan's interview schedule before the show at the Ritz-Reginaldo in two days.

Sparing a moment to do a full-body shake, Evan pushed the frosted glass door open and reached for a towel, realizing too late that he'd forgotten to grab some jeans to put on after his shower. Of course, it was harder to remember stuff like that when he'd ordinarily just go naked. After all, no one else but maybe Dieter ever rode on his bus with him, and Dieter hadn't cared whether or not Evan was dressed, so it hadn't been a big deal. Valerie, however, was likely to kill him if he tried to go that route, and while he figured that it might be good for a laugh, he rather liked it when she wasn't trying to avoid him, too.

Draping the towel around his hips, Evan stepped out of the bathroom, ignoring the rise of goose bumps when the cooler, drier air hit him. Valerie was sitting at the table, her glasses perched on the end of her nose as she looked over some paperwork that had been delivered via courier at the hotel a couple days ago.

"Mike called while you were in the shower," Valerie commented without looking up from whatever she was reading.

"Oh, yeah? What did he want?"

Tapping the cap of the ballpoint pen in her hand against the table, she snorted. "I'm not in the habit of answering other people's phones," she remarked dryly and almost distractedly. "I think he left a message though. It keeps beeping . . ."

"E-E-Eh," he grumbled, stalking over to the table and picking up the phone. As much as he'd like to ignore the message, he figured that it'd probably be a pretty bad idea. It was likely another form of Roka-comeuppance for the fart-in-the-pillow-prank he'd pulled last week . . .

"Hey. I wanted to let you know that I just heard back from Raven Rhodes. She said that the Vinn-Reisner Auditorium just became available and that they'd love to book you. It's short notice, but I told her to count on it. You sell out arenas twice that size in a matter of hours, so filling the V-R shouldn't be a problem at all. Figured we could use the break, right? Anyway, it's not a big deal. The date is scheduled during the four day break we were supposed to have next week. Later."

Heaving a sigh, Evan tossed the phone down on the chair and stomped over to the refrigerator to grab a beer.

Valerie glanced up, doing a double take when he slammed the door closed and slumped against it. "Not good news?" she asked baldly, pushing her glasses up with the knuckle of her index finger.

"Fuck," Evan snorted, giving the cap on the beer bottle a vicious twist and tossing it into the trashcan. "That damned bastard! I swear to fucking God that he pulls this kind shit just to piss me the hell off!"

Eyes widening in alarm, Valerie stood up and moved toward him. "What happened? What did he say?" she demanded, her expression darkening.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Evan shook his head and downed the beer in one long series of gulps. "Booked another fucking show," he growled, dropping the bottle into the wooden case beside the refrigerator. "Next week during the break . . ."

She looked surprised for a moment then slowly shook her head. "That's not so bad, is it? Where's the show?"

That innocent question earned Valerie a hardened glower as he grabbed another beer and slammed the door again. "The worst place ever," he snarled. "He did it just to fuck with me; I know it. That cocksucker . . . just wait till I get my hands on him . . ."

"Why?" Valerie interrupted, grasping his arm and pulling the beer out of his hand. "Where's the show? Alaska?"

Evan narrowed his eyes on her and grunted indelicately. "Hell, no," he muttered, reaching for the beer only to have it whisked neatly out of his reach and behind her back. "Worse."

"Worse than Alaska?" Valerie said, shaking her head as a rather appalled expression surfaced on her pretty face. "The only place I can think of that's worse than Alaska would be Antarctica, and Judge Lister said that you can't go anywhere out of the country, so where?"

Crossing his arms over his chest and figuring that he probably resembled a sulking child, Evan shifted his glower to the side and scrunched up his shoulders. "Fucking Hawaii."

"Hawa—?" Valerie echoed, only to cut herself off as her eyes brightened, as her cheeks flushed, and as a positively huge smile broke over her features. If she were an anime character, she'd be surrounded by stars with giant hearts for eyes, he figured. "Really . . .? Hawaii . . .? Oh, my God! Are you _serious?_ "

Squeezing one eye closed and leaning far away from her, Evan grimaced and grunted tersely. "Take it easy on my ears, woman," he grouched, "and I fail to see what's so great about it."

She stared at him as though she couldn't decide whether he was being serious or not. "But it's _Hawaii_ ," she repeated, sounding like she thought that the island state was about as close to heaven as she could possibly get. "How could you _not_ want to go to Hawaii?"

"Like it matters," he scoffed, shaking his head as he stared at her, unable to grasp the idea that she really didn't understand at all. "You, of all people, ought to know that it doesn't matter if I'm in Hawaii or Zimbabwe, it's not like I get to get out and go sightseeing or anything. Everything looks the same from inside the fucking hotels."

Shaking her head, she smiled hopefully. "You can't tell me that Mike wouldn't let you out to go to the beach," she remarked though she didn't sound all that optimistic.

"Yeah, that's pretty much the gist of it," he told her. "Security risks, you know."

"You're kidding."

He sighed and rubbed his face. "No, I'm not." Pushing himself away from the refrigerator, he shuffled over to the bed and flopped onto his back, raising his arm, draping it over his eyes. "Used to be that I could," he said quietly, wearily. "Don't get me wrong, V. I love being who I am. Hell, how many people in the world really understand the rush you get when a crowd goes wild? Not too many, right? So I'm lucky, and I know it. It's just that sometimes . . ."

"Sometimes you wish that you had it all," Valerie finished for him, her voice nearer than it should have been.

Lifting his arm, he watched in silence as she slowly wandered toward him. "I guess so." And he couldn't help the snort that slipped from him as he crossed his arms over his chest and pinned her with a formidable scowl. "Besides, V, it's as much your fault as it is his that I can't leave the hotel these days."

She blinked, apparently not understanding why he would say such a thing. "How do you figure?"

"Because you're the one who keeps reminding me that I have to stay out of trouble, remember?"

"Oh . . . that . . ." she said thoughtfully. "That is true . . ." Still, she couldn't repress the dreamy little sparkle in her eyes. "Hawaii . . . four days in Hawaii . . ."

Evan snorted again—louder this time—wishing that he shared Valerie's enthusiasm since he knew damn well that the only real view he was likely to see was the one from his hotel room window. "Probably more like two," Evan corrected. "Maybe three." Heaving another sigh, he grunted unintelligibly. "Remind me to send Mike something entirely craptastic for Christmas this year, will you? A bomb or a tube of anthrax powder or something . . ."

"You know, I _want_ to feel badly for you; I really do," Valerie mused at length, "but . . . it's Hawaii, Evan— _Hawaii!_ "

Lifting his arm just enough to pin the woman with a longsuffering glower, he blinked a few times before he grumbled, "You realize that I can have the bus pulled over so you can ride with Bone or someone," he warned.

Valerie giggled since she knew damn well that he was just blowing, and she patted his arm in a consolatory sort of way as she turned away and started toward the bathroom. "Let's see," she was mumbling. Too bad he could hear her. "I'll need to get a new swimsuit, maybe some tanning oil . . . Oh! A cute little sarong or something like that . . ."

Heaving another sigh as she closed the door behind herself, Evan couldn't help the little growl that slipped from him. Two or three days, trapped in a hotel room when he ought to be on the beach with V in her new bikini, body glistening with tanning oil . . .? "No fucking way," he muttered, sitting up and swinging his legs off the bed to retrieve his cell phone.

If Mike thought that he was going to be a good boy and stay on the fiftieth floor of some luxury high-rise hotel, he could just think again . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Stepping out of the bathroom nearly an hour later, Valerie bit her lip, feeling somewhat guilty for having stayed in the smallish tub a lot longer than she'd planned. She wasn't entirely sure why there was a tub in the bathroom since Evan struck her as a shower kind of guy, and there was a small shower stall in there, too, which was what Evan normally used. Usually, she did, too, but her giddy daydreams about their impending trip to Hawaii were something that she just needed to dwell upon.

Blinking slowly, she frowned as she shifted her gaze around the bus. The lights were dimmed—in fact, only the one beside the bed was lit, but it was on the lowest setting, nothing more than a warm glow that did little to dispel the gathering darkness. It was odd, wasn't it? Usually, Evan was hyper after a show, especially one as big as the one earlier had been. The concert at the Tucson Review Centre was sold out, and she'd overheard Bone saying that it was one of the largest inside venues in the United States. Considering Evan tended to feed off the energy of the crowd, she wasn't sure what to think when she spotted him, sleeping on the bed.

' _Sleeping . . .? Him . . .?_ ' she wondered as she crept closer, half expecting him to sit up and grin at her or to grab her hand and scare the bejesus out of her. He didn't. She could see his chest rising and falling as the sound of his even breathing surrounded her, and she frowned.

He was too upset earlier when he'd first listened to Mike's message that she hadn't bothered to remark upon his state of undress. Having just taken a shower, he was only wearing a towel slung loosely around his hips, and he hadn't bothered to put anything else on before he'd fallen asleep, either, and while she would definitely be more comfortable if he did get dressed, she simply didn't have the heart to wake him up, either.

Something about his features, cast in the warmth of the vague lamplight captured her—a certain softness that wasn't usually there when he was awake. It might be because of the ever-present brilliance in his dark blue eyes—that devilish little spark that seemed to punctuate everything he did. Full lips slack, parted slightly, just a little pouty . . . hair falling in disarray over his high cheekbone, and while she had to admit that she liked his hair best in his natural color, the golden bronze color that he'd chosen in the bathroom reminded her of his father, and she wondered briefly if he opened his eyes if he'd look just like Cain Zelig . . .

But the angles and contours of his body were hard to ignore. Finding her gaze wandering to his chest, his waist, his stomach, she could feel the uncomfortable burn of a very vivid flush stealing up her cheeks time and again. It didn't make sense, did it? She'd seen him shirtless a hundred times if she'd seen him shirtless once. There was something different about it, though. Watching his body in a completely relaxed state was a little easier to do, and a lot more unsettling to her equilibrium . . . An almost overwhelming desire to reach out, to touch his skin, to see if it really was as firm as it looked, gripped her, and she had to cross her arms over her chest to keep from giving in. She was losing her mind, wasn't she? With her luck, she'd give in, reach out, and get caught, which just wouldn't do. Besides, why in the world would she want to do that, anyway? He was Evan—just Evan . . . her friend . . .

The barest hint of a smile quirked her lips, and Valerie stretched out her hand, carefully moved his hair off his face: baby soft hair that fell through her fingers like a breath . . .

It really wasn't fair, was it: the absolute grace, the beauty of his body, perfect proportions that he used to his advantage even without realizing it . . . She'd seen other people at other times who possessed that kind of poise. Evan was the first one, however, that she'd met who wasn't obnoxiously vain or impossibly spoiled. The rich kids she'd met in college—ones who were just going through the motions until they were deemed ready to inherit their fathers' businesses or to take over the family practice back home. Interesting, wasn't it? Evan had to be wealthier than the lot of them, and even if he weren't a musician, that would still be the case, wouldn't it? After all, it wasn't a secret that the Zelig family was wealthy. Having inherited a fortune from the late artist—Evan's father's grandfather?—they were set for generations to come.

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie reached out, snagging the sheet with her fingertips that he'd kicked down to the end of the bed at some point and tugged it up to his waist. Then she turned and shuffled over to the table, standing on tiptoe to reach the switch at the base of the hanging lamp.

She'd been trying to read through and analyze the accident report that the specialist had sent her regarding his findings when he'd gone to inspect the vehicles. She hadn't gotten more than three pages into the fifty page report. Between Evan's interruptions—she would swear that he really was just like a little kid sometimes—and apparently he thought that she'd only come along to keep him company—and every other little thing that came along, she wasn't having much luck in trying to do her work.

' _Stop acting like you're not having fun_ ,' her conscience piped up. The voice sounded remarkably like her third grade teacher, Mrs. Pritchett. ' _If you weren't so stubborn, you'd admit that you're really having a good time—possibly the best time you've ever had_ . . .'

Pressing her lips together, she tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the report opened on the table before her. So far, she was still browsing a detailed list of damages. Boring stuff.

The bus lurched slightly. Behind her, she could hear Evan shifting around on the bed.

Stifling a yawn with the back of her hand, Valerie blinked, forcing her eyes open wide, resolved to keep reading the report, even if it was duller than dishwater. She didn't actually think that she was going to find anything in the report that would help Evan's case, but she wasn't quite ready to admit defeat, either.

She'd even tried to ask Madison more questions about the night of the accident when they had gone to the spa. Sitting in a hot tub full of chamomile leaves and lavender to help relaxation, she'd sipped a glass of white wine and asked the woman if she could remember anything at all that she might have forgotten to tell Valerie in the initial interview.

" _Hmm, no, I don't think so," Madison said, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back as she slid a little lower in the water_.

" _Nothing at all?" Valerie tried again_.

 _Madison shook her head and shrugged offhandedly. "Sorry, V. I told you everything I can remember_."

"You know, I get the feeling that you're all keeping something from me," Valerie insisted, frowning thoughtfully as Madison adjusted the white air pillow that was supporting her neck. "What aren't you telling me?"

" _I realize that your lawyer brain is always trying to find the angle, but I swear to God that there isn't one," Madison countered_. "

Was that it? Was she looking for something that wasn't there? Why was it that she was so convinced that Evan was hiding something from her when it was entirely possible that there really wasn't anything else there? After all, he might be a bit misguided from time to time, but he certainly wasn't stupid. There just wasn't any way that he wanted to end up in jail, and she knew that, too.

The next part of the report was a breakdown that basically put incurred damages in chronological order. It was about as interesting to read as an ingredient label on a box of cheese food product was. Smothering a second yawn, she rubbed her forehead and stood up to get a bottle of water.

Leaning against the counter, she took a sip and looked around. The quiet was peaceful, warm, welcome in a way that she couldn't recall having felt before. Funny how the sense of loneliness she'd often experienced in the past seemed worlds away. Maybe she just thought that because the monotony of being on the road was getting to her . . .

Then again . . .

Then again, maybe it was because Evan was there . . .?

" _Don't get me wrong, V. I love being who I am. Hell, how many people in the world really understand the rush you get when a crowd goes wild? Not too many, right? So I'm lucky, and I know it. It's just that sometimes_ . . ."

Eyes unconsciously seeking out the sleeping man, she frowned. Just what was it that Evan really wanted? A life of anonymity would drive him mad, wouldn't it? He thrived on the life of a rock star. He lived for those moments spent onstage in front of thousands of screaming fans. She'd seen for herself exactly how excited he'd get, how happy it made him to go out there and thrill his audience. It didn't matter if he was in a bad mood five minutes before show time, and it didn't matter if he was exhausted or if he'd just gotten off a bus after an eighteen hour trip. Performing drove him, didn't it?

Smiling to herself, she set the water bottle aside and wandered over toward the bed again. He'd rolled onto his side as he slept but hadn't stirred otherwise. The glow of the lamplight was kind to him, lending his skin a honey golden glow, and she was struck once more by exactly how pretty he was. As strange as it sounded, there really wasn't a better way to describe him, not at that moment. Smoky dark eyelashes fanned down over his cheeks, the hollows of his face lending him a dramatic sort of air, he looked timeless, ageless, a creature bound by only the confines of the fairy tales that Valerie had stopped reading a long time ago, as familiar yet as foreign to her as he had ever been.

A strange emotion surged through her, a desperate need to touch him, to be closer to him, to reassure herself that he really was there, that he was real, that he was still the Evan she knew. Biting her lip, she reached out slowly, only to stop before her fingertips could brush over his arm. It wasn't that she felt like she couldn't touch him, no . . . Moreover, it was the innate knowledge that Evan wouldn't mind. She'd never met anyone like him—someone who didn't think twice about reaching for her hand, who liked to walk down the street with his hand on the small of her back, who constantly wanted to experience that tactile sense. Was he trying to reassure himself on some level? Trying to breech some perception of distance between himself and those around him?

Because Evan understood loneliness, didn't he? He understood it on a level that few ever did. The same entity that had brought him all the fame and all the adoration of millions all over the world was the same entity that had created a bubble around him: one that few could step into, not because Evan turned them away, but because they just couldn't compete with the lights that shone brighter, the paths that led him away for months and months at a time.

Shaking her head at her own melodramatic thoughts, Valerie started to turn away, only to stop, to turn her head, to stare at him thoughtfully.   Murmuring something that she couldn't discern, he shifted again, kicking the sheet down around his hips as he rolled from his side onto his back once more. Sometime in his sleep, the towel had come loose, too, and Valerie's eyes widened, her mouth falling open, her cheeks exploding in a wash of color as she got a good look at parts of him that she'd always tried to avoid before. She couldn't see it now, exactly, but the outline under the sheet didn't leave much to the imagination. Sure, she'd seen him naked a few times. The man possessed absolutely nothing in the way of humility, did he? Aside from the one time when she'd watched him with those twins, she'd always looked away before she saw too much, but even then, the view from the window hadn't been that great, not to mention her absolute disgust that he was taking advantage of those girls . . .

" _I slept with her a few years ago . . . It was after a show, and she said that she'd make it worth my while if I let her ask a few questions, and I was a little drunk—I mean, the minute I stepped off stage, one of the roadies stuck a fifth of Jack Daniels in my hand—and I was so fucking hyper already and I didn't have anything else to do_. . ."

" _So you have sex with someone because you're drunk and hyper and don't have anything else to do? How flattering_ . . ."

" _No . . . I slept with her because she wanted me to_."

Frowning as she stared at him, unable to drag her eyes away despite the knowledge that she really had no business staring at his body like that at all, Valerie shook her head. It was easy to see why women would want to sleep with him, she supposed. He was tall, broad, and apparently entirely in proportion, if the shadows of the sheet meant anything at all . . . hardened muscles of his stomach, his waist that narrowed slightly . . . converging lines that led to the parts of him that she couldn't rightfully see . . .

Leaning down slightly, she grasped the edge of the sheet between her index and middle fingers. What harm would it do to peek? After all, he was sleeping, wasn't he? He'd never, ever know, right?

' _Right_.'

Holding her breath, she slowly pulled up on the sheet and leaned to the side to get a better look as another vivid wash of color blossomed under her skin. Never in her lifetime had she ever really thought that a man's penis was anything but kind of weird looking—a rather pathetic lump of spongy flesh when it wasn't erect, and a little awkward looking when it was, kind of like God's idea of a joke or maybe even an afterthought. It certainly wasn't attractive, even if it did have its uses.

Evan's penis, however . . .

He really was beautifully proportioned, and that part of him, even completely relaxed, was as well shaped as the rest of him. And he quite obviously hadn't stuffed the thong the other night, either. He didn't _need_ to . . .

Carefully pulling the sheet back a little more, a glint of silver caught her gaze, and she narrowed her eyes, leaning in closer, blinking in surprise as she saw _it_.

He'd actually done it. He really had a silver—or maybe it was white gold or platinum—barbell stud earring stuck straight through his penis.

"Oh, my God," Valerie breathed, leaning in even closer to get a better look at the blatant show of self-mutilation. Without thinking about it, she reached out, flicked the end of the earring with the tip of her fingernail.

Evan uttered a half-groan, half-grunt as she jerked back, face flaming as she let go of the sheet, prepared to run for it, if need be. But he didn't open his eyes, and after a moment of trying to steady her wildly hammering heart, she let out a deep breath and very slowly shifted her gaze back to the barbell stud.

It was moving.

Biting the inside of her cheek hard, Valerie felt her feet shuffling forward, absolutely fascinated with watching Evan's penis as it jerked a little, color darkening slightly, the length of it thickening, extending.

Unfathomable, really. In the back of her head, she knew damn well that she really shouldn't be staring at—well, at _that_ , of all things. It was like a train wreck, maybe. One knew that one shouldn't watch, and yet one felt the ignoble compulsion to do exactly that. Sure, she'd seen other men's bodies react in the same fashion before, but Evan's was the most impressive, by far . . .

Swallowing hard, Valerie could only stare as it continued to fill out, little by little, and as it did, her eyes widened bit by bit, too. ' _Good_ God!' she thought, pressing her hands to her flushed cheeks without blinking. ' _Has he killed anyone with that thing?_ ' It was easily longer than her hand, and she wasn't exactly a small woman, by any stretch of the imagination, and she had to wonder if she'd even be able to wrap her fingers around it, for that matter.

Instinct told her to get away from him. That kind of monstrosity had to be dangerous, didn't it? ' _Don't be stupid,_ ' her mind barked at her. ' _Okay, so he_ is _large, but then, the guys you dated weren't nearly as big as Evan, anyway. Heck, you were taller than most of them, right? So it stands to reason that he's got a bigger penis than any of them, to start with_.'

She leaned down a little closer, staring at Evan's penis like it was some sort of foreign object, her expression a mix of comic horror and abject fascination, not unlike the kind of look one might have gotten had one just discovered a new kind of spider lurking in the corner of the kitchen.

With a heavy sigh, though, Evan suddenly flopped over onto his stomach, leaving Valerie with nothing but a very up-close look at the man's extraordinarily well-shaped ass.

Standing up straight, her entire face feeling oddly feverish, Valerie finally skittered away, across the bus, snatching up the thick fleece blanket that she'd carefully folded earlier, and, wrapping it around herself in one fluid motion, she threw herself onto the sofa and squeezed her eyes closed. Shocked at her own uncharacteristically brazen behavior, thankful only that he hadn't actually woken up while she was inspecting him like he was nothing more than a slab of meat left out for inspection, she pressed her hand over her icy hands over her heart and willed her breathing to slow.

Just what had gotten into her, anyway? It wasn't like her to do something like that, not at all. She was _engaged_ , for God's sake! What on earth had inspired her to gawp at Evan Zelig . . .?

And exactly why did she feel such a savage sense of disappointment that he'd rolled over onto his stomach . . .?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Mr. Curiosity_** ' _by_ _Jason_ _Mraz_ _first appeared on_ _his_ _2005_ _release_ , **_Wordplay_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Lester_ _Mendez_ , _Dennis_ _Morris_ , _and_ _Jason_ _Mraz_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _At_ _least_ _he_ _didn't_ _wake_ _up_ …


	79. 078: When in Rome ...

' _Ah la luna, la luna_ …  
' _The night that we fell under the spell of the moon_ …  
' _Ah la luna, la luna_ …  
' _The light that will bring me back to you_ …  
' _The light of la luna_ …'

 

-' _La Luna'_ by Belinda Carlisle.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Evan! _Evan!_ Wake up, damn it! _Now!_ "

Uttering a terse grunt, he rolled over and tried to ignore the demand that he wake up.

"I'm serious, Roka! Why are you naked?"

"Always naked," he grumbled, voice muffled by his pillow.

"Oh, whatever! Why am _I_ naked?" Valerie demanded. "More importantly, why are we _both_ naked?"

' _Naked V! Naked V!_ ' his youkai barked. Evan sat up straight, blinking away the last lingering remnants of sleepiness that clung to his brain.

"You're naked?" he asked, hooking his index finger in the front of the blanket she had wrapped around herself and trying to tug it down.

She slapped his hand away and glowered at him, her hair rumpled and entirely tousled, looking bleary-eyed from sleep despite the irritation that was thick in her expression. "You can take my word for it, you pig."

"I prefer 'dog'," Evan grinned.

"I'm serious, damn it!" she growled, pinning him with an entirely accusing kind of glower. "Why in the hell am I in your room—in your bed— _naked?_ "

"Because I was a good boy, and God is blessing me?" he quipped hopefully.

That earned him a scathing glower. "Where are my clothes, Roka? What did you do with them?"

Evan shrugged. "How would I know where they are? What makes you think that I have anything to do with your state of undress?"

Sparing a moment from her perusal of the room, she leveled a dark look at him and wrinkled her nose. "Because you're _you_ ," she informed him, "and _you_ are nothing but bad."

"Wh—Th—Okay. I'll give you that one, but that still doesn't prove that _I_ removed your clothes, you know."

"This isn't funny," she informed him brusquely, cheeks a vivid shade of crimson. "Oh, _God_ ," she moaned, burying her face in her hands as she hunched forward to keep her blankets from falling off. "This can't be happening—It can't be happening—It can't be hap—"

"How do I _really_ know you're naked?" he challenged. "I mean, you _say_ you are, but I haven't seen the proof yet, so for all I know, you could be wearing something under that blanket, now couldn't you?"

Rolling her eyes, she looked like she might be trying to decide whether it would be worth it to beat on him or not. "Why would I lie about something like that?" she snarled. "I'm _naked_ , Roka—very, very _naked!_ "

"Proof, V. The jury demands proof," he informed her, heaving a melodramatic sigh as he slowly shook his head.

Flashing eyes narrowing dangerously, she pointed her index finger at him, jamming it under his nose. "Listen, you—" Eyes widening in shock, she cut herself off abruptly as she blinked and stared at her hand. " _A-A-A-A-Ah!_ " she screamed in much the same way that she might if she had just seen a mouse. "What the hell is _that?_ "

Evan snapped his mouth closed as he, too, gawped at her hand—or more importantly, the ring on her finger on said-hand. "Wow . . . That a big fucking rock, there," he allowed.

Flattening her palm, she lifted her hand to examine the ring that had suddenly appeared. "Oh . . . my . . ." Trailing off, eyes flashing up to meet his, the light of panic glowing brightly, she shook her head quickly. "N-No . . . _No-o-o-o_ . . ."

Shaking his head, Evan scooted toward her and grabbed her arm to try to calm her down before she ended up hyperventilating or something. "V—"

She shrieked again, this time pointing at his hand.

"What's gotten into—Oh, _balls_ . . ." Evan breathed, staring rather dumbly at his own finger—and the thick gold band _on_ his finger.

"What did you do?" she screeched, slamming her fist against his chest. "Oh, my God, Evan! _What did you do?_ "

"Wh-Wh-Wha—? Why—? What do you mean, what did _I_ do?" Evan countered indignantly. "What makes you think that _I_ did anything?"

"Because you're _you_ ," she snarled again since that was apparently her reason for everything. "That's why!"

' _Shit_ ,' Evan thought wildly, gritting his teeth as he racked his brain, trying to remember exactly what had happened last night. He was pulling a complete blank. He didn't have any idea why they were both naked. After all, the only reason a woman would be in that state in his bed was if they had—

Head snapping up suddenly, his eyes widened as he slowly, cautiously as sheer, unadulterated panic rippled up his spine, and he leaned toward her to sniff. The scent of her, however, made his frown deepen. She smelled completely normal, didn't she? In fact, she didn't smell like he'd even laid a hand on her, one way or another . . .

Snorting indelicately, Evan couldn't help the very real wash of irritation that swept through him. Of course he hadn't wanted to find out that he'd done something really stupid. If that had happened, he'd never, ever be able to live it down. His brother would probably beat on him. His father would probably disown him. The rest of his family would probably give him guff every chance they got. Well, except for Ryo-jiji since he had a bit of a mishap himself . . . Still, if he _had_ . . .

' _Yeah, but something like that should be something you always remember_ ,' his youkai pointed out.

Evan nodded since he agreed. At least if he had claimed Valerie as his mate, everything would've been a done deal. Of course, there was a good chance that Valerie wouldn't ever speak to him again if that had happened . . . Well, it would have taken a very long time for her to forgive him, anyway . . .

"Think, Roka, think!" Valerie barked, struggling to get a grip on her rioting emotions. "I remember . . ." Rolling her hand as though the gesture would speed up her mind, she made a face. "Oh, I don't remember anything . . ."

"Okay, okay, okay," he said, sensing her escalating panic and wanting to calm her down. She probably thought that they did have sex, but there wasn't any good way for him to explain to her that it hadn't happened without having to explain how he knew. "Just, uh . . . What's the last thing you do remember?"

Valerie bit her lip and nodded slowly. At least she was making an attempt to get a grip—a real trooper. "The last thing . . . the last thing . . ." She sighed. "I went to your room to see what you were doing, and you were eating those giant Pixie Stix things . . ."

Evan nodded. "Right, right . . . because I lost that bet . . ."

Valerie's frown deepened. "What was that bet about? You never did tell me."

"Oh, that? Bone bet that he could get these three chicks to fuck him at the same time, and I said he couldn't. Apparently he was right— _and_ I think he's my new hero . . ."

She stared at him for a moment but must have decided that he was telling the truth. "Forget I asked," she muttered then waved her hand to shut him up. "Anyway, I remember the Pixie Stix . . . How many of those did you have to eat?"

Evan made a face and affected a full-body shudder. "Ugh . . . Too damn many," he muttered. "Fifty."

She blinked and slowly shook her head since he had, in fact, been trying to choke down the last one when she'd breezed into his hotel room. Glancing around, Evan winced. The empty plastic straws were still littering the floor over by the fawn silk covered sofa . . . That would teach him, wouldn't it? Never agree to a bet before you know what the consequences for losing are . . . Having to eat fifty of those three foot plastic straws filled with nothing but pure sugar with a touch of coloring and flavor was enough to give him nightmares. "Bone's a wicked, wicked man. I think he was trying to kill me . . ."

"No one made you bet with—" Cutting herself off short, she shook her head quickly, like she was trying to clear her mind, and shot him a dark glower. "You're trying to distract me," she accused. "Evan! _What does this mean?_ "

"Calm down, V, before you end up blowing an ass gasket." Grimacing since her pitch had risen about ten octaves in the space of one sentence, Evan leaned away from her and heaved a sigh. "Okay, okay," he muttered. "Then you decided to help me drink that bottle of bourbon."

It was her turn to make a face at that reminder, and she stuck out her tongue like she had just tasted something bad. "Uck . . . Don't remind me . . ."

"It was good bourbon," he reasoned.

She groaned loudly, letting her forehead fall into her hand. "Ooh, I don't remember much after that . . ."

Staring thoughtfully at his hand, Evan wondered absently why the ring on his finger didn't really bother him at all. Or maybe it was the presumption that a certain attorney had actually put it there that pleased him . . . "Hey, V . . .?"

"What?" she half-whined without looking at him.

Pushing up his bottom lip, struggling to find a neutral tone of voice, Evan shrugged in an offhanded sort of way. "You don't suppose . . . You don't suppose we got . . . married . . . do you . . .?'

Oh, if looks could kill, he'd be dead on the spot. Chin snapping up as the light of unadulterated panic engulfed her features, all the color in her face seemed to drain straight out of her face. "N-No," she whispered, looking like she honestly believed that being married to him was worse than dying. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no . . ."

Standing up abruptly, Evan turned his back on her and grabbed the jeans that he'd left on the floor. It took a minute for him to actually hide the upset that her words had inspired. It took him a minute longer to squelch the desire to ask her why, mostly because he knew damn well that he wouldn't like her answer, so what was the point?

"Oh, my God," she sighed. At least she didn't sound like she was about to lose it anymore. "Do you remember anything else?"

Scooping her panties and bra out of a nearby chair, he tossed them onto the bed near her and shrugged. "Not really," he mused, scratching the center of his chest thoughtfully. "Well, I mean, I _kind_ of remember you saying that you wanted to sneak me out of the hotel . . ."

"I did?"

He nodded. "Yeah, but I don't remember actually _going_ out . . . Though I guess we must've, all things considered," he added, waving his ringed finger under her nose to emphasize his point.

She looked like she was ready to light into him, and for a moment, he thought that she was going to. Suddenly, however, her eyes widened as what was left of her color drained from her face. "Oh, my God! My ring! Where's my ring?"

Evan blinked and shook his head. "Right there on your finger," he replied slowly. "But I gotta tell you, I think it's a fake."

Glancing down at her hand, she shot him a murderous look as she yanked the ungodly rock off her finger and tossed it at him. "Not this one, you ass! My _real_ engagement ring! _Where is it?_ "

Evan snorted. "I'd hardly call that one an engagement ring," he retorted, tossing the ring she'd thrown in his face onto the bureau. "More like a sick joke, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you," she grumbled, biting her lip as she cast a wild eyed look around the room. "Damn it . . .!"

"Aw, fuck, just tell Mandarin that you lost it. Big whoop. What're you out? Five, ten bucks? Just buy a few boxes of Cracker Jack. I'm sure you'll find a replacement in one of them."

He'd pushed her too far, hadn't he? She looked like she was either going to scream at him—or cry. She didn't do either, however. Instead, she scooted off the bed, careful to keep the blankets wound tightly around herself, and she stalked off toward the bathroom, mustering as much dignity as she could. Evan held out the jeans and sweater she was wearing, and she snatched them in the same hand that held the bra and panties—very pretty, very feminine pink lace panties.

"Relax, V," he called after her, wrinkling his nose as his conscience pricked him for being an ass. "We'll look for it, okay?"

Her muffled response was completely unintelligible. Just as well, he figured.

He stifled a sigh. He should have kept those and pretended that he didn't know where they were, damn it . . .

It really wasn't like him to not remember what had happened the night before. Then again, it wasn't really like him to have gotten drunk enough for that to even be a possibility. He vaguely thought that he remembered drinking some rum and bourbon shots, and if that really was what had happened, then it could account for everything. For reasons that he didn't really understand, the combination of the two never had played nice with his system . . .

Not that it mattered. The real question was exactly what had they done . . .?

Stomping out of the bathroom fully dressed and with the blankets bundled up in her arms, Valerie stalked over to the bed and dropped the load before pinning Evan with an impatient sort of look. "Well?"

He glanced around to make sure that she was talking to him. "Well, what?"

Rolling her eyes, Valerie grabbed his arm and hustled him toward the door, ignoring the fact that he was still naked from the waist up . . . and from the ankles down, for that matter . . .

"Where are we going?" he asked quizzically though he didn't try to pull away from her, either, when she dragged him out into the hallway.

"Someone's got to know what happened," she insisted stubbornly, stopping in front of the first door they came to. The entire entourage tended to stay on the same floor of the hotel whenever possible, and she knew that. This room just happened to belong to Bone.

He didn't answer after the third round of knocking, each one growing progressively louder than the last. Valerie looked like she didn't believe that Bone wasn't in there. Evan sighed and stepped in front of her before she could start round four and crossed his arms over his chest. "You know, V, I don't think he's in there," he pointed out reasonably.

"Fine," she said curtly, grabbing his arm and trying to drag him further down the hallway.

Evan didn't budge other than to flex his pecs intermittently. "Ah, come on," he coaxed with a grin. "We couldn't possibly have gotten married anyway."

"Why couldn't we have?" she countered, arching an eyebrow. "And stop that! Ugh! It's freaky."

"What?" Evan asked, flexing his pecs a few more times. "That?"

"Yes," she insisted, her expression leaving no question in his mind about her opinion of his ability. " _That_."

"Yeah, you're just jealous because you're a girl, so you can't do it, too," he jeered.

Valerie snorted, planting her hands on her hips and glowering up at him. "I can," she informed him haughtily. "Now come on!"

"I wanna see!" Evan blurted, eyes dropping to her non-flexing breasts.

"No," she stated flatly. "Stop trying to distract me!"

Evan blinked and thought it over for a moment. "Is it working?"

She snorted again. "Is _what_ working?"

"Is flexing my pecs a distraction for you?"

"Hardly!" she scoffed, turning away quickly, though not before he saw the hint of pink that rose in her cheeks.

Evan chuckled and fell in step behind her since she didn't seem like she was interested in sticking around to hear more of his teasing. "What's the big deal? They're pecs . . . it's not like you were standing there, eyeballing my junk."

She stumbled slightly at his seemingly innocent statement but caught herself and kept moving.

"Of course, if you _wanted_ to eyeball my junk, I'd be happy to let you," he went on. "I'd even pretend to be asleep the whole time . . ."

She shot him a decidedly nervous glance but didn't reply to that, either. Evan sighed and pretended not to have noticed. As much as he'd love to goad her more about the incident on the bus when she'd unabashedly given him a good once-over, he figured that she wouldn't really appreciate it at the moment—not when she was still trying to keep from freaking out over what had happened the night before.

Now if _he_ could just remember it, he'd be one step ahead of the game . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

" _You asked me to marry you, and I said 'no'_ . . ."

" _Asked me if I wanted a wife, and I said I just got rid of the last one_ . . ."

" _Said you wanted to marry me_ . . ."

"S-So you asked me to . . . marry you—of course, I said 'no' . . ."

Grinding her teeth together, Valerie had to struggle to keep herself from growling in sheer irritation.

Though she still wasn't sure what had happened the night before, one thing was becoming increasingly clear as they hunted down everyone they could find on the thirty-fourth floor of the Las Vegas Regent Hotel: she'd apparently decided that she should get married since they were there, and she'd asked just about everyone to be her husband, too.

It was enough to make her want to cry, really. Tay Nash glanced at Evan for a second before retreating a step in an effort to put a bit more space between himself and her. "A-Anyway, looks like you found someone to do it," he went on, nodding once at the gaudy rock still on her hand, "so . . .uh . . . congratu . . . la . . . tions . . .?"

"Okay, thanks, Nash," Evan interjected before Valerie could unleash her full ire on him. Grasping her around the waist, he turned her around and herded her toward the door.

"Later," Tay called after them.

Evan raised a hand to wave without stopping or looking back.

So far, she'd apparently proposed not only to Tay, but also to Frankie, Lars, Davie the sound tech, George the lighting tech, Devin, Bone's bus driver, Shay, Mike's assistant, and Jared, the wardrobe guy, just to name a few, but as humiliating as that might be, what was worse was that not one of them actually knew what had happened once Evan and she had left the hotel.

"What if no one knows?" she demanded, panic surging around the edges of her forced calm.

"Aw, hell, V, don't worry. I mean, it's not like we did anything," Evan pointed out reasonably.

And as much as Valerie wanted to believe that, she wasn't sure if she could. That would be too easy, wouldn't it? Just what had she done, anyway? More to the point, how was she ever going to explain this to Marvin?

"Kind of sucks," he went on airily. "I mean, I wasn't planning on getting hitched in the first place, so I do and hell if I even get to have the marital sex afterward . . ."

"How do you know?" she challenged through gritted teeth, ignoring the uncomfortable wash of embarrassed heat that slammed into her cheeks.

He rolled his eyes and touched the tip of his nose as he grinned at her. "Stands to reason, doesn't it? I mean, you really think that after a night with me that you'd be able to run around without bothering to take a shower first? Good sex— _really_ good sex—is a messy business, baby."

She opened her mouth to snap at him, then closed it again, looking ten kinds of irked though she seemed like she thought that what he'd said made some sense, at least.

"Besides, it's not like we haven't learned anything," he went on, tugging at the neckline of the tee-shirt he'd grabbed out of Frankie's bag.

"I beg to differ," she grumbled.

"Sure, we have," he insisted. "We learned that whatever happened was all your fault."

Her mouth dropped open, and she grabbed his arm to make him stop so that she could properly glower at him. "We have _not!_ "

Evan made a face and slowly, dramatically, shook his head. "Let's look at the facts, shall we? Of the seventeen people we've talked to thus far, fifteen of them have been asked to be Mr. V Denning, right? So it _had_ to be your idea."

Narrowing her eyes dangerously, she couldn't decide if she was more irritated at the very idea that he seemed to think that everything was her fault or that his logic, as simplistic as it was, kind of made sense. "You know, I used to think that I hated you," she ground out from between clenched teeth, "but I didn't; not then. I do now, though. I _hate_ you. I _despise_ you. I can't stand—"

"Well, well, well, if it ain't the happy couple!"

Both Valerie and Evan's heads snapped to the side, staring at Bone as the head of security swaggered down the hallway toward them.

"You sleep it off, did you?" Bone went on with a broad grin.

Evan scratched his neck thoughtfully, almost bashfully. "Hey, big man . . . tell me something . . ."

Bone's grin widened as he stopped and crossed his meaty arms over his chest. "Let me guess: the two of you been wanderin' around all day, trying to figure out what happened last night?"

Evan chuckled. "Something like that."

"Not surprising," Bone allowed sagely. "You two were pretty damn drunk."

"Just tell us what happened, please," Valerie interrupted, sick and tired of all the joking that she'd heard thus far in her quest to find out the truth.

Bone laughed. "Well, in a nutshell, you told Roka that you were bored, and that since you were in Vegas, then you ought to do what everyone else does in Vegas."

Valerie shook her head. "R-Really . . ."

"Aw, yeah," Evan drawled, squinting as he thought it over, stroking his chin with his thumb and index finger. "I remember that now . . . I asked you if that meant you wanted to go lose a couple thousand bucks at a casino, and you said that you wanted to do the other _thing_ that people do in Vegas . . ."

"W—I—I did _not!_ " she insisted, her cheeks exploding in hot color.

Bone shrugged and scratched his temple. "Yeah, you did," he countered, sticking his fists straight out in front of himself then swinging them in a wide circle as he rotated his hips. "V, she wan' get married . . . V, she wan' get married . . ."

Evan laughed, apparently finding the entire situation a little more hilarious than he actually ought to. "V, she wan' get—"

"Shut up, Roka!" Valerie snarled, rounding on him and giving him a good shove that barely moved him at all.

He laughed harder, but at least he stopped singing along with the less-than-amusing body guard. "Did she ask you to marry her, too?"

"Well, hell, yeah," Bone quipped. "I was the first one she asked. Wants a little of the ol' chocolate sauce, if you know what I mean."

Stifling a groan, Valerie wondered what the odds were that she could get both of them into walk-in freezer that locked when it closed.

"Don't worry, though," Bone went on, completely oblivious as to the mayhem befalling him within Valerie's mind. "Had to tell her she just don't got near 'nough booty for me."

"I dunno about that," Evan mused, leaning back to get a good gander at the aforementioned booty. Valerie smacked him dead center in his chest. The miscreant laughed, of course. "I likes me that booty."

"Little man, you don't know booty till you see you some milk chocolate honey with the caboose that's breaking loose, ya."

Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum bumped fists and laughed like morons. Valerie was personally ready to kill them both. Figuring that she wasn't about to get any more answers out of either of them, jerks that they were, she turned on her heel and started down the hallway toward the elevator.

' _I was drunk . . . and it was late . . . It can't possibly be legal, right . . .?_ ' she mused, struggling for a calm that she was far from feeling. Drunk or not, she'd married him? Zel Roka? Evan? But even as she tried to convince herself that the marriage couldn't possibly be legal, she seemed to recall that Las Vegas had a special law on the books; one that legalized quickie weddings as long as they were performed at a licensed and sanctioned establishment within the city limits even without the license that every other place required. After all, it was the marriage capital of the world, wasn't it? A hellacious pounding erupted behind her eyes, and she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from screaming in sheer panic. Just how was she going to explain this to Marvin, damn it? ' _Oh, by the way . . . I went on tour with Zel Roka, ha ha . . . The judge insisted, right? So—and here's the best part! Really funny, I swear! You're just going to die when you hear! I got drunk in Las Vegas and figured I'd get married! It's a riot, isn't it?_ '

Stifling a sigh, she shook her head. As understanding as Marvin tended to be, she just couldn't quite see him thinking that anything about this was amusing in the least. It might all be one big joke to Evan, but it just wasn't, not to her. Maybe he was used to never having to take anything seriously, but she couldn't do that, and more to the point, she couldn't hurt Marvin, not like that . . .

"Hey, baby," Evan said, catching up with her near the elevator. "Where you going?"

Jamming the call button about a hundred times in rapid succession, Valerie snorted indelicately and leaned back to look at the floor indicator over the sliding doors. "As far away from _you_ as I can possibly get," she snapped.

"Relax, V," he drawled. "Besides, it ain't every day you get married, right? And hell! You married one of the most eligible bachelors on the fucking _planet_ , I'll have you know."

Opting to ignore that statement since it rather made her want to brain him with whatever she could get her hands on, Valerie clamped her mouth closed so tightly that her jaw ticked.

"I mean, there're perks . . ."

She was almost afraid to ask. Morbid curiosity got the better of her, though. "Like what?" she challenged petulantly, shrugging his arm away when he tried to slip it around her shoulders.

He chuckled, odious cur that he was. "Like—"

"Say 'sex', and die," she warned.

His grin widened. "Take all the fun out of it, why don't you?" he teased.

She erupted in a low growl that only served to further his amusement at her expense. "Okay, okay," he relented, holding up his hands in surrender. "But you know, I'd let my wife spend my money," he allowed with a simplistic shrug.

She snorted. "That goes without saying, you jerk," she grumbled. "That's not a perk—it's a given."

Evan sighed but didn't stop grinning, and to her everlasting chagrin, he had the audacity to lean down and kiss the end of her nose.

"Stop it!" she insisted, rubbing furiously at her nose like she was afraid that he'd managed to infest her with some sort of lethal germ. "I'm mad at you, remember?"

"Okay, first off," he began, poking a finger in her face, "you cannot blame me for marrying you when you seemed to be hell-bent on doing it."

"The hell I can't," she snarled, slapping his hand away.

Evan shrugged. "Second off, you're assuming that we're legally married."

Rolling her eyes, she shoved him away so that she could glower at him better. "Of course we are," she snapped. "Not that I want to be, because I _don't!_ "

"You're such a cold woman, _Val_ ," he taunted. "Think about it, will you? We were both bombed out of our fucking minds . . . Do you really think that the ol' Bone would let us do anything that permanent?"

"Save your breath, Roka," Bone interjected, slipping an arm around both Valerie and Evan's shoulders. "My girl V don't believe nothin' that she don't see, right?"

Valerie snorted and was about to shrug his arm away, too, when a fluttering paper in his hand caught her eye. "What's that?"

Bone grinned. "It's your marriage certificate," he said.

Valerie snatched it out of his hand and stared at it, but it took her brain a bit longer to actually absorb what she was reading.

"Zel Bigguns Roka—Bigguns?" she repeated quizzically.

Evan grinned and grabbed his crotch, shaking it as that damned grin widened. "I'm going to assume that 'Bigguns' refers to the size of my stuff," he intoned lightly.

Bone nodded. "That's what you said last night, little man."

Evan grinned wider and gestured at Bone while nodding enthusiastically at the frazzled attorney.

Valerie narrowed her eyes on him for a long moment before turning her attention back to the license in her hands. "G . . . Goddess V . . . Pin—Oh, you _ass!_ " she bellowed, turning toward Evan and smashing her fist against his upper arm. It didn't accomplish anything but drawing a guffaw of laughter out of the miscreant rock star—and making her hand throb painfully.

"That'd make you 'Goddess V Pinkle-Zelig'," he added helpfully.

Valerie made to punch him again. Bone caught her fist and chuckled. "Down, Rocky," he laughed, letting go of her and pulling her a little further away from the now-cackling Evan. "Man . . . you'd better shut up before V, here, goes medieval on your ass . . ."

It took significantly longer for Evan to actually get a grip on his humor, though, which just figured. Wiping his eyes, he heaved a sigh though the smile was still firmly etched on his features. "So you see? No harm, no foul, right?"

"Hell, we didn't even get to have sex," Evan whined, looking sorely put out for what he viewed as the inconvenience of it all.

She wasn't entirely mollified. "So you say," she grumbled, feeling her headache escalating upward toward migraine territory.

"Nah, there wasn't no hanky or panky," Bone interjected calmly. "Roka couldn't get it up—and then he passed out five minutes later."

Valerie snorted, unsure whether she ought to believe Bone but desperately wanting to. "We were naked," she gritted out, hating to admit the sorry truth.

Bone grinned again. "Yeah, that's because you told him that you were sure that seeing you naked would help him out. Too bad he was already out cold by the time you got your dress off."

Making a face, unable to contain the flood of color that surged under her skin, she shook her head. "Did you . . . see me . . .?"

"Eh, don't worry about it. You passed out about five minutes after he did."

Somehow, that wasn't exactly comforting. Sighing heavily as she rubbed her forehead, she brushed past both men and onto the elevator then poked the 'close door' button about fifty times in an effort to escape the two idiot men. Bone caught the door before it could close all the way, and he held it while Evan followed her into the cramped space, which just figured. Then the rotten man waved at them as the doors slid shut with a strange air of finality. She sighed yet again. With the way her luck was going, they'd probably end up getting stuck before she had a chance to get away . . .

Evan was silent for about two floors. Then he cleared his throat and kind of flicked his hand nervously. "Hey, uh, you know, V . . ."

"What?" she asked, mid-sigh.

"If it'd make you feel better, we could go do it again," he offered. "You know, using real names and all that . . ."

She couldn't possibly be hearing him right. She really couldn't. Not even he would be stupid enough to try to get her to actually go out and really marry him after all that . . . Glancing at him, she shook her head. He looked serious enough.

"Listen, Roka," she said, her voice barely above a whisper and trembling with the irritation that his question had inspired in her as the doors slid open and she smacked her hand against the opening to keep it from closing before she got out, "I wouldn't marry you for real if you were the last man on earth, and God himself decreed it. Right now, I don't really like you very much, and even if I did, do you think I'm stupid enough to marry someone who doesn't know when to keep his damn pants on? Someone who's never even had a girlfriend because he's too much of a player and a jackass to be serious for even five minutes? As soon as your case is over, I swear to God that I never, ever want to see your sorry face, ever again."

Ripping the offending marriage certificate in half, she threw it at him, and then she stomped out of the elevator alone, striding down the hallway toward her room, her footsteps echoing around her.

She didn't stop to see if Evan got off the elevator, too, and she didn't look back.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _La_** **_Luna_** ' _by_ _Belinda_ _Carlisle_ _first appeared on_ _her_ _1989_ _release,_ **_Runaway_** **_Horses_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Ellen_ _Shipley_ _and_ _Rick_ _Nowels_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _I'm_ _going_ _to_ _kill_ _him_ _yet_ …


	80. 079: Breaking Down

' _Baby cried the day the circus came to town_ …  
' _Cause she didn't want parades just passing by her_ …  
' _So she painted on a smile and took up with some clown_ …  
' _And she danced without a net upon the wire_ …  
' _I know a lot about her, 'cause you see_ …  
' _Baby is an awful lot like me_ …'

 

-' _Don't Cry Out Loud'_ by Melissa Manchester.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Standing in the shadows of the overhang on the top of the hotel, Evan let out a deep breath and slowly shook his head.

He was really, really stupid, wasn't he?

' _What the hell inspired you to tell her that last bit about going and getting married for real, you moron?_ ' his youkai voice demanded angrily. ' _You saw her face, didn't you? Why didn't you just_ slap _her, for God's sake? It probably would have hurt her less . . ._ '

' _That wasn't_ —'

' _Yeah, whatever. That wasn't what you were trying to do, right? You weren't trying to hurt her. Of course. You know, though, you did. You know how touchy she can be about some things, and marriage is one of them. Does it matter whose idea that was? Really?_ '

He sighed again, staring at the torn marriage certificate that he'd picked up after Valerie had tossed it in his face. It wasn't real, of course. Well, it was, but the names on the certificate had voided it from the start. So why . . .?

Why had he been so pleased this morning after the initial worry that he'd done something that couldn't be undone had waned? The sight of the gaudy ring on her finger, and somehow he'd known that he'd put it there . . . and it had pleased him more than he'd care to think about, hadn't it? Almost like she really was his mate . . . and that idea . . .

True enough, he was still a little fuzzy on a lot of the details surrounding their impromptu trip to the Sanctity of Amour—yes, that was actually the name of the garishly pink chapel where Valerie had decided that she wanted to get married. Bone had filled in a lot of the details, and when he stopped to think about it, he'd started to remember bits and pieces . . .

The happy smile on Valerie's face as she giggled and signed her name in a scribble that was little more than a squiggly line . . . The way her eyes shone when she'd tried to keep a straight face as she spoke the words, "I do" . . . Literally howling with laughter as she and Evan sipped wine spritzers in the hotel bar after Bone was able to talk them into going back before Mike blew an ass gasket . . .

" _You don't want that ring, V! It's gaudy as hell, don't you think?_ "

" _Listen, Roka, if I'm going to marry a rock star, then I should have a diamond befitting a rock star's wife, right?_ "

" _But_ —"

" _You're not really going to argue with me, are you?_ "

" _Uh . . . nope. Not at all_."

He closed his eyes as he shuffled out into the hazy sunlight of the late morning sky. Mike was going to kill him for blowing off all his interviews that he'd so meticulously lined up. Evan didn't care . . .

" _I did it! I got married! Fifth time's the charm, right?_ "

" _That's right, V . . . Notice I didn't put you off . . ._ _Get it moving, damn it! I want to go have sex!_ "

" _So just do it. You're in a limo, right? No one can see you, and it ain't like you ain't done it before._ "

" _Boney, didn't anyone teach you anything? You can't have marital sex for the first time in a fucking limo_ . . ."

" _I did it! I did it! See? I did get married this year, even if Marvin said we can't till next spring!_ "

Grimacing as Valerie's exultant voice echoed and faded in his head, he had to wonder if she realized what she'd said; if she'd realized that she'd said anything at all . . .

"Does it really not matter to you, V?" he mumbled, leaning on the railing that ran around the perimeter of the roof. "As long as you get married . . ."

But it _did_ matter to her, didn't it? And not just anyone would do. She was too independent for marriage to be high on her list of priorities, but if that were really the case, then why Marvin?

Drawing a deep breath, Evan slowly shook his head.

" _Listen, Roka. I wouldn't marry you for real if you were the last man on earth, and God himself decreed it. Right now, I don't really like you very much, and even if I did, do you think I'm stupid enough to marry someone who doesn't know when to keep his damn pants on? Someone who's never even had a girlfriend because he's too much of a player and a jackass to be serious for even five minutes? As soon as your case is over, I swear to God that I never, ever want to see your sorry face, ever again_."

He winced, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the ring that Bone had given him—Valerie's real engagement ring. Bone said that Valerie had been so drunk that she'd actually tossed it aside in the limo on the way to the chapel. He'd picked it up, and it was up to Evan to give it back . . .

He'd hated that look of sheer panic on her face when she couldn't find it earlier, hadn't he? As much as he'd like to toss it over the side of the building and forget all about it, he couldn't . . . because she'd be upset . . .

The obscene sound of ripping paper as she'd torn the marriage certificate in half echoed in his head, louder than thunder, more cutting than a thousand blades . . . Why had that hurt . . .? It wasn't real, after all. The names weren't any more real than much of anything else in his life, were they? The existence that was nothing more than smoke and mirrors that hid Evan Zelig so much more than it shielded his family . . .

His youkai sighed—a strangely serious sound from the voice that had so often encouraged his antics. ' _Give the ring back, Evan,_ ' it said.

Tightening his fist around the offending bit of gold, he drew his hand back, meant to throw it just as far as he possibly could. ' _The hell! She . . . She belongs with me—with us!_ '

That sigh sounded again, only this time, it was longer, sadder, and far wearier. ' _But it's not our choice_ ,' his youkai pointed out almost gently. ' _It's hers. You can't make it for her_.'

Slowly lowering his fist, he swallowed hard, forced his fingers to uncurl, forced himself to look at the pathetic circlet of gold. ' _Give it . . . back to her_ . . .'

It was the last thing that he wanted to do: to hand her the ring that bound her to another man.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

" _Listen, Roka. I wouldn't marry you for real if you were the last man on earth, and God himself decreed it. Right now, I don't really like you very much, and even if I did, do you think I'm stupid enough to marry someone who doesn't know when to keep his damn pants on? Someone who's never even had a girlfriend because he's too much of a player and a jackass to be serious for even five minutes? As soon as your case is over, I swear to God that I never, ever want to see your sorry face, ever again_."

Wincing as those words ran through her head once more, Valerie concentrated on refolding the clothes that one of the maids had just brought up from the hotel's laundry service. ' _Okay_ ,' she allowed grudgingly, heaving a sigh as she slowly shook her head. ' _So that was a little harsh—or a lot_ . . .'

Angry at herself for her own colossal stupidity, she'd lashed out at Evan. She _knew_ she had. She hadn't meant to, even if he'd offended her by his nonchalant offer to make good on the marriage, to start with.

The problem was that she'd done that for so long that it had become a habit—a bad one. How many times in during her childhood had she blamed everyone else for things, even things that were her own fault? Easier to do that than to admit that she had made a bad call, wasn't it? Easier to blame others instead of looking inside herself to figure out why she'd made certain choices . . . or easier to blame it on others when she didn't understand what was happening around her . . .

Shaking out a cream colored sweater so that she could refold it, Valerie bit her lip and frowned at the glinting ring sitting on the nightstand—the ring that Evan had bought for her. She had no idea how much he'd spent—hell, she couldn't even remember picking it out, and she scowled.

She hadn't meant what she'd said to Evan. She really, really hadn't. As much as she hated to admit it, she'd had more fun with him in the last few weeks than she'd had in years. She'd laughed more in the last few weeks than she had in years, too. Somehow when she wasn't paying attention, Evan had become a really good friend, hadn't he?

Face crumpling in a self-disgusted expression, she dropped the sweater on the bed and plopped down beside it. She needed to apologize to him. Unfortunately, that was something else she wasn't very good at, either.

The thing was, as much as she liked spending time with Evan, as much fun as she had with him, he frightened her, too. It wasn't that she thought that he'd do anything to really hurt her, no, and maybe that was what really and truly scared her most. She'd never met anyone like him before: someone who seemed to revel in making her laugh, in showing her things that she'd never seen before. Yet those same things—that impetuousness that seemed to govern his life, the absolute desire to soak every possible moment of living out of every single day—those were the same traits that she'd been trying too hard to avoid, wasn't it?

She'd learned her lesson a long time ago—a lifetime ago, right? As exciting as it was to be with him, it would never last, would it? She'd been a sucker before. She'd seen guys like him—flashy guys who seemed to be just a step above the rest—and she'd found out the hard way that nothing was ever as good as it looked from the outside, and when that moment came when she realized just what was happening to her, she'd felt like a part of her had died over and over again . . .

Why did it always seem to her that the ones that had caught her attention time after time were the ones who could do nothing but hurt her? Why had she seen the same things? Justin had thought that he was everything. Duff had believed that he was above repercussions. Payne had trusted in his irresistible smile to get everything he wanted . . . and Evan? He already had it all, didn't he . . .?

The curt knock on her door drew her out of her reverie, and she sighed. Her hands were trembling, and she could feel the hot prickle of tears behind her eyelids. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath, considered ignoring the visitor but discarded the idea. She really didn't have to wonder about who it was, anyway. She knew it was Evan, even if she didn't know how.

"Hey," he said quietly, shifting from one foot to the other without meeting her gaze when she opened the door and stepped back. Scratching the back of his neck, he let out a deep breath, scowling at the floor. "Sorry about earlier," he muttered.

"N-No," she said just as quietly, her voice cracking as she swallowed hard, as she blinked rapidly. "I lost my temper, and . . . and I didn't mean what I said."

For some reason, her apology didn't seem to please him. If anything, he seemed even more agitated, didn't he? "Don't worry about it, V. I was . . . I was being an ass, right? Anyway, I, uh . . . I've got to get to sound-check," he told her with a little shrug. "I just wanted to . . . to give you this."

Valerie blinked as Evan took her hand and pressed something into it.

Glancing down at her hand, she found herself staring at her engagement ring—the one Marvin had given her. He'd found it . . .

"Oh . . ." she whispered.

"Bone had it," he muttered, trying to forestall any thanks that she might consider offering. "Anyway, I gotta go." Then he turned and hunched his shoulders forward as he dug his hands into his pockets and started down the hallway.

"Evan," she called after him, hanging onto the door jamb and leaning out into the hall.

He stopped and slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder at her. The expression on his face was painful to see—a sadness so deep, so lingering that she winced inwardly. He really didn't believe her when she'd told him that she hadn't meant what she'd said, did he? She'd never seen him look quite that vulnerable before, and something about it opened up an ache so deep that she had to grind her teeth together to keep from gasping out loud. "I'll be at your show," she said, her voice uneven, almost broken.

He stared at her for a long moment, and when he finally smiled, he looked a lot more like the Evan that she knew.

Then he nodded, sparing a moment to let his gaze linger on her before he pushed into the stairwell.

Valerie let out a deep breath, her own contrived smile fading as fast as it took the door to close.

After all the nasty things she'd said to him, he'd still wanted to return her ring to her . . . Why was it so hard to remember that it wasn't nearly as simple to take things back once she'd said them as it would be to just stop and not say them, to start with . . .?

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Woman, I'm warning you . . ."

Rolling her eyes, Valerie scooped a blueberry onto her spoon and aimed. Evan narrowed his eyes in disapproval that she summarily ignored as she let the fruit fly directly at his face. He reacted before he could stop himself, leaning to the side, catching the berry in his mouth and chewing it with a thorough scowl on his face.

"You haven't missed even one," she commented, her eyes sparkling as she grinned unrepentantly.

Evan snorted and swallowed the fruit. "Call it a reflex," he muttered, leaning forward to tug the spoon out of her hand and chucking it over his shoulder. It clattered in the sink. "An _annoying_ one."

"No fair!" she protested. "Now how am I supposed to finish this?"

Stretching across the table, he stabbed a strawberry with his fork and shoved the entire thing into her mouth when she went to bite it in half. "Urk!" she grunted, twisting away from him, holding her hand under her chin in case she dribbled. "Ou-ah uh urk!"

He chuckled and sat back, pushing the potato salad around his plate idly. "Oh, I'm a jerk, am I?" he laughed. "Who's been chucking fruit at me for the last half hour?"

Covering her mouth as she chewed and swallowed, Valerie giggled. "I didn't know you'd start catching it," she protested, shaking her head as she reached for a napkin. "Anyway, anyway, give me a fork."

"No way," he countered. "Use your fingers."

"So mean," she complained though her continued giggling ruined the harshness of her assessment. "Now explain again why we have to go to North Dakota. Is there anything actually _in_ North Dakota?"

Pushing his plate away, Evan grinned. "Because even repressed kids in North Dakota love them some Zel Roka," he pointed out. "If memory serves, they loves them some Zel Roka a lot . . ."

Narrowing her gaze on him, she was still smiling. Evan sighed. Damn, but he loved that smile . . . "What does that mean?" she asked slowly. "If you say something perverted, I swear . . ."

"I just mean that there's not a whole helluva lot to do up there," he explained. "It seems to me that the girls up there learn how to put a smile on the men's faces a little early . . ."

She whipped a toothpick at him. He caught it in his teeth and spit it out on the table. "You're so gross," she pointed out.

Evan chuckled and shrugged unrepentantly.

She wrinkled her nose and rubbed her arms as though she were cold. He knew damn well that it was at least seventy-two degrees inside the bus. "I don't think that you should have to go anywhere that the average temperature during the day is less than seventy," she muttered.

"Ah, don't be like that," he coaxed. "After that show, we'll be heading to Hawaii, right? Just think about that."

That dreamy smile of hers was back in place, and she leaned forward, resting on her forearms as she pinned him with an expectant sort of air. "You've been there before, right?"

Nodding slowly, Evan stuck his hands over his head, stretching languorously. "Yeah . . . It was more fun when I wasn't touring. My uncle—well, technically speaking, he's my great-uncle—has a place there. Not very big, especially by his standards, but it's got a nice, private beach and is pretty secure, and the view of the sunsets there? Fantastic . . ."

"Sounds nice," she agreed rather dreamily. "Is your whole family wealthy?"

Letting out a deep breath, he shrugged and shifted to the side, stretching his legs out straight. "I guess so," he allowed slowly. "Never really gave it much thought, but yeah, you could say that."

She stared at him for a long moment then suddenly laughed, shaking her head as though whatever she had running through her mind was entirely amusing. "You know, where I grew up, there was this one house with this tall wrought iron fence and this huge, _huge_ front lawn that seemed to just . . . stretch out so far that you'd think that the house would look small, right? But it didn't. It was one of those old stone places—not brick. It was actually built out of stones—humungous grayish stones . . . and I always thought that it looked like a castle." She giggled again, her eyes illuminated by a faraway sort of glimmer. "It even had turrets. Can you imagine? Real turrets . . ."

"Victorian?"

She shrugged as her gaze cleared though the wan little smile on her lips didn't fade. "I guess." Shaking her head, she drew a deep, cleansing breath. "I always wondered if the people who lived in that house felt like royalty when they woke up in the morning . . ." Ducking her head, her cheeks pinking slightly, she stole a glance at him from under her lowered eyelashes. "Sounds stupid, doesn't it?"

He laughed and stood up to throw away what was left of his dinner. "I don't think so," he allowed. "I mean, when I was little, I always wondered if clouds were made of cotton candy . . ."

Sighing softly—a wistful sound that was not unhappy—Valerie stood up and carried her bowl over to the counter, rummaging through the drawers as she looked for some plastic wrap. "They couldn't be cotton candy," she pointed out, ripping a strip of plastic off the roll and carefully covering what was left of her fruit salad. "They'd melt in the rain."

"I suppose," Evan agreed, taking her bowl and sticking it into the refrigerator, "but then, Mama always told me that the sound of raindrops on the windows were the metal boots of the Snow Sugar King's army collecting the melted sugar so that the maids in his castle could spin them into clouds again."

She stopped and turned to stare at him, a very tender smile twitching on her lips. "She told you that?" she asked quietly.

Evan nodded and scratched his bare chest, frowning slightly at one of the fake tattoos that was starting to wear off. "Damn . . . hand me the mineral oil in that cupboard, would you?"

Valerie got it out and poured some onto a dishcloth that was lying on the counter. "You mom told you all that? About the Snow Sugar King and stuff?" she asked as she carefully dabbed at the fading tattoo.

"'Course she did. Mama used to hold me during storms and tell me all kinds of stories . . . some of them were actually true ones."

A sad sort of smile surfaced on her features, and not for the first time, Evan had to wonder just what kind of memories she had of her own childhood. From the things she'd said before, he'd gotten the impression that it hadn't been the best of times, and that idea pissed him off more than he could credit, and as much as he wanted to ask her, he just didn't know how to do it. "It was nice, right? Let me see . . . where were you then? On the sofa or something?"

Evan smiled, willing away the questions that he couldn't answer. "Sometimes. Sometimes we'd lie in the bed—the big bed—the _huge_ bed—with the blankets pulled up to our chins as we stared out the windows at the rain . . ." He chuckled and shook his head. "Jilli always wanted to go outside and play in the rain, but Mama wouldn't let her . . ."

"Were you afraid?" she asked, turning the towel to rub at the remnants of the tattoo.

"Me? Afraid? Hell, yeah!" he replied, his grin widening. She shot him an amused look out of the corner of her eyes, and he chuckled. "I was a pup," he explained with a shrug. "Couldn't have been more than . . . two? Three, maybe . . .? I wasn't afraid of the rain, but thunder? Damn, that terrified me . . ."

"You admit it?" she countered, shaking her head like she couldn't believe that he was being so candid about his childhood fear.

"Why not? Everyone's afraid of something in their life, aren't they?" he reasoned.

Tossing the towel on the counter, she laughed as she dug a clean one out of a drawer, dampening it under the slow but steady stream of the faucet. "I suppose they are," she allowed.

"So what were you afraid of, V?"

"Oh, I don't know," she hedged with a fortifying breath. She took her time in wiping the area of skin she'd just cleaned off. "I don't remember being afraid of anything in particular . . . but I do remember being afraid . . ."

"Of what?"

Bobbing her shoulders in a nonchalant shrug, she pulled open the cabinet where he kept the box with the fake tattoos. "The dragon, right?"

"Uh huh," he replied, waiting for her answer to his original question.

She took her time, positioning the new print on his skin before pressing it into place and spritzing the activator onto the surface. "I guess I was just always a little afraid of everything," she finally said as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

Her response puzzled him, but he could tell from the slight stiffness in her stance that she didn't really want to talk about it anymore, and he relented. After all, what right did he really have to pry into her past any more than he already had? "You know, you're the last person who strikes me as fearful of anything."

She blinked and shot him a surprised kind of look, but she smiled a little reluctantly. "I'm not afraid of anything these days," she informed him with a curt laugh meant to cover her true emotions. Maybe she even believed herself on some level, too . . . A slight frown flickered over her features, and she pressed her lips together as she tossed the backer paper into the trash. "Uh, Evan . . . about earlier . . ."

He had a feeling that she was going to try to tell him once more that she didn't mean what she'd said when she'd left him in the elevator, and he sighed. "Don't worry about it, V," he said before she could go on. "I was being a jackass."

She looked like she wanted to argue with him. He shot her a cheesy grin before she could. "You freak out over weird shit, woman," he told her, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

Rolling her eyes, she started to say something, only to be cut off short by a very powerful yawn. Evan laughed and grabbed her hand, dragging her over to the bed. "How old do you think I am? Five?" she complained when he pushed on her shoulders to sit her down then knelt, reaching for her feet to tug off her shoes.

"Three, maybe," he countered with a grin.

"Such a jerk," she complained as another yawn invaded.

"Well, yeah . . . like you didn't know that."

She wrinkled her nose and rubbed her eyes, her fists balled up like a tiny child. "Thanks for giving back my ring," she murmured, forcing her eyes open to look at him.

He forced a chuckle as she crawled under the covers and stretched out on her side. "I thought about throwing it away," he confessed.

She shook her head and smiled, obviously preferring to think that he was teasing her. "But you wouldn't because you're nice . . . sometimes."

"Yeah, don't let that get out, okay?" he grumbled, looking away before she could figure out that he wasn't teasing about wanting to discard her engagement ring.

"Tell me more about your childhood," she coaxed, closing her eyes and snuggling into the thick pillow.

Evan stared at her for a long moment as he reached out to push her hair out of her face. "Like what?"

"Hmm . . ." she drawled, her voice taking on that sleepy kind of thickness. "The Snow Sugar King . . ."

"The Snow Sugar King . . ." he repeated, sitting on the edge of the bed. She felt the shift and scooted closer to him as he stretched his legs out, as he leaned back against the headboard. "Mama said that he was tiny—smaller than a mouse," he told her, "and his people lives under lakes and ponds and oceans . . . in glass domed cities that we can't see—unless the Snow Sugar King invites us, of course . . ."

"Mm," she murmured. Evan sighed, staring at her as he carefully, gently stroked her hair. Her breathing evened out, settled into a quiet monotony as she fell asleep. Something about watching her evoked a feeling of being perfectly content—a satisfaction so deep—emotions that he'd never really felt before . . . except one time . . . just one time . . .

His humming started out low, barely more than a whisper. As he gazed at her, as he watched her sleep, he didn't realize that he was doing it at all. A song that he'd only sung once before—one that he'd made up on the spot, just for her—that girl who had disappeared out of his life as quickly as she had appeared . . . Whether she was a dream or just a fantasy, he'd wondered over the years, but Valerie . . . What was it about her that instilled the same sense of quiet awe . . .?

Humming quietly, entranced in the middle ground between his memories and the present, he blinked slowly when Valerie stirred, when she opened her eyes and pushed herself up on her elbows, frowning thoughtfully at him. "That song . . ." she said, shaking her head as though she didn't really understand exactly what was going on. For that matter, she didn't look entirely awake, either. "What's the name?"

Shaking his head, Evan grimaced, not entirely ready to give that song away to anyone else, even if that anyone was Valerie. "Eh, it's just a song," he replied, hoping that she'd let it go if he downplayed it. "I don't remember the name."

Her frown deepened, but she did lie back down, eyes closing as sleepiness closed in around her fast. "Oh . . ."

Heaving a sigh since he couldn't help but feel a little guilty for lying to her, Evan relented. "Why do you want to know?" he ventured.

"Mm," Valerie murmured, almost asleep again. Her voice was thick, bleary. "Heard it . . . once . . . at a party . . . He . . . sang . . ."

The breath whistled into Evan's lungs as the reality of her statement sank in. " _Heard it . . . once . . . at a party_ . _. . He . . . sang_ . . ." Just what the hell did that mean . . .?

" _I just thought that she might have been the one. I had her for one night, and when I woke up the next morning, she was gone_ . . ."

' _But . . . you never wrote that song down_ ,' his youkai voice said slowly, logically. ' _You never wrote it because it was only for her . . . just for her_ . . .'

" _Eh, it was a long time ago—nine? Ten years ago, maybe . . .?_ "

But if it had been her . . . was that even possible? With a frown, he realized that he didn't actually know how old Valerie was. It was easy to assume that she was still in her early to mid twenties just because she looked that damn good, but if that were the case, then that night at Columbia University . . . It couldn't have been her . . .

' _Goddamn it_ ,' he thought with a wince. He had to know . . .

"V?"

The only answer was her steady breathing, and in her sleep, she snuggled a little closer against his side.

Heaving a sigh, he shook his head. Watching her sleeping so peacefully was torture, absolute torture. Flashes of memory—it was too dark to discern her features, wasn't it? But he'd tried to look at her, to commit every detail of her face to his memory. He'd just been too exhausted, his head had been a little too cloudy from the booze and the pot and whatever else was lingering in the air of the small house when he'd wandered in. His sense of smell had been completely fucked up, and there were just too many conflicting odors to ascertain the one that he wanted to remember . . . and when he'd awoken a couple hours later just as the sun was starting to rise, the party was still going strong—too strong for him to figure out a damn thing . . .

Sparing another moment to stare at her, to wonder . . . She could be, couldn't she? Blonde hair, dark eyes . . . He hadn't gotten a good look at her face, even, but those eyes . . .

He extricated himself from her grasp, swung his legs off the bed and got to his feet. He had to know, damn it. He had to know before he drove himself insane.

" _Heard it . . . once . . . at a party . . . He sang_ . . ."

Glancing around wildly, almost desperately, Evan blinked as his gaze lit on her purse. True, under ordinary circumstances, he wouldn't dream of getting into it. There were some things, after all, that should remain sacred, and even he had to draw the line somewhere, but . . . but damn, he had to know . . .

Casting her one last, long look, Evan strode over to the table and grabbed the purse before he could talk himself out of it. He found what he was searching for a moment later, tucked neatly behind a clear plastic compartment in the slightly worn but very expensive black leather wallet. ' _Valerie Denning . . . Date of birth: October 29, 2045_ . . .'

So . . . nine years ago, she would have been . . .

Evan's eyes flared wide as he whipped around to stare at Valerie's sleeping form. She would have been twenty, wouldn't she? Nineteen, almost twenty—nine days before her twentieth birthday . . .

She was the one: the girl who had slipped through his fingers that night. If he'd found her at that time . . .

A wrenching surge of panic shot through him, even as a sense of relief welled up deep inside. He'd lost her once, hadn't he? Eyes darkening as a stubborn set solidified in his features, as an irrational flare of anger shot to the fore when the laughable chip that Valerie insisted was a diamond glinted at him when she moved her hand.

He'd be damned if he'd lose her again.

"Sorry, Marvin," he muttered under his breath, a steely resolve reflecting as pinpoints of light in his unwavering gaze. "She's always been mine . . . and you can't have her anymore."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Don't_** **_Cry_** **_Out_** **_Loud_** ' _by_ _Melissa Manchester_ _first appeared on_ _the_ _1978_ _release,_ **_Don't_** **_Cry_** **_Out_** **_Loud_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Peter_ _Allen_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Little_ _wiener_ …


	81. 080: Hawaii

' _We'll put out to sea_ …  
' _And we'll perfect our chemistry_ …  
' _By_ _and by we'll defy a little bit of gravity_ …  
' _Afternoon delight_ …  
' _Cocktails and moonlit nights_ …  
' _That dream look in your eye_ …  
' _Give me a tropical contact high_ …  
' _Way down in Kokomo_ …'

 

-' _Kokomo'_ by the Beach Boys.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _It's official. I love Hawaii_.'

Leaning in the doorway with his fingers curled around the top of the jamb, Evan rested his forehead against his raised arm as he watched Valerie as she wiggled around a little, adjusting her position on the towel in the pale sand.

' _Dunno about Hawaii_ ,' his youkai remarked casually, ' _but I definitely approve of that bikini_.'

Evan sighed heavily and grinned. ' _Yeah_ ,' he agreed, indulging himself in gawking at the gorgeous woman in the blood red string bikini. ' _Yeah, I do, too_ . . .'

Which was not to say that he didn't about keel over dead when he'd first laid eyes on that sucker. God, no. He had, but if he had keeled over dead, he'd have died with a smile on his face and a big, fat hard-on . . .

Unfortunately, that last thing hadn't quite dissipated yet despite Evan's reassurances that the Li'l hEvan wasn't getting a damn thing.

' _Just wrong_ ,' his youkai fumed petulantly. 'S _he's our mate, right? So why are we hanging out here and not out there, doing the claiming?_ '

Evan sighed and shook his head since the odds of that happened were just a hair better than the idea of the earth being struck by a Jupiter-sized meteor in the next thirty seconds.

In the last few days since Valerie's revelation, he had to wonder just how he'd missed it before. After all, all the signs were there, and even if certain parts of that night were not completely clear in his head, he had known, hadn't he? He'd known that she was the one . . .

" _And if you're meant to be with her, then you'll find her again someday, right?_ "

At the time, Evan had given Madison the coldest look he could muster. Considering she hadn't even glanced up as she'd imparted that little gem while she was filing her claws, Evan figured that she was just trying to put a good face on everything . . .

As the years passed, though, he'd started to think that the girl he'd met was either just a figment of his imagination or that he just hadn't known what the fuck he was looking for. He'd never been in love with anyone, right? So it stood to reason that he really didn't know a damn thing about how it would feel to actually find his mate . . .

Well, so far, he had to admit that it wasn't that different. After all, he still had to convince her that she was the one for him—or vice versa, as the case might be. It was a tall order, but . . . but Evan never had backed away from a challenge, had he?

Pushing himself away from the door jamb, he wandered out onto the bleached wood patio and down the wide steps that led to the beach. It really was a picture perfect day, wasn't it? Skies a clear, crisp blue with a breeze that carried just a hint of pungent brininess that tingled in his nostrils . . .

It was rare that he actually had completely free days when he was touring unless he was in the middle of traveling, but unlike most tours, Mike hadn't booked any ride-alongs, which was just fine with Evan. Sitting on a bus with an interviewer who was watching him like a morbidly fascinating disease was tiresome at best. Since they were scheduled to have been off for the next three days, though, he'd made sure that Mike understood that, until the day of the concert, Evan was completely unreachable. Of course, there was one small condition that he'd had to agree to in order to secure Mike's cooperation, and while Evan didn't really like said condition, he was willing to bite the bullet in the long run . . .

"Why don't you book more dates here in Hawaii, Roka?" Valerie asked without opening her eyes as he ambled up behind her. "You could go do your shows, and I could stay here . . . _forever_."

"Hmm," he drawled, sinking down beside her, staring at the rise and fall of her gorgeous breasts and cursing the thin bit of fabric that kept the most crucial parts of them from his ardent perusal. "Sorry, V. Two and a half days are all you get."

She heaved a sigh and pushed herself up on her elbows. "So tell me. How did you talk Mike into letting you stay here instead of at the hotel?"

Evan snorted and rolled his eyes. "You make it sound like he's my fucking father or something," he complained with a shake of his head as he dragged his gaze off of her lightly bronzed skin. She'd already possessed a nice, healthy glow, but in the colder weather of fall, it had started to fade just a little, and luckily for him, she seemed quite content to replenish it while he sat back and watched. "I just told him, right? I says, 'Now see here, motherfucker, I'm the boss, and what I say goes 'cause you can't tell me what to do! I say when and where and fucking how fucking high, got it? So I'm staying at my fucking uncle's house, and there ain't a damn fucking thing you can do about it, so if you don't like it, you can fucking suck my dick, cocksucker!'"

She stared at him for a long moment then sighed and shook her head slowly. "What did you really barter with? Your firstborn son?"

He broke into a wide grin and chuckled. "Nah," he assured her pleasantly enough. "I just had to swear that I wouldn't try to leave for any reason, whatsoever."

She seemed surprised. "You promised him that?"

Shrugging as though the promise was of no real account, Evan pasted on a shit-eating grin and reached across her for her water bottle. His hair brushed over her belly, and he almost laughed out loud when he saw the muscles under her skin jump followed moments later by a fierce wave of goose flesh.

"But you promised that you'd show me the area tomorrow," she pointed out, lips turning down in a very distinct frown.

"Sorry, baby. I either had to make the promise, or we'd be stuck in the Honolulu Regency on the fifty-fourth floor."

Which was true, too, and that would have been even worse in his estimation. At least here, he had access to a private beach without a hundred security guys around and without Mike breathing down his neck the entire time. Even if he couldn't leave the grounds, at least he could walk around here without having to worry about safety issues that were never very far away when he was out on tour.

In fact, that was one of the reasons that he loved living in New York City. There were more than enough famous people living there that the security issues weren't nearly as severe as they were anywhere else, and New Yorkers tended to keep to themselves a lot, probably because of the lack of real privacy that came with living so close together. In any case, when he went out there, he might be asked to sign a dozen autographs or so, but it seemed to him that once most folks tended to leave him alone after he'd finished signing whatever they'd wanted signed.

She still didn't look very pleased, but she nodded slowly as she considered what he'd said. "Well, if you have to be stuck somewhere, it might was well be here," she allowed. "Hand me that tanning oil, will you?"

"I could help you with it," he offered. He tried not to sound too anxious about it, but it must not have worked, because the look Valerie shot him could have frozen him, rock solid, instead.

"No, thanks," she replied, wiggling her fingers as she waited for him to give her the bottle.

Evan heaved a sigh to let her know that he believed that she was completely misunderstanding him—which she wasn't—but gave her the bottle. She took it and squeezed a generous amount into her hand before making quick work of smearing it all over the very nice swell of her breasts. He very nearly whined.

"Tell me something," he remarked at length, careful to keep his tone as casual as he could as she applied more oil to her belly.

"Hmm?"

"You . . . You mean what you said?" he asked, knowing that he was treading dangerous waters but needing to ask the one thing that had been bugging the hell out of him since that night on the bus when she'd asked him if he knew the name of that song. "You've never, ever gotten off with a guy?"

She was going to tell him to go to hell. He could tell in the way her spine stiffened, in the way she pressed her lips together in a thin line. Nostrils quivering, she looked like she was at least trying to control her temper. Evan figured he'd better say something to diffuse the situation before she ended up trying to clobber him . . .

"I'm not being an ass, I swear," he hurried to say, holding up his hands in surrender. "It's just . . . It's wrong, you know? Men are supposed to take care of their women . . . Why don't you give me these guys' names so I can find them and beat their asses?"

She didn't look entirely pleased with his claim, but at least she didn't look quite like she was ready to maim him, either. Then she uttered a terse laugh as she stretched out on the bright beach towel once more and closed her eyes. "I wouldn't waste your time on jerks like them," she countered, her cheeks pinking slightly—the only real sign of her discomfort with the subject at hand, "and yes, I'm telling you the truth . . ." She frowned suddenly then draped her forearm over her eyes. "Well . . ."

Evan blinked. "Well, what?"

Wrinkling her nose, she let out a deep breath, and for a moment, Evan didn't think she was going to elaborate. "There was once," she ventured slowly, carefully, as though she was afraid to tell him . . . or maybe she wasn't quite sure . . .? "I don't know . . . I might have just imagined it . . ."

"Imagined what?"

"Him . . ."

"Him?"

She sat up suddenly, yanking the water bottle out of his hand and swallowing some of it before turning her scowl on him as she slowly shook her head. "I don't know why I'm even telling you about any of that," she grumbled, though he had the feeling that she was more irritated with herself than she was with him. "It was . . . one stupid night in college," she admitted. "I met this guy at a party . . . Well, I guess you can't really say I met him. I never even got his name . . . but . . ."

To Evan's surprise, he watched as about a million different emotions flickered over her features so quickly that he had to wonder if she had even registered any of them in her head. The only one that lasted for more than a heartbeat was the last one, the one that lingered . . . and that one was full of . . . regret . . .? But she blanked that one out with a quick shake of her head and a crisp sigh. "There was a lot of . . . stuff . . . floating around that house—stuff that wasn't exactly legal. I didn't take anything . . . just drank a few beers . . . probably had a contact high just from being there. Anyway, there was a guy, but . . . but I'm sure that the things I felt were all . . . influenced."

He thought that over and nodded slowly. In his mind, he could still hear her labored breathing, her cries of pleasure. No, that wasn't caused by any kind of contact high; not at all . . . but if Valerie wanted to believe that they were, then there wasn't much he could do about that at the moment. He'd just have to make sure that she knew better later on, wouldn't he . . .?

"You remember anything about the guy?" he asked, taking the water bottle back and draining its contents in a couple gulps.

Letting out a long breath, Valerie shook her head. "I never really saw his face very well," she confessed quietly, laying her cheek on her raised knees as she stared at him. "That sounds bad, doesn't it?" She forced a little chuckle and searched his face, trying to discern whether he thought that she was as pathetic as she felt or not. "There was just . . . something about him," she murmured, her gaze losing focus, as though she wasn't really looking at him at all. "I asked some of the girls I knew who had gone to the party, too. None of them had seen him, and they didn't seem to know anyone who matched what little description that I gave them . . ."

Giving herself a mental shake, she flopped back on the towel and shrugged as if to dismiss the conversation completely. "So anyway, to answer your question, no, I've never had an orgasm."

Smiling just a little—he couldn't help it when she blushed—he let it go at that. He supposed that he really ought to be entirely offended on some level. After all, she couldn't clearly remember what he often thought of as the best moment of his life. On the other hand, he'd be more than happy to show her exactly what it meant, to be loved, both physically as well as mentally, and the idea of seeing the unmistakable wonder on her face was definitely worth something . . .

"Since you finished my water, rocker boy, you can refill it for me."

Evan chuckled and stood up slowly, taking a moment to stretch before heading back toward the house. "You know, V, if you wanted to take off that top, I swear to God I wouldn't touch . . . unless you wanted me to, of course."

She snorted. "Pig."

"What? I'm just thinking of you," he protested innocently—too innocently. "I'd hate for you to mar your fucking perfect gazongas with tan lines . . ."

Valerie snorted again, louder this time. "Water, Roka," she stated again.

Evan laughed and shuffled away. He hadn't really thought that she'd go for it, of course.

But he really had hoped . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Slowly opening her eyes, Valerie frowned at the violet sky overhead, wondering vaguely how long she'd been sleeping, wondering why she felt almost cold . . . and why she couldn't lift her arms or legs . . .

As her brain cleared, though, she gasped, eyes widening for a moment, only to narrow when she realized just what had happened.

"Roka!" she yelled, praying that he was within earshot—and swearing that she was going to murder him just as soon as he dug her out of the mound of sand that he'd buried her under. " _Roka!_ "

She gasped when Evan leaned over her, his face upside down but the jackass grin on his face entirely recognizable. "You bellowed, my love?"

"Get me out of here so I can break your legs," she gritted out.

Evan's grin widened, and he scooted back, only to crawl around her and straddle her stomach—or better, to straddle where her stomach should have been but was now a mound of sand instead. "Now these are some wicked nice galunk-galunks, don't you think?"

Shifting her gaze downward, Valerie uttered a low growl when she finally noticed what she should have before: not only did that rotten little fucker bury her in sand, he also seemed to have had an overwhelming desire to play Cain Zelig, and from what she could see, he'd gone over the deep end in bestowing her with the biggest set of jugs she'd ever seen—complete with nice, round rocks where her nipples should have been.

"So dead, Evan," she grumbled. "Dig me up!"

"Mammary . . . all alone in the moonlight . . . I can smile at the old days . . . they were beautiful then . . ." he sang, entirely ignoring her plight as he ran his hands over the sandy mounds, pausing only long enough to roll the rock-nipples between his fingers, which only served to illicit a very loud, very irritated growl from Valerie, who still had yet to see anything at all of amusement in her current predicament.

"Great . . . not only are you channeling your, what? Great grandfather? But you're channeling Andrew Lloyd-Webber, too—and I don't think he'd find your new lyrics amusing in the least . . ."

"I remember . . . a time I knew what perkiness was . . . let my mammaries . . . rise again . . ."

Heaving a sigh, Valerie struggled, trying in vain to move her arms and legs, to no avail. "Dead beyond belief, Roka," she growled. "Get me out of here!"

His singing was only interrupted by his own misplaced laughter, and he stood up and dug into his pockets for his cell phone. "Okay, okay," he relented, sounding anything but contrite, "let me get a picture first, though. Maddy will think this rocks . . ."

"Hmm, yes, make sure you tell her what kind of flowers you want at your wake, you sick little monkey," she said as he snapped the first picture. "Stop taking pictures and dig me up, damn it!"

Finally, though, Evan slipped the phone into his pocket once more and finally started to dig.

It didn't take him very long to free her arms, and once he did, she sat up, shoving his hands away as she scratched and kicked to free her legs. By the time she was finished, he was sitting in the sand laughing so hard that he was slumped to the side. Once freed, though, her own irritation waned quickly enough, soothed around the roughened edges by the sound of his heartfelt amusement, even if it was at her expense.

And much to her chagrin, she heard herself laughing, too, great bouts of it that seemed to well up from somewhere deep down: somewhere she hadn't known before. Helpless against the barrage of laughter, she slumped against him, and he slipped his arm around her shoulders, and they sat like that for several minutes, just laughing and laughing and laughing.

"Oh," she groaned, wrapping her arm over her stomach when the laughter finally subsided. Her stomach ached worse than it would have if she had just finished a hundred sit ups. "Oh-h-h-h-h . . ."

Evan was finally winding down, too. Tightening his arm around her neck to pull her closer, he kissed her temple and let go. "Sorry, V," he managed to say, the devil's own glint lighting his gaze. "I didn't want you to burn."

She blinked and stared at him, unable to wrap her brain around his brand of rationale. For some reason, though, she found it entirely too funny for words, and she broke down in a fit of giggling once more. "You . . . didn't want . . . me to burn . . . so you . . . buried me . . ." she gasped out between bouts of laughter.

He chuckled, too, but he was cut short when his cell phone rang. "Hello?"

Valerie wiped her eyes and tried to get a grip on herself. It was infinitely easier to stop laughing since Evan wasn't encouraging her. Letting her head fall back as she closed her eyes, she winced just a little at the rampant ache that wrapped around her torso.

"Oh? Is that right . . .? You sure you want to . . .?"

Pushing herself to her feet, Valerie made a face. With every movement of her body, she was beginning to realize something else: she had sand where no human should ever, ever have it, and it was more than a little uncomfortable.

"All right; all right," Evan said. "Yeah, whatever. Just don't forget the beer."

Hanging up his phone, he heaved a sigh and shook his head but grinned. "Something wrong, V?"

She made a face but waved away his question. "Who was that?"

Evan snorted. "Mike. Wants to come by to go over the rest of the tour dates with me, but he said he'd bring dinner, so it's all good."

"Ugh . . . I need a shower," she muttered as she snatched up her towel and gave it a good shake, turning her face to the side to avoid getting sand in her eyes. Then she turned on her heel and started toward the house.

Once in the shower, however, she discovered with a sigh that the sand infiltration was worse than she'd thought, and she wasn't entirely sure that she could blame it all on Evan, either. In her haste to free herself from the sand prison, she'd probably done more damage to herself than he had when he'd packed her into a human sand sculpture.

Still, as much as she hated to admit it, it was kind of funny. ' _That'll teach me not to fall asleep on the beach again_ ,' she thought as she rinsed her hair after the fourth scrubbing. By the time she stepped out of the shower, she figured that she'd been in the bathroom for at least half an hour, but at least she was finally sand-free.

Pulling on the floral print sundress she'd picked up at the store after stepping out of the airport in Honolulu, she didn't bother wasting time on her hair, opting instead to run a brush through it and catch it up in a high ponytail while it was still damp, and when she stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later, she shivered slightly as the cooler air hit her still moist skin.

The house had enchanted her the first time she'd seen it. Blonde wood trim, off-white plaster, beige marble floors . . . openwork rafters in the same pale wood . . . gauzy curtains that were draped over floor to ceiling windows—great sheet windows that ran the entire length of the rooms on the outside of the house . . . two bedrooms with two huge beds standing in the center of their perspective rooms with yards and yards of off white antique lace hanging from the ceiling, enshrouding the beds . . . a huge bleached stone and adobe mud fireplace in the center of the living room . . . no television, no radio, no telephone laid in . . . The place had electricity, and everything from the ventilation system to the plumbing was state of the art with all the distractions removed . . . Not nearly large enough to be considered a mansion or an estate, it was more of a villa, maybe a bungalow—a gorgeous retreat that Evan had said was his great aunt and uncle's love nest.

The living room was empty, and from where she stood, she could see Evan outside, sitting on the patio steps, still wearing the same black shorts he'd had on all day. He was tipping an ice filled glass to his lips, the liquid inside clear. What she couldn't tell was whether it was water or something a lot stronger, but he seemed mellow enough at the moment. Leaning in the high archway of the short hallway that led to the bathroom and bedrooms, Valerie smiled. With his hair an unremarkable shade of brown and pulled up off his neck in a ponytail that was caught up under a baseball cap, he looked entirely normal, didn't he? Just your average guy enjoying a lazy Saturday afternoon . . .

Except Evan Zelig was anything but average, and the lazy Saturday was in reality a Wednesday, two days away from what would easily be one of the biggest concerts on the island this year . . .

The thud of the door knocker interrupted her idyll, and she smiled. She'd laughed when she saw the brass ring affixed to the door. She'd only seen them a handful of times, and those were normally just for decoration and only on older houses. This house was far from old—Evan had said that his great uncle had it built about ten years ago or so—but somehow, that piece fit in with the rest of the house, too.

Hurrying across the cool marble floor, Valerie ran up the three steps onto the platform in front of the door and pulled it open, expecting to see Mike, but blinking in surprise when she came face to face with a very pretty, very buxom brown haired woman clad in a black leather bustier and matching miniskirt over black fishnet stockings and six inch patent leather stilettos.

"Hi," she greeted, sticking out her hand to greet Valerie. "I'm Bambi. You must be V!"

Nodding slowly, Valerie frowned but reluctantly shook her hand, wondering absently if she needed to kill Evan Zelig for entirely different reasons. "Nice to meet you," she forced herself to say as she pasted on what could only be described as a tepid sort of smile.

Bambi clapped her hands suddenly, her smile widening, revealing very deep dimples. "So you're the one who proposed to my Mickey-Lee!" she said then snapped her fingers. "I guess you probably call him 'Mike', right?"

Eyes widening in surprise, Valerie shook her head, tamping down the fierce blush at the abrupt reminder of her misadventures in Las Vegas. "Your . . . Mickey-Lee?"

Bambi nodded happily and sashayed inside when Valerie finally took a step back. "He's such a sweetie, right?"

"Who? Mickey-Lee?" Valerie blurted rather daftly. "Sweet? Is he your, uh, boyfriend . . .?"

Bambi laughed—an airy sound that was just too 'cutesy' to be real—then she snorted and covered her nose like the sound had embarrassed her. "Oh, no!   He's my husband."

It was entirely possible that Valerie could have easily been knocked over if she'd been hit with a feather at that. For some reason, the idea that Mike might actually be married just hadn't occurred to her; not at all . . . and his wife . . .? Well, she was just not exactly the kind of woman she'd have pictured to be the wife of the stoic manager. . . Evan? Maybe. Mike? Not in a million years . . .

"He's here," Bambi said, apparently not noticing that Valerie was still in a state of shock. "He's taking a call, though. Said it was big boy stuff."

Valerie nodded slowly, closing the door and holding up a finger. "Will you excuse me just for a minute, Bambi?"

She giggled and nodded, fluttering a hand dismissively. "Oh, don't worry about me! I need to use the little girl's room, if that's okay . . .?"

Valerie gestured at the short hallway. "The door at the end," she instructed. Bambi wiggled her fingers and kind of skittered away, and Valerie watched her go for a moment before pivoting on her heel and heading straight for the sliding glass doors.

"Did you know that Mike's married?" she demanded in a stage whisper as she stepped outside.

Evan craned his neck to look up at her and grinned. "Yeah, actually, I do. Bambi's here?"

Valerie snorted. "Is that really her name?"

He nodded. "Absolutely."

"Did her parents want a stripper for a daughter?"

He chuckled and stood up, brushing off his ass before he turned to face her. "I think they thought it was funny," he ventured.

Valerie cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. "You can _not_ be serious."

He shrugged. "You ask her what her maiden name was?"

"Why would I do that?"

Grasping the handle on the door, Evan paused before pulling it open. "Because it _is_ pretty funny; that's why."

She caught his arm before he could go inside. "What's so funny about it?" she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Evan's grin widened. "Her last name used to be 'Deere'."

Valerie's mouth fell open. Evan reached over and pushed it closed with an index finger under her chin. "N . . . No-o-o-o-o . . ."

Chuckling again when she slapped his hand away, he shook his head. "If I'm lyin', I'm dyin'."

"She doesn't seem like his type," she said, ignoring Evan's statement since she really wasn't sure whether or not to believe that any parents could be quite that cruel.

"Well, the first time I met her, she'd tried to stow away on my bus," Evan admitted thoughtfully. "She wanted a big, fat slice of 'the hEvan' . . ."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Valerie wrinkled her nose. "And Mike still married her?"

Evan grinned. "He caught her before I got on the bus, and . . . and you could say that it was just love at first sight."

"So she's his trophy wife," Valerie concluded, wondering just how she could have judged Mike's character so badly. He hadn't struck her as the kind of man who would marry sometime just because she was hot. Then again, he _was_ a man, after all . . . so maybe . . .

"Doubt it," Evan snorted, pushing open the door and stepping inside. Valerie followed him into the kitchen as he started pulling bottles of wine off of the built in rack and reading the labels. "More like he's her trophy husband . . ."

"Come again?" Valerie asked when he handed her a bottle and opened the cupboard to pull down some glasses.

"There's not a doubt in my mind that she's definitely the brains of that particular operation," he allowed, opening a drawer and retrieving the corkscrew opener.

Valerie rolled her eyes. "Just because you don't see eye-to-eye with him . . ."

He shook his head and uncorked the bottle. "No way, V. Ever met someone who was so fucking smart that they just kind of seemed a little flighty?"

She blinked and scowled and shook her head.

"Yeah, well, you have now."

"Oh? And what does she do for a living?"

Evan grinned. "She's a genetic engineer in charge of research and development on the team that's currently studying the deformity that causes endo-cetovarius-andova. Anyway, ol' Mikey said that she couldn't get away—until he mentioned that we'd be in Hawaii, that is."

Valerie just stared, trying to decide whether or not she believed him. Then again, he really didn't have anything to gain by lying, now did he? She sighed, unable to reconcile the extremely well-endowed woman with her image of a lab rat, and she was kind of afraid that if she tried much harder, her brain might very well explode.

She was saved from further comment, however, when Micky-Lee himself stepped into the kitchen with Bambi pretty well glued to his hip. "Hope you're hungry, Roka," Mike said with a broad grin as he handed a huge plastic bag to Evan. "I wasn't sure what you'd want, so I bought a little bit of everything."

"Hi, Zel!" Bambi greeted, breaking away from her husband long enough to plant a noisy kiss on Evan's cheek.

"Hey, hotness," Evan quipped. "You ready to leave that loser for a real man?"

She giggled again—good God, it was her real laugh—and waggled her index finger under his nose. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm a one man woman."

Sipping her wine, Valerie could only stare. It was as though the usually surly and entirely too-uptight manager had been replaced by a more normal version. In fact, he hadn't stopped smiling since he'd walked into the kitchen. She wasn't sure exactly what to make of it, but she figured that it might well make for a rather interesting evening . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Kokomo_** ' _by_ _the_ _Beach_ _Boys_ _first appeared on_ _the_ _1988_ _release,_ **_Cocktail_** _(soundtrack)_. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _John_ _Phillips,_ _Scott_ _McKenzie,_ _Mike_ _Love,_ _and_ _Terry_ _Melcher_.  
>  ' ** _Memory_** ' _is_ _from_ _the_ _musical_ , _CATS_. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Andrew_ _Lloyd-Webber_ , _TS_ _Eliot_ , _and_ _Trevor_ _Nunn_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** _**Valerie**_ :  
>  _… Mickey-Lee …?_


	82. 081: Prudence

' _So never judge a book by its cover_ …  
' _Or who you gonna love by your lover_ …  
' _Love put me wise to her love in disguise_ …  
' _She had the body of Venus_ …  
' _Lord, imagine my surprise_ …'

 

-' _Dude (Looks Like a Lady)'_ by Aerosmith.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Here."

Evan leaned back when Valerie stuck the nondescript brown paper sack under his nose. "What's this?" he asked, eyeing the bag almost dubiously. He didn't reach for it right away, and she shook it to encourage him.

"Come on, Roka. We don't have all day," she said, dropping the bag into his lap so that she could cross her arms over her chest and tap her foot impatiently.

He stared at her for several moments before finally daring a peek inside the bag. The slight confusion on his features faded quickly enough, and he chuckled. "Is that right?"

"Well, you did promise to show me around," she remarked airily as she made a show of checking her fingernails. "Are you going to get changed or what?"

"You know, Mike's not going to be too pleased about this," he pointed out as he stood up and pulled the bright fuchsia floral print baby doll sundress out of the bag and turned it around to give it the critical once-over.

"Oh, _please!_ He's a totally different person since his wife showed up," Valerie scoffed dismissively. "Didn't you notice that last night? I have to admit, though . . . seeing him smile so much was a little creepy, wasn't it?"

"I don't know," Evan drawled, holding up the dress in front of him. "You think it's my color?"

"Absolutely," she replied without missing a beat. "More importantly, it was the only one they had in extra-extra-large."

Evan rolled his eyes but grinned as she dropped the dress on the sofa and reached for his zipper.

"Don't you think you ought to change in the bathroom?" she asked before he could take off his jeans.

Smiling to himself at the hint of pink that filtered into her cheeks, Evan chuckled. "What's the matter, V? Don't want to see my wang-dang-doodle?"

"I think I'd rather not," she replied stiffly, her skin darkening prettily.

He laughed but scooped up the dress and shuffled out of the room.

Letting out a deep breath, she pressed her hand against her belly as she watched his slow retreat. To her surprise, he was still sleeping when she'd woken up a couple hours ago, so she was able to slip out of the house without being asked where she was going and the residual pouting that she figured she'd have gotten if he'd known at the time that she was actually going to leave him alone for any length of time.

She's only meant to walk to the little market she saw on their way from the airport to pick up some fruit, maybe a newspaper. But some time between running down the porch steps until she reached the market, another inspiration had struck her: the idea of putting him in a disguise that no one would be able to see through. After all, he'd been kept under pretty close supervision for awhile now, and she knew well enough that he was feeling the strain of it all.

Besides, there wouldn't be any security issues; not today. Even if the locals were aware of Evan's presence, they certainly weren't going to expect to see him disguised as a girl, right? It'd work, she was sure of it . . . and if something did happen, then she supposed she'd take full responsibility.

She felt as though she owed him something, didn't she? Maybe that was the real reason that she wanted to help him escape. She'd been having entirely too much fun during the mini-tour thus far, and she knew well enough that Evan really was going out of his way to make sure that she did. Now it was her turn, even if it was something as silly as this . . .

Glancing at her watch, she frowned. It was taking him entirely too long just to put the dress on, wasn't it? "Move it, Roka," she called, raising her voice so that he could hear her in the bathroom.

A few minutes later, he reappeared, and Valerie blinked and slowly shook her head, convinced that there really had to be something wrong with him, considering he was completely naked. Stretching his arms out wide, he bent one knee across the other demurely, striking a pose as he grinned at her. "Check me out, V!" he said. "I'm Jame Gumb!"

Valerie sucked in one cheek and blinked. She recognized the reference, of course, as well as the infamous scene where the fictional character who was immortalized in the book and movie, _The Silence of the Lambs_ , had struck the very same pose—including the tucked penis and testicles. "Wow," she said, heaving a mighty sigh as she struggled to find the right words. "That look suits you."

Evan chuckled. "You mean the shaved legs?"

Valerie narrowed her eyes. Sure enough, he really had shaved his legs, too—something she hadn't noticed since the sparse hair that he did have was so pale that it didn't stand out, anyway. "Actually, I meant the missing penis and balls," she replied.

"Oh, those," he drawled. "Eh, don't worry. They're still there." Turning around, he started to do the strangest little waddle-walk, and Valerie's mouth fell open when he bent over and wiggled his ass at her to make sure she saw the head of his penis sticking out behind him.

"Oh, my God," she moaned, covering her eyes with her hands. "There's something so wrong with you . . ."

His laugher lingered behind him as he disappeared into the bathroom once more.

Shaking her head, she affected a full-body shiver. "Ugh," she muttered despite the incredulous little smile on her face. "Warped . . ."

A few minutes later, he re-emerged from the bathroom with the dress on. Valerie rolled her eyes, though because, shaved legs or not, there was just no way that he was going to pass for a woman as he was.

"I'm hot, right?" he asked, grinning at her as he stood, waiting for her approval.

"N . . . No," she said, resting her elbow on the hand she crossed over her stomach, curling her fingers over her lips as she stared at him critically. "You walk like a guy."

Rolling his eyes but refraining to point out the obvious, Evan chuckled. "Like a guy, eh?" He considered that then shrugged. "It's because I have balls."

"Well, pretend you don't have balls," she countered. "We're trying to keep you from drawing notice, remember?"

Evan grinned. "Because you're springing me from the big house, right?"

Shaking her head, she slowly looked him over, waving her hand to encourage him to walk around.

He did, and he tried not to walk so much like a guy. He succeeded in moving like a constipated guy, instead. "Well?"

"We'll work on that," she muttered, narrowing her eyes at his chest. "Your boobs are crooked," she pointed out.

Evan looked down at his chest and blinked. Then he grabbed his left breast and pushed it up.

"Wrong one, Picasso," she said, grabbing one in either hand and pulling down on the left while pushing up on the right to straighten them out.

Evan chuckled. "V's playing with my boobies," he remarked in a completely barbaric sort of way.

"Oh, get a grip," she grumbled as she stepped back to survey her handiwork. "Those had better be _your_ socks that you stuffed into that bra . . ."

Evan shrugged, turning toward the mirror hanging over the back of the sofa and sticking out his faux chest. "Relax, woman," he retorted. "They're wash cloths . . . but you know, balloons would be better, wouldn't they? Then they'd have more jiggle . . . It _is_ your bra, though . . . Yours are prettier than the one you bought for me."

"What?" she gasped, eyes widening at the very idea of Evan having put on one of her bras.

He chuckled and shook his head. "Just kidding. You really think I could fit into one of your little, lacy, sexier than fucking hell bras?"

"You're so bent," she muttered, shaking her head. If she had stopped to think about it, she'd have realized right off that there really wasn't any way that Evan would fit into one of her bras. Too bad she didn't put it past him to try anyway . . . But it was something else entirely that brought a scowl to her face, and she sighed. "You have a bulge," she pointed out with all the finesse of an executioner.

"Well, of course I do," he scoffed, rolling his eyes again.

"Yeah, well, women don't have those, genius," she shot back. "Didn't you put on those panties I bought for you?"

"Hell, no!" he insisted, pinning her with a look that bespoke his abject horror at the very suggestion.

Valerie rubbed her forehead. "Are you telling me that you're freeballing under there?"

He nodded. "I figure that this is kind of like a kilt, right? Scotsmen freeball under those, you know."

"You're not Scot," she remarked mildly. "And I'd hardly call a floral printed sundress a kilt. Now go put on the panties, will you?"

Heaving a sigh, Evan rolled his eyes but did as he was told.

Valerie sat on the sofa, resting her chin in her hand as she waited. If they ever made it out of the house, she'd be amazed . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Stop blinking. That guy over there is starting to think you're flirting with him."

Evan blinked a few more times and snorted. "My eyelashes keep sticking together," he retorted. "I can't help it."

Valerie giggled and kept walking. They were just wandering along a beachfront boardwalk, simply enjoying the sights and smells of the shops that lined the washed out old plank walkways. He'd told her that this area wasn't as thick with tourists as the areas closer to the hotels and trendier places that catered to them, and the laid back atmosphere was absolutely charming.

They'd eaten breakfast at a quiet little café near the house—beautiful French toast stuffed with mascarpone cheese and smothered in lots of local fruit in a light and delicious simple syrup. Evan had ordered three servings of it, drawing rather strange looks from fellow patrons, not because of his looks—he actually was a disturbingly pretty woman—if one could overlook the too-broad shoulders, the huge man-hands, the large feet that were pretty scrunched into the three inch fuchsia sandals she'd bought for him . . . No, the strange looks were due more to the sheer volume of food that he had put away . . .

"Can I take the sweater off?" Evan asked at length, tugging on the sleeves with a pronounced scowl.

"No," she said, shaking her head since he'd already asked the same question a few times. "Sorry, Evan, but your shoulders are just too masculine."

Heaving a longsuffering sigh, he let out a deep breath, poufing out his coral painted lips. "But I'm hot," he whined.

"Fine," she said, grabbing his arm and tugging him toward a shop not far down the way. ' _Ice cream_ ,' she read off the sign hanging above the door. Not exactly what he had in mind, but it'd just have to do, she figured.

"Two ice creams," she ordered at the window. "Cherry and . . .?"

Evan read over the list of flavors. "Orange rum raisin," he said. Valerie rolled her eyes, mostly because of his idea of a feminine voice. He sounded like Marilyn Monroe on crack . . .

Shaking her head when he pulled his wallet out of the little off-white purse he'd grabbed out of Valerie's bag, he paid for both ices and took his with a high pitched sex-kitten type giggle.

"That guy's still following us," Valerie remarked as they stepped away from the shop and continued along the sidewalk.

Evan grinned at her over the top of the wide blue cup. "He's checking you out, schnookums."

"I'm so not your schnookums," she said. "And I don't really think he's looking at me . . . I think he's got his eye on you."

"'Course he is 'cause I'm hot!" Grin widening, Evan laughed. "Everyone get's lei-ed in Hawaii," he sang.

Valerie snapped her mouth closed but giggled, which effectively undermined the sternness she was trying to achieve in her expression. "You're so twisted."

Evan scooped a huge bite of the ice cream into his mouth then grimaced, squinting one eye closed as one side of his top lip curled up. "Brain freeze," he rasped out. "Ow, ow, ow . . ."

Giggling at Evan's show of silliness, she poked her spoon into his cup to sample the orange rum raisin. "Hmm, this is pretty good," she ventured. A moment later, she grabbed his cup and stuffed hers into his hand to trade.

"Hey!" he complained, reaching over to snatch his ice cream back. Valerie turned away before he could get it.

"Excuse me."

Both of them stopped and turned to face the guy who had been following them for the better part of an hour. The man—a huge man with an equally huge beer gut and long, scraggly hair that was caught back under a black bandana, and clad in leather from head to foot—grinned at Evan, summarily ignoring Valerie completely. "Why don't you go for a ride with me, baby?"

Evan covered his lips with his hand and uttered an overly girlish twitter. "Oh, I couldn't possibly!" he demurred, batting his eyelashes in a way that made Valerie snort. "I mean, I don't even know you, big guy . . ." Twitter, twitter . . .

"Aw, that's easy! I'm Big John," he said.

Evan twittered again. "Nice to meet you, Big John—do they call you 'big' for a reason?"

Big John chuckled. "Maybe."

"Come on, Prudence," Valerie said, grabbing Evan's arm to drag him away.

"Prudence?" Evan echoed, lifting an eyebrow at Valerie.

"Prudence?" Big John said at the same time, grabbing Evan's other arm to keep him from leaving. "I like that. It's pretty. Anyway, you could get to know me," he insisted, letting his eyes roam up and down Evan's frame. "C'mon, baby. I'll treat you right."

"No, sorry," Valerie interrupted. "We were just leaving, right, Prudie?"

Evan frowned at her. "Now, _Val_ , we've talked about this. I don't like it when you call me that."

"Too bad," she replied sweetly. "You promised that you'd spend the day with me, remember?"

"But . . . But he has a bike . . ." Evan pouted.

Big John's grin widened—at least, Valerie thought it did. It was hard to tell, hidden as it was under the copious amounts of mountain-man beard on his face. "Yeah, yeah . . . You like bikes?"

"Doesn't every girl?" Evan countered. "Maybe a short ride . . ."

"No," Valerie interrupted, grabbing Evan's arm and dragging him back a few steps. "Come on, Prudie, we have to go."

"You know, you don't own her," Big John pointed out, frowning fiercely at Valerie.

"Yeah, you don't own me," Evan echoed indignantly.

Valerie narrowed her eyes on Evan, wondering briefly if Big John would think it was odd if she kicked the idiot rock star in the shin. "I do today," she gritted out, trying her hardest to keep a somewhat pleasant smile on her face as she shot him a meaningful look.

Evan grinned and turned toward Big John. "Do you suppose _Val_ could come with us?"

Big John didn't look too pleased about that idea. "Oh, I'm sure she can find something else to do," he ventured.

Valerie rolled her eyes and stepped in front of Evan, effectively daring Big John to come closer. "Look, Big John," she said in her best no-bull tone of voice, "she's _my_ girlfriend, and she _doesn't_ like men."

Big John blinked at that. Behind her, Evan was chuckling. At least, she thought he was. She could feel the soft puffs of air escaping him though she didn't turn to verify it. "Your . . .?"

"That's right," Valerie cut in. "Besides, she's pretty gross. You wouldn't like her. She burps and farts and steals all the blankets."

"I don't fart; I _fluffy_ ," Evan added.

Valerie smacked him in the center of his chest to shut him up.

"Oh, uh, sorry," Big John muttered. "You should've just said so, to start with . . ."

"Bye!" Evan called as the large man lumbered away.

Valerie heaved a relieved sigh, but she didn't turn to look at Evan until well after the man was out of view. Then she whirled around, pinning Evan with a fierce glower. "What was that?" she demanded, waving her hand behind them.

"Well, I thought it was kind of nice," he said defensively. "It made me feel pretty . . ."

"It made you fe—?" Cutting herself off, she sighed again and shook her head. "You are so messed up," she muttered. "I mean, really, _really_ messed up . . ."

"Hey, V," he said as he hurried after her when she started walking again.

"What?" she asked without looking at him. She was too busy trying to figure out if putting him in a dress wasn't a huge, huge mistake . . .

"Let me borrow your lip gloss."

She snapped her mouth closed and stifled yet another sigh as she dug the tube of Tangerine Creamsicle lip gloss out of her purse and handed it over.

Yep, putting the man into a dress was a colossal mistake, after all . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Hey, look! I could get a hula dancer to match the one you bought me," Evan said, flicking at the plastic figurine's fake grass skirt with his index finger.

Valerie glanced over and grinned. "Why do you need another one?"

He chuckled. "Well, don't you think that Kaleilelukimaka gets lonely sometimes?"

"Kaleilelu—what?"

"Her name," he told her.

Valerie sighed. "You _named_ her?"

He nodded happily.

They were standing in the middle of Aloha! Novelties, a very interesting and eclectic shop that specialized in both the cheesy normal stuff like the plastic leis and hula girls as well as some really warped versions of the classic Hawaii gifts—hula girls with light up boobies, water squirting leis . . . and the all-time best one—he'd already bought one for Cain's Christmas present—a very pretty hula girl with a very large penis hidden under her skirt . . .

Spotting a seemingly innocent roll of toilet paper on the shelf, Evan grabbed it and read the box. ' _Water activated_ ,' it said. If one were to wet the paper, the words 'anally retentive' appeared all over it. He chuckled. "Here, V. The perfect thing to get for Ivan," he said, tossing her a roll of the 'anally retentive' paper.

She read it then rolled her eyes and chucked it back at him. "Don't be a jerk," she warned though she didn't sound overly irritated at him. "Why would I buy that for him, anyway?"

Evan grinned, tossing the box into the air and catching it casually a few times. "Well, you're going to buy him a souvenir, aren't you?"

She shot him a blank kind of look like she didn't really understand what he was asking. "Why would I?"

His smile faded as he continued to watch her, and it struck him that he had never actually seen her talk to him in the entire four weeks that they'd been out on the road. "Does he even know you're out here with me?" he asked suddenly, suspecting what her answer was going to be yet unable to wrap his brain around it.

"Why would he?" she countered reasonably. "I don't have to clear my agenda with him."

"Well, no," Evan allowed with a shake of his head since he still didn't quite understand how that little bastard could possibly let her out of his sight for that long a time, not to mention that he didn't even have a clue that she wasn't in New York City, either. "You serious?"

Valerie sighed, tapping a book— _A Visitor's Guide to the Big Island_ —against her palm idly. "Look, I know what you're thinking," she said, a hint of the old defensiveness surfacing in her stance, in her tone. "Marvin and my relationship isn't like that. He has his things, and I have mine. No big deal."

Evan snorted and set the box back on the shelf again. "No big deal," he repeated with a shake of his head. "If you were mine, I'd know where the fuck you were. Hell, if you were mine, there wouldn't be a snowball's chance in hell that you'd be out here, running around with a goddamn rock star."

She stared at him for another long moment, but finally she smiled rather ironically and slowly shook her head. "Good thing I'm not with you, then, huh?"

Evan didn't look even remotely amused. No, he still couldn't quite grasp the idea that that little monkey she was engaged to wouldn't know or apparently care where the hell she was . . . and he certainly couldn't grasp the idea that he hadn't bothered to call his own fiancée in a month, either . . .

An unsettling rage crept up his spine—anger that Valerie couldn't seem to see exactly what was happening. How dare she think that her relationship with that little nutsack was all right? How dare she think that settling for stability was all right? Just what in the hell had happened to her to make her believe such bullshit? He didn't know, and he didn't understand, and the more he dwelled upon it, the more pissed off he became . . .

Valerie, however, wasn't looking at him. She was standing on tip-toe, staring over the top of the shelf with the strangest sort of expression on her face, like she couldn't quite reconcile whatever she was looking at . . .

Tamping down his rising irritation, Evan frowned, raising an eyebrow as he watched her grasp the shelf and pull herself up just a little higher. "V . . .?"

"Well, that's just creepy as all hell," she muttered, shaking her head, reaching across herself to wave a hand at him to shut him up.

"What is?"

"Them!"

Blinking in surprise, Evan finally shifted his gaze to see who was creeping Valerie out. Then he saw them—the ones that Valerie was trying to break her neck to see. Slipping an arm around her waist, he pulled her back until she let go of the shelf and grinned down at her when she struggled to get loose so that she could resume her spying. "Evan!"

Evan chuckled. "Staring's rude, you know," he pointed out reasonably.

"They have got to be related to you," she said in an oddly accusing tone.

His grin widened, and he took her hand, dragging her down the aisle toward the two people in question.

"Eva—heh?" Bellaniece greeted, cutting herself off mid-way through as her eyebrows rose, only to disappear under the thick fringe of bronze bangs that framed her face. "Oh . . . Oh, my . . ."

Kichiro quirked an eyebrow, setting something back on the shelf as he slowly pivoted to eye his nephew-slash-brother-in-law dubiously. "Something you haven't told us, Evan?"

Glancing down at himself, Evan laughed. "I'm not Evan," he said in the girly-tone he'd adopted. "I'm . . . Who am I?" he asked, leaning toward Valerie, who was apparently content to stare at Kichiro and Bellaniece Izayoi. "V?"

She blinked and seemed to give herself a mental shake, reluctantly casting Evan a quick look. "Oh . . . Prudence," she reminded him. "Prudie, for short."

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head slowly. "I don't like Prudence," he informed her. "How about . . . Roxy? Or better yet, Lola?"

"Or _Hildegard_ ," Valerie shot back.

Evan made a face then grinned. "Prudie's just fine!" he stated as he turned back to face Kichiro and Bellaniece again. "I'm _Prudie_."

Kichiro nodded very slowly, his gaze shifting from Evan to Valerie then back again. "Prudie," he repeated. "Okay . . ." Then he leaned toward Bellaniece. "I knew your father was twisted . . ."

Bellaniece hurried forward and hugged Evan tight. "Oh, my God! Why didn't you tell me that you were going to be here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Bella," Evan replied, giving her a very loud, very obnoxious kiss on the cheek that left the woman giggling. "But we're not going to be around long. Got a gig tomorrow night, then we're out of here."

Bellaniece frowned then suddenly smiled as her gaze lit on Valerie. "And who's this?" she asked Evan.

Evan's grin widened considerably. "This is Valerie Denning—V, of course."

Bellaniece's smile brightened. "Oh? V? As in, the name of the album?"

"Yep!" Evan pronounced happily. Valerie sighed, long and low, beside him.

Kichiro smiled and shook her hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Kichiro—this rotten little brat's uncle."

Bellaniece giggled and squeezed Valerie's hand warmly. "And I'm Bellaniece. Is Evan behaving himself?"

"Of course," Evan replied as though there shouldn't have been a question.

"So you're not," Bellaniece replied. "That figures."

"Now, now, that hurts," Evan insisted, shaking his head slowly. "Like you behave yourself any better, Bella."

Bellaniece reached over and tweaked Evan's nose. "Don't sass your elders, baby brother," she said. Evan chuckled.

Kichiro stared at Valerie for a long moment before finally nodding as though something or other made perfect sense. "Your girlfriend?" he asked quizzically.

"Yes," Evan said.

"No," Valerie countered at the same time.

Evan chuckled. "Not yet, but she will be. Right now, she's just my attorney. Eventually, she'll be Mrs. Evan Roka Zelig. Just wait and see."

Valerie looked like she was trying to figure out if she'd be completely out of line to squash his foot under hers. Evan slipped an arm around her waist to thwart her. "He's not being serious," Valerie muttered with an uncomfortable smile.

Kichiro nodded slowly then finally smiled. "Well, Evan . . . Prudie . . . whichever . . . you got time to join us for dinner?"

Evan grinned and glanced at Valerie to see if she was going to protest. She shook her head slightly, and he winked at her. "Love to," he said. "Absolutely."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Dude_** **_(Looks_** **_Like_** **_a_** **_Lady)_** ' _by_ _Aerosmith_ _first appeared on_ _their_ _1987_ _release,_ **_Permanent_** **_Vacation_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Steven Tyler, Joe Perry, Desmond Child_.  
>  ** _The_** **_Silence_** **_of_** **_the_** **_Lambs_** _is_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Thomas_ _Harris._ _The_ _film_ _of_ _the_ _same_ _name_ _is_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Orion_ _Pictures_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _So_ … _his_ _uncle_ _and_ _sister_ … _I_ _see_.


	83. 082: Ties

' _She was a fast machine_ …  
' _She kept her motor clean_ …  
' _She was the best damn woman that I ever seen_ …  
' _She had the sightless eyes_ …  
' _Tellin' me no lies_ …  
' _Knockin' me out with those American thighs_ …'

 

-' _You_ _Shook_ _Me_ _All_ _Night_ _Long_ ' by AC/DC.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"I still can't get over the way you're dressed," Bellaniece commented as she shook her head, the barest hint of a smile quirking her lips as she stared across the table at Evan. "You're so _pretty!_ "

"You think?"

Kichiro rolled his eyes and leaned toward Bellaniece, slipping an arm across the back of her chair. "Not nearly as pretty as you, princess," he assured her.

Bellaniece giggled.

Beside him, he could feel Valerie eyeing him rather dubiously, and he cleared his throat and pretended to be absorbed in the open menu in front of him. All right, so he was being a little mean, he supposed, but it was all right. Either Valerie was going to think that his family was even more twisted than she already did, or she'd think it was funny as hell. No matter which way she ended up reacting, he figured that it would be well worth the price of admission . . .

"So . . . how long have the two of you been dating?" Bellaniece asked casually, sipping the glass of white wine that the waiter had left a few minutes ago.

Valerie sat up a little straighter. "We're not—"

"Oh, it's been, what? Six months? Seven?"

She sighed heavily, and Evan figured that he'd ultimately pay for that one later. "We're not dating," she stated quietly.

Bellaniece smiled rather indulgently. "So it's just casual sex then?"

Unfortunately, Valerie had just taken a sip of her own wine, and she choked on it. Evan leaned over, whacking her on the back, which earned him a fulminating glower from the attorney for his efforts. "She likes my piercing," Evan quipped.

"I do not," Valerie ground out, her cheeks almost as pink as Evan's dress.

"You notice that she didn't say that she didn't know that I'd pierced my dick," Evan quipped.

Valerie sighed softly. Evan figured that if she wasn't going to hurt him already, she most certainly was going to now. "I hate you," she muttered under her breath quietly enough that only he should have heard her.

"Why don't you get your penis pierced, lover?" Bellaniece asked suddenly as she turned to face Kichiro.

Kichiro didn't even bat an eye as he reached for his glass of brandy. "You like my penis just fine the way it is, Belle-chan," he told her, "and I make it my policy to keep sharp things as far away from my crotch as I possibly can."

"But the women really like them," Evan added thoughtfully. "They like to run their tongues around it . . . and they love it when they feel it. It's like a built in French tickler, you know. And some women like to flick it with their fingernails . . ." He didn't have to look at Valerie to know that she was blushing crimson at the moment. "I don't know . . . I think V looks like a flicker, don't you?"

Kichiro chuckled, looking entirely amused at the interplay. "I think she's about to give you a ration of hell," he allowed. "Can't say I blame her . . ."

Evan rolled his eyes and grinned. "Nah . . . It's not like she goes around, peeking at my package when no one's looking. In fact, I— _ow!_ "

Bellaniece blinked. Kichiro leaned back in his chair. Evan made a face as Valerie's fingernails sank into his bare leg just above the knee. That she had a very carefully contrived smile on her face was even more amusing, as far as Evan was concerned. "Higher, baby," he said, leaning toward her with a leering grin.

She narrowed her eyes on him, but what should have been a very formidable expression was somehow diminished, given that she was still a deep, dark crimson. More than that, though, was the heightened brightness of her gaze, a slightly panicked sort of expression. He knew damn well that she'd thought that he hadn't noticed her giving him the once-over the other night on the bus. He most certainly had, and when her curiosity had proven to be just a little too much for him, he'd ended up having to turn over before he or she did something that the both of them might have regretted.

The waiter approached the table with a bright, if not completely businesslike smile to tell them about the evening's specials.

"Oh, I'm going to kill you," Valerie muttered, leaning toward Evan since Bellaniece and Kichiro seemed to be preoccupied by the waiter. "You knew about . . . about . . .?"

Evan tilted his head to the side and gave her a completely innocent if not totally feigned look of innocent oblivion. "Knew about what?"

She didn't look like she believed him. She also didn't look like she was quite ready to say any more than she already had. He chuckled. She sighed and shook her head.

A strange expression surfaced on her features, though, and she looked like she wanted to say something else: something entirely different, but judging from her demeanor, she wasn't entirely certain how to approach the subject. He had a fair guess as to what she wanted to ask since she was eyeing Bellaniece and Kichiro at the moment. Bellaniece was practically in Kichiro's lap though her full attention was on the waiter.

"He's your uncle," she murmured, inclining her head slightly in Kichiro's direction.

Evan grinned. "Yep."

She nodded slowly. "And she's your sister?"

The grin widened. "Yep."

The confusion on Valerie's face deepened. "But . . ."

He chuckled. "Something wrong?"

"Uh . . . N-No," she stammered. "Not at all . . ."

Okay, so it was a little mean, and he'd be the first to admit it. But it was a lot to explain, and most often, Evan tried to avoid having to do so, and, while he would do so eventually, the look of absolute consternation on Valerie's face at the moment was just too adorable for him to do it at the moment.

"I'm going to go get another drink," Kichiro remarked after Evan ordered for himself and Valerie—definitely worth a laugh since the waiter had seemed a little flustered when Evan had decided that a bit of eye batting was in order. "Come with me, pup."

Evan was a little reluctant since he was never too fond of the idea of leaving Valerie, even for a moment. Still, he nodded and stood up. "Want anything, V?"

The attorney shook her head and pasted on a very bright smile that was probably entirely convincing to everyone else, but he could sense the tenseness lingering around the edges. "No, thanks," she replied. "I'm fine."

He nodded and followed Kichiro toward the bar. "You couldn't order another drink from the waiter?"

Kichiro shrugged and shot Evan a sidelong glance. "Wanted to talk to you," he replied. "So what the hell's your damn dad done to upset Gin?"

Evan should have known. His uncles were entirely too protective of his mother, and it wasn't surprising that they'd figured out that Gin was upset with Cain. "You know, to be honest, I'm not quite sure myself. She won't talk about it. It's not a big deal, though. Ol' Cain's always sticking his foot in it in one way or another, isn't he?"

Kichiro snorted. "She was staying with your brother," he pointed out as he raised a finger and caught the bartender's attention. "Big enough deal, if you ask me."

"Eh, last time I talked to her, she said that it's all good," Evan replied. "Cain probably made some weird comment, and Mama finally figured out that he's been teasing her for years or something."

"Hmm," Kichiro grunted. He didn't look entirely convinced. "So you're saying that you have no idea what the commotion was about?"

Evan glanced down at his chest and took his time adjusting his breasts. "Mama didn't want me to know. She was afraid I'd have cancelled my tour if I did. Didn't you talk to Bubby?"

Kichiro shot Evan his version of the 'don't be stupid' look. "Stop feeling yourself up, will you? People are staring, and of course I did. Bas doesn't know, either. Said that Cain wouldn't talk about it, and Gin just got upset whenever anyone tried to ask. Anyway, I called her, too, but you know her. She wouldn't tell me anything, either, and I guess she went back home shortly after that. She was probably afraid that we were going to tell Mama, and then she and the old man would demand to know what was going on . . ."

"That's because all the men want to get them some of this," Evan quipped with a saucy grin as he gave his breasts another healthy squeeze. "Besides, I'm more inclined to let Cain muddle his way through it. If it were more serious, I'd be worried, but I figure every man possesses the innate ability to screw up royally with his mate every now and then, even if he had no intention of doing any such thing. It's par for course, and I'm pretty sure that it's entirely genetic. So I got that from Cain—remind me to thank him for it later—Cain got it from his father and so on and so on. It's a vicious cycle."

Kichiro stared at him for several long moments, his golden gaze unblinking. "Mama says it's the baka gene, and you're right, but . . . but I think you need to get the hell out of that dress before it causes long-term and irreversible damage."

Evan, however, was busy staring at the bartender. "He's got a really nice ass, doesn't he?"

Kichiro grunted and smacked Evan with the back of his hand. "He's also married, hussy. See the ring on his finger?"

Evan heaved an exaggerated sigh and slowly shook his head. "All the good ones are, aren't they?"

"Or gay," Kichiro added, almost as an afterthought. "Oh, hey, how long are you going to be here before you take off again?"

"After the show tomorrow night," Evan ventured. "We're due in Portland, Maine for a show the night after that."

Kichiro chuckled and nodded. "Want some sake? I was given twelve bottles of it . . ."

"Sake?" Evan echoed, grinning despite himself. "You serious?"

Kichiro nodded again. "We're not really on a vacation," he admitted with a shrug. "I mean, we are, but we had to fly in to check on a patient."

Snapping his fingers, Evan shook his finger. "Oh, right . . . that child? The one who was injured in that train accident . . ."

"Yeah, that one. I needed to make sure that the last surgery went well, and since it's been a few months, the swelling's gone down enough to get a good look at him."

"How's he doing?"

"That kid's amazing," Kichiro said with an easy smile. "He wants to get back to playing baseball as soon as possible. Best, though, is that the surgery went extremely well. There are just a couple things left to do, and those would be better to wait a few years before I fix them. They're purely cosmetic and not really visible unless he's running around without a shirt on, and since he's still in the midst of his growing stage, the surgery would have to be redone later on, anyway."

Evan clapped Kichiro on the back, inordinately proud of his uncle. It was his experience that lots of people talked about making a difference, but Kichiro Izayoi really did. Dedicating much of his time to performing charity surgeries, most often for children who were injured or born with defects that could be corrected but were extraordinarily expensive otherwise, he'd touched countless people the world over, making it possible for those who thought that having a normal life was out of their reach to have exactly that.

"Nice," Evan remarked with a wide grin. "But what does that have to do with sake?"

"Well, see, the boy's grandfather was so grateful that he gave me a dozen really old bottles of sake—good stuff, I hear—but kind of a pain to screw around with customs . . ."

"Is that right?" Evan asked. "Well, you've never been too big on sake, anyway . . ."

Kichiro smiled. "That, too." Leaning against the counter, he ordered another glass of brandy and a beer for Evan. "Come to think of it, you were the little shit that drank my last bottle, weren't you . . .?" he asked as the bartender hurried away to fill the order.

Chuckling softly, Evan shrugged. "Guess I did," he remarked. He was twelve, he thought, and snuck the bottle out of Kichiro's house one day while he was ditching training with InuYasha. He'd paid for it later, though, when he had puked his guts up after drinking the entire bottle . . . and Kichiro, of course, had crossed his arms over his chest as he stood in the bathroom doorway with a grin on his face . . .

"So tell me about her . . .?" Kichiro prompted, his gaze shifting over the restaurant back to the table where Bellaniece sat with Valerie.

"Ah, V . . .? What do you want to know?"

"She's not really your girlfriend."

Evan sighed. That wasn't a question. "Not yet," he replied. "She will be. Just a matter of time."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Remember that night I told you about? When I thought I'd found my mate?" Evan asked.

Kichiro looked thoughtful for a moment, as though he had to consider Evan's question. Finally, he nodded. "That party, right? That was, what? Ten years ago? More?"

The grin that surfaced on Evan's face was downright goofy. "She's the one. Valerie was that girl."

"You're kidding."

Shaking his head, Evan sighed happily, nodding at the bartender as he set a frosty cold beer on the counter in front of him. "I wouldn't kid about something like that," Evan insisted mildly, waiting until the keeper had moved away before answering.

Kichiro pondered that, but he didn't look entirely convinced, and given Valerie's adamant insistence that the two of them were not dating, Evan figured that he could understand his uncle's reluctance to take Evan's boastful claims at face value. "Correct me if I'm wrong, pup, but doesn't that woman already have a ring on her finger?"

Heaving another sigh—that statement was enough to take some of the starch out of Evan's proverbial sails, he shrugged as though it was of no real consequence. "She doesn't love him," he replied. "Well, she does love him, I think, but she doesn't love him like she ought to."

"But you've been told, haven't you? Don't mess with another man's woman," Kichiro reminded him. His words were stern, but his expression wasn't entirely foreboding.

"Doesn't count," Evan insisted.

"Oh?"

Nodding slowly despite his uncle's disapproving shake of the head, Evan glanced back at the table before meeting Kichiro's steady gaze. "She was mine first," he stated flatly. "She was never meant to _be_ his woman. As far as I'm concerned, I'm just taking back what I lost years ago."

Kichiro narrowed his eyes as he stared at Evan for a long minute. Evan figured that he was probably trying to decide whether or not he could understand Evan's rationale. "Be careful, Evan," Kichiro finally said. "You don't have to be brilliant to realize that a situation like this one can only mean that someone is going to end up getting hurt in the end. Just make sure that the one who does isn't her, will you?"

Evan nodded slowly, his eyes taking on a serious sort of light. "I'd die before I hurt her," he said quietly.

Kichiro grunted and downed half of the snifter of brandy he'd just gotten. He didn't look entirely pleased with Evan's oath. "That's what I'm afraid of," he ventured. "Sometimes, you're entirely too much like your damn mother . . ."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"So?"

Wiggling her toes in the sand, Valerie didn't look at Evan as she stared at the full moon. A crisp yet slightly tangy breeze blew off the water—a breeze that still carried a hint of warmth left over from the day yet just enough chill to made her pull the light blanket that Evan had dropped over her shoulders a few minutes before a little closer. "Hmm?"

Evan snorted then chuckled. He was back in his own clothes, thank God, though he had joked around that he should borrow one of her nightgowns when they got back to the little house. "So . . . What did you think of Kich and Bella?"

Wincing inwardly since she'd figured that she was going to have to answer that particular question eventually, she bit her lip and shrugged in what she hoped was an offhanded sort of way. They were nice enough, of course—well, to a point. Bellaniece . . . Valerie wasn't entirely sure what to make of her. For the most part, she seemed to have rather enjoyed making Valerie feel uncomfortable with the questions that she'd asked while the men were over at the bar, but she wasn't sure if Bellaniece was just being overly protective of Evan or if she really didn't like her . . .

But even more puzzling than that was the odd relationship that Evan's relatives seemed to share. Uncle and sister . . .? They didn't act like that. In fact, if Valerie were to have guessed, she would have thought that they were dating or something instead. But . . . "They were . . . nice," she answered, carefully measuring her words since the last thing she wanted to do was to inadvertently offend Evan—again.

He chuckled again, grasping a handful of sand and holding up his fist to let the grains fall through his fingers. "Nice? That bad, huh?"

"N-No!" she insisted quickly. "That's not what I meant!"

"What did you and Bella talk about while we were getting drinks?"

Biting her lip, Valerie resisted the urge to grimace. Truth be told, she wasn't sure she wanted to tell him what they'd talked about since most of the discussion had centered around the question of whether Valerie was leading Evan on or something, given that she was wearing her engagement ring.

" _When's the wedding?_ "

 _Valerie blinked and shook her head quickly, as though to disabuse Bellaniece of that silly notion. "We're not. Evan's just joking_."

 _Bellaniece's smile was polite at best as she flicked a hand at Valerie's finger. "No, dear, I mean_ him."

" _Oh," Valerie blurted, face reddening in embarrassment that she'd assumed that Bellaniece had meant Evan. "Uh, next fall_."

" _Mm," Bellaniece intoned, reaching for her wine. Not for the first time, Valerie noticed the very large diamond gracing the woman's finger. The size alone was enough to draw attention, but the absolute clarity of the stone that Valerie could see even from across the table was just stunning. "So you're just having one last fling with my brother then_."

" _Wh—? Ah—_ No!" _Valerie insisted. "It's not like that! I'm his attorney!_ "

" _Of course, of course," Bellaniece said, smiling in what Valerie could only describe as a completely condescending kind of way. "If you say so_ . . ."

And the rest of their conversation hadn't gotten any better. The thing was, Valerie wasn't about to tell Evan all of that, either. "Oh, you know," she finally said, hoping that if she gave him a vague answer that he'd let it drop. "Nothing much, really. Just this and that . . ."

Evan sighed. "Kichiro told me that Bella was looking forward to playing the big sister at dinner," he admitted. "She didn't bust your nuts too bad, did she?"

"Pardon?"

He grinned. "She's not like that normally. She's a sweetheart. She just wanted to pretend that she's overprotective and all that."

Valerie blinked and stared at Evan for a full minute before slowly shaking her head. "Is that what it was?"

"Probably," he laughed. "It's kind of a novelty for her to be able to do that, but she's harmless, I swear. Was it that bad?"

Uttering a weak little laugh, Valerie shook her head. "It was fine," she allowed, figuring that it was best to just take Evan's claim at face value. Besides, there was something else that had been bothering her since they'd left the restaurant, something that Bellaniece had said that had struck Valerie as really strange, and while it might be easy to say that the woman was joking . . . well . . . "Your family seems very . . . close," she said, carefully measuring her words once more, lest she should offend Evan.

"Mine? Sure, I guess . . ."

Clearing her throat, Valerie shrugged, wrapping her hands around her ankles as she dug her toes deeper into the cool sand. "I can't say that I've ever seen relatives . . . kiss like that before . . ."

For some reason, Evan really laughed at that. In fact, he laughed so hard that he fell back, and it took him a few seconds to get himself under control once more. "That's my fault," he admitted when he'd finally wound down. "I really should've told you sooner, but I swear, V, your face . . ."

"Told me what?" she demanded, scowling at him since he wasn't making much sense.

Evan grinned at her, tucking his hands together under the back of his neck. "They're married."

Barking out a terse laugh, Valerie rolled her eyes and snorted. "Ri-i-ight, Roka," she shot back. "Do you think I just fell off the stupid wagon or something?"

"Nope, but they are."

"But you said that he's your uncle."

"He is," Evan agreed amiably. "My mama's brother—can't you tell?"

She waved a hand at him impatiently. "Obviously," she said since there really wasn't any arguing that. For God's sake, she'd seen the family resemblance herself.   "And you said that Bellaniece is your sister."

"She is," he allowed. "Well, my half-sister. Ol' Cain was married once before he met Mama."

She considered that, and while she still thought that it sounded really weird, she was starting to understand what he was saying. "So . . . Bellaniece isn't your mother's daughter . . ."

"That's right," he quipped. "See, she met Kichiro about the same time that Mama met Cain. She put him through his paces, then she snapped the old ball and chain around his ankle."

"That's . . ." Valerie trailed off for a moment, shaking her head as she tried to find the most appropriate word to describe what he was telling her. "That's weird," she finally said.

"Weird, maybe. Normal for us, though. Anyway, she and Kich have three daughters, and—"

Something still wasn't adding up in Valerie's head, though, and she shook her head to cut him off. "Wait a minute; wait a minute. She met your uncle about the same time that your mother met your father? How the hell old is she, anyway?"

"Who? Bella?"

Making a face, Valerie heaved an exasperated sigh since she was pretty sure that he was just trying to mess with her. "Yes."

That breathy chuckle again, the one that made Valerie pause every time . . . "Hmm, well . . . she's about sixty-two, I think . . ."

Valerie blinked and stared at him as she slowly narrowed her eyes in disbelief. "Nuh-uh!" she growled, thumping him in the center of his chest.

"Really, really!" he insisted, leaning up on one elbow and rubbing his chest with the other. "She's got three grown daughters, too, and one grandchild . . ."

"Shut _up!_ " she shot back, rolling her eyes despite the slight smile on her face. His amusement was a little contagious, even if she still didn't know what to think.

"Well, Kichiro is a very skilled plastic surgeon," he replied thoughtfully.

That gave her a moment's pause. Sure, plastic surgery could work wonders. Still, she wasn't ready to say that she was actually buying Evan's story. If she hadn't known better, she'd have sworn that Bellaniece couldn't have been more than twenty years old, tops, and while she might be able to believe that she was older than Evan and his brother, Bas, she wasn't at all ready to accept the idea that the woman she'd just met could possibly be in her sixties. "There's no way that she's that old!"

He burst out laughing and sat up. "You're right," he agreed easily enough. "But I had you going there for a minute."

Valerie snorted and shook her head. "You're such a jackass," she muttered.

"Yeah, but the look on your face was pretty damn priceless."

She was about to tell him exactly what she thought of his teasing, but her eyes widened as the thought died away. Staring at the sky high overhead, she gasped quietly and pointed. "Look, Evan—a shooting star . . ."

Evan looked up, too, and smiled. "Make a wish, V," he said.

Valerie giggled. A wish? How silly . . . In fact, she couldn't rightfully recall having done any such thing before, not really. Even when she blew out the candles on her birthday cakes when she was younger, it seemed to her that she never could blow them all out at once, and didn't that mean that your wish wouldn't come true? Staring in silence as the star trailed across the heavens, she smiled to herself. Why did it also strike her as somewhat sad . . .? Science classes had taught her that it was probably just a meteor entering the earth's atmosphere when air friction it encountered caused it to melt or burn up, and that's why it glowed . . . a dying mass . . . so why was it so pretty to watch . . .?

"Did you make your wish?" Evan asked quietly.

Valerie blinked but couldn't help the smile that surfaced, either. "A wish . . ." she murmured, glancing at him for a moment. "Okay . . . I wish—"

She jumped slightly when he suddenly pressed the tip of his index finger against her lips. "Shh," he said despite the grin on his face. "You can't say it out loud or it won't come true."

She stared at him, his eyes as dark as the nighttime sky, his skin glowing a pale blue in the moonlight as the breeze tangled in his hair—it was silver, just for today—and she nodded slowly.

' _I wish_ . . .' she thought as his finger fell away, as he scooted in closer, carefully tugging the blanket a little higher around her. ' _I wish . . . If I see another shooting star, I wish for it to be with Evan_ . . .'

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _You_** **_Shook_** **_Me_** **_All_** **_Night_** **_Long_** ' _by_ _AC/DC_ _first appeared on_ _the_ _1980_ _release,_ **_Back_** **_in_** **_Black_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Angus_ _Young_ , _Malcom_ _Young_ , _and_ _Brian_ _Johnson_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Kichiro_** :  
>  _Another_ _man's_ _woman_ …


	84. 083: Inebriation

' _I'm so addicted to all the things you do_ …  
' _When you're going down on me in between the sheets_ …  
' _All the sounds you make with every breath you take_ …  
' _It's unlike anything when you're loving me_ …'

 

-' _Addicted'_ by Saving Abel.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Hit me."

Eying the face-up king of spades, Evan tapped his fingertip on the top of the stack of cards before slowly pulling the one on top and tossing it across the table with a flick of his wrist.

Valerie lifted the corner, stared at it for a moment, then let it go. "Hit me."

"You sure?"

"Come on, Roka. Just do it, would you?"

Evan chuckled and tossed another card to her. "You over?"

Those brilliant eyes of hers gazed at him for a full minute before she slowly lifted the edge of the card and peeked at it then tapped the table to indicate that she wanted him to deal her another card.

"As the lady says," he muttered, flicking her another card.

"Hit me," she said again, this time without bothering to look at the card he'd just dealt her.

Evan cocked an eyebrow. "You've got to be over, V," he said mildly.

Wrinkling her nose, Valerie shoved the cards across the table at him. "This isn't a fun game," she said in an accusing sort of way.

"You don't think so?"

"No, I don't," she complained. "You said you'd teach me a fun one, and this one isn't, so you owe me, Roka. You owe me big."

Heaving a sigh, Evan gathered up the cards and tapped them against the table to straighten the deck. "Every time I try to show you something big, you wig out on me, baby."

That earned him a droll look as she leaned back in the chair and rubbed her arms. "It's cold in here," she stated.

Evan grinned, not at all surprised that she didn't deign to comment on his off-color commentary. "It's damn near eighty degrees, woman," he reminded her, jerking his head at the digital thermostat nearby. "If you turn up the heat any more, I'm going to start stripping."

Valerie heaved a longsuffering sigh designed to let him know exactly what she thought of that idea, but she didn't stand up since she probably thought that he wasn't really joking. "I want to go back to Hawaii," she pouted.

He could understand that, he supposed. Valerie always seemed to be cold, after all. He'd told her that he would be happy to keep her warm. She'd rolled her eyes and told him to go away . . . "If you're still cold, V, why don't you go take a nice, hot shower? Since you won't let me warm you up . . ."

Valerie pondered that for a moment—at least, the first part of it. She'd taken to ignoring his more inappropriate commentary of late, which was a pity. "I think I will," she said, standing up and arching her back as she thrust her balled up fists over her head. When she did it, though, the cute little pink tee-shirt she was wearing rode up, exposing a very nice expanse of tanned skin.

Evan swallowed hard. ' _Da-a-a-amn_ . . .'

"Think of a better game while I'm taking my shower," Valerie tossed over her shoulder. "That one was stupid . . . and change that shirt, will you?"

His chuckles followed her into the bathroom, and he set the deck of cards aside. She really had tried not to laugh when she'd seen the shirt after he'd emerged from the bathroom earlier. It just a plain black tee-shirt with white lettering that said, ' _My favorite toy is my weenie_ ', but he figured that she probably objected more to the giant penis outlined on the back of the garment . . .

She hated the cold. He could understand her complaint, of course. Flying straight into Portland, Maine during an early season snow storm was not exactly his favorite thing, either, but Valerie had looked completely offended as they were shuffled into a rented car to take them straight to the hotel where five interviewers were waiting for their arrival. She'd spent the rest of the evening, hanging out with Bambi. Evan had suggested that Valerie spend some time in the hotel's spa, and the two women had made themselves quite at home in the gym, she'd said later.

He had been stuck with Mike after the interviews going over the tentative plans for the filming of the video for the single ' _Under My Skin_ ' that he was going to do shortly after getting back home, and since the manager was in an uncharacteristically good mood since the visit from his better half, Evan had enjoyed the company for once. Mike had a few ideas that he'd gotten from Ryder Talbot, the only person whom Evan trusted to direct his videos these days. Shortly after the release of the second album, Evan had started directing his own videos, and while he enjoyed it, he had to admit that it really was a lot of work, but he'd seen a video that Talbot had directed about a year ago, and he was so impressed that he'd gone out of his way to meet the man, and it hadn't taken Evan long to figure out that Ryder was absolutely brilliant with a vision that tended to compliment Evan's.

Talbot had done a couple low budget movies right out of film school, and while they hadn't been blockbusters, they were good—damn good. Good enough to have caught the attention of the Rat Bastards, a band out of Tempe, Arizona, and they'd hired him to do their video, which was the one that Evan had seen. Dieter had gotten along famously with the director, mostly because both of them shared the same macabre obsession with all things dead and dying. Funny thing was, Ryder wasn't exactly the type that one might normally associate with that kind of fixation. A California boy, born and bred, who looked like he'd be more at home on a beach with a body board and a gaggle of buxom babes hanging off his every word than a brooding director of neo-gothic physiological horror, Ryder was just about as all-American as one could be.

Anyway, the idea that he had of shooting the videos for the album's singles in a series of shorts that stood on their own but created a featurette if they were watched back to back. Of course, it didn't hurt that his idea for the location for the first one was a beach somewhere with a backdrop of craggy cliffs and roiling ocean, either. Maybe he could convince Valerie to go on location with her—probably not a difficult thing since winter would be setting in soon.

Standing up, Evan wandered over to grab a bottle of sake from the cooler drawer of the refrigerator where he had stashed a couple bottles that Kichiro had given him: Junmai Daiginjo from the now-defunct Kurowaki brewery. It was a small production that focused on quality over quantity, and when the old man who had founded and operated it for years died, the place was closed down as per his will, making the Kurowaki brand one of the most expensive ones in the world. It was not unheard of for single bottles to sell for as much as fifty thousand dollars since there weren't many of them around anymore.

Making a face when he realized that he'd have to settle for a regular glass since he just didn't keep sake cups on the bus, he sat down again and poured himself a shot, foregoing the tokkuri since he didn't have one of those, either. Besides, serving the sake in one of those little flasks was traditional, of course, but not necessary. If he were serving it to his great uncle or grandfather, then he would probably go to the trouble of procuring a tokkuri, but stuck on a bus heading to Milwaukee, Wisconsin? Not really as important, was it?

"Think of another game?" Valerie asked as she stepped out of the bathroom with a waft of humid air.

"Hmm, I could teach you how to play poker," he mused, sipping the sake and smiling slightly at the sweatshirt and pants that she'd chosen to wear.

"And what makes you think that I don't know how to play poker?" she challenged with an artfully arched eyebrow.

Evan chuckled. "Do you?"

Valerie licked her lips and giggled. "No." Slipping into the chair across from him, Valerie's smile dimmed as she eyed the bottle on the table. "What are you drinking?" she asked though she sounded more curious than argumentative.

"It's sake, woman," he informed her. "Courtesy of Kichiro."

She looked like she was trying to make up her mind whether or not she was going to make an issue out of it. In the end, though, she must have decided not to, and she leaned forward to nab the stack of cards off the table. "Where's my glass?"

Cocking an eyebrow, Evan slowly shook his head. She wasn't good at holding her alcohol, in the first place, and sake, he knew, had a habit of sneaking up on you, only to bite you right in the ass if you weren't careful. "I don't think you'd like it, V," he said, careful not to tell her that he didn't really think she could handle it.

"Why?" she challenged, narrowing her eyes on him.

He shrugged. "Just doesn't seem like a girly enough drink for you."

That was apparently the wrong thing to have said. The fire that sparked behind her gaze was instant and intense. He could pretty well see the fight in her coming to the fore, and he almost laughed—almost. "I want to broaden my horizons," she told him. "Now get me a glass, will you?"

Evan chuckled and stood up to get a glass for her despite the little warning bells that rang in the back of his mind. He really ought to tell her that he just didn't think it was a good idea. Then again, he wasn't exactly qualified to be the voice of reason, was he? Besides, she was a big girl, and it wasn't like there was really anything on the bus that she could really get in trouble with, right? Right.

How could it possibly be bad . . .?

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"I really like this game!"

Evan chuckled and tossed his cards into the pile in the middle of the table while Valerie leaned forward to scoop the pot—about twenty bucks in pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters, toward her.

"Yeah, yeah, I let you win," Evan goaded. It was true. He had. He also knew that her pride would never let her accept that.

"You just don't want to admit that you suck at your own game!" she crowed, meticulously separating her money in stacks—no small feat considering she was feeling pretty damn good at the moment. Face scrunched up in a look of intense concentration, she was the cutest thing he'd ever seen, hands down . . . "Deal the next hand, Roka."

Evan held up his hands and blinked when she reached for his glass of sake—hers was empty again despite his admonishments that she really ought to take it easy on the stuff. "I'm out of money, V," he pointed out.

She slugged back the remaining sake and grimaced as she swallowed. "Fill it up," she commanded, slamming the cup onto the table, "and whaddaya mean, you're out of money? You've got more money 'n God, remember?"

He chuckled at the slur in her voice that she was trying to hide. "I mean I'm out of change, V," he explained, reaching for his glass to refill it.

She didn't look impressed with his claim. "But I'm on a winning streak," she protested, her lower lip jutting out in a very distinct pout. "Y'all just deal out them cards."

Both of Evan's eyebrows rose at that. "Y'all?" he repeated, slowly shaking his head as he pulled the cards together into a messy pile. "Did you just say 'y'all'?"

She snorted indelicately and shoved her glass toward him. "'Course I did," she retorted as her expression shifted from the pout to one that was a little more confused. "Hmm . . . I haven't said that in years . . ."

"You used to?"

She shrugged and slouched back in her seat. "Sure," she admitted as though it was of no consequence. "A long time ago."

"Ah, yes . . . a Kentucky girl . . ." he teased as he shuffled the deck of cards.

She giggled. "I used to be."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Why'd you lose the accent?"

"Who wants a lawyer who talks like a hick?"

"There's nothing wrong with having a little accent," he argued.

She looked at him for a long moment as though she were trying to decide whether or not he was being serious. "Right . . . ri-i-ight . . ."

Evan chuckled and started to deal out the cards. "I don't know, it's kind of hot."

The look on her face stated quite plainly that she didn't share his opinion. "There is nothing 'hot' about it."

"Sure there is," he argued. "So where in Kentucky are you from, V?"

Rolling her eyes, she laughed suddenly, and Evan got the distinct impression that she was about to try to evade the subject. "What does it matter?" she challenged airily. "Isn't everyone from somewhere else?"

"Well, that's true," he allowed, "but I want to know. Tell me more about yourself, V."

Valerie shook her head, and when she laughed this time, it was much closer to her usual laugh. "It doesn't matter where you're from as long as you know where you're going," she insisted.

"Wow, that's deep," he half-teased. "Not important, eh . . .?"

She nodded as though to emphasize her statement. "That's right. As long as you know what you want out of life, then you can take your time, figuring out how to get there. You understand that, right? I mean, you didn't really become Zel Roka without having a plan in mind, did you?"

There was a lot of truth in what she was saying, sure, but something about it bothered Evan, too; something that he couldn't quite put his finger on right away. "So you plan out everything?"

"I try to, yes," she said. "It makes sense."

"I don't know," he drawled slowly. "There's something to be said for spontaneity."

"Spoken like a true deviant," she muttered, shaking her head and looking rather irritated. "Most of the trouble you've gotten into in your lifetime has been because of that belief, isn't it?"

Evan grinned. "Better to be a little spontaneous and deal with what comes with it than playing by the book every single moment, right?"

She snorted and waved a hand dismissively. "I tried that before. It didn't work for me."

Lifting his gaze but not his head, he frowned at her for a moment. "Did you?"

She laughed, but the sound of it was hollow, weary. "Listen, Roka, I've dated my fair share of guys just like you—wrapped up in pretty packages that were black and dead inside. They were nothing, and if I'd stayed with any of them, I'd be nothing, too . . . Trailer trash with ten unwanted babies and welfare breathing down my neck."

Wincing at her harsh assessment, Evan slowly shook his head. "You really think so?"

She nodded, reaching for her glass and then frowning at it when she realized that it was empty. "So, when I finally got wise to it, I made plans— _plans_ —and I've worked damn hard for everything I've ever accomplished."

Evan wasn't entirely sure what he could say to that. Somehow, what she'd said hadn't really surprised him at all, and he sighed inwardly, wondering just how hard it would be to get names out of her since he'd really love to hunt down those little fuckers who had only succeeded in making his task of convincing the stubborn woman that she belonged with him just that much harder.

Unfortunately, it made sense, though—perfect sense. No wonder she was with a little runt like Marvin Pinkle. He was safe, wasn't he? Safe and about as boring as one could possibly get . . . and yet, there was something incredibly sad in it all, too . . .

"Ooh, ooh, what are we playing for?" she suddenly asked, waving her hands to get his attention.

"I could give you an IOU," he suggested.

Snorting again, she waved a hand dismissively. "No, no, that doesn't seem fair, does it?" Pausing for a moment, she seemed to be thinking pretty hard. Then she snapped her fingers and smiled brightly. "If I win, I get your shirt!"

"My shirt?" He wasn't sure if it was just his imagination or if she really did look inordinately pleased with this idea of hers . . .

"That's right," she insisted triumphantly. "Your shirt."

"Because your favorite toy is my weenie, too?"

She snorted and chucked a beer bottle cap that was lying on the table at him.

Evan blinked and slowly shook his head. "You're suggesting that we play strip poker, V?"

She nodded. "Yes! Oh, and fill up my glass."

Evan didn't mind the strip poker idea, but refilling her glass? Well, that just didn't sound like a good idea. After all, he'd learned over time that Valerie tended to do things that were just a little crazy when she was drunk, and he wasn't delusional enough to try to tell himself that she wasn't already kind of drunk, anyway. Three glasses of sake, and she was having distinct trouble with slurring her words. Who'd have thought it . . .? "I don't think—"

"And you're not supposed to," she cut in. "Now, fill 'er up, Roka."

Ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that screamed that doing so was a really bad idea, Evan set the cards down and poured about half of a glass of sake for her.

Valerie took it and slugged it down in one gulp before presenting him with the empty glass once more. "I thought that sake was supposed to be served warm," she said as he eyed her glass for a moment before adding just a little more.

"Well, the lower quality sake is still served warmed, but better ones are meant to be chilled. In the old days, it was warmed to mask inconsistencies in taste or other less desirable flavors that it picked up in process. There are some good ones that are still meant to be served warmed, but this one isn't one of them," he told her.

Valerie blinked, her gaze a little unsteady. "Oh, my God, you're like a walking, talking encyclopedia," she moaned, shaking her head sadly. "I ask one question and get a dissertation on it . . . How do you know all this stuff?"

Evan chuckled and shook his head, giving an offhanded shrug as though to diminish the importance of what she'd said. "Just because someone knows a little bit of everything doesn't mean they know a hell of a lot about anything."

She scooped together the cards that Evan had dealt and sat up a little straighter as she slowly looked them over. "Okay, Roka," she said, shaking her head as she gave them the good once-over. "I'm feeling lucky, so be prepared to lose your shirt."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Tokkuri** : a small white serving pitcher for sake that is normally filled and put into warm water to heat the sake unless one is drinking a sake that is meant to be served chilled. In that case, then it is put into the tokkuri for serving purposes_.
> 
> ' ** _Addicted_** ' _by_ _Saving Abel_ _first appeared on_ _their_ _2008_ _release,_ **_It_** **_Won't_** **_Be_** **_Soon_** **_Before_** **_Long_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Scott_ _Mills_ , _Jason_ _Null_ , _and_ _Jared_ _Weeks_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Evan_** :  
>  _Heh heh heh … a southern girl_ …


	85. 084: Irritation

' _You walked into the party like you were walking onto a yacht …  
'Your hat strategically dipped below one eye …  
'Your scarf: it was apricot …  
'You had one eye in the mirror as you watched yourself gavotte_ …  
' _All all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner_ …  
' _They'd be your partner and_ …'

 

-' _You're So Vain_ ' by Carly Simon.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _You are stupid beyond belief_.'

' _I am. I totally am_ . . .'

' _So much for humoring her_.'

' _Maybe I should text Maddy . . . Tell her that if I die tonight that she needs to make sure to have them put on my stone that at least I died a happy, happy man_ . . .'

"Come on, Roka," Valerie said, resting her elbows on the table with her chin on her balled up fists, "you ready to lose those pants?" She leaned forward a little more as though she was about to tell him a secret. "I've got a full house," she whispered.

He blinked and lifted his eyebrows. "Is that right?" he asked, shifting slightly in his chair. Apparently his strategy to let Valerie win was working a little _too_ well. He'd better change tactics and fast or he was going to end up baring it all, which might not bother him too much, all things considered, but sober Valerie had flicked, and if she'd done that _before_ adding booze, there was no telling what she might do now. Unfortunately, Evan wasn't entirely sure how much will power he actually possessed when it came to Valerie Denning, but there was one thing he was absolutely positive of: there was no way, come hell or high water, that he was going to fuck her while she was still wearing another man's engagement ring, even if it killed him—and it just might. Then again, if he were to beat her, he figured that, knowing Valerie, she'd quit the game before he managed to get more than maybe her sweatpants off of her . . . "A full house?"

She grinned triumphantly. "That's right! A full house! And you'll be naked because I know damn well that you don't wear underpants . . ." Her already exultant expression turned downright gloating. "And that means that I'll get to see your penis!" Gasping just as quickly, the gloating glint in her eyes shifted into wide-eyed wonder. "You have a _really_ big penis, you know."

Chuckling because of the absolute wonder on her face as much as from her rather earnest statement, Evan slowly shook his head. "You think so?"

She nodded emphatically, her cheeks pink from the booze.

"If you think I'm big, you should see Bubby. His dick is fucking _huge_."

"Bigger than yours?" she asked, her voice taking on a breathless sort of quality.

He cocked his head to the side for a moment and grinned. "Hell, yes. I mean, you've seen him. He's as big as a damn howitzer, isn't he? Stands to reason he'd have a big-ass pecker, too, don't you think? Granted, it's been a long time since I've seen it, but I remember . . ." He chuckled again and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hell, I must've been about seven? Eight, maybe . . .? We went to the park with my cousins, and Morio—I told you about him—yanks Bubby's pants down, underpants and all, and I swear you not, I just stared. Think I told him that I wanted to be just like him when I grew up . . ." Trailing off, he heaved a melodramatic sigh. "God was not as kind to me, though—but I'm pretty sure that I've used mine more than he has, so even if God wasn't kind to me, at least he's shown that he has a sense of fair play, after all . . ."

Valerie snorted and flipped her hand dismissively without moving her arm. "Ah, bullshit! He can't have _that_ big of a penis . . ."

"Oh, but he can," Evan contradicted with a grin. "I swear to God, his balls were as big as fucking tennis balls, and that was . . . twenty five years ago? I kind of feel sorry for him, though. I highly doubt he's gotten a good blow job, like, _ever_ . . . What woman could possibly fit her lips around _that?_ "

Rolling her eyes, Valerie giggled then snorted then covered her mouth with her hand. "Poor Bubby," she said.

"Damn straight, poor Bubby," Evan agreed.

She didn't look like she believed him about Bas' penis. In fact, she didn't look like she was thinking about Bas at all, which wasn't such a bad thing, as far as Evan was concerned. Suddenly, though, she slapped her hand down on the table, looking completely and utterly disgusted. "Ugh, turn it off," she insisted. "Off, off, off!"

Evan blinked and shook his head. "Turn what off, baby?"

Valerie lowered her chin and peered up at him through her eyelashes. "That song, Roka," she said. "Turn it _off!_ "

"What? You don't dig it?"

She snorted and reached for the nearly empty bottle of sake. "The song's shit," she muttered under her breath, and to Evan's surprise, her cheeks reddened a little more, "and _he's_ a bastard."

Evan wasn't sure what to make of that. Sure, Valerie tended to say it how it was, but to call the guy a bastard . . .? "Jass Martel? You know him?"

Sloshing sake into her empty glass, Valerie snorted again. "His name used to be Justin," she said, shaking her head, her hand trembling just a little as she thumped the bottle onto the table and grasped the drink. "But he's always been an ass. Kind of fitting, don't you think? Jass the ass . . ."

"You do some legal work for him?"

A third snort. Evan was on a roll . . . "Hardly. I wouldn't represent that little fucker if he was facing the electric chair. Let him fry, I say—I might even flip the switch if they'd let me . . ." Heaving a sigh, she took a healthy swig of the liquor, and while Evan wasn't sure that he really wanted her to drink more, at the moment, he really wanted her to keep talking. "I wonder who he's passing around now . . .?"

Evan's frown deepened. "Passing around?"

Shaking her head, she didn't look like she was going to say anything more, and he pressed his lips together. He could appreciate that she could keep her mouth shut tight, sure, but he wished that she could give him something— _anything_ —that he could use to start unraveling the mystery of who she really was, where she came from. So he was more than a little surprised when she lifted her chin and leveled a very even stare at him, the slight redness around her eyes giving away just how drunk she really was despite the gravity in her expression. "Passing around whoever is stupid enough to date him," she said flatly. "Letting his damn buddies get blow jobs—or whatever else—they want from whomever he's dating . . . treating her like she's nothing more than a damn blow-up doll or something for their sick amusement."

The first thing that went through Evan's mind was not at all complimentary. He understood what she was saying, but the thing was, he didn't _want_ to, and the burgeoning realization that was slowly making its way to his brain was one that evoked a slow burning rage that he had to squelch fast. "Are you telling me that _you_ used to date that motherfucker?" Evan asked slowly, carefully, trying harder to modulate his tone of voice than he was trying to measure his words.

She didn't seem to hear his question, lost in her own memories as she poked at the panel beside the table on the wall that controlled the radio station. "Thought it was funny to get me high then share me with his buddies," she said quietly. "Guess I should be glad that I don't remember most of it, you know?" Running her fingers through her hair, she uttered a terse laugh that was more ironic than amused. "He thought that he was untouchable . . . The looks, the charisma—a lot like you, Roka. Isn't that _funny?_ "

Evan didn't reply. In truth, he didn't trust himself to try. He didn't think it was funny; not at all. In that one instant, it all made sense, didn't it? The reason that Valerie had been so ready to condemn him even before she'd ever met him . . . What was that old saying? Once bitten, twice shy, he supposed. There was definitely some truth in that, and to be honest, he wasn't sure that he really blamed her for that. Evan had met the little bastard once before. They'd hung out awhile after an award show last year. He'd thought that Jass was an all right guy at the time, even if he did have a habit of being borderline disrespectful to women—grabbing their tits or asses without provocation, just because he thought he could. Evan, for the most part, had thought that Jass was harmless, even if he was a little like a kid in a candy store, clearly buying into the hype that instant celebrity did to some people. He had one hit song that the radio stations played to death but hadn't really been able to follow up since then . . . ' _That little son of a bitch_ . . .'

Valerie's expression brightened considerably when she hit the 'shuffle music' button on one of Evan's hundred playlists. The song that cut off the radio was one of Evan's older ones—one of his first that had laid the foundation of who he was now, and to his undisguised amusement, she started bopping around in her seat, humming the tune under her breath as she reached for her cards again and stuck out her lips as she arranged them carefully. "Other than that, though, I suppose that he wasn't that bad," she remarked slowly, almost absently. "I mean, he was better than Duff . . ."

"Who's 'Duff'?" Evan asked, careful to keep his tone as neutral as he could. "Did he pass you around, too?"

She wrinkled her nose but ignored the menace in Evan's tone. "No," Valerie shrugged. "I dated him after Justin," she said, waving her hand in a broad sort of way before snagging the bottle of sake again.

"A jerk?"

Valerie made a face and rolled her eyes. "You could say that. He didn't try to pass me around to his friends. He just thought it was all right to use me as a punching bag sometimes."

"Is that right?" Evan asked tightly, his already smoldering temper flashing hotter as a definite tick started in his jaw. "He beat on you?"

She shrugged again but didn't look particularly concerned. "Nothing big," she assured him. "Mostly slapping me and that kind of stuff . . . He only actually punched me a few times—at least until I figured out that if I kicked him in the balls that he'd be too busy, whining and crying to do much of anything else . . . Besides, I'm kind of glad he was such a bastard."

"Why's that?" he asked—the only question he dared give voice to at the moment.

"Because I started taking self defense classes shortly after I broke up with him." Leaning to the side, she pressed the button that lowered the window beside the table and tugged at the neck of her sweatshirt a few times. "It's hot in here," she complained with a very distinct pout. " _Why's_ it so hot in there?"

"Because you were cold, V," he reminded her.

She blinked and shook her head, looking rather surprised. "I was?"

He chuckled. It sounded entirely forced to him. She didn't seem to notice. "Yes, you were."

She thought about that then nodded slowly. "Am I too young to be having hot flashes?"

"I think so," he replied in a serious tone.

She snorted and waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, what do you know? You're a _man_ , remember?"

He opened his mouth to argue with her then snapped it closed with a very concise nod. "I am."

Valerie nodded smugly as though she had just won a huge court case or something as she lowered the window as far as it would go.

"So what's he doing these days?" Evan couldn't help asking. He'd dearly love to find this Duff and show him what it was like to be smacked around a little—or a lot . . . Hitting a woman was completely unacceptable—one of the lowest things that a man could do, as far as Evan was concerned and if had his druthers, the little punk would be fairly easy to find . . .

Valerie shot Evan a rather blank stare. "Who?"

"Duff."

It took her a minute to figure out who he was talking about, and when she did, she snorted. "No idea," she said as though she didn't think it was of any real concern to her. "Probably in prison somewhere."

"Where did you meet these guys?" he muttered, irritated that he wasn't going to get any real answers from her in regards to where Duff was now. It didn't really make him feel any better that she didn't know where he was, either, when all he really wanted to do was to beat the guy stupid.

"A friend introduced me to him," she said, oblivious to Evan's irritation as she poured more sake into her empty cup. "He was the singer for a local band—an _older_ guy, you know? And by 'older', I mean that he was eighteen or nineteen. I think I was about sixteen, so it was really cool. I mean, I was hot shit, right?" Uttering a dry laugh, she shook her head. "I thought he was so cool . . ." She laughed again, and this time, it was far more abrasive. "You'd think I'd have learned sooner, wouldn't you? Hell, my first boyfriend was a wannabe drummer . . . but he was just a jerk."

"How so?"

Her eyes glossed over like she wasn't really listening to Evan, but she smiled sadly and flopped against the back of her chair. "Oh, you know, the normal stuff. I started sneaking out to see him when I was thirteen—I think he might've been about sixteen—and ended up having sex with him before I really knew what was going on . . . spent the next month, scared to death that I was pregnant because he came inside me without a condom . . . I wasn't, thank God, but all he really wanted from me was sex, anyway. Every time I'd go to see him, we'd have to do it right off the bat, even if we were at a party or something, he'd drag me off to the bathroom or wherever to have a quickie. . ." Trailing off, she shook her head and sighed. "Used to tell me that he loved me, and I was stupid enough to believe him. I mean, I ate that up with a spoon, you know? After all, no one _else_ did . . . so I thought that he was the one. I was thirteen. Of course I believed him." She laughed again, and she actually did sound somewhat amused as she downed another big swallow of sake. "I thought it was the end of the world when I had to move away from him."

And it really didn't help that Evan could remember feeling about the same way when he was that age. Sex was a huge deal to him back then. The difference was, Evan never had told anyone that he loved them, least of all just to get into their pants. Even if he was opposed to the little punk on the basic principle of the thing, that boyfriend's bad behavior could be chalked up to immaturity, maybe, but playing with Valerie's emotions? Well, that was something different, entirely, as far as Evan was concerned.

"Why would you date guys like that?" he heard himself asking, unable to contain the absolute disgust in his tone.

Valerie blinked and sloshed more liquor into her glass, drinking it down before she bothered to answer. "I was young, Roka. I was stupid . . . Live and learn, right?"

He wasn't entirely sure that he agreed with that. "Why would you let anyone treat you like that?"

Rolling her eyes, she suddenly laughed, waving a hand dismissively as she shifted in her seat and stretched her legs out onto the table again. "I wasn't a victim, you know," she pointed out when her laugher finally wound down. "When I broke up with Justin, I slit the tires on his—well, he called it a motorcycle. It might have been, but it certainly wasn't a Harley . . . and I carved the word 'dick' into the seat, too . . . and when I broke up with Duff, I told everyone that I knew—and some people I don't know—that he had the world's smallest pecker . . ."

Evan nodded slowly. Valerie had a little bit of hellion in her, didn't she . . .? As far as he was concerned, though, that wasn't nearly enough, not by a long shot . . . Those guys had hurt her far more than she was willing to let on, possibly more than she even realized herself—enough so that she had completely written off any other guy who might have chosen to be a musician, after all . . .

That aside, the thing that Evan simply could not tolerate was the blatant disrespect for any woman. That they'd all disrespected Valerie in those ways . . . well . . .

Evan narrowed his eyes, his jaw ticking as he ground his teeth together. If he ever ran into any of those guys, they were going to wish to God that they hadn't, damn it. Beating on a woman was absolutely unforgivable. Women were made for men to cherish, to coddle, to worship. For a man to raise his hand against her was akin, in his mind, to raising one's hand against God, and that other little fucker . . .? It wasn't to say that Evan hadn't ever shared a woman with one of his buddies, but the difference there was that the woman in question was never, ever forced or coerced. There was a huge difference between consensual sex and a young girl who wanted someone to love her badly enough that she'd go along with her boyfriend's idea of a good fucking time because it didn't matter what Valerie said: Evan didn't believe even for a second that she'd thought it was all right at the time.

Evan bit down hard on the inside of his cheek as he struggled to contain the overwhelming sense of rage that frothed deep within him. Three musician boyfriends, and all three of them apparent losers? He was watching the odds stack higher and higher against him, wasn't he, even as he was getting some of the answers to his unspoken questions that he'd so desperately wanted. He was starting to think that maybe he didn't want to hear about any more of Valerie's ex-boyfriends . . . Except for their names, of course, and their addresses, if she had them . . .

"They don't matter to me," she went on. "Water under the bridge."

"You sure about that?" Evan asked quietly, narrowing his eyes, trying to see into her head, trying to discern whether or not she was hiding something from him. "I mean, you know, right? A real man wouldn't ever treat you like that."

She laughed, her eyes sparkling despite the overlying glassiness inspired by the alcohol. "You think I don't?" she countered, completely amused by his words of reassurance. "No man is ever going to treat me like that again."

"Is that why you're with Orwell?"

"I'm with Orwell because he's a gentleman," she insisted haughtily.

Evan wasn't so sure, though he was somewhat amused that she hadn't actually corrected him. "So you go from dating little punk bastards to dating the most boring guy you could possibly find?"

"He's not boring, and you're just being mean," she said briskly, sitting up straight and turning her attention to her cards once more. "Anyway, Roka, it's all ancient history, right? So let's move on and see what you've got." Then she giggled, apparently anticipating seeing more than just his cards.

Evan sighed and slouched down in his chair. The change in topics was abrupt and a little unsettling, especially when he was still having trouble controlling his desire to hunt down all three of the aforementioned exes and kill them all—and maybe maiming Merckle, just for the hell of it. If he thumped him over the head a good one, maybe he'd get amnesia and forget where the hell he lived—and that he had a woman like Valerie waiting back home for him . . .

He sighed, not particularly pleased about the idea of letting the subject drop, but knowing that Valerie would probably blow a gasket if he kept hounding her on it. She'd given him more than enough information to start with, hadn't she? He'd just have to make sure that he did a little more research on his own when she wasn't paying attention . . .

Besides that, there was another issue that was pretty important at the moment, and he needed to focus on it, didn't he? Down to his jeans with nothing on underneath them while traveling with a drunken Valerie? It wasn't a good situation, any way he looked at it. Fortunately for him, though, he also knew how much Valerie hated losing, and while she might go along with losing one or two articles of clothing, there was no way in hell she'd keep going if she were in danger of showing the goods, right?

She giggled suddenly and waved her empty hand. "What do you call a blonde in a basket?"

Evan shook his head and tossed two cards into the pile before dealing himself a couple more. "What?"

She giggled harder then snorted. "A hot air balloon."

He blinked once, twice, a hint of a smile toying with the corners of his lips. He couldn't help it, considering. He'd never heard her tell a joke before, and what she'd asked sounded suspiciously like one to him . . . Besides, her laughter had a tendency to calm him, didn't it? Even if he didn't really want to be calmed . . . "V?"

"Hmm?"

". . . Did you just tell a dumb blonde joke?"

"That's right," she replied, and 'right' had come out with a distinctly southern kind of drawl. "Now read 'em and weep." Spreading out her cards with a flourish, Valerie looked positively exultant. She had a full house, all right . . .

"Queen full, eh?"

She shot him a questioning glance. He chuckled. "Queens full of fours . . . queens over fours . . ."

She snorted and waved a hand dismissively. "Whatever, Roka. Your pants are mine."

"Not so fast; not so fast . . ."

Cocking an eyebrow, Valerie didn't look impressed. "Why? You got a better hand? I mean, I guess you're due for one, considering you haven't won all night."

Evan chuckled. "True enough, V. I've only got a couple of pairs."

"A couple of pairs?" she echoed with a shake of her head. "A couple of pairs of what?"

He shrugged. "Threes."

She waited for a moment then shook her head. "And?"

His grin widened as he spread out his cards for her to see. "And threes—four of a kind, V. I just emptied out your full house, don't you think?"

She blinked and stared for a full minute, then she suddenly laughed. "Okay, okay," she allowed with an offhanded shrug. "What do you want? The shirt? The pants?"

"Pants, V," Evan said, figuring that it was probably the safest thing to ask for. The sweatshirt was one of his that she'd commandeered back when they were doing the 'follow-the-rock-star-around' bet, so it was quite large on her, and the hem hung to mid-thigh, easy.

Valerie shrugged and giggled as she kicked off the sweatpants a little unsteadily. She gave a kick, and the pants landed on his shoulder. "Hurry up and deal," she said as she flopped back into her seat again. "I'm feeling lucky!"

"Oh, are you, now?" Evan challenged, draping the pants over his neck and tossing one leg over the other shoulder like it was a scarf. He shuffled then dealt the next hand.

"So did it hurt when you got your penis pierced?" she asked, thumping her hand on the table impatiently. She giggled suddenly then snorted then giggled some more. "Well, of course it hurt, but did it, you know, _hurt_ -hurt?"

"Wouldn't know," Evan quipped with a grin geared more at Valerie's uncharacteristic snorting than her question, grabbing his hand and tapping the edges against the table. "I was very, very drunk . . . and quite possibly a little stoned, too."

"And you got it pierced just because you think women like it?" she pressed.

"Hell, yeah," he insisted. "Same reason I got my tongue pierced."

She blinked and shook her head, her face already pink from the liquor. "They like that, too?"

He laughed. "Baby, I've gotta tell you the women love that. When I eat pussy?   Are you kidding me? More than one has come just from one little flick."

He was pretty sure that the heightened color in her cheeks had nothing at all to do with the sake she'd imbibed and had everything to do with his outrageous statement. "Right, right," she said, obviously not willing to believe him. "You can't tell me you actually like doing that, anyway. It's . . . It's kind of weird."

"What is?" he asked, shaking his head since he wasn't entirely sure what she was talking about.

"Oral sex," she replied with a shrug. "What if someone's . . . dirty?"

Evan blinked and choked out an incredulous laugh. "Are you kidding me? There's nothing dirty about it."

She wrinkled her nose and pulled her cards off the table, taking her time as she arranged them in her hand. "Not the sex, Roka . . . What if someone isn't clean? You can't tell me you'd do that if your partner hadn't bathed in awhile."

He leaned forward, pinning her with a wide grin. "Baby, I'll take a big ol' mouthful of pussy brine over soap any day."

She still didn't look like she was buying, and Evan sat back, his grin not fading. "You're twisted," she muttered, shaking her head as she tossed three cards into the middle of the table. "Give me three."

Evan laughed as he dealt her cards. "Nothing twisted about it, V. What's wrong with enjoying sex, anyway?"

Valerie shook her head then chortled, covering her mouth with her hand. "There's a difference between enjoying sex and mutilating your body for it."

Evan chuckled and shrugged. "Piercing is a form of self-expression."

"If you say so," she said in a tone that sounded entirely humoring of him as she laid out her cards on the table. "Now read 'em and weep! Two pairs—eights and fours!"

She looked positively triumphant, and Evan grinned as he slowly spread his cards out for her to see. "Sorry, V—I've got a straight which means you lose—again."

"What? Nuh-uh!" Valerie blustered, pretty well lying on the table with her face about six inches above his cards. "Three, four, five, six, seven . . . eight . . . get _out!_ " she exclaimed. "Did you cheat?"

"No-o-o," he drawled slowly, his grin widening by degrees. "Now hand over those socks . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _You're_** **_So_** **_Vain_** ' _originally appeared on_ _Carly_ _Simon's_ _1972 release,_ **_No Secrets_** _._ _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Carly_ _Simon_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _… My socks …?!_


	86. 085: Emancipation

' _All the vampires walkin' through the valley …_  
' _Move west down Ventura Boulevard_ …  
' _And the bad boys are standin' in the shadows_ …  
' _And the good girls are home with broken hearts_ …'  
' _And I'm free … I'm free fallin_ ' …'

 

-' _Free Fallin'_ ' by Tom Petty.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _How the hell could you let this happen?_ '

' _We-e-e-ell_ . . .'

' _It'd be fine, you know, if you weren't so hell-bent on trying to be noble, for God's sake_ . . .'

Evan grimaced and shifted in his chair, trying hard not to blatantly stare at the almost-bared goods that were situated directly across from him.

He'd tried so hard, hadn't he? He'd really tried to be good by telling Valerie that he wanted her socks for winning the last hand. Unfortunately, she wasn't about to give those up without a fight—she'd paid thirty bucks for that particular pair, she'd said, and a lovely pair of socks they were since Evan had a very good view of them at the moment. Curse his luck, anyway, considering that Valerie had decided that Evan could and should be the recipient of her sweatshirt, which left him staring at those feet that she'd propped up on the table, crossed at the ankles, while he struggled like he'd never struggled before to keep from ogling her breasts that were just barely covered by a very feminine, very pretty, very lacy dark blue silk bra.

' _It could always be worse_ ,' he thought, deliberately taking his time as he slapped his hand down on the cards she'd dealt him and pulled them toward him.

' _How do you figure, brainiac?_ '

He sighed inwardly. ' _At least we can't see her panties_ . . .'

'. . . _You know, there's a word for guys like you_.'

' _Gallant?_ '

His youkai-voice snorted. ' _Stupid_.'

He sighed inwardly and slowly shook his head. ' _Yeah, that, too_ . . .'

"I like this game!" Valerie said, breaking into another bout of giggling punctuated by a very cute snort that made her giggle harder.

Stifling a groan, Evan grinned. ' _Damn . . . she's . . . jiggling so nicely_ . . .'

Which was true. When she laughed, certain parts of her really did jiggle—a _lot_.

"C'mon, c'mon, deal the next hand," she coaxed. "Oh! We need more sake!"

Evan blinked as Valerie stood up and paraded over to grab another bottle. So bemused that it took a moment for him to get a good grasp on what she was doing, he shot to his feet to stop her. She whirled around with a bottle in hand, crashing straight into his chest hard. "Oof," he grunted, stumbling back into his chair once more. Valerie lost her balance and plopped right into his lap with a round of giggling, snorting, and jiggling—and a very hard bottle smashed right into his ribs.

He was a dead man. That was all there was to it. Absolutely dead, and it was his own fault, too, wasn't it? Groaning quietly, closing his eyes, he tried desperately not to think about the idea that Valerie was on his lap and showing no signs of being ready to move. A moment later, she turned, doing entirely too much wiggling in the process—wiggling those parts that Evan simply couldn't ignore—and finally made herself comfortable as she straddled his legs, her crotch firmly pressed against his—close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from her through the thick fabric of his jeans, and he gritted his teeth as the fragile control he had over his body snapped.

He jerked back when she pressed her palm against his forehead, eyes flashing open as she frowned at him. "You don't _feel_ sick," she decided, setting the unopened bottle of sake on the table and lifting her other hand to feel her own forehead to compare. She exchanged hands, her frown deepening. "You feel normal . . ." she decided at length.

Resisting the urge to grab her hips and grind his pelvis against hers, Evan shook his head. "I'm not sick, V. I'm _horny_. Huge difference."

She giggled again, which caused him to grind his teeth together. "Yeah," she agreed easily enough. "About, what? Twelve inches? Fourteen?" Her amusement died away, only to be replaced by a very serious expression. "You have a really big penis, you know." She leaned in to whisper to him. "I've _seen_ it."

He didn't trust himself to reply to that, either.

"Have you ever measured your penis?" she went on, her expression brightening as she considered her question a little more. "You have, right? You're a pervert, so it stands to reason."

"Actually, can't say that I have," he replied.

She laughed and started to stand up. "Then I think I will. Someone needs to measure that thing. I mean, you might need to get a permit or something . . . Dangerous weapons and all that . . ."

A sudden and vicious surge of desperation shot through him. He didn't want her to get off his lap, damn it . . . Grasping her hips, he yanked her down hard and groaned involuntarily as she giggled and shifted around to get comfortable again.

"You've got a ruler around here, don't you?" she asked, apparently not ready to give up on the idea of measuring parts of him.

"No," he ground out, his forehead breaking into a fine sheen of sweat as he struggled to maintain some measure of control. "Woman . . ."

"You know, your lap is really uncomfortable," she complained, lifting herself just enough to plop down a few times like she was trying to fluff him up with her crotch.

Evan groaned again and tried to remind himself that he desperately needed to breathe. "Shit . . . I'm going to come if you keep wiggling around like that."

She rolled her eyes but giggled again, rubbing her nose when she snorted. "You're too old to come in your pants," she pointed out though she didn't move otherwise.

"You're _never_ too old to come in your pants," Evan retorted.

"Oh, oh, oh!" Valerie suddenly exclaimed. "Check this out, Roka!"

He shouldn't have looked. He really shouldn't have looked. Valerie leaned back, looking down at her chest in thorough concentration, and Evan blinked when she started to flex her pecs. "Oh . . . _damn_ . . ." he breathed, the throbbing in his crotch turning painful.

"Told you I can do it!" she gloated. "Watch, watch!" Lifting her arms, hooking her hands together behind her neck, she thrust out her chest and continued to flex.

Evan leaned down with a low growl and bit one of her nipples that poked at the thin fabric of her bra. Valerie gasped and squealed, pushing him back with a giggle as she hunched her shoulders and huddled against his chest. "You _bit_ me!" she accused between bouts of giggling.

Evan scowled at her. She missed it since she had her face buried against his shoulder. "I'll do more than bite you if you stick those pretty titties of yours in my face again," he warned.

"Oh, my _God!_ " she exclaimed, bracing her hands on his shoulders to push herself upright again. "Why is it so _hot_ in here?"

Shaking his head slowly since Valerie had opted to ignore his last statement, Evan grasped Valerie's hips and reminded himself yet again that he wasn't about to do a damn thing, given that she was well and truly inebriated. Stood to reason, didn't it? She didn't accurately remember the last time they'd fucked, did she? He sure as hell wanted her to remember it this time around . . . Besides, nothing had really changed, had it? Damn it, why was it so fucking easy to forget that she was engaged to that little douche-bag most of the time, only to remember when he really didn't want to . . .? The next time he fucked that woman, she damn well would remember it . . . and she'd damn well _not_ be wearing some other man's ring . . .

"It's not fair," she went on, oblivious to Evan's thoughts at the moment. "You men can just take off your shirt when you're hot, but women? No- _o-o_ -o, we're stuck in these damn bras that I'm pretty sure were created by a man just to be uncomfortable for women . . ."

"So you think that men are responsible for things that make women uncomfortable?" Evan couldn't resist asking.

Valerie nodded emphatically. "That's right, Roka. You're probably the one who created them in a past life or something."

Evan rolled his eyes and chuckled a little tightly since he was still suffering the effects of Valerie's very close proximity—and thanking God for that bra while cursing it, all the same time. "Baby, if I'd have been there at the time, I'd have killed off the guy who created them. I'm a _huge_ proponent of booby emancipation, you know."

Valerie stared at him, her cheeks still flushed, her nostrils quivering slightly. Her lips twitched, but she didn't smile. "Booby emancipation? Free the boobies, you mean?"

He nodded very slowly. "Absolutely."

She considered that slowly then nodded. "There should definitely be an Emancipation Proclamation for breasts," she decided with a very astute nod. "The girls of the world have been repressed for far too long, right?"

"I like the way you think, V," he said with a grin, or at least as much of one as he could muster.

Valerie's eyes widened as she grabbed handfuls of hair on either side of his head and yanked him toward her. "I should start the movement, don't you think?"

' _Oh, damn_ . . .' Evan shifted slightly and grimaced. "Aw, I don't know about that," he drawled, sounding a lot more calm than he was feeling. "Maybe you should keep them under wraps for now . . ."

The wonder in her expression slowly shifted to one of complete suspicion. "Why?" she demanded. "You _are_ trying to repress me!"

"I swear I'm not," he argued. "Damn, V . . . Just what the hell are you trying to do? Kill me?"

He loved watching her face, didn't he? The fleeting expression that were so deliciously delineated in her features were something to behold, and better, drunk as she was, those expressions were even more vibrant than usual, and the confusion that surfaced on her face was enough to make him heave a longsuffering sigh. "Of course I'm not trying to kill you," she insisted, shaking her head as strands of her hair flew around her like downy tufts of light. "Why would you think I was?"

Evan eyed her for a long second, wondering if she really was that oblivious to exactly how close they were. He wasn't certain if she really hadn't realized it or if the booze had somehow brought out a sense of naiveté that he'd seen glimpses of before—a naiveté that she hid behind her quick wit and sometimes cutting words. Somewhere deep down . . . was that girl who had been searching for someone to love her still there? And if she was still hidden in there, did Valerie even know it?

"Never mind," he muttered, sighing heavily since certain parts of him still hadn't gotten the memo that he really wasn't going to be doing a damn thing about the rabid lust that was close to driving him mad. "Don't worry about it."

"I love this song!" Valerie exclaimed moments before her hips started gyrating on his. Grooving to the song, or so it would seem, she either hadn't heard what he'd said or she'd chosen to ignore it. Either way, she was shaving years off his life, he was certain, just from her movements. It was maddening. It was infuriating. It was heaven and hell, all rolled up in one . . .

"I, uh . . . bathroom," Evan said suddenly, setting Valerie on her feet as he hastily stood up and strode toward the john. He had to do something, damn it, and he had to do it fast before he ended up doing something really, really stupid—something like throwing Valerie Denning on the bed and fucking the living, breathing hell right out of her . . .

"Fuck," he moaned as he slammed the door and leaned against it, letting his head fall back as his eyes closed, as he struggled to make his uneven breathing return to a semblance of normal. Those absolutely perfect breasts . . . the slight hint of a tan line over her already tanned skin . . . the knowledge that she must normally tan without anything on at all . . . she just had to have perfectly toned thighs, too, didn't she? No small wonder, was it? That woman went out of her way to keep herself in prime condition. In fact, he doubted that he knew anyone else who went to the lengths that she very obviously did, and he appreciated her efforts—of course he did. Appreciated them a little too much, probably . . .

He wanted her so desperately that he ached. Every single part of his body ached, but the part of him that ached the most . . . He had to do something about that or he really was going to die.

Chalk it up to having gone so long without a woman, something that he was certainly not accustomed to. Blame it on Valerie's relentless teasing, even if she didn't realize that she was doing it. What did it matter in the end when Evan was pretty sure that he was about to find out if any man had ever died from not getting enough pussy? They'd name the phenomenon after him, wouldn't they? ' _Killed by lack of lovin'_ ,' he thought wildly as he yanked on the fastenings of his jeans. ' _Not today, boys . . . not today_ . . .'

It only took about three strokes to get him off the first time, and his orgasm bordered on painful. Blinking, grimacing as he stared at the mess he'd made on the wall and floor of the bathroom, he grunted. It wasn't enough—not nearly enough. His penis was still throbbing, aching in such a way that Evan hadn't ever felt before, and the relief he'd felt at having jacked off in the first place didn't last for more than a few precious seconds before the ache was back, and perversely, it was worse than before.

"Damn . . . the never-ending boner," he grumbled, grasping it in his hand and giving it a healthy squeeze. It jerked wildly in his grip, and he grimaced. Somehow, he felt like a twelve-year-old kid who had just discovered porn . . .

It didn't take much more to get off the second time than it had the first, and he was no closer to getting rid of the boner afterward, either.

"Damn . . ." he mumbled, shaking his head as he stared in disbelief at his own penis—still quite happy and still very erect. There weren't many moments when Evan disliked being youkai, but this one was pretty close, all things considered . . .

' _So think of something that'll take your mind off that woman out there and what she is—or isn't—wearing_ ,' his youkai prompted.

Evan snorted, trying to stuff his junk back into his pants and wincing when the ache escalated. ' _Like what?_ '

' _Like . . . Like Cain . . . in a Speedo_ . . .'

Wrinkling his nose at the mental image that shot to mind, he sighed. ' _That's just wrong_ ,' he grumbled.

His youkai sighed. ' _Wrong, sure, but look . . . It's working . . . kind of_ . . .'

Evan glanced down and slowly shook his head. It was working to a point . . . ' _Think, Roka, think_ ,' he chided himself furiously. ' _Umm . . . Sesshoumaru in a Speedo—a pink one . . . urgh_ . . .'

' _That heavy woman at the A &P in a bikini?_'

Evan nodded and let out a deep breath. ' _Mentioning females in any capacity isn't really working so great_ ,' he remarked.

' _Okay then, the fat guy—the manager . . . What about him? God only knows he looks like he could use a bra or something_. . .'

The mention of bras was a bad, bad thing since the image of Valerie shot right back to the fore, and with the mental image came the painful swelling in his penis again, too.

' _All right, that was bad_ ,' his youkai agreed quickly. ' _Uh . . . um . . . The old man in that little school uniform you've seen grandma wearing in some of those old pictures?_ '

Evan snorted. ' _Nah, that's kind of cute_ ,' he mused with a shake of his head. ' _The old man's got damn good legs_ . . .'

' _Hmm . . . oh! Bubby . . . in a Speedo . . . One that's a couple sizes too small so that his gargantuan balls are all squished and bulging out the sides . . .?_ '

Evan considered that for a moment then grimaced. ' _That's . . . kind of hot in a_ really _disturbing sort of way, don't you think?_ '

His youkai sighed. ' _Yeah . . . it kind of is_ . . .'

' _Great . . . I'm never going to get rid of this . . . Between V, the lady at the A &P, the old man, and Bubby, I'm fucking doomed_ . . .'

' _Ooh-ooh-ooh! Got it! The best one yet—the one that's guaranteed to get rid of that in two seconds or less!_ '

' _Let's hear it_ ,' Evan thought sourly, doubting very much that this one would work when the others didn't.

' _Bubby and Gunnar in the middle of having some really rank gay sex!_ '

" _Uh!_ " Evan grunted, unable to stave back the horrified expression that contorted his features. "I just wanted to _lose_ the boner; I didn't want to break the damn thing!"

' _But it worked! It worked! Check it out! And hey, if they really did have the rank gay sex, which one would be the bitch?_ '

Shaking his head rather vehemently, Evan tried his best to ignore that question as he finally tucked himself away again and zipped up his jeans before reaching for a towel to clean up the mess he'd made. "I think I'm going to be sick . . ."

' _Yeah, but whatever works, right, so no complaining. 'Sides, we'd better get back out there and make sure that V's all right, don't you think?_ '

Probably, he figured, tossing the towel into the laundry bag hanging on the back of the door. Then again, he couldn't help the slight reluctance to do so. It wasn't that he was trying to avoid her, no, but there was only so much he could take before he broke down completely. Still, he was good now, wasn't he? He'd gotten rid of the immediate need that was plaguing him, and as long as he was careful, everything would be fine.

He didn't see her right away when he slowly peeked out of the bathroom. He frowned. Where was she?

Stepping into the main area once more, Evan stopped dead in his tracks, watching in abject disbelief as Valerie thrust out her breasts, reaching up behind herself to unhook her bra that she shrugged off with some difficulty that he assumed could be attributed to just how drunk she really was.

He forgot to breathe, forgot to think, forgot everything except for the sight of those immaculately shaped breasts. The pictures he'd seen simply didn't do her justice, did they? Absolutely not. Gorgeously perky, perfectly smooth . . . impossibly high rosy nipples . . . they weren't huge by any means, but they weren't small, either—definitely a good handful—well, maybe not to him since his hands were pretty big, but . . .

' _D-Damn_ . . .' he thought—the _only_ thing he thought—as he continued to stare. Mouth dry, his body frozen where he stood, he watched, unblinking, as she started bopping along to the song on the playlist she'd chosen. ' _Da-a-a-amn_ . . .'

Standing up, she slowly turned around, and when she spotted Evan, she smiled. "There you are!" she said happily. "Where did you go?"

He had to swallow a few times and clear his throat a few more times before he could manage to speak. "Me? Oh . . . I was in the bathroom."

She giggled and started swinging the bra on the end of her index finger. "I've got a present for you!" she told him.

"Looks like your bra to me," he managed, wondering if his voice sounded as uneven to her as it did to him.

"Yes, but as the first male member of the Booby Emancipation Coalition, then you should be the first recipient of the Golden Bra Award—but this one's blue . . ."

Evan cleared his throat yet again, filled with unerring disbelief on some level at what he was going to say. "I, uh . . . I think maybe you should put that back on," he warned.

"Oh, don't be such a party poo— _oops!_ "

She turned to stare as the bra strap that had been hooked over her finger slipped off, and if Evan had thought before that he was being punished for some perceived ill before, he was positive of it now. Staring in mute wonder, he couldn't do anything but watch as the bra shot through the air—and straight out the window.

Valerie gawped at the open space where her bra had disappeared from view for several moments before slowly, slowly, turning her head to stare at Evan. "Did my bra just fly out the window?" she asked dubiously, as though she didn't quite believe what she'd seen.

"Yes," he rasped out, his gaze still fixed on said-window. "Yes, it did."

"Oh . . . oh, _my_ . . ."

He couldn't have said it better himself, and considering he still wasn't sure if he was being extraordinarily blessed or hideously cursed, Evan wasn't sure what to think.

"It must have really wanted to be free," Valerie said solemnly.

"Well, it's, uh, definitely free now," Evan allowed, feeling somewhat dizzy. A tiny waist, gently flaring hips, tawny skin—he could see the muscles in her abdomen flex with every breath she took . . . those long, long legs that he would dearly love to feel, wrapped around his waist as he drove his cock into her . . .

Her already wide eyes widened even more, and he blinked as the scent of tears filled his nose seconds before she launched herself right into his arms. "V? Wh-What . . .?" he stammered, unable to do more than groan softly at the electricity of her naked breasts smashed against his equally naked chest that was enough to short circuit his brain.

"But I just bought that bra—and the matching panties!" she blubbered between sobs, her voice muffled by his skin.

"W—I—We . . . we could stop the bus and look for it," he said, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that told him that it would take some doing since his brain had been too frozen to function properly when the bra had made its unceremonious escape, in the first place.

Valerie whimpered and shook her head. "But it wanted to be free, and that wouldn't be right, would it?"

Her powers of drunken logic were formidable—never mind the idea that he really, really wanted her to stay as shirtless as possible, even if it killed him. "Then . . . We should be . . . happy that your bra's moved on to bigger and better things . . ." he suggested. He could only hope that Valerie didn't remember any of this come morning . . . Then again, the way his luck was going, if she didn't remember, she would probably claim that he'd somehow managed to coerce her out of the damn thing . . .

"But what if someone finds the bra? They're going to ask where the panties are!"

Evan blinked and shook his head. "Oh, I'm sure that it'll be all right," he tried to reassure her. "In fact, I doubt that wondering where the matching panties are is really going to be the first thing that anyone really wants to know . . ."

"They belong together, Roka! They're a matched set! They're _soul_ mates!"

"Soul mates?" he repeated as he tried to convince himself that he was just hugging her, comforting her, and wasn't at all trying to feel her up . . .

"Uh huh . . ." She gasped suddenly and leaned away from him. Unfortunately for him, she wasn't one of those women who ended up looking like a mess when they cried. Hell no. Eyes slightly reddened around the edges, yes, and nose just a little ruddy, her skin had actually paled a little, which only added to the dusty quality of her flushed lips. For a few precious seconds, he couldn't ignore the draw to kiss her. Luckily for him, however, she had other things on her mind, which was just as well, too, since he knew damn well that one kiss wasn't going to be enough for him . . . "You're _so_ right, Roka! My bra must've wanted to be free! But you know something?"

"Huh?" Evan managed, gritting his teeth when she abruptly pulled away from him.

Valerie giggled, hooking the sides of her panties and pushing them down in one fluid motion. Kicking them off when they reached her knees, she dangled them from her finger as she shot him a triumphant sort of grin and climbed over the chair to the window.

It felt as though time stopped completely. Valerie was naked— _completely_ naked. Unable to staunch the ragged moan that slipped from him, he couldn't think as the roar of the blood coursing through his body reached a fever pitch. No matter how many years he'd live and regardless of what the future had in store for him, he wouldn't ever forget the sight of her as she stood there with her panties hooked on her finger, a triumphant smile on her face . . .

"Goodbye!" she called, craning her neck as she tried to watch the panties as she flung them out the window, too. "Today is the first day of your freedom!"

' _Good God_ ,' his youkai croaked.

Evan could only nod rather stupidly.

' _She . . . She's emancipated her panties!_ '

He nodded stupidly again.

' _And she really_ does _shave that pretty little puss-puss of hers all the time; not just in that picture!_ '

He gave the third stupid nod. He didn't even try to tell himself that seeing her literally bared goods wasn't sexy as all hell. Dieter had said once that he thought the idea of a shaved pussy was creepy since he'd feel like he was fucking a child. Well, there wasn't any way in hell that Evan was going to mistake Valerie for a little girl, not with her curves, and all he could really think was that the jacking off that he'd just administered hadn't done a damn bit of good . . .

"Come over here and sing them a farewell song," Valerie called over her shoulder.

Evan didn't move. What he wouldn't give to be on the other side of that window that she was currently smashing her breasts against . . . Now _that_ would be a hell of a view . . .

' _Except it's night, and that window's so darkly tinted that you wouldn't be able to see them, anyway—and what the fuck? You're getting a damn fine view of her naked ass, you moron! Just get her to turn around, and we really will come right in our pants, won't we?_ '

Yes, yes, he probably would . . .

Valerie sighed and turned away from the window, smiling brilliantly and very obviously pleased with what she'd done. "That's so nice," she insisted as she shuffled back over to Evan once more. "They'll be together forever now."

She wasn't stopping. Wandering closer and closer, step by step, she didn't seem to notice Evan's quite obvious discomfort. The boner he'd fought so hard to get rid of in the bathroom was back with a vengeance, and it was worse than it was before, straining against his jeans , which caused a friction so hellishly uncomfortable that he felt like he was going to die. In his dazed mind, he had to wonder if he'd ever been that hard before in his life, and as she approached him, one thing became crystal clear: he had to stop her. He really did. If he didn't . . . "Uh . . . V . . ."

She did the giggle-snort combo, her cheeks flushing just a little as her gaze dropped to his crotch. "Now that's impressive, Roka," she almost purred, her stare bright, intrigued, as she continued to stare. "Let me see it."

He blinked and eyed her, positive that he couldn't have possibly heard her right. "Huh?"

Valerie was having none of that, and she snorted. "I want to see it," she stated, her words slightly slurred. "Your pe-e-e-enis."

"My . . .?" Holding up his hands, taking a step backward in retreat, Evan shook his head. "No . . . No, I don't think . . . that's a good idea . . ."

Completely nonplussed, or so she seemed, she kept advancing on him like a cheetah stalking her prey . . . "Stand still, rocker-boy. I'm just going to take a peek."

"Y-You already saw it once, V," he pointed out in what he hoped was a reasonable tone. The need for self-preservation was thick in his brain. If she touched him, he'd be lost, wouldn't he? If she touched him . . .

"That doesn't count," she insisted, reaching out, hooking his belt loop with her index finger.

His hand shot out to wrap around her wrist to stop her, but he sucked in a sharp breath when she plunged her free hand down the front of his jeans. A white-hot explosion resounded in his head the instant she touched him, the moment she wrapped her hand around the thickness of him. Seconds later, he could feel the tell-tale tingling in his balls as they seized up, the precursor to what promised to be one of the most intense orgasms he'd ever felt. If she didn't stop . . .

Reacting before he could stop himself, he grabbed her wrist, yanked her hand away from him almost roughly—so roughly that she gasped, her eyes flicking up to meet his, and when they did, she stared, her protests dying on her lips before they had a chance to form.

"Don't play with me, Valerie," he growled huskily, narrowing his eyes as he fought to control his rioting senses. Every last part of him was screaming out for her. Glowering at her fiercely, willing her to understand just what she was doing to him, his emotions warred between the need to claim her and the desperate desire to protect her, even if that meant protecting her from herself. Maybe if she wasn't staring at him, her eyes taking on a sultry sort of slant . . . Maybe if she would just say something—anything—to break the spell she'd cast over him . . . maybe if he could remember just one reason why this was a bad idea . . . but none of those things . . . None of them registered in his mind . . . and with a fierce growl, Evan yanked her toward him, the sight of her flushed features, of the sudden spark in her scent that goaded him . . . He couldn't ignore her, could he? His mate . . . his woman . . .

Mouth descending on hers with a voracity that he didn't try to hide, deliberately unleashing the gale of emotion that she evoked in him, he kissed her hard, deep, furiously. Whether he was trying to deal her a warning or a promise, he didn't know, and Valerie—damn her, _damn her_ —reacted in kind, biting down on his bottom lip with a little growl of her own. Evan gave her a rough shake: a reprimand? She retaliated by smashing her splayed hands against the flat of his belly as his flesh quivered under her touch, as his body seemed to resonate in accordance with her will. He'd never felt so powerless in his life, and somewhere in his lust-clouded mind, he knew— _knew_ —that if he didn't stop her soon, he never would.

And it was nothing more than a simple need for some sort of self-preservation that forced him to push her back firmly, his hands shaking even more as his body protested the abrupt loss of contact with her. He felt as though everything inside him was crawling, clawing, desperately trying to escape, to run to her, and he cleared his throat with an uneven cough, closing his eyes for a moment in an effort to amass what was left of his crumbling resolve. When he opened his eyes again, she was frowning at him, her bottom lip jutting out in a very petulant sort of pout.

Swallowing hard, Evan ground his teeth together. The only thing he knew was that he had to put some sort of distance between them, as much for himself as for her. Turning on his heel, he strode off toward the bathroom, ignoring the pain that accompanied every single step. Even after he'd closed the door, he still was near to panic. The feeling inside him was worse than any sort of desperation that he'd ever felt before. In truth, he felt like a part of him was dying, and every second he spent away from her was killing him just a little bit more.

He didn't bother removing his pants as he hastily yanked on the zipper and shoved them down just enough to free his painfully erect penis. Wincing at the welcome release from the confines of his jeans, he wasn't at all surprised to see that the head of it was already glossy with the dribbles of semen that had seeped out. Grasping himself firmly in one hand, he gritted his teeth and stroked as he tried to tell himself that the situation wasn't nearly as unnatural as he suspected it was.

Her skin was just too damn soft, and the memory of it smashed against him was way too strong in his head. The taste of her lips, her breath, of the sake, still lingered on his tongue . . . The scent of her—of her desire for him—resonated in his nose with every ragged lungful of air he drew . . .

He could feel the tingling in his balls as it reached a painful cadence that bordered on agony, and he figured that orgasm that was working its way up was going to be one for the record books. In fact, he was almost there when the bathroom door crashed open and a still-naked Valerie stomped inside.

"You hate me, don't you?" she accused, her voice more throaty, more husky, more pouting than he'd ever heard from her before.

Grimacing since the first rattles of pleasure were already shuddering rampantly through his body, Evan gritted his teeth, choked out a terse grunt as spurts of semen shot out of him, raining down around him, running down his hand that was still gripping his penis tight, furiously stroking, yanking, wringing the last drops out of him as every single muscle in him contracted, as a delirious burst of adrenaline brought on the light headed dizziness that made him stumble. Collapsing on the closed toilet seat, he slumped back, his head cracking hard against the wall, the only sound in the quiet room the labored breaths that he fought to draw.

It took his brain an inordinately long time to kick into gear. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure how much time passed before he was able to open his eyes though cognizant thought was slower to return. Staring at the ceiling, he struggled to breathe as a welcome sense of lethargy seeped into him.

"It's not going away."

Evan blinked and lifted his head with some effort, and it took a moment for him to focus on Valerie's quizzical expression. Staring at his crotch with unabashed shock, she didn't bat an eye as she continued to gawk at him. "Huh?"

"Your penis," she explained. "It's still hard."

Somehow, that didn't really surprise him; not at all, but he managed a half-hearted grin. "Imagine that," he muttered, telling himself that he really ought to pull his pants up again, yet unable to summon the strength to do so. "And what do you mean, I don't like you? I think it's pretty damn obvious that I do."

Valerie, however, was completely absorbed in staring at his crotch. "Are you going to do it again?"

"Do what?"

She giggled, her cheeks pinking a little more. "What you just did . . .? Are you going to do that again?"

Grinding his teeth together, the very last thing that he wanted to do was to jack off with Valerie perched right there on the edge of the tub. "V, I don't think—"

"Do it! Do it!" she suddenly blurted. "I want to watch!"

"C-Come again?"

She giggled some more. "I've never seen anyone do that before," she explained as though it was the simplest thing in the world. "I mean, you're just, what? Jerking on it or something?"

Evan sighed, letting his gaze drop to his still very erect penis almost dejectedly. "No, Valerie. You rub it—stroke it. It's as close as you can get to having sex without having sex."

"So, it's an acquired skill," she concluded with another round of giggling.

He managed a wry chuckle. "Something like that," he agreed, wincing at the acute throbbing that just wouldn't go away.

"Anyway, anyway, go ahead and do your thing," she encouraged, completely enthralled in watching him. "I'll be as quiet as a church mouse."

He sighed. Common sense told him that he ought to just tell her to forget about it then get her the hell out of the bathroom. Common sense, however, held very little sway in his head at the moment, not with her sitting there, staring right at him. "V . . ."

"I'll help!"

Evan blinked and sat up a little straighter as sheer panic shot through him at the implications of what she'd said. Opening his mouth to tell her to stop, the words were cut off short when her hand reached out, wrapped around the thickness of him. Dealing him an unsteady squeeze, she giggled when he groaned and flopped back again, powerless to stop her, or so it would seem. A jagged haze enveloped his mind as a sense of shock seemed to suspend him in time. That she was touching him seemed so entirely surreal. Although he knew on some level that he really needed to stop her, his body simply wasn't cooperating. He couldn't stop her, could he? The call of her will was stronger than his own.

Her motions were jerky, clumsy, but nevertheless effective. His breathing rough and shallow, every muscle in his body taut as though he were being stretched to the very ends of his limits. "S-Stop," he muttered, shaking his head, squeezing his eyes closed against the sight of her, kneeling on the floor between his spread knees with her hands wrapped around his cock. If he opened his eyes, if he saw her there . . . "V . . . please . . ."

Her response was a quickened pace as though she thought that he was begging her for more. Maybe he was, or maybe he was begging her to walk away since his resolve was completely gone, obliterated in one fell swoop.

Somewhere in the back of his head, he heard the raspiness in her own breathing, the unsteadiness of her rising desire that hung in the air like the sweetest perfume. He wanted to reach for her, to show her what sex really ought to be, but his arms felt as though they were cast of lead. Fists opening and closing, tightening and releasing, he could barely hold on to what was left of his sanity, and with a painful surge that felt like an abrupt popping somewhere deep down, he groaned as the tormented pleasure of orgasm swept through him with a force so powerful that it was like an explosion of pure white light, the brightest in the universe, and it all emanated from her.

"Eww," she said, wrinkling her nose—the first words that managed to pierce through the stupor that fogged his brain. "It's so . . ."

Finally able to crack an eye open, Evan managed a weak smile when he caught sight of her, sitting back on her heels as she stared in unabashed wonder at her semen-covered hands. Rubbing her fingertips together, she shook her head slowly, as though she was having trouble coming up with the word that she wanted. "So . . ."

Drawing a few ragged breaths, Evan shook his head. "Viscous?"

She didn't look away from her hands. "Slimy."

Evan wheezed out a wizened chuckle as his eye slipped closed once more. "That, too."

Valerie giggled. "It smells like old pennies," she decided at length. "So, just what have you been eating, anyway?"

Evan grunted but didn't open his eyes again. "Minerals," he murmured, trying his best to fight off the lethargy that was entirely too hard to ignore. Mustering all that was left of his strength, he forced himself to his feet and quickly, albeit clumsily, righted his pants once more, rather viciously ignoring the unsatisfied desire that hadn't quite waned. When he finally glanced at Valerie, though, he grimaced and reached for a wash cloth off of the shelf over the toilet. The familiarity of his scent that permeated very inch of the room was clouding his abilities to think rationally, and seeing her, sitting there on the floor, looking at her hands as she giggled to herself was almost more than he could stand.

"Here," he said, dampening the washcloth and wringing it out before kneeling in front of her. "You're drunk, you know . . . really, really drunk."

She snorted and shot him an indignant sort of look. "I'm not drunk!" she insisted hotly, lifting her chin proudly as though to back up her claim. "Besides, that sake's too good to be alcoholic."

He nodded slowly, figuring that it wouldn't be wise to argue with her at the moment as he reached for her hand and started to wipe her fingers clean. "If you say so, V," he agreed. "You're totally going to bust my balls tomorrow, aren't you?"

"What for?" she asked, looking adorably confused. "We're friends, right? What's a little masturbation between friends?"

Evan chuckled and shook his head. "Come on," he said, tossing the wash cloth into the sink and reaching for her hands to pull her to her feet.

"Ooh! Where are we going?"

"To find you a tee-shirt or something—and a pair of panties."

Valerie giggled and let him lead her out of the bathroom, leaning heavily on his hand. "I just got a really pretty pair of panties and a matching bra when we were in Hawaii," she pointed out. "Blue silk—really hot . . . Want to see 'em?"

Chuckling more, Evan shot her a grin. "You mean the ones you tossed out the window?"

She considered that then slowly nodded. "I did, didn't I? Because they wanted to be free . . ."

"So you said," he agreed with a shrug, letting go of her long enough to push open the closet door. He grabbed the first shirt he laid hands on and held it out to her. If he had any real hope for self-preservation, he desperately needed to get her covered. "Put this on."

She wrinkled her nose at the shirt he offered her and waved in blatant dismissal. "It's too hot for that," she insisted, pushing him away when he tried to stick the shirt into her hands anyway. "Besides, you said that the boobies should be free, right? Free, Roka: _fr-r-r-ree_ . . ."

Heaving a sigh, he bent over to retrieve the shirt that had landed on the floor at her feet. "I did say that, didn't I?" he agreed grudgingly.

She nodded astutely and giggled before suddenly clapping her hands. "What other games do you know?" she demanded, carting around to stare at him and nearly falling in the process. Evan reached out to steady her, trying in vain to ignore the singe of her flesh against his when he yanked her upright, her body colliding with his. She blinked and gasped, her cheeks pinking a little darker as she slipped her arms around his neck, apparently uninterested in putting any kind of space between them.

"That's it," he lied, shaking his head as he wondered absently exactly how he'd ended up in this situation, to begin with. "Can't say that I know of any other games, V, sorry."

Valerie heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes. "You can't really say that you don't know any more games," she challenged, a certain level of poutiness thick in her tone. "What's the matter? Don't you like playing with me?"

"More than I really ought to," he admitted with a longsuffering sigh.

"Oh! I know!"

Evan gritted his teeth when she abruptly let go of him and shuffled over to the chair and flopped onto it, her back toward him, but his sigh of relief was cut short when she giggled and snorted again. "Lookee, look!" she slurred, propping her feet up on the seat. Luckily for Evan, he couldn't see much aside from the tops of her knees and about half of her head over the high back of the chair. "You wanted to see it, right?"

"See what?" Evan asked, drawing a cautiously deep breath—the deepest he'd managed since she'd so unceremoniously decided to shed all of her clothes.

She giggled dangerously and kicked her sock-covered feet straight up in the air at roughly ten o'clock and two o'clock. "The V, Roka!" she twittered.

Evan's heart nearly stopped as every ounce of blood in his body shot straight out of his extremities and straight to his groin.

' _Don't you dare go look, Roka!_ ' his youkai barked loudly.

' _But . . . But I_ wanna . . .' he half whined.

' _If you go look, you're a dead man!_ '

Squeezing his eyes closed against the sight of those very perfectly shaped calves, ankles, feet, he ground his teeth together so hard that they groaned and creaked is his head. ' _Damn it_ . . . Damn _it_ . . .'

When he made no move toward her, Valerie heaved a sigh and let her feet fall to the floor, bracing herself against the carpet as she pushed herself up the back of the chair and leaned over it, her hair dangling over, spilling to the floor in soft golden waves. "But you said that if I showed you the 'v', you'd eat my puss—" she started to say.

Evan stifled a groan but couldn't staunch the growl that issued from him at the mesmerizing sight of her breasts, upturned, nipples pointing at the ceiling. "I fucking know what I fucking said," he grumbled loudly, unable to hide his irritation that he simply couldn't ignore the woman, even if he desperately wanted to at the moment. Every nuance of her body spoke to him. Hell, even her scent, deep and heady, was thick enough to make him want to scream in abject frustration. Entirely too close to his breaking point, and if she were sober, he wouldn't have given it a second thought, would he? But no . . . no way when he knew damn well that she'd rail and curse him in the morning when she was clear headed enough to realize just what had happened.

She blinked and stared at him but didn't sit up. "You sound a little stressed out, Roka," she purred. "Maybe it would help if you talked about it."

"Stressed out isn't exactly what my problem is," he muttered, shaking his head and dragging his gaze off of her gorgeous breasts. Rubbing his forehead as he chucked the tee-shirt across the room, he forced himself to turn away, lest he give in to the urge to grab her and kiss her senseless. "Aren't you tired yet?"

"Tired?" she echoed, as though she'd never heard that word before in her life. "Why would I be?"

Evan snorted when she yawned midway through her question. Heading over to the bed, he pulled the blankets down and gestured at it as he glowered at the floor. "Come on," he coaxed gruffly. "I think you'd better sleep it off."

"Okay, okay," she allowed, much to Evan's relief. With every second that passed while she was parading around in the nude, his resolve was weakening, crumbling away like a rock being eroded by the ocean. There was only so much that he could stand, and being so attuned to her body was a double edged sword. How frustrating it was to know in his heart that she was the one that was meant to be his, yet here he stood, powerless to do a damn thing about it . . .? ' _If I manage to live through this night, they'd damn well better name a frigging federal holiday after me_ ,' he thought with a grimace. After all, if they could have a larger than life honking bunny hopping around delivering eggs, of all things, or a fat man in a red suit who was apparently able to squash himself through chimneys every damn Christmas, that was the least they could do, right?

She sashayed over to the bed rather unsteadily, but instead of crawling under the covers, she slipped her arms around Evan's neck, pressing her body against his again. He caught her wrists but didn't push her away, unable to ignore the insistent tug of her will. "V . . ." he murmured. He'd meant it as a warning. It sounded more like pleading, though. "Don't do this to me."

She misunderstood him—or maybe she understood him a little _too_ well. Her laugh was little more than a husky whisper of breath against his overheated flesh, sending ripples up and down his spine: delicious shivers that toyed with him with unabashed abandon. Hands slipping over the bare skin under her fluttering fingertips, she uttered a slight little sound, almost a purr, nearly a growl, giggling to herself as his muscles jerked and jumped under her perusal. Gripping her wrists but offering no real resistance, he closed his eyes, let his head fall back, savoring the feel of her hands on him like a dream or a fantasy or maybe a nightmare.

Right and wrong: that was what he felt; entirely perfect yet more fucked up than anything else in the world . . . That he wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anyone in his life was a given despite the underlying knowledge that it simply wasn't okay. Call it bad timing, call it karma, and still he couldn't push her away, didn't have it within himself to let her go.

When her fingertips slipped under the waistband of his jeans, however, Evan's eyes snapped open, a low grunt slipping from him as he yanked her arms up, out to the sides. "Stop it," he growled, pinning her with a hot glower, every emotion that she inspired in him bared for her to see.

Her breath caught in her throat, the heat of his gaze reflected in her own. Nostrils quivering, heavily rouged lips slightly parted, her eyes were incredibly bright, touched with just a hint of haziness that gave away her inebriated state. Even still, there was a sense of longing deep in the recesses of her stare—a longing that he had to wonder if she even understood. He opened his mouth to tell her that she really ought to sleep off the sake, but the words died away, evaporated, when she rose up on the balls of her feet—unsteady and uneven—and smashed her lips against his.

Why was it that he couldn't even summon a token sense of resistance to her? Why couldn't he push her away, tell her exactly how bad this really was? Ah, but conscious thought slipped away from him faster than he could catch it. Her tongue flicked against his lips, slipped into his mouth, tracing over his teeth, wringing a groan from the deepest recesses of his soul. Hanging onto her wrists like a drowning man might hold onto a bit of driftwood, he couldn't stop her as she grew bolder, more daring by degrees. As her kiss deepened, her body drew in closer, nearer: a wanton caress that neither began nor ended with a defined moment of inspiration.

Her heartbeat thundered in his veins, resounded in his head, melding the searing burn of his own pulse with the cadence of hers. She tugged on her wrists, seeking to regain her freedom. His grip tightened instinctively, but the motion was enough to catch them off balance, and with a grunt that was smothered by her mouth, they fell onto the bed, a tangle of legs and sensations and flesh.

She tried to tug her hands free again. Evan nipped her lips, offering her a warning that she summarily ignored. Rising against him, arching her back as she struggled to create more contact. Her nipples rubbed against his chest, tantalizing him, teasing him. So close, and yet . . . And yet he felt as though he were balancing upon a narrow wall with everything he'd ever wanted just out of his reach in front of him while the flames of hell licked at his feet from both sides below him. One misstep—just one—and he'd fall . . .

Instinct was fast overcoming what was left of his common sense. The draw of her body on his was entirely too hard to ignore. The resonance of her soul with his was too insular, too perfect, and when she rose against him yet again, he couldn't repress the fierce growl that erupted deep in his throat as he ground his hips against the very core of her. She half-whimpered, half-screamed, bucking her pelvis in a violent reaction. He gasped, face contorting as a painful jolt of need shot through him with a ferocity that left him reeling. Slamming both of her hands over her head, he grasped them easily in one of his own, freeing up the other to grasp her hip and squeeze, hard enough to stun her, not nearly hard enough to hurt her.

If he'd meant to shock her back to her senses, however, he failed miserably. No, if anything, his actions merely served to goad her further, faster, more frenetic. She whined and whimpered, tugging on her hands, to no avail. He could sense her need, could smell the desire that was driving her, and when she leaned up, grasping his bottom lip between her teeth and biting down hard, something snapped in his head, a wash of violent lust the likes of which he'd never felt before. There was no finesse in the hard kiss he smothered her lips with, a barely contained brutality in his touch when he grasped her raised knee, lifting her hips as he ground his against her. Tearing her mouth away, she tossed her head back, cried out as her body reacted, tensing, arching, heaving, close enough that the gentlest nudge could send her spiraling out of control.

And somewhere in the mad haze of his lust, a single thought permeated his mind, drove back the insanity that threatened to wash him away—a single word that took root, took hold, repeating itself over and over, starting off as a low whisper that gradually grew louder with no definitive voice: ' _mate_ ,' it said. ' _Mate . . . mate_ . . .'

His . . . mate . . . and that thought was enough to temper his lust, to slow him down just a little. The woman he'd fantasized about, dreamed about, who haunted his every waking moment every single day . . .

Letting go of her leg, he dragged his claws up her side, reveling in the flesh that erupted in goose flesh under his touch, savoring the feel of her skin under his fingertips as he flatted out his hand, wrapped it around the fullness of her breast. She gasped as his thumb flicked over her nipple once, twice, arching her back, inviting him to touch her even as she tugged on her wrists almost desperately. Evan didn't let go.

Her skin was absolutely flawless, wasn't it? Smooth, warm, vibrant, welcoming . . . Torn between the need to feel every bit of her and the consuming, overwhelming desire to taste her, he grimaced and uttered a frustrated sigh, ducking his head as he slid down her body, bathing her nipple in a wide circle with the tip of his tongue.

She sucked in a sharp breath and went entirely still despite the involuntary shivers that ran up and down her spine. The already hardened nipple seemed to thicken, the already rosy tip darkening to a deep blood red as a light flush broke over her skin. The musky saltiness lingered on his lips, his tongue, the roughened texture of her swollen nipple filling his senses with a possessiveness that left his brain in a shambles.

Exploring every inch of her breast, stubbornly refusing to move on until he'd memorized every last inch of every last curve and hollow of her body, Evan closed his eyes, concentrated on the feel of her, the scent of her. He couldn't think of anything other than the burn of her flesh, couldn't remember anything other than the absolute need to make her his mate. Nothing else mattered, not in those moments: nothing but the overpowering knowledge that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

Kissing his way down the slight hollow beneath her ribcage, over the flattened flesh of her stomach, nuzzling against the velvety soft skin, he shifted slightly, furiously trying to ignore the incessant throbbing in his groin that was quickly morphing into the worst pain that he'd ever felt in his life. In the back of his mind, the dampness in his jeans registered—he hadn't come in his pants, no, but his body had released enough pre-ejaculate that he might as well have, but that didn't matter. What mattered to him was Valerie—what she was feeling . . .

A strange sound cut through his lust—a strangely harsh sound that took a moment for his addled brain to recognize, and when he finally did, he couldn't staunch the loud, irritated snarl that escaped him.

' _She . . . She's_ snoring . . .?'

His youkai voice didn't answer as he pushed himself up on his hands and stared down at Valerie in complete disbelief. Sure enough, she was sleeping—and snoring—looking entirely too innocent, too angelic, for him to do much more than heave a dejected sigh. At least her snoring had one very positive effect on him, however: it was akin to a dousing in cold, cold water.

Shoving hard with one hand, he flopped over onto his back and smashed his hands over his face as the late reality of what he'd almost done started to sink in. If she hadn't fallen asleep . . .

Gritting his teeth, he rubbed his face furiously and started to sit up. He needed to get away from her, didn't he? Just for now—especially right now . . . Valerie, even asleep, seemed to be dead set on thwarting him, though, and she rolled over, nestling closer to him, cuddling against him and kicking her leg over his without missing a beat in her ungodly snoring.

For a moment—only for a moment—he considered trying to extricate himself from her siren's song of death by blue balls, but one glance at her face stopped him. Dark eyelashes fanning down over her softly blushed cheeks as the soft light from the lamp over the table across the room lent her a warm glow, an ethereal kind of illumination. Frowning as he watched her sleep, he carefully reached over, nabbing the sheet, he pulled it over her, tucked it in under her chin.

She might well be done for the night. Too bad he couldn't rightfully say the same for himself. His brain might be working just fine again. That didn't mean that his body had gotten the message yet, and he had a feeling that it was going to be a long, long night . . .

Valerie snorted abruptly then snored a little louder, smashing her face into the crook of his neck, and Evan heaved another long, low sigh as he carefully tucked the sheet around her, desperately needing to separate her naked breasts from his bare chest.

A long, long night? Making a face, Evan glowered at the ceiling. Yeah, he had a feeling that that was the biggest understatement of all time. There was absolutely no way—no way—that he'd be getting a wink of sleep. After all, that'd be too easy, wouldn't it?

Shifting slightly, she kicked the sheet down to her hips before smashing her body against his, much to his everlasting chagrin.

' _Definitely too easy_ ,' Evan thought with an inward snort. ' _Damn it_ . . .'

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_'Free_** **_Fallin''_** _originally appeared on Tom_ _Petty's_ _1989 release,_ **_Full_** **_Moon_** **_Fever_** _._ _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Tom_ _Petty_ _and_ _Jeff_ _Lynne_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _She … she fell … asleep …?!_


	87. 086: Proximity

' _She was a Jezebel, this burstin' queen_ …  
' _Livin' her life like a bad sweet dream_ …  
' _Tellin' me lies when the truth was clear_ …  
' _I think she knew what I wanted to hear_ …'

 

-' _Close to You'_ by Maxi Priest.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Uttering a soft groan as the painful intrusion of reality jarred Valerie out of a very sound slumber, she rolled to the side, burying her face deeper into the warmth of the body beside her. Her head felt as though it was going to burst, so much so that even her skin felt unnaturally tight and feverish despite the chill that had settled in, bone-deep, and her mouth tasted like something had died on her tongue . . .

A heavy sigh resounded in her ears, reverberating from the body next to her and echoing through her skull with absolutely no finesse, whatsoever, and she groaned again. The groan quickly shifted into a whimper, however, as that sound set off sharp, stabbing pains ripping straight through her brain.

She didn't know how long she stayed there, trying in vain to pretend as though she could still go back to sleep. As the realization that sleep was not going to be possible seeped in, so did another one: a much more embarrassing one. Her hand was resting on his chest, and his chest was bare—not entirely bad, but . . . but she was . . . _naked_ . . .?

"Roka! Why am— _O-O-O-O-Oh_ . . ." she moaned, unable to finish her tirade as the sound of her own voice threatened to shatter her skull. After a few moments and after the vicious throbbing in her head subsided just a little, she swallowed hard and turned her head to look at him until she figured that the intrusion of light was enough to make her want to throw up, so she turned her face back toward the darkness once more. "What . . . happened . . .?" she whispered. Even that was just a little too loud, and she whimpered again. As much as her head hurt, though, she really needed to know . . . "Why am I _naked . . .?_ "

"Relax, V. Nothing happened," he told her.

"But I'm—"

Evan heaved another sigh. "No more sake for you," he rumbled in a low tone, just loudly enough for her to hear him. Too bad it hurt anyway. "Not ever."

"As if I should believe you," she retorted, gritting her teeth as the pain in her head reached a crescendo. "Where are my panties?"

Evan grunted. "About four hundred miles back on the side of the road," he informed her, "give or take a few miles."

"What?" she snapped then winced. "Oo-o-o-oh . . ."

"You emancipated them, remember? Your bra . . . Your panties . . . My sanity . . ."

The groan shifted into a half-whine. "Like I'd do—" The vaguest hint of a memory flickered to life in her mind, and her eyes opened wide, only to squeeze closed a moment later when light set off another round of throbbing in her head again. In her mind, however, she could remember her bra flying out the window, and while the image was a little fuzzy, she knew damn well that it wasn't her imagination, even though she'd love for it to be . . . "Oh, God . . . I did," she whispered. She didn't want to remember anything else. She really didn't want to remember anything else . . .

She grumbled. "What's wrong with you?" she demanded, unwilling to relinquish her hold on him since he was so very, very warm. "You're never grumpy."

"There's nothing wrong with me, V," he said, the growl still evident in his tone.

"Then shut up and stay still, will you? I'm cold, and you're warm, and—"

"V . . ."

". . . What?" she whined, her face buried against his chest.

"You seriously need to get those pretty little boobies of yours off of me before I pick up where I left off last night," he half-growled.

She muttered something that wasn't actually any real words, but she didn't complain when he pushed the sheet in around her, between their bodies. In truth, she wanted to grump at him some more, but the pain in her head wouldn't allow it. Evan lay still for another minute then carefully extricated himself from the bed before stomping off toward the bathroom.

Valerie forced an eye open long enough to see that he was still half-dressed even if she was completely naked, but her mind simply couldn't process a single thing. Of all the hangovers she'd ever suffered, this was definitely one for the record books, and she closed her eyes, groaning quietly when the bus lurched.

' _Oh_ . . .' she thought, unable to do much more than whimper and bury her face deeper into the pillow, ' _just let me die_. . .'

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Setting the glass on the table beside the bed, Evan heaved a sigh and tapped Valerie's shoulder with the back of his hand.

A terse grunt was her response, and she tightened her grip on the pillow she'd yanked over her head when he'd started messing around in the kitchenette after the long and not very helpful shower that he'd taken shortly after she'd regained consciousness and started in on him. Jacking off in the shower about five times had helped, at least a little bit. The boner he'd suffered with all night was finally, blessedly gone, but his entire body ached almost like he had a fever or something, and the throbbing in his head was undoubtedly due to the sleepless night he'd just endured.

He snorted. Truth be told, he wasn't in such a great mood, either. Having spent the entire night in the bed with a very naked Valerie Denning was hell on his system.

And there was worse.

Once his brain had started to function normally, he'd slowly started to realize exactly what he'd almost done. If she hadn't fallen asleep, he'd have fucked her—fucked the hell out of her, and damn the consequences of that because God only knew that grabbing a condom would've been the last thing on his mind.

And then there would be a world of trouble right now instead of just Valerie's hangover from hell . . .

"Here," he said, unable to keep the hint of gruffness out of his voice when she finally rolled over with a terse grunt of protest followed by a whimper when the grunt apparently caused her more pain. "Drink that," he said, gesturing at the glass he'd set on the nightstand.

"Lost your mind," she grumbled in a plaintive little whine. "Not drinking . . . anything . . ."

Evan rolled his eyes and moved away from the bed, trying to ignore the fact that she was still very, very naked under those blankets. "Drink it," he commanded. She flinched at the volume of his tone and whimpered just a little. He sighed. "It'll help. Trust me."

It took a good five minutes for her to manage to sit herself up with a lot of grumbling and half-muttered complaints, not to mention a few threats that she was going to be sick. She didn't, and by the time he'd found his cell phone to check his messages, she was kind of slumped against the headboard with the sheet wrapped tightly around her body.

"You're really not trying to make me throw up, right?" she asked dubiously as she grudgingly eyed the concoction in the glass and cautiously lifted it to her nose.

"I've probably had more hangovers in my lifetime than you have," he said as he scrolled through the twenty or so text messages that he'd gotten since the last time he'd checked. One of them was from Cindy at Vestron Motorworks, and he clicked on that one to read it. "That'll help settle your stomach; I swear it."

"What's in it?" she pouted. "It smells like banana . . . and . . . peppermint . . ."

Any other time, Evan probably would have chuckled. As it was, he just wasn't feeling it. Emotions still too raw, too inflamed, memories too fresh, too vivid . . . Keying in a response to the text message at lightning speed, he clicked the 'send' button and snapped the phone closed. "Mostly banana," he told her with a shrug, struggling for a sense of nonchalance that he was far from feeling. "Banana and honey with a little peppermint oil. Best thing for hangovers."

He could feel her probing stare but didn't turn to verify it. "That doesn't sound like a hangover cure," she mumbled.

"Suit yourself," he replied. "By the way, we'll be stopping soon, so if you really don't want to drink that and maybe— _maybe_ —feel a little better, then don't come crying to me when your poor head can't stand the bedlam when the bus stops at the hotel."

She groaned quietly, but the sound of it was muffled halfway through by the glass. "That wasn't so bad," she ventured a couple minutes later. Heaving a sigh, she set the glass back on the nightstand and grimaced. "Do I have time to take a shower?"

"Doubt it," he said, yanking open the closet door and pushing hangers back and forth on the rack. Nabbing a black silk shirt, he figured it was good enough. Tugging the shirt on, however, he caught sight of his face in the full length mirror affixed to the back of the door, and he winced. Eyes so bloodshot, so reddened around the edges and complete with the rather vacant air in his gaze that he couldn't blink away, he looked like he was either stoned or exhausted, and he grabbed a pair of sunglasses off the small dresser built into the closet before pushing the door closed and turning to face Valerie. "If you hurry, you can probably get a quick one in before we stop."

She sighed, but managed to scoot off the bed without losing the sheet in the process. Wavering on her feet for a moment, she steadied herself with a hand on the nightstand before uttering another soft groan and stumbling off toward the bathroom.

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her if she needed help since she really didn't seem very steady at all, but he nixed the idea about the moment it occurred to him. She would probably not welcome his offer, no matter how genuine he was trying to be, anyway.

The bathroom door closed with a very soft click, and Evan let out a deep breath. He knew damn well what was coming. As soon as she started to feel better—as soon as she started to really sober up—she was going to let him have it, wasn't she? She was going to let him have it because she was going to blame him for everything that happened last night, from the sake to the impromptu make-out session—if she remembered that much of it, anyway . . .

Unfortunately, he kind of deserved that, too. That damned sake was his, wasn't it, and he'd known that she was too much of a lightweight to be able to handle it. If she ended up demanding that he put her on a plane headed back to New York City, then it'd be no more than he deserved, and if she decided that she never wanted to see him again?

' _The fucking hell_ ,' his youkai growled.

Heaving a longsuffering sigh, Evan grimaced. ' _Let's just hope it doesn't come to that_ ,' he thought, unable to deal with that idea for more than a few seconds. After all, he was still suffering, damned if he wasn't. His head felt oddly feverish, his body was achy all over, not unlike what he figured humans must feel when they came down with the flu.

How could he possibly be so damn careless?

That was the million dollar question, wasn't it? He'd come so close to losing control last night—hell that, he had lost it, hadn't he? He hadn't possessed the wherewithal to resist her. Of course he didn't. She was his mate, damn it. He wasn't _supposed_ to resist her, now was he? That was part and parcel with the damn deal: mates weren't supposed to be able to deny each other anything . . .

' _So tell that to her_ ,' his youkai grumbled.

Evan sighed again and slowly shook his head. She still wasn't ready to hear it, and he knew that. If he tried to tell her the truth about whom and what he really was, she'd probably have him committed . . . He ought to just march into that bathroom and finish what she started last night, damn it. After all, she would definitely remember it now, wouldn't she?

' _Yeah, and if she was still planning on talking to you, she certainly wouldn't if you did that, fool_.'

He snorted since his youkai voice was, regrettably, right.

No, the best thing for him to do at the moment was to just go on like nothing happened, wasn't it? Go on like nothing happened until Valerie gave him a clue as to what she was thinking, anyway . . .

Damned if he liked that idea, either . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

The heat of the water flowing from the tap was helping to gradually restore a semblance of clarity to Valerie's overwrought brain.

' _Or maybe it's Evan's drink that's really helping_ . . .'

Wrinkling her nose as she closed her eyes and lifted her chin, allowing the water to flow over her face and down her body, she had to admit that at least she wasn't feeling like she wanted to puke up her guts anymore, and that was a huge plus, as far as she was concerned.

Unfortunately, as her body started to return to a semblance of normal, she was also starting to remember things—things that had been a haze—things that she wasn't sure she wanted to remember, at all . . .

The earlier part of the evening was very clear in her mind, from the impromptu game of strip-poker—good God, that was _her_ idea, wasn't it—to Evan, trying to get her to stop drinking . . . shamelessly plopping into his lap in nothing but her bra and panties . . . by the time her mind had replayed the whole episode of her, flinging her panties out the window, she was groaning softly, squeezing her eyes closed as she futilely hoped that Evan didn't remember any of it. The logical part of her brain told her that there was no way that he was drunk enough to forget, but she could hope, couldn't she . . .?

Especially when she remembered following him into the bathroom—and all the things that had happened in there . . . She hadn't really helped him jack off, had she . . .? Stifling a groan, she winced. Oh, she had a feeling that she had, even if those memories were a little fuzzier in her head . . .

By the time she recalled what had happened when she'd followed him out of the bathroom, though, she was beyond mortified. Every kiss, every touch . . . Why were those memories so damn vivid? Slumping against the wall, she groaned low and wished she could melt and flow right down the drain. The idea of facing Evan again . . .?

She stifled a whimper with the back of her hand and forced herself to take a few deep breaths to calm herself down. The last thing—the very last thing—she wanted to do was to go out there and to face Evan again, not when she knew that everything that had happened last night was entirely her fault . . .

When the hot water started to cool down, though, she sighed and shut off the taps, blinking as her gaze caught on the tiny diamond, winking in the hazy light of the steam-filled bathroom.

"M . . . Marvin . . ." she murmured as her stomach twisted in a way that had nothing at all to do with her hangover. "Oh, God . . ."

Just what had she almost done?

Her temper flared for a moment as the voice in her head started condemning Evan. After all, she wouldn't be in this kind of predicament if it wasn't for him, would she? If he hadn't been so stupid, if he hadn't forced her into agreeing to come with him on this stupid mini-tour . . .

But just as quickly as the outrage surfaced, it vanished, too.

" _Aw, I don't know about that . . . Maybe you should keep them under wraps for now_ . . ."

" _I, uh . . . I think maybe you should put that back on_ . . ."

" _W—I—We . . . We could stop the bus and look for it_ . . ."

" _You're drunk, you know . . . really, really drunk_ . . ."

And she was the one who had pushed him away when he'd tried to get her to put something on . . . She was the one who had . . . had kissed him, and even if he had given in to her, just what the hell had she expected him to do when she . . .?

No, he really had tried, hadn't he? He'd tried so hard to save her— _protect_ her . . . and she . . .

Grimacing again as she wrapped a fluffy towel around herself, she sighed. If anything, she owed that man a huge apology, and Marvin . . .? Just what was she going to tell him?

' _Think about that later_ ,' her conscience said suddenly.

Valerie snorted and scowled at her reflection in the mirror after she wiped it off with a clean washcloth. Dark circles under her eyes, her hair in a mess of tangles, her skin a kind of sickly shade of yellow under her tan, she looked like hell warmed over—and she didn't feel much better than that, either.

' _Right now, you'd better consider the fact that you didn't bother to bring any clothes in here with you_.'

A groan slipped from her at that realization, and she slumped onto the toilet seat. Under the circumstances, was it really a good idea to go out there in nothing but a towel . . .?

She sighed and rubbed her face. There was just no winning for losing, was there . . .?

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Yes, I know: two interviews and a short photo shoot, then a late night radio spot," Evan said, wondering if Mike would buy it if he hung up and told him that cell reception in the area sucked balls.

"You all right? You sound a little tired."

"Fine," Evan lied. "Don't worry about me."

"Hmm . . . I'll have someone bring you a protein drink when you get to the hotel," he decided. "Bone said that you should be there within a half hour."

"Yeah, sure," Evan intoned. "See you."

Snapping the phone closed, Evan let out a deep breath and slowly shook his head. Truthfully, he'd much rather hole himself up in his hotel room and catch a few z-s . . .

The soft sound of someone clearing her throat drew his attention though Evan didn't turn around.

"Uh . . . E-Evan . . .?"

Frowning at the shyness in Valerie's tone, Evan glanced over his shoulder, only to find her peering out at him through a two inch crack between the door and the frame. "Yeah?"

She bit her lip and cleared her throat again, and he didn't miss the slight blush that pinked up her rather pallid cheeks. "W-Would you mind . . .? I forgot to grab some clothes . . ."

Nodding slowly, he strode over and grabbed a pair of jeans and a soft, cozy sweater, along with a bra, panties, and a pair of socks out of her suitcase. "Here," he said, slipping the stack of clothes into the hand she stuck out of the bathroom.

"Thanks," she mumbled as she closed the door again.

Evan sighed again and shook his head as the bus crept through downtown traffic on the way to the hotel where they'd be staying until after the show tomorrow night. Her reaction wasn't exactly what he'd expected, and to be honest, he rather preferred her anger, her passion . . .

Surely she wouldn't stay that way, though, not Valerie. That kind of subdued behavior was just not in her personality . . . Was it . . .?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_'Close_** **_to_** **_You_** ' _originally appeared on_ _Maxi_ _Priest's_ _1990_ _release,_ **_Bonafide_** _._ _Song written by and copyrighted to Gary_ _Benson,_ _Winston_ _Sela,_ _and_ _Max_ _Elliot_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
> … _She's_ _not_ _yelling_ …


	88. 087: Misgivings

' _You make me smile like the sun_ …  
' _Fall out of bed_ …  
' _Sing like a bird_ …  
' _Dizzy in my head_ …  
' _Spin like a record crazy on a Sunday night_ …'

' _You make me dance like a fool_ …  
' _Forget how to breathe_ …  
' _Shine like gold_ …  
' _Buzz like a bee_ …  
' _Just the thought of you can drive me wild_ …  
' _Oh, you make me smile_ …'

 

-' _Smile'_ by Uncle Kracker.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Lifting his eyes to gaze surreptitiously across the table at Valerie without raising his chin, Evan didn't miss a beat as he idly strummed the acoustic guitar.

She was acting strangely. To be more precise, she'd been acting strangely ever since she'd emerged from the bathroom after hiding in there as long as she possibly could. Of course, that wasn't entirely surprising, all things considered. Any time he'd caught her looking at him, she'd blushed crimson and hurriedly looked away. He supposed that he ought to consider it a huge plus that she was actually still willing to ride on his bus, but . . .

Stifling a sigh, he shook his head. When he'd gone to her hotel room to tell her that they were checking out around noon, she was sitting at the computer, looking up something on the internet. Evan hadn't really gotten a good look at it, but at a glance, it had looked like an online journal profile page.

" _V?_ "

" _Oh, huh?" she said, whirling around to face him, a peculiar expression on her face—a certain belligerence, a certain amount of shock_ . . .

" _What were you doing? Spying on someone?_ "

" _Spying? Me? Why would I do that?" Shutting down the PC without bothering to end any of the programs she'd had open, she rubbed her forearms as she stalked across the floor and back a few times. "What makes you say that?"_

 _Evan shrugged. "The page was pink," he said simply. "Either you were checking up on some teenybopper or Arcane really needs to change his profile page—unless there's something about his personal preferences that he's not telling you_."

 _She narrowed her eyes on him. "Don't be stupid_ . . ."

 _He chuckled and shot her an unrepentant grin, mostly since she'd given up on trying to correct him whenever he used a new and often irritating name for her betrothed. "We're ready to get going," he said, opting to ignore her jumpiness for the moment_.

 _Managing a weak facsimile of a smile, Valerie shrugged. "Since when do you come get me, rock star?" she tried to tease. "You usually just send Bone or something_."

 _Evan shot her a tentative grin. "Well, you know, I was in the neighborhood_ . . ."

" _Yeah, okay. Let me get my suitcase," she said_.

 _Evan's grin faded as she turned away to gather her things_.

He hadn't missed the tightness around her eyes—the tell tale sign that there was something bothering her, and the thought that made him grit his teeth was that she was afraid of being alone with him . . .

"Have we crossed the state line?"

Glancing up, Evan paused, mid-strum and frowned when he saw her, staring at her hands with a little scowl on her face. "Uh . . . I don't know," he replied, licking his lips, despising the strain that hung thick in the air between them. "Listen, V, about the other night . . ."

Her eyes flashed up to meet his even as a vivid wash of color shot to the fore in her cheeks. "I-I'm sorry about that," she blurted suddenly, shaking her head as a determined glint entered her gaze. "I was . . . really drunk . . ." She cleared her throat and lifted her chin a notch. "I-I kept trying to come on to you," she continued, "and you kept trying to stop me . . ."

"Don't apologize," he interrupted, feeling even worse that she was acting so grateful to him, in the first place.

She shook her head quickly, stubbornly. "It's just that . . . Well, you're a really nice guy, aren't you? You just don't like to admit it."

"Am not," he muttered.

"You can say that," she argued simply, "but I know better. You—"

For some reason, her accolades were doing nothing but irritating him even more. Just what the hell did she think he was? A fucking saint or something? Stifling a menacing growl, he pinned her with a hot, almost hostile, glower, and snorted loudly to cut her off. "Keh! You know something, Valerie? The only reason I didn't fuck the living, breathing shit out of you is because you fell asleep. If you hadn't, do you honestly think I'd have stopped? Hell, no, and let me tell you something else, woman: if you ever, _ever_ do that to me again, I swear to God I'll finish it, whether you're ass-drunk or not—and you'll beg me to fuck you before I do."

She flushed deep crimson but refused to look away despite the widening of her eyes, despite the nervous flare of her nostrils. "You—"

Narrowing his gaze, Evan stood up slowly, deliberately leaned over the table until he was mere inches away from her face. "You. Will. _Beg_. For. It."

She couldn't do anything more than stare at him, eyes still wide. Just for a moment, though, her gaze dropped to his lips, and her cheeks pinked just a little more as she forced her eyes back up to meet his once more. "You wouldn't," she said in a whisper. "You . . ."

"Try me, V," he challenged, his voice barely audible even in the quiet. "Just try me."

She swallowed hard, her lips parting as her breathing quickened. Evan sat down abruptly and reached for his guitar again. Cranking out an angry riff, he tried to squash the froth of anger that churned his belly—anger directed at himself for what had almost happened . . . Anger directed at her for having the gall to apologize . . .

She heaved a sigh and rubbed her forehead. Her hand was shaking just a little bit. "Evan . . ."

The riff ended on a sharp, sour note, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the guitar, hands dangling as he glanced at her and slowly shook his head.   "Yes?" he asked with a sigh of his own.

She licked her lips and shrugged helplessly, brushing her hair back behind her ear and rubbing the back of her neck. Her skin was still a little pale under the tan, and she looked like she was trying to figure something out in her head. "If something had happened the other night, it would've been my fault," she said at length, her voice low, raspy. "If I hurt you . . ."

He blinked and stared, a thoughtful scowl surfacing on his face. She was afraid that she'd hurt him . . .? But . . . "I'm fine, V," he assured her, a lopsided half-grin turning up one corner of his lips—a grin that he was far from feeling. "You, of all people, can't hurt me."

She didn't look like she completely believed him, but she nodded slowly. "Then . . . Then we're okay?"

Chuckling softly, Evan shook his head and grasped the guitar once more. "Stop sweating the small stuff," he told her. "What do you want to hear?"

She stared at him for several moments before finally breaking into a little smile of her own—the first one he'd seen on her face since the incident. "Something soft," she said, leaning forward, folding her arms on the table and propping her chin on her hand. "Something pretty."

"Soft?" Evan echoed, cocking an eyebrow as he glanced at her. "Come on, woman . . . I'm Zel Roka! Zel Roka doesn't _do_ 'soft' and 'pretty' . . ."

"Soft and pretty," she maintained as her smile widened a few degrees. "Zel Roka might not do it, but Evan Zelig does."

He heaved a longsuffering sigh and slowly shook his head but strummed the guitar once then adjusted the strings slightly. "Soft and pretty," he mumbled under his breath though his grin didn't fade. "Soft and pretty, served up on a silver platter, right alongside my balls . . ."

She giggled and waited, her gaze expectant as she watched him.

 

 

"' _I don't wanna hear about it anymore_ ...  
' _It's a shame I've got to live without you anymore_ …  
' _There's a fire in my heart_ …  
' _A pounding in my brain that's driving me crazy_ …'"

"' _We don't need to talk about it anymore_ …  
' _Yesterday's just a memory; can we close the door_?  
' _I just made one mistake_ …  
' _I didn't know what to say when you called me 'baby'_ …'"

 

 

Valerie listened to the rest of the song, and the smile on her face didn't disappear. When it was over, she sat back and clapped softly. "I've never heard that song before," she ventured.

Evan shot her a bemused look and chuckled. "Ah, V, you poor, deprived woman."

She rolled her eyes but smiled. "Come on, Roka. Not everyone's listened to the vast amounts of music that you have."

Catching the pick between his teeth, he played another riff then grimaced when his claw caught on one of the strings and snapped it. "Fuck," he muttered, his curse slurred by the guitar pick.

"Didn't you just change those a few days ago?" Valerie asked, watching as Evan stood up and set the guitar on the table before moving off to locate his kit.

"I did," he allowed, grabbing the leather bag that looked something like an attaché case off the floor next to the one amp he carried along on the bus. "I break strings a lot when I'm not careful."

"Yeah, but you make it look easy," she remarked, leaning to the side and snagging a magazine off the table between her index and middle fingers. "Changing the strings, I mean."

"Not so bad after you get the hang of it," he replied as he plopped into his chair again. "Your dad played guitar, right? Didn't you watch him change strings?"

"Seemed like it took him longer," she said, absently thumbing through pages and not paying a lot of attention to what Evan was doing. "He was more . . . methodical about it, I guess. Then again, he always said that they were expensive . . ."

"Strings?" Evan echoed with a frown. "Not really . . . but if he thought that they were, then he probably took a lot more time in changing them, I guess."

Glancing up from the magazine, she watched in silence as he pulled the bridge pin and caught it between his teeth. "He always used a pair of pliers-things to pull that pin out," she commented thoughtfully. "Once I think he used his teeth . . ."

"Well, they're put in pretty snug," he said as he pulled the end of the old string out and tossed it toward the trash can then reached for the new one. "Most people do—not with their teeth, though."

Wrinkling her nose, Valerie shook her head. "Why do you do that?"

Pulling the pin out of his mouth long enough to frown at Valerie, Evan eyed her for a moment. "Do what?"

"That," she said, flicking a lazy finger at him as though he ought to be able to figure out what she was talking about from the simple gesture alone. "Run that string through your fingertips like that."

Evan blinked and stared at the string in his hand. True enough, he was doing that, just like he did before he strung it on the guitar: twenty-five times, actually, giving it a slight twist between pulls. "Oh . . . uh . . . I don't know. Guess I've always done it. Even then, there's always a chance that the string is defective—kinked or something that you don't see right off the bat—so I suppose I do it to make sure that it's good before I mess around with stringing it."

She laughed softly and shook her head again. "As if you could tell. Your fingertips are so callused that I'm surprised you can feel anything at all."

Evan grinned and slipped the bridge pin between his teeth again. "I feel things just fine, baby," he leered—an effect that was pretty well ruined by the bridge pin in his mouth. "Felt you just fine the other night, now didn't I?"

Valerie snorted. "Not that fine, Roka, or did you forget that I fell asleep?" she shot back despite the pinkness that seeped into her cheeks.

Evan chuckled, relieved that she seemed to be feeling a bit better about the whole debacle. "Ouch, woman. Spare my pride, will you?"

Her cheeks reddened a little more, but she lifted her chin a notch and tossed her head defiantly—a flash of molten gold ripping around her like the softest wings. The overwhelming urge to touch her shot through him, and before he could talk himself out of it, he reached out, running his fingers lightly through her hair. It fell through his fingers, drifting back into place, leaving a softness lingering about him in an entirely welcome sort of way. "Spare it? I know better. Give you an inch, and you'll run for a mile, Roka."

"I probably would," he admitted, resuming his task of restringing the guitar. "Have I told you today how fucking hot you are?"

She'd turned her attention out the window, and she didn't look at him when she replied. "Huh? Oh . . . no, you haven't," she said in a distracted kind of way. "I am, aren't I?"

He laughed but had to wonder if she'd really heard him at all. "Hell, yes," he went on, deciding not to call her on her inattentiveness. "So hot I could come in my pants just from looking at you."

"Okay," she said at length. She was still staring out the window with a strange sort of foreboding darkening her gaze. "You do that."

He finished stringing the guitar before he deigned to comment again. He didn't figure that she noticed anyway, but that kind of lapse just wasn't like her, was it? "V? Did you forget something at the hotel? We can call them and have them send it . . . or we could go back, if you need to . . ."

Valerie blinked and jerked back, casting Evan a decidedly nervous sort of look that she tried to hide behind a halfhearted smile. "Oh, no," she hurried to say, shaking her head furiously, as though to dismiss the strangeness is her behavior. "No, I just, uh . . ." Licking her lips, her fake smile widened a few degrees. "Any idea how long we're going to be in Lexington?"

"Not too long," he said with a shrug. "A show tomorrow—err, I guess it's tonight, then out of there and heading for Rocktoberfest." Cupping his hands around his mouth, he hissed and catcalled in a mock-up of a roaring crowd.

She bit her lip and seemed to be considering what he'd said. "So no hotel?"

Letting his hands fall, he shook his head. "Nope. Why? Did you want one? Take a nap during the show or something? You know, I should probably be offended on some level if that's the case . . ."

Rolling her eyes, she pinned him with a no-nonsense look. "I was just curious," she informed him rather primly. "Tell me about this 'Rocktoberfest'."

Closing the case he kept his spare strings and gear in, Evan shot her a grin as he reached for the guitar and strummed it a few times, pausing between strokes to tune it. "I've told you about it, haven't I? It's just the biggest rock spectacle in the world in any place, at any time: no holds barred, make your ears bleed, fuck your mama if she's close by rock and roll, baby."

She didn't look very amused by his summation, but she did smile even as she shook her head and rolled her eyes. "And you're headlining."

He grinned. "That's right, V. Make you feel hot, does it? I mean, come on! You're traveling with _the_ biggest rock star on the fucking planet, you know."

She didn't really look as impressed as she should have. In fact, she didn't really look that impressed, at all. "Is that right?"

He nodded rather emphatically. "Absolutely! Wicked, right?"

"Ri-i-i-ight," Valerie said, nodding slowly in an entirely humoring sort of way.

Evan heaved a sigh and set the guitar aside. "Seriously, though, Rocktoberfest is the biggest damn party on earth . . . kind of like the World's Fair for all things 'rock'."

"You make it sound like a big carnival," she muttered, shaking her head.

"Kind of," he allowed. "The whole parking lot sort of becomes like a gigantic boardwalk—even some of the streets nearby are taken over. Crazy booths with leather and shit . . . stalls where you can get just about anything you want pierced, tattoo campers . . . food, booze—nothing too hard, just beer . . . Hell, the last few years, all the major instrument producers had little shops set up, too."

Valerie considered that then shrugged. "I'm surprised the city allows it."

"Allows it? The city _loves_ it," he said with a snort. "Can you imagine how much money a week long music festival rakes in? I mean, think about it: hotels are books to capacity, from the fancy ones where the better known bands stay to the cheap-assed ones where the kids who worked all fucking summer to save up enough scratch to make it to the show stay. Restaurants rake it in, hand over fist, 'cause, you know, rockers gotta eat, right? Everybody wins—except maybe the fuzz since they end up having to provide extra security."

She still didn't look entirely convinced, and he chuckled. "You'll see, V," he promised. "It's a great time. Last year, there was a guy selling burgers and shit that he cooked using gear he built out of a scrap Harley. Ever had chili cooked in a cleaned-out gas tank?"

"Is that even safe?" she argued with a shake of her head.

Evan laughed. "Probably not. I think the cops shut him down when they found out what he was doing, but hell! What's more 'rock' than that?"

"Not contracting food poisoning, maybe?" she pointed out with an arched eyebrow.

"Baby, it's only a good story if it ends in the emergency room," he teased.

"Such an idiot . . ." She heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes as the bus pulled past the electronic security gates and into the comparatively smaller parking lot behind the Lexington Center.

Evan stood up and strode over to the closet to grab his leather jacket. "Here," he said, extending it to her so that she wouldn't get chilled in the brief trek into the arena.

She glanced at the jacket then smiled a little too brightly. "You know," she said quickly, waving a hand. "I, uh . . . I think I'll just stay here."

"On the bus?"

She nodded, and then gave an offhanded shrug.   "I'm still a little tired," she lied, her eyes darting to the side, out the window, then back to meet his again. "You'd better go before Mike starts hunting for you."

"Eh, I can handle Mikey . . ." Unable to summon the grin that he knew deep down that she wanted to see, Evan shook his head. "Are you all right?"

The door sprang open, and Bone peeked into the room. "Hey, Roka! Sound-check, man. Let's go."

He stared at Valerie for another minute before nodding slowly and lifting a finger to indicate that he'd heard the head of security. "You sure you're okay?"

Valerie nodded quickly. "Yep, positive," she insisted. "Break a leg—That's the phrase, right?"

He didn't want to leave her there, but he didn't want to make a big thing out of it, either. In the end, he sighed and shrugged. "Listen, if you decide you want to come in, I'll talk to the building security team. They'll show you where my dressing room is."

She nodded again, and when she smiled this time, it was closer to being normal, even if Evan didn't delude himself into trying to believe that it was genuine.

He didn't say anything else as he headed after Bone. In fact, he didn't say anything at all until they'd entered through the heavily reinforced doors and were striding down the hallway. "Hey, Bone, do me a favor."

Bone grunted and glanced at him but kept moving.

"I want you to go back out there and stay with her," he said in a tone that left no room for argument. "She says she wants to take a nap, but . . ."

"Gotcha," Bone replied. "Can't let anything happen to the future Mrs. Roka, right?"

Evan cracked a grin and chuckled despite the hint of worry that lingered in his gaze. "Something like that."

Bone nodded and turned on his heel, striding away in the opposite direction to do exactly as Evan had asked.

The sound of the buffalo-youkai's retreating footsteps was enough to quell the rising anxiety that plagued Evan even if it didn't dissipate completely.

Something really was bothering her, wasn't it? He could tell. Hell, he could feel it, and she had to know that he knew it, didn't she? And if it didn't have anything to do with what had happened the other night on the bus, then what was it . . . and why . . .? Certainly, it could just be that she felt responsible for what had happened, but that didn't really make sense, either. After all, he'd told her not to apologize, and she'd seemed all right with that, too.

No, there was definitely something else bothering her, and he knew it. The thing was, she seemed convinced that she wanted to deal with it all by herself, and maybe she actually believed that she was doing a good job in hiding it from him, but she wasn't; not by a long shot . . .

And more to the point, if he asked her, would she even tell him about it . . .?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Smile_** ' _originally appeared on Uncle Kracker's_ _2009_ _release,_ **_Happy_** **_Hour_** _._ _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Matthew_ _Shafer_ _(Uncle_ _Kracker)_ , _Jeremy_ _Bose,_ _Blair_ _Daly,_ _J._ _Harding_.  
>  ' ** _High_** **_Enough_** ' _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _Damn_ _Yankee's_ _1990_ _release_ , **_Damn_** **_Yankees_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Jack_ _Blades_ , _Tommy_ _Shaw_ , _and_ _Ted_ _Nugent_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _What's gotten into her …?_


	89. 088: Gentleness

' _But she wants everything – He can pretend to give her everything_ …  
' _Or there's nothing she wants – She don't wanna sort it out_ …  
' _He's crazy for this girl – But she don't know what she's lookin' for_ …  
' _If she knew what she wants, he'd be giving it to her_ …  
' _Giving it to her_ …'

 

-' _If She Knew What She Wants_ ' by the Bangles.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Great show, man!"

"I love you, Zel!"

"You rock!"

"Fuck, yeah!"

"Come back! Please!"

"I want to have your baby!"

Waving at the fans who were pretty well plastered against the security fence fifty yards away, Evan didn't pause as he strode toward the bus, grimacing as the wind cut right through his still-damp hair. By the time he stepped onto the stairs a minute later, the long strands felt frozen. They even crunched when he grabbed a handful and squeezed to check it.

Apparently, Lexington was in the midst of an unusual burst of cold, so maybe it was a good thing that Valerie had opted not to get off the bus since she'd no doubt have a few choice things to say to him about the inclement weather.

Stepping through the doorway, Evan stopped short when he spotted Bone and Valerie, sitting at the table with a deck of cards between them. Valerie had nearly half a bag of pretzel sticks lumped into a pile in front of her while Bone was busy, stuffing ten or so into his mouth from his pile that was about half the size of hers.

"You know, it's impossible to tell who's winning if you've been eating your stash, Bone," Evan commented dryly.

The big guy slapped his cell phone closed and grinned at Evan. Probably doing a last minute security check-in with his second in command, Evan figured. "She's been kicking my ass," Bone admitted as he got to his feet, grabbing another handful of pretzels as a parting gift. "Later, V."

She nodded and sat back, nibbling the end of one tiny stick.

Evan stepped back to allow Bone to pass. "Kicking his ass, eh?"

Valerie wrinkled her nose and waved a hand before standing up and scooping the pretzels back into the bag that they'd come out of. "He was letting me win," she said.

Evan snorted. "I let you win the other night."

That earned him a rather dour look. "You did not," she shot back. "I beat you then because you suck at poker."

"I do not," he argued with a grin. If something was still bothering her, she was doing a much better job of hiding it. Then again, maybe he'd just imagined it earlier. After all, he'd been so worried that she was irritated with him that maybe he'd imagined something that wasn't there.

That was the rationale he'd come up with during his lightning-fast shower after the show, anyway.

"It's crazy," Valerie murmured.

He blinked and glanced at her, only to find her staring out the window at the myriad of flashing lights and day-glow yellow barricades that were set up to keep the kids at bay while the police escorted the Zel Roka entourage out of the parking lot.

She laughed rather ironically and shook her head. "I know, it's not the first time I've seen this," she admitted. "It's just not something that I can get used to, no matter how many times see it . . . How did you?"

"How did I, what? Get used to all that?" he asked, waving a hand toward the window before heading over to the refrigerator for a beer.

She nodded.

Letting out a deep breath as he plopped into the chair that Bone had vacated, he shrugged. "At first, I thought it was really wicked," he said. "I mean, the cops had to turn out just to make sure that no one stormed the fucking bus? Seriously! I mean, hell, I figured it didn't get any better than that . . ." Gaze glossing over as the bus jerked to life, Evan saw the officers, complete in full riot gear, as they ordered the crowd back to a safe distance behind the barricades they'd set up. "Then I guess I stopped noticing it."

"Wouldn't it be simpler to, I don't know . . . airlift you in and out by helicopter or something?"

"Some bands do that," he allowed with a shrug. "I don't like those, though."

Dragging her gaze off the insanity that the bus was creeping through, Valerie stared at him. "Why not?"

He snorted and popped the cap off the beer. "You kidding? All that wind? It'd mess my hair up, wouldn't it?"

Rolling her eyes, Valerie stood up and wandered over to the closet. "You're entirely bent . . . and I'm going to borrow one of your shirts. Do you mind?"

"Go right ahead," he told her, draining the beer and rubbing his forehead, watching as the bus crept steadily toward the exit of the parking lot, as the sound of the closing bathroom door punctuated Valerie's defection.

How long had it been since he'd first noticed the subtle changes? A security team that had started as more of a joke than an actual force . . . Back in the early days, Bone had been the head roadie for Evan and his entourage, and it was more of a friendship than actual work. Evan could damn well set up his own gear, and he could tear it down just as quickly, but Bone had teasingly said one night over a fifth of Jack Daniels that a real rock star didn't lift a finger to do that sort of thing for himself, and Evan, who was a little drunker than Bone was at the time, had agreed and said that he'd let Bone do it from then on.

And he had.

It had seemed like a natural enough progression, and to be honest, the thing he missed most was that he couldn't hang out with the fans after his gigs like he used to. More often than not, he'd end up getting shitfaced with a group of them—whoever hung around after the lights went down. In the old days, Bone would get just as hammered as the rest of them, and while the big guy could still slam it down with the best of them, he tended to be a little more conscientious these days, and it was more commonplace to see the buffalo-youkai drinking water or soda instead of liquor. Apparently being clear-headed was an asset in his chosen profession, or so it would seem . . .

That didn't mean Bone had lost his edge. On the occasion when he wanted to drink Evan under the table, there was no denying that he absolutely could, and he knew damn well that Bone tended to get more than his fair share of women, too. He had to wonder if Bone would be more popular with the ladies than Evan if he wasn't a rock star. As much as he'd like to think otherwise, he wasn't stupid enough not to realize that many of the women he slept with were far more interested in their own perceptions of Zel Roka than they were in Evan Zelig.

Not that he could complain about any of that, either. He wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak, and it wasn't as though he wanted anything permanent from any of those women, anyway. There was nothing romantic at all about it. He was no Don Juan set on seducing the fairer sex or looking for love. It was all about feeling good, releasing tensions and sometimes frustration in a way that helped him to relax.

At least, that was how it was before he'd met a certain attorney, anyway. He'd forgotten about the way things used to be, at least, until Valerie had reminded him.

Heaving a sigh, he stood up and shuffled over to the sofa, figuring that he might as well relax a little since it'd take awhile to reach Detroit.

A lazy grin surfaced on his features at the thought of Rocktoberfest. Damn, but he had some really twisted memories from past years . . . Dieter and he had been notorious for sneaking out of the hotel to mingle with the myriad of fans, many of whom hadn't been able to get tickets to the actual event and were just milling around the thoroughfare. It wasn't a big deal the first year they'd gone. After all, Zel Roka wasn't that well known at the time and even less recognizable since he changed his appearance so frequently. They'd gotten drunk with a bunch of Hell's Angels and started a fight with a group of posers from Miami who claimed to be the biggest metal fans on earth.

Back then, Mike hadn't cared as long as they made it back to the hotel in time for their time slot, and Evan had the best time ever, joining up with a local band to do a few covers of some rock and roll classics in a free impromptu show on a stage that was nothing more than the bed of a pickup truck.

It had only actually been in the last couple of years since that Mike had asserted that Evan shouldn't go out. He was just too recognizable to do it without drawing undue attention. Of course, that didn't mean that Evan and Dieter had given up or given in. Hell, no. They'd still gone, much to Mike's everlasting chagrin . . .

And, to be honest, Evan had every intention of doing it this year, too. Valerie deserved to get the full experience, didn't she? He owed it to her to show her the joys of Rocktoberfest, right? At a new venue with the sexiest woman on earth? Why wouldn't he want to go?

' _Because_ ,' his youkai cut in, ' _it's not going to be the same without Dieter, now is it?_ '

The anticipation that he'd felt waned just a little at the hollow reminder. It was the first time that he'd ever be there without Dieter, and the realization of exactly what that meant was pretty bitter to swallow. Hell, the first time they'd gone to the festival, they hadn't been performing at it. The first year after he'd moved to New York City, he'd gotten it into his head that he wanted to go, and Dieter, who had stolen his mother's car to drive down to see him, had showed up out of the blue, announcing that he was quitting school and did Evan mind if he crashed with him for awhile. They'd gotten completely trashed on cheap vodka that Evan had flirted the clerk into letting him buy without seeing his ID, smoked all the weed Evan had hidden in his room, and sometime during the course of things, they'd decided to get odd jobs to make the scratch to get themselves to Detroit.

They'd made the money and then some, mostly because Evan had gotten the bright idea to go in for an open call for male underwear models, and they'd set out with money in their pockets and a bag of dope in the glove box that could've gotten them both slapped with felonies if they'd gotten pulled over on the way.

And they'd had the best time, ever. In fact, it was there that they'd hooked up with Tay and Frankie, and Philansoclantes was born. Of course, back then, they'd called themselves the Dog Boys, and Evan was content to be the front man of the band.

Evan smiled a little sadly and let out a deep breath. It had all seemed so simple back then. Too young to have realized that the music industry was more business than art, believing that all it took to make it big was a lot of talent, a little luck, and a good dose of attitude . . . and he'd had more sex in that one week than he'd had in the year prior to Rocktoberfest. Hell, the band had performed an impromptu gig on top of Dieter's mom's car while a very stoned, very big boobed blonde sucked his dick in front of God and sundry while her boyfriend—a huge, fat guy who called himself Skeeter fucked her up the ass . . .

' _You were pretty stoned yourself_ ,' his youkai pointed out.

' _Maybe . . . She was a biter, if I recall_ . . .'

' _Damn straight,t she bit you, and you retaliated by shooting jizz all over her face_.'

His grin widened. ' _I did . . . and if memory serves, Skeeter licked it off of her_.'

His youkai grunted. ' _Yeah, I was trying to forget that part of it_.'

Evan chuckled softly and shook his head. ' _Me, too_ . . .'

' _Anyway, it won't be the same, you know? Without Dieter_ . . .'

' _True . . . but V wants to see it, doesn't she? Who am I to keep her from my company if she really wants to go? Besides . . . Mikey'll be disappointed if I don't try to sneak out of the hotel, right?_ '

' _Wow . . . If that isn't the most fucked up reasoning for going that I've ever heard_ ,' his youkai piped up with a decisive snort.

' _What? It's the real show, right?_ '

' _Just admit that you want to go._ '

Evan grinned to himself and gave a mental shrug. ' _Okay, okay. I want to go, too_.'

"You know, it kind of scares me when I come out here and you're over there smiling like that," Valerie commented as she exited the bathroom and stowed her clothes in the laundry bag she kept in the closet. "What are you up to now?"

"No-o-o-othing," he drawled, batting his eyelashes at her for good measure.

She eyed him dubiously for a minute then glanced out the window. "How long will it take to get out of this God-forsaken state?" she grumbled under her breath.

Evan blinked and let his head slip to the side but didn't sit up. She didn't sound like she'd meant for him to answer. Pushing herself away from the window, she paced across the floor and back a few times. "You okay?"

Valerie glanced at him and wandered over, and plopped down beside him before pulling up her feet. "Fine," she said, occupying herself with carefully pulling on a pair of socks. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He watched her for several moments, appreciating the efficacious movements of her hands as she smoothed the socks over her feet. She wasn't acting weird, exactly, but there was a certain level of tension in her aura that she couldn't hide, not from him. Still, he was reluctant to call her on it. If she was nervous because of the other night, he might be able to understand that, but if that was the case, then why would she have opted to sit beside him?

"How was the show?"

Snapping out of his musings at her softly uttered question, Evan smiled and shrugged. "I rocked the hell out of them," he told her. "What else did you expect?"

She rolled her eyes but smiled. "And I'll bet all the girls in the audience just had to show you their breasts?"

His grin said it all, as far as he was concerned.

Valerie slowly shook her head. "You realize that some of the girls in the audience had to be underage?"

"Aww, come on, V," he argued despite the grin that didn't fade. "It's not like I _made_ them do that. Can I help it that women just want to strip for me?"

"Why am I not surprised that you'd see it that way?" she complained half-heartedly. "You're such a pig, and twisted pig, at that. If you weren't a rock star, you'd be a pimp, wouldn't you?"

"Well, no," Evan said slowly as he considered her question. "I mean, I just like to fuck 'em. I don't want to sell them out to someone else to do the fucking—and I prefer 'dog', V. Haven't I said that before?"

That earned him a stern look, but it was ruined a moment later when she giggled. "Just like I said: twisted."

"I'll twist with you any day, baby," he offered, leaning toward her with his lips pooched out like a five year-old trying to steal a kiss.

She planted her hand in the middle of his face and pushed him back. "Forget it. I don't know where those lips have been."

Evan chuckled and tried to pout. It didn't work. "Heartless, V. Absolutely heartless . . . and need I remind you that you stripped for me, too?"

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," she muttered, cheeks pinking as she turned away. She sighed and stood up, bracing her hands on the small of her back long enough to stretch before shuffling over to the kitchenette. He didn't say anything as she retrieved two glasses out of the cupboard, grabbed a small bucket of ice out of the freezer, and a bottle of Jim Beam that he didn't remember being there earlier out of the cabinet beside it. Then she wandered back over to the sofa and handed him a glass as she sat down once more.

"What's that?" he asked, nodding at the bottle in her hand.

She shot him a look that stated quite plainly that he really ought to know the answer to that particular question. "It's Jim Beam," she replied, "house wine of Kentucky."

Raising an eyebrow more at her tone than at her claim, he shrugged. "That right?"

The smile that quirked her lips was anything but amused. "In some houses," she replied, setting the bottle on the table and dropping a handful of ice into his glass. "How sad is it when a state's claim to fame is cheap bourbon?"

"Well, there is the Kentucky Derby," he pointed out as she filled her glass with ice and popped the seal on the bottle of booze. "And let's not forget good 'ol Kentucky Fried Chicken."

She laughed and shook her head as she poured Jim Beam into his glass then hers. "Drunken hillbillies waving drumsticks from atop a horse," she mused. "Nice mental image there . . ."

He grinned and sipped the bourbon she'd poured into his glass. "So why the drink, V? Wouldn't think you'd want to have a repeat of the other night—or more exactly, the other morning . . .?"

"I'm not getting drunk," she said, casting him a dark look at the blatant reminder of her hangover from the bowels of hell. Taking a healthy swig from her glass, she winced and coughed and thumped her chest with her palm a few times. "Besides," she choked out between coughs, "why would anyone _choose_ to drink this, anyway?"

"Well, it's not a bad bourbon for the price," Evan allowed. "Where'd it come from, anyway?"

Valerie cleared her throat and shook her head. "Bone and I went to the liquor store," she confessed, setting the glass on the table. "Wasn't he supposed to be guarding _your_ body?"

"Technically speaking, he's the head of my security team, meaning that he takes orders from me, so when I said, 'Hey, Bone, go watch V,' he said, 'Sure thing, boss! Anything you say,'" he pointed out.

Valerie snorted. "Why do I think you embellished that a bit?"

He shot her a cheesy grin and shrugged. "Maybe just a little."

"Tell me something," she said suddenly, smashing her hands into the sofa cushions to lift herself up and twist herself around to face him fully.

Evan blinked and shook his head, momentarily confused by her abrupt change of topics and even demeanor. The stiffness that he'd sensed in her seemed to vanish in an instant as she pinned him with an entirely expectant sort of look, instead. "Okay," he allowed slowly. "What?"

"What made you want to be a rock star? I know, you've said before that it was the music, but that seems like a rather simplistic reason—almost a cop-out, right? So, what? Did you see a rock star on television and think that was what you wanted to do or something?"

Chuckling softly, he continued to shake his head. "I swear to God, V, it was the music," he insisted. "Even when I was a pup, I loved music. Mama's told me time and time again that I used to gravitate toward anything that made music. I had a fascination for the mobile that they hung over my crib, and I'd sneak into Bubby's room when he was listening to the radio . . . Sang all the time, sometimes for weeks on end. She always thought it was kind of a game, and she'd sing back to me. Mama says that there was one time that she swears that I didn't speak for a month unless I could sing the answer."

A little smile turned up the corners of her lips, her gaze taking on a soft glow as she wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin atop her raised knees. "You knew that many songs when you were that little?"

"Nah . . . I made 'em up."

She rolled her eyes but laughed. "You were one of those impossibly cute kids, weren't you? Too cute for your own good, I'll bet . . ."

"Well, sure," he replied. "I'm sure you were cuter, though."

A flash of a darker emotion flickered over her features before she squelched it behind that smile of hers once more. "Did your parents stop by after the show?"

"Hmm?" he intoned with a slight frown. "After what show?"

"After the one in Maine," she said. "I mean, I could've sworn that I saw them down in the audience . . . but they were pretty far back. Why didn't you get them better seats? Or send them up to the box where I was?"

He barked out a terse laugh and shook his head again. "They weren't there," he said with a simplistic shrug. "They don't come to my shows. I mean, Mama might, but Cain? Keh! No way in hell he'd show his face at one of my gigs, and even if he would, can't say that I'd want him there, anyway."

She didn't look entirely convinced, but she seemed to realize that discussing his parents—actually, his father—was just not something that Evan wanted to do. "Well," she said, her tone thoughtful, as though she were trying to make sense of things for herself, "it was pretty far down, and the lighting wasn't that great . . ."

"If they were there, they'd have come back and seen me," he said, unsure why he was trying to make her feel better. Maybe it was the expression on her face . . .

Letting out a deep breath, she managed a wan little smile as she flicked her wrist and glanced at her watch. "Your mom seems great," she remarked almost sadly. "Told you stories, sang songs to you . . ." Sitting up a little straighter, she suddenly seemed intrigued. "Tell me another of the stories she told you . . . I mean, you told me the one about the Fairy King, so what other ones were there?"

Sipping the bourbon once more, Evan nodded. "Stories? Hmm . . . Well, a lot of times she just read books to me. Gotta tell you, no one, and I do mean no one, reads _Where the Wild Things Are_ better than Mama."

" _Where the Wild Things Are_?" Valerie laughed. "I haven't read that one."

"Seriously? I thought every kid had that one read to them at some time or another . . ." Scratching his chin, his expression turned thoughtful, and he shrugged. "Then again, I guess it is more of a boys' book than a girls' one. Jilli hated it, now that I think about it. She liked stories about ponies and unicorns and girly bullshit like that . . . So, what kind of stories did you mama read to you?"

A started sort of glint entered her gaze but only for a moment before she squelched it, offering him instead a rather tepid sort of smile—the kind he hadn't seen on her face in quite some time. "She . . . She wasn't really much of a reader," she said.

Evan frowned. Something in her tone . . . It bothered him. "V?"

Valerie tried to smile, but the gravity in her gaze lingered. "What?"

He sighed and set the glass down before turning to stare at her, probing her face for something—anything—to give him a clue as to what, exactly, was really bothering her. The glimpse of feeling that he saw in her eyes was gone too quickly for him to discern it, and he shook his head. "Want to tell me why you've been acting so weird the last couple days?"

She looked surprised; she really did. Maybe she'd thought that she'd hidden it well enough, but she hadn't. He knew it, and she knew that he did. "Nothing," she said after opening and closing her mouth a few times. The smile that surfaced was so thin, so weak that it looked more like a grimace. "I'm fine. Everything's fine."

"Saying that everything's fine doesn't really make it fine, does it?" he asked gently.

She looked like she was going to argue with him simply out of stubborn pride. Before she could, he reached for her hand, grasped it firmly in his, stared at her for a long minute, willing her to understand even if he had no idea exactly what he was trying to tell her. Suddenly, though, she stood up, striding across the room to retrieve Evan's acoustic guitar.

Holding it gently in her hands, she turned it over, ran her fingers over the strings, a tender little smile touching her lips as she gazed down at the instrument.

She stood there for awhile—a minute or ten, Evan wasn't sure. Finally, though, she walked back over and held out the guitar. "Play something for me, Roka," she said quietly.

"What do you want me to play?"

Her smile was sweet, genuine, beautiful . . . but the emotion that he saw—the one he hadn't quite been able to place before . . .

It was a confused kind of sadness that he couldn't even begin to comprehend.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _If_** **_She_** **_Knew_** **_What_** **_She_** **_Wants_** ' _originally appeared on_ _Jules_ _Shear's_ _1985 release,_ **_The_** **_Eternal_** **_Return_** _and_ _covered_ _by_ _the_ _Bangles_ _in_ _1986_. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Jules_ _Shear_.  
>  ** _Where_** **_the_** **_Wild_** **_Things_** **_Are_** _is_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Maurice_ _Sendak_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _What's she thinking …?_


	90. 089: Understanding

' _The lightning flashed as angels_ …  
' _Rode fiery chargers through the clouds_ …  
' _That answer scared me into tears_ …  
' _And all the grownups laughed out loud_ …'

 

' _Now the years roll on, tired voices have all gone_ …  
' _Now they ride their thunder through the heavens_ …'

 

' _There's a world in every drop of rain_ …  
' _Embracing oceans sweep us home again_ …  
' _Come along with me, come along with me_ …  
' _Seek the truth, you shall not find another lie_ …'

 

-' _The Answer'_ by Richie Sambora.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

The song that Evan started to play was soft, soothing, entirely unlike the brash and flashy guitar playing that was the hallmark of the Zel Roka sound. He'd been touted in many publications as one of the most brilliant minds in music today. His riffs were catchy, almost hypnotic, even if his lyrics often kept his songs from being more mainstreamed, but in her mind, the true testament of his particular brand of brilliance were better captured in moments like this one, when the only sound to be heard was the gentle strum and reverberation, completely undiluted by the electric tricks and illusions created by the various distortions that were far better designed to mask an inept player's mistakes . . .

Slipping onto the sofa again, she was content just to listen to his song. Even without words, he was somehow able to create an ambience with every stroke of the strings, and the almost hypnotic melody smoothed the ragged edges of the uneasiness that gnawed at her, too close to escape, no matter how desperately she wanted to.

What was it about him that had the power to affect her so deeply? Something about a single look could calm her emotions, the ragged and frayed edges of her psyche. Of course, he could also get under her skin and raise more unrest, more momentary irritation than any single person really ought to be able to do. Still, he was her friend—a good friend—maybe even her best friend, and while she wasn't entirely sure how it had happened, over the course of time, he'd managed to insinuate himself in the middle of her life, even if she hadn't really wanted that in the beginning. He knew more about her than anyone else, really, and he'd never judged her, either.

Standing up, she wandered over to the window, rubbing her arms as she watched the countryside roll past. They'd made it out of the city, and judging from the deepness of the night outside, they'd been out of the city for awhile. Oh, she didn't doubt that there were some kids following along behind the caravan since it seemed to happen more often than not, but they'd turn back sooner or later. They always did.

She hadn't thought that it would be so difficult, had she? She'd be fine just as soon as they crossed the state line, wouldn't she? She'd be fine . . .

Behind her, Evan sighed softly, and though the song he was playing didn't falter, he was staring at her. She could feel it. "Tell me what's really bothering you," he coaxed, his voice soft yet determined, "and don't tell me that it's nothing."

A sudden sense of belligerence surged up inside her—irritation with herself for letting anything so stupid affect her like this—and she swung around to face him, lifting her chin stubbornly, pinning him with her steadiest gaze. Hair a tangle of reddish-brown clumps that looked a little scraggly since he hadn't bothered to dry it properly before hopping onto the bus, skin a little pale with trace hints of purplish shadows smudged under his eyes, his gaze didn't falter, staring at her with a frankness that could not be feigned . . . At least, his eyes were familiar, however. He'd removed whatever colored contacts he'd been using for the day, and the brightness behind those eyes was reassuring to her.

But the concern in his expression was evident, unmasked by any kind of feigned nonchalance, and just as abruptly as the belligerence had surfaced, it melted away again, leaving behind a sense of confusion, an all-too familiar bewilderment, an underlying ache that just never entirely went away—the same emotions that had been a part of her for far too long. Her eyes slid away; she stared at the rich wood of the table, instead, and she sighed.

"I hate this place," she said, her voice throaty, raw, and entirely devoid of the bite that might have accompanied the words if she'd truly meant them. "I just . . . I hate it."

The song ended with a harsh twang as Evan shot to his feet and stalked over to put the guitar back on the rack again. "It's almost over, V," he said a little stiffly, though not unkindly, as he turned back toward the sofa once more. "Just Rocktoberfest, and then you're home free."

Crossing her arms over her chest in a defensive sort of way, she shook her head quickly. "Not the tour, Roka," she said, startled by the weariness that punctuated her claim. "This . . . _This_ place," she insisted, flicking a hand toward the window.

It was evident to her that Evan still didn't exactly understand just what she was trying to say, and she sighed, rubbing her face as she shuffled over to the sofa again. How irritating was it, really? She hadn't realized that being here would bother her quite so much. She'd thought that she was over all of that—if she'd bothered to think about it in the first place.

Maybe that was the thing that threw her for the biggest loop of all.

"All right," Evan said softly, shaking his head as she plopped down beside him. "I'll admit it. You lost me, baby."

Picking up the glass of bourbon, Valerie idly swirled the contents, stared at the clear amber liquid. The ice clinked against the sides, and the sound, while soft, was enough to shear off a little more of the control she held over her frazzled nerves. "Tell me a story, Roka," she said suddenly, hefting the glass in silent salute.

He looked even more confused by the sudden change in her mood. "A story?" he echoed.

"Something," she said, sipping the bourbon and wincing as it burned its way into her belly. "Anything . . ."

He pondered her request then finally shrugged. "I ever tell you about the one and only time that Maddy and I didn't talk for awhile?"

Valerie blinked and shook her head. "You mean you two actually had a fight?"

"Not so much," he explained simply then grinned when she raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, I wasn't mad or nothing. She was plenty pissed off at me, though . . ."

"Why? What happened?"

He chuckled and let out a deep breath. "I beat the hell out of her boyfriend at the time."

Her lips twitched just a little as she set the glass aside again and crossed her arms over her chest. "Jealous?"

Evan snorted and shot her a dubious look. "No," he said with an air of finality. "Not at all. It wasn't like that." She must not have looked like she believed him, because he laughed suddenly and downed the rest of the bourbon in his glass. "He was a big guy," Evan went on. "Huge, right? I mean, Maddy's not small, you know, but this guy kind of towered over her. Jock and all that good shit . . . Anyway, he got all bent because Maddy was hanging out with me, and he starts screaming at her right in front of God and the whole fucking school . . . just . . . _screaming_ like a damn fool. So I . . . shut his mouth for him."

Valerie wasn't impressed, and she sighed. "You beat up her boyfriend."

"Ye-e-eah," he drawled with a sheepish sort of grin. "Maddy wasn't any happier about it than you are."

"Haven't you ever heard the phrase, 'violence never solved anything'?"

"Says the woman who slit her ex's tires and carved 'dick' into the seat . . ."

"That was totally different," she maintained with a stubborn shake of her head.

"How so?"

She shot him a sidelong glance and smiled just a little. "It just _is_." Letting out a deep breath, she turned to face him more fully. "You know, you suck at storytelling—surprising since you write lyrics."

"I suck nothing, woman," he countered in mock indignation then seemed to stop to consider what he was actually saying. "Well, maybe . . ."

"Jerk."

His grin widened, which just figured. "Okay, V, if you know so damn much, then why don't you tell me a story?"

Valerie opened and closed her mouth, ready to tell him to stuff it. What came out of her mouth, though, was entirely different, and not at all what she'd expected . . .

"I'll tell you a story, Roka . . ." she heard herself saying as she fumbled blindly for the bottle of Jim Beam and gave the cap a rather vicious twist. "It's about a little girl—a really happy little girl . . . but she was happy in a naïve kind of way like most kids are because they don't realize that they're not supposed to be, right?"

"They're not?" he countered, watching as she sloshed more liquor into his empty glass. She didn't add more to hers, and she replaced the cap and set the bottle aside once more.

"No, they're not," she insisted as she handed his glass back. "Let me ask you something."

"Okay."

She stared at him for a long moment. "Do you remember the stinky kid?"

"The what?" he asked, shaking his head in obvious confusion.

She rolled her wrist as though she were trying to speed up his powers of cognition. "The stinky kid—you know, the one kid in your class who stank but he never realized that he stank; the one whose stained-up clothes never quite matched? The one whose face was never really clean or whose hair was never really neat? Every class has one, right? So do you remember the name of the one in yours?"

Chuckling in almost an embarrassed sort of way, Evan shrugged. "Okay, yes, I remember," he admitted at length. "Gary . . . Gary Norton."

Valerie nodded once and held out her hand. "See? Of course you remember because he was nasty, right? Really, really nasty . . ."

He looked like he wanted to disagree but couldn't. "Fine, yeah," he muttered with a sigh. "The kids were all pretty mean to him."

"Were you?"

He blinked and looked like he wanted to claim innocence. He grimaced, though, and slowly nodded. "I was a kid, wasn't I? I mean, I wasn't nearly as mean as some of the others or anything, but I wasn't a saint, either."

She digested that for a moment before letting out a deep breath. "You want to know what the kid's name was in my class?"

He seemed surprised by the little laugh that had accompanied her question, but he nodded. "Sure."

She laughed again. "Valene," she replied with another shake of her head. "How redneck is that? Valene Duyer . . ."

"Oh, I don't know," Evan drawled slowly. "It's kind of pretty."

Valerie rolled her eyes. "Anyway, this little girl . . . she lived with her parents in this old trailer, see? At first, her grandma lived with them because her mama was little more than a baby herself—fifteen? Sixteen? Something like that when Valene was born." She waved a hand in blatant dismissal. "I don't remember, but her daddy wasn't much older than her mama, so when he knocked her up, well . . ."

A strange sort of suspicion lit the depths of Evan's gaze though he remained silent, and for that, Valerie was glad.

"They couldn't get an abortion. Grandma was a strict Bible-banging Baptist—at least, that's what her daddy said every time he and her mama got into an argument—so they figured it'd be better to have the baby and get married, figuring that no one would think it was odd that these two kids suddenly ran out and got hitched." Heaving a sigh, she pressed her lips together as she pondered it. "Then again, I doubt they'd have had the money to get an abortion, anyway, since her daddy had a thing for dope—probably other stuff, too, when he could afford it—and her mama didn't seem to think there was anything wrong with getting a little high from time to time . . . and they did what any teenager would do, I guess: they left the baby in grandma's care most of the time—at least, they did until Grandma died. But Grandma left her parents the trailer and a little bit of money. Not much really, and it's not like she was old enough to realize that, anyway . . ."

The suspicion in Evan's gaze was growing steadily thicker, but he still kept his own council even though he looked like he wanted to say something. He didn't.

"She was happy, though: Valene was. I mean, why wouldn't she be? Her parents let her do pretty much whatever she wanted. Most of the time, they didn't really seem to realize whether she was there or not, but sometimes . . ." Trailing off Valerie reached for her glass, frowning at the distinct shaking in her hand, and she willed nerves to calm as she lifted the drink to her lips and took a slow, deliberate sip. "Sometimes they'd fight, her parents, and she'd kind of . . . cower in the corner, hide in the bedroom . . . Sometimes she'd slip outside and hide under the wood porch. It had that lattice stuff tacked to the sides, you know?" Valerie waved a hand and rolled her eyes. "What does that matter, right? It doesn't . . . but part of it was broken, and if she was careful, she could kind of squish herself through the hole . . . She ripped a pair of jeans on one of the bits of wood once, and her daddy got really mad. They'd just gotten those jeans for her from the Good Will store, and he beat her ass with his belt." Laughing softly, almost ironically, Valerie shook her head. "She couldn't sit down for, like . . . a week . . ."

"He hit her with a _belt?_ "

Valerie nodded slowly. Why did Evan look so . . . so . . . incredulous? Incredulous and a little sad—and maybe a little pissed off, too . . . "It was okay, though," she insisted quickly, her smile widening by degrees. " _She_ was okay, and it wasn't as if her parents were always like that. There was one time that her daddy found some money—well, I don't know how he got it, but he must've had some—and he took her to the county fair, let her ride a couple of those stupid little rides that kids think are so great. He bought her a bag of cotton candy, and she ate so much of it that she got sick . . ." She laughed again, bit her lip, and it took a moment for her amusement to fade. "And he bought groceries, too—Valene just stared at those bags from the store. She'd never seen so much food before, and all that food in the cupboards? It was . . . It was like heaven. Of course, she got into so much trouble later when she tried to microwave a box of macaroni and cheese . . ."

"Why'd she get in trouble for that?"

Valerie snorted and tucked a long lock of hair behind her ear. "Because it was still in the box, Roka . . . I mean, I _did_ say that it was a box of it, right?"

He opened his mouth then snapped it closed again, and Valerie had the distinct impression that he was trying really hard not to laugh. "I see."

"Well, it's not like she could read," Valerie added a little defensively. "She just saw the picture of macaroni and cheese on the front of the box, and she knew that her mama stuck food in the microwave when she remembered to feed her, so she figured that it was all the same."

"Wait," Evan interrupted, eyes narrowing as his brows drew together. "What do you mean, when she remembered to feed her?"

Valerie shrugged as though it should have been the simplest thing in the world. "I mean that sometimes she'd forget that she had a daughter, is all, and even then, it's not like there was always food in the trailer, anyway."

"Sounds like . . . _her_ . . . mother needed a few lessons in parenting—her father, too, for that matter," Evan muttered.

She let out a deep breath and scowled at him. "Like I said, she was happy. She didn't know any better, right? And when she was really excited, you know, because she was going to start kindergarten, and her mama said that she'd make lots of friends. That's what school was—like the best party, ever—at least, that's what she thought. I mean, how could she think otherwise, right? Make lots of friends . . . Isn't that great?"

"You mean she didn't have any friends at home?" Evan asked mildly, lifting the glass to his lips, but only sipping the drink, very obviously not interested in getting completely wasted.

Valerie shook her head and nabbed a handful of ice to drop into his glass. "She lived in a trailer park—mostly old people with snotty looking Persian cats or frou-frou little poodles, all perfectly groomed while their roofs were caving in around them. Anyway, that's why she was looking forward to school. It sounded like so much fun . . ."

That strange expression was back in Evan's gaze, but he forced a reasonable facsimile of a smile, and he slowly nodded. "So was it?"

Shaking her head, Valerie frowned at him. "Was it what? Fun? Sure . . . She thought so . . . She, uh . . . She got some weird looks on the first day, like the other kids didn't quite know what to make of her. But she . . ." Swallowing hard, Valerie tried to smile. The expression must've looked as ghastly as it felt, though, because Evan's gaze quickly slipped to the side. "Well, she was a kid, and she didn't realize anything at all. She thought that the giggles and sniggers were normal. She thought that they were being friendly . . ." Giving a halfhearted shrug, she choked out a curt laugh. "She was kind of stupid."

"I'd have, uh . . . I'd have said that she was naïve," Evan pointed out gently.

Valerie waved a hand in blatant dismissal. "It's all the same, isn't it? 'Stupid' or 'naïve' . . . There's really no difference."

He sighed. "And the other kids were mean to her."

She shook her head quickly, and this time, her smile was genuine. "Not really. You know, I don't think that kids that small know how to be really cruel. It's something they learn as they grow up—they learn it from watching the adults. They see it on their teachers' faces when they stare in horror while a little girl plays with the water faucet in the classroom because she's never really seen water come out of a tap like that before—her parents had trouble keeping jobs, and when they did have money, the bills were the last thing that ever got paid, so, she didn't really have running water at home, and they didn't always have electricity, either . . . or when those teachers pasted on that tolerant little smile that's full of pity that they think masks their contempt when that little girl just wants to hug them, like they're afraid that they're going to get cooties or something from her . . ."

"V . . ."

She ignored his interruption and laughed again—a sad little laugh. "That's how kids learn how to be cruel," she stated as though it was a foregone conclusion or maybe just a simple fact of life. "But to answer your question, yes, she had a lot of fun that year, and she loved having her picture taken at school, too. Her mother was all excited about it. The week before, she told Valene that she should wear her pretty yellow sundress for the picture—she said that Valene's hair looked nice with that dress, which was funny considering that her hair was kind of a dull, whitish-yellow color—hardly a color, at all. Granted, there was a Kool-Aid stain on the skirt, and the ruffle around the bottom was coming loose in one spot, but what did that matter when the top of the dress was still okay, right?" She shook her head slowly, but the ironic little smile on her face didn't really fade. "Thing about that dress was that her mama had bought it at a yard sale two summers before that, and at the time, it had been a little large on her—large enough that her mama had to pin the straps to make them shorter, but by then, it was a little . . . smaller. Still, Valene figured that her mama was right; that the dress was perfect to get her picture taken in, so she dug it out of the box in her room where she kept her clothes, and she asked her mama if she'd wash it for her, but her mama was drunk and probably stoned, too. So Valene took the dress to the creek behind the trailer and tried to do it herself."

Evan tried to smile. She'd give him that. It looked more like a grimace, though, and Valerie wasn't surprised by that, either. "Did it come clean?"

"Sure," Valerie replied with a shrug. "Kind of. I mean, she didn't have any soap, and the dress was still damp in the morning, but she put it on anyway, and she brushed her hair—at least the front of it. What little kid ever actually thinks to brush the back? If you can't see it, then it's not there . . . Isn't that how it works?"

Uttering a little chuckle, Evan nodded though he didn't look entirely amused, either. "Sounds about right," he agreed.

"Anyway, her teacher got this frown on her face when Valene got to school, kind of like she just couldn't believe what Valene was wearing . . . Come to think of it, it probably did look really sad: a damp dress that was about two sizes too small with a bright green ribbon in her hair that she'd found in the park under the swings months before . . . and the teacher left the aide in charge and took her into the bathroom . . . washed her face, brushed her hair—she was really gentle. It didn't hurt at all, and you'd think that it would've since Valene couldn't really reach the back of her head, and no one else really thought to do it. Then her teacher—Miss Silver, her name was—walked Valene to the office where they found a pink sweater in the lost and found box—the old fashioned kind with the buttons down the front—and she told Valene that she'd look even prettier with the sweater on for the picture."

"And did she?"

Valerie blinked and bit her lip, her gaze falling to her hands clasped in her lap before answering. "I . . . I don't know," she ventured at length. "She never saw the picture. Her parents didn't have any money to buy them, let alone to purchase a yearbook, and why would they? It was just a stupid, worthless thing, wasn't it?"

He didn't answer, and Valerie peered up at him through her eyelashes in time to see the almost guilty sort of expression on his face, and she knew without asking that he probably owned a yearbook for every year he was in school.

"The point was, she _felt_ really pretty, and Miss Silver said that she could take the sweater home, too. So, she ran home as fast as she could because she wanted to show the sweater to her parents, but her daddy . . . He was stoned. Even back then, she could recognize that weird sort of blankness in his eyes even if she didn't understand why he looked like that from time to time. Anyway, when her daddy was stoned, he tended to be pretty mean, pretty nasty, and when Valene told him that her teacher had told her she could have the sweater, Daddy got really mad; said that they didn't need any uppity woman's charity, and he tossed the sweater into the burn barrel behind the trailer and burned it."

"Charity?" Evan echoed with a shake of his head. "It was a _sweater_ . . ."

Valerie flinched and quickly shook her head. For some reason, the idea that Evan would be angry at the little girl's father really bothered her so much more than she wanted to admit . . .

"He wasn't all bad," she said defensively.

Evan sighed and shot her a look that told her plainly that he didn't agree, but he nodded shortly and forced a very tight little smile. "Of course," he allowed in a carefully contrived neutral kind of tone. "Go on."

Rubbing her forehead, Valerie sighed. "There was one time, Valene was walking home, and she was really, really hungry. She'd had a few crackers that morning before school—little packets of two crackers that you get from restaurants? She'd found them back in the cupboard and broke them up and poured some water from the bucket over them like cereal, and at school, Miss Silver had brought in chocolate chip cookies, too, but she only had two cookies, so she was just starving. But on the way home was a bakery—Candy Cane Confections, it was called—and every day about noon, they set out the day-old bread at half price, but it was on this rack just inside the door, and the door was open because it was pretty warm—spring, I think . . ." Trailing off, she wondered vaguely why some memories—even rather inconsequential ones—seemed to stick out in her mind better than others.

"And she was walking home alone?" Evan asked quietly.

"Of course," she replied, dismissing it as though it was the most natural thing in the world. "Anyway, her parents said that taking things that don't belong to you without permission is stealing, but she'd gone with her mama lots of times with this squeaky, rusted wagon that had one wheel held on by chicken wire, and they'd dug through the dumpsters behind restaurants so often that it seemed normal enough, and that stuff wasn't theirs, right?   But her mama told her that it was different; once someone threw something away, it was free for the taking, so in Valene's little head . . . After all, what's the difference between bread that was just going to be thrown out at five when the bakery closed and the food in the dumpsters behind the restaurants? Was anyone really going to come along and buy all those loaves of day-old bread, anyway? So Valene just kind of slipped inside the doorway and waited for the girl at the counter to turn around, and she grabbed a loaf and ran."

She laughed suddenly as the memory solidified in her head, and she laughed harder when she saw the look of absolute horror on Evan's face. Why was that funny . . .? Why . . .? "And," she went on after she'd finally calmed down a little, "she ran straight into Old Man Rosenburg, the owner of the bakery. He yanked her back and started yelling—I think it was in German—and Valene? She wet her pants, she was so scared. Old Man Rosenburg grabbed her by the arms and shook her and shook her until her teeth rattled, and then he suddenly stopped and stared at her. I don't know what he thought he saw, but he let go of her arms, and he took her hand instead and pulled her over to the counter and told the girl to give Valene a couple of these really good rolls, like big, soft pretzels with butter smeared all over the insides. He still looked angry, but he . . . He was kind of nice when he brought Valene a glass of milk and stuck a couple of the day-old loaves into a bag with a jar of peanut butter, and when she'd finished the rolls, he gave her the bag and told her not to steal ever again." Valerie sighed and shrugged, as if it were of no real consequence. "And then he sent her home."

Evan looked like he understood why Old Man Rosenburg reacted the way he had, but there was something else, too—something much darker, more menacing in the depths of Evan's gaze. He looked so intense— _too_ intense—and Valerie had to wonder why.

"Anyway, first grade was when things really got bad," she hurried to say, wanting to go on before she either lost the nerve or ended up angry at Evan for his misplaced concern. "Three weeks into school, the teacher lined everyone up because someone's mom had complained that her daughter had brought home lice— _lice!_ How gross is that? Some bug that lives in your hair and leeches off you? Disgusting— _disgusting!_ " She affected a full body shudder at the very thought and tried to keep from scratching the base of her scalp since she couldn't help the invariable itching whenever she even though of that vile word. "The school nurse was in the room—a grumpy old woman who never, ever smiled—and Valene watched as everyone turned around to let the nurse pick through their hair with toothpicks. She thought that it kind of looked fun. They weren't told what the nurse was looking for, so when it was Valene's turn, she just stood there and waited. She wasn't sent back to her seat, though. She was sent out in the hallway to wait until after the nurse had finished checking everyone's heads, and when the nurse finally came out there, she took Valene to the office, gave her a really strange comb with really fine teeth, a bottle of what she called 'special shampoo' and a can of some kind of spray. Then she called the gas station where Valene's daddy was working and told him that he had to come get her."

Sitting back slightly, Valerie didn't dare look at Evan, half afraid of the absolute revulsion she'd see in his expression if she did. But somehow, she couldn't stop, either, and the words just kept coming, tumbling from her with a fluidity that surprised her—and horrified her, all at the same time. "He was furious since he had to leave work, and he told the nurse that she had to be mistaken. His kid wasn't dirty, right? That was stupid, wasn't it? So he grabbed Valene's arm and dragged her out of the school . . ." Valerie grimaced and drew a deep breath. "When they got home, he stripped her naked in the back yard and scrubbed her down in the creek. Then he . . . he grabbed these rusted old scissors he found in a drawer, and he hacked all of her hair off." Blinking fast as unwelcome moisture gathered in her eyes, Valerie choked out a harsh laugh. "It . . . stuck up all over and looked just awful, and when she went back to school, no one really wanted to play with her anymore . . ."

"Shit . . ." Evan growled, setting the glass heavily on the table. "V—"

"Some of the kids started sticking things like bars of soap in Valene's little cubby hole where she put the pillow case she used for a book bag . . . some of them called her—" Valerie swallowed hard, "—Called her 'Unclean Valene' . . . and other stuff . . ."

Evan reached over and tugged Valerie close beside him, cuddling her against his side though he didn't interrupt.

Valerie sighed again, drew a deep breath as she struggled to shove those hurtful voices away. Managing a wizened laugh, she forced a smile and sat up a little straighter. "It wasn't that bad," she insisted with a simple shrug. "Some of the kids had these really great lunch boxes, you know? The plastic ones with the pictures printed on them and the little matching thermos inside? The boys all seemed to have Power Puppies or those Rocco Rangers—do you remember those?"

Evan nodded slowly, idly stroking his chin. "Sure, I do," he allowed with a wan little smile. "Power Puppies rocked."

Valerie rolled her eyes, not really that surprised that Evan would have liked the Power Puppies. "Well, Melissa Farmer, the most popular girl in class, had a Princess Sasha lunch box, and Valene thought it was fantastic—all pink and pretty and it even had a little pink plastic box that was shaped to fit a peanut butter sandwich—I mean, it was really shaped like bread . . ." Heaving a sudden sigh, Valerie smiled wistfully. "She really wanted one of those, and not just because Melissa had one. If she had any friends at all, Melissa was kind of it. She was pretty and always dressed so neatly with her golden hair neatly tied back with the prettiest hair bows and ribbons . . . and the first day of first grade, she smiled at Valene and patted the table beside her because no one else wanted her to sit with them. So, Valene worked up the courage and eventually asked Melissa where she'd gotten her lunch box, she told her that her mama had bought it at Friendly Mart. Well, Valene literally ran home after school that day. She had a plaster piggy bank that she'd picked up once on one of the junking trips, and she had some money in it, mostly change that she'd found on the street and a one dollar bill that her daddy had given her when he was just a little drunk, and she thought that maybe she had enough for one of those lunch boxes."

"Did she?" Evan asked, unable to hide the hint of dubiousness in his tone.

"She had almost five dollars," Valerie told him. "Four dollars and eighty-seven cents, so she took her money and ran back to the store, sure that she had enough, but the price tag said that it was fifteen dollars, so . . . So she left her money on the counter and tried to leave the store, but the guy who owned it was also the town's deputy sheriff . . . and she got caught."

A belligerent sort of light entered her gaze, and she snorted indelicately as she lifted her chin a notch. "It wasn't like she was trying to steal the stupid thing," she went on haughtily. "She was going to pay for it. She just didn't have the money right then—and she did leave the money she had, right? So she wasn't stealing."

Evan nodded, his expression solemn, and for once, he didn't look at all like he was going to tease her.

"Anyway, when the officer took her home, her daddy freaked out. Maybe there was illegal stuff in the trailer or something, who knows? But he . . . He started arguing with the cop, then he dug ten dollars out of his wallet—it was probably all he had—and he threw it at the officer, telling Valene that he was going to tan her hide as soon as the cop left. The cop told her daddy that would be child abuse, and her daddy . . . jumped on the officer. By then, another couple officers had showed up, and they wrestled her daddy down on the ground and handcuffed him. Her mama tried to stop them. She grabbed a baseball bat and said she'd hit them if they didn't let him go, and Valene watched, terrified, as those police officers arrested her, too. Then the cop who owned the store where she'd tried to buy the lunch box put Valene into his car and drove away with her."

"Jesus, V . . . Yo— _She_ was . . . was just a pup . . ."

Valerie shrugged offhandedly again. What more was there to say?

Evan sighed and tightened his arms around her. "So, what happened then?" he asked gently.

Closing her eyes for a long moment, Valerie swallowed hard, choked down the lump that was growing steadily larger, blocking her throat. "She grew up in foster care," she whispered, unconsciously tightening her fist around a handful of his shirt. "They didn't want her back . . . So, she graduated from high school, went to college . . . and she took all the money that people sent her as graduation gifts, and she walked into a courtroom, stood before a judge, and she . . . She told him that she wanted to be . . . Valerie Denning . . ."

"Is that right?" he murmured, lips pressed against the top of her head.

She didn't respond for several minutes, allowing herself to be comforted by Evan's proximity, by the warmth of his arms around her. She still wasn't entirely sure why she'd told him all of that. Maybe the little bit of bourbon she'd swallowed had affected her mind. Maybe she was just so tired of carrying it around with her for so long that she just couldn't hold it in anymore . . .

Or maybe the simple truth of it was that somewhere, deep down, she knew— _knew_ —that she could trust him, that she'd realized that he wouldn't make fun of her or toss it in her face . . . Evan kept his own kind of secrets, too, didn't he? And maybe he understood far better than she wanted to admit . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_'The_** **_Answer'_** _originally appeared on Richie Sambora's 1991 release,_ **_Stranger_** **_in_** **_this_** **_Town_** _._ _Song written by and copyrighted to Richie Sambora and_ _Bruce_ _Foster_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Valene, huh …?_


	91. 090: Resolution

' _Sad eyes, turn the other way_ …  
' _I don't wanna see you cry_ …  
' _Sad eyes, you knew there's come a day_ …  
' _When we would have to say 'goodbye'_ …'

 

-' _Sad Eyes'_ by Robert John.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

" _They didn't want her back . . . So, she graduated from high school, went to college . . . and she took all the money that people sent her as graduation gifts, and she walked into a courtroom, stood before a judge, and she . . . She told him that she wanted to be . . . Valerie Denning_ . . ."

Heaving a sigh, Evan frowned into the darkness, head tilted back as he tried to make sense of the story she'd told him. The bus hit a slight bump in the road, the slivers of ice floating in the glasses on the coffee table clinked like chimes in the night. She'd tried so hard to make him believe that none of it bothered her, hadn't she?

' _No, that's not quite right_ ,' his youkai murmured softly. ' _She wasn't . . . wasn't trying to convince you as much as she was trying to convince herself_ . . .'

Nodding slowly at his own inner voice, Evan's scowl deepened. All of the things that she'd said . . . it all made sense to him, didn't it? If he hadn't realized it before, he absolutely got it loud and clear now. Her parents had planted the seeds of doubt early on, hadn't they? With their shoddy job of taking care of a child who should have been cherished, they'd hurt her more than she ever wanted to admit, and the anger he'd sensed at times? Well, he could certainly understand that, too. Angry at them for abandoning her in her mind or maybe anger directed at herself for still caring at all . . .

As for Valerie, she'd fallen asleep shortly after telling her story. Curled on her side with her feet draw up on the sofa, with her head in his lap as he idly stoked her hair, she hadn't wanted to talk anymore, and he couldn't rightfully blame her for that, either. Though she hadn't said, he really had to wonder if she'd ever told anyone as much as she'd told him. There was just something about the rawness in her voice, in her demeanor, but . . . but if that really were the case, then how much of it did her own fiancé even know?

For reasons that Evan really didn't want to dwell on, the idea that she hadn't told anyone else, including the man she said she wanted to marry . . . that bothered him almost as much as the story itself, and her parents? Well, he certainly had a few things he'd like to say to them if he ever ran into them in a darkened alley somewhere—especially her father, the one man who should have taught her what a real man was supposed to be. He hit her with a belt . . .? Grinding his teeth together, Evan had to squelch the rage that roiled up within him. He wouldn't gainsay someone who chose to discipline their child through spanking even if he didn't agree with that, either, but the very idea of anyone doing something that demeaning, that insane to Valerie . . . Pissed off didn't even begin to come close describing what he thought of that . . .

Grimacing as a long sigh slipped from him, Evan shook his head, letting his head fall back against the sofa and staring up at the ceiling without seeing anything at all. The last thing she wanted, he knew, was for anyone to feel sorry for her. She'd worked too damn hard to overcome her past that pity was something that would piss her off, and he knew that, too. Still, he couldn't help but feel bad for the little girl who just hadn't understood anything. How lost, how lonely, had she felt when she had no idea why she'd been taken from her parents in the first place?

They didn't deserve to have her, but if they hadn't, then Evan wouldn't be sitting here now, stroking her hair as she slept . . . Still . . .

' _That makes it harder, doesn't it?_ '

Hating the hopelessness evident in his youkai voice, Evan sighed. It did. It really, really did. Bad enough to have to try to overcome the screwups of past boyfriends, but it was another thing entirely to have to try to figure out how to make her see past the disillusion of her past and the fundamental mistakes of those who should have loved her best . . .

' _You're not giving up, are you, rockstar?_ '

Snorting inwardly, Evan sat up a little and scowled. ' _Hell, no_ ,' he scoffed. ' _Give up? Me? Keh!_ '

As if she sensed the unrest that simmered in him, Valerie stirred, uttering a soft moan as she pushed herself up and blinked rather vaguely. "What time is it?" she whispered, her voice still husky with sleep.

"I don't know," Evan allowed, forcing a wan smile that he was far from feeling in an effort to assuage any residual upset she might be feeling. "Three? Four? Go back to sleep. I'll wake you up before we get there."

Rubbing her face, she yawned and shook her head. "I feel a lot better now," she admitted, her eyebrows knitting together in a confused sort of scowl. "I'm not sure why, though . . . I, uh . . . I don't really like to talk about that stuff . . ."

"Sometimes it's better to let things out than to keep them all bottled up inside," he told her gently. Letting his head fall to the side, he gazed at her through half-closed eyes. "But you talked to me about it," he ventured. "Why?"

She looked startled for a moment, and then she bit her lip. "I . . . I don't know," she confessed. "I always thought that people would . . . would judge me or something: think I was still like that or . . . or that I was somehow inferior . . ."

"Why would they do that?" Evan countered, unable to hide the irritation in his voice. "If anyone really did, then they'd be assholes."

Valerie grimaced and shook her head slowly. "Don't you understand better than anyone?" she challenged wearily. "People don't stop to think before they make up their minds—and once they come to a conclusion, they don't change their opinions, either."

"You did," he pointed out, "about me."

Valerie rolled her eyes but finally broke into a wan smile. "Who says?" she argued with an arched eyebrow. "You're just as much of a pervert as I thought you were in the beginning."

"Yeah, but you also thought that I was just an idiot rock star," he reminded her with a wolfish grin.

She stared at him for a moment as her grin widened by degrees. "Yeah, I haven't changed my mind about that, either."

Evan chuckled and winked at her before pushing himself to his feet and wandering across the floor to turn on the lamp over the table. "So," he said, wanting to ask her some more questions but not wanting to cause her more upset. "Can I ask you something?"

He heard her let out a deep breath. "You can ask anything you want," she replied in a tone that indicated that she might choose not to answer.

He figured that was fair enough, and he took his time as he placed his cell phone on the recharging dock. "Your parents . . . they really never tried to get you back?"

When she didn't answer right away, he figured that she'd decided not to. "No, they didn't," she finally said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Out of sight, out of mind, right?"

He didn't know whether or not he could believe that—at least, not the idea that they'd have forgotten about her. "I always thought that the child protective services tried to reunite families whenever possible."

Valerie grunted softly. "In the nearly twelve years that I was in the system, I was placed with no less than seven foster families . . . and I only felt as though I was wanted in one of those."

"Were they mean to you?" he asked, careful to keep his tone as neutral as possible. Sure, he'd heard tales of bad foster families, but he was of the opinion that those tended to be few and far between: the exception, not the rule.

"No," she admitted with a heavy sigh. "I mean, back then, I thought that they were terrible, mostly because I . . . I wanted to go home, so I didn't want to like any of them. I wasn't used to living with rules, at least, not the kind the they always seemed to have. In bed by a certain time . . . putting things away . . . doing chores . . . By the time I was thirteen, I'd been through six placements. It wasn't until I moved in with the Dennings that I felt like I belonged."

"So that's how you got your last name," he said, nodding as though it made sense to him, and he supposed that it did. After all, if the family was good to her, and if she'd actually bonded with them more than she had the others, then it made sense that she'd want to have their last name, he supposed. Seeing her now, though, he never would have believed that she'd ever been in that kind of situation. The Valerie he knew was so completely in charge of her life, but maybe that was all part of the result—the woman she'd worked so hard to become . . .

"They were older. Their daughter had died in a car accident when she was five or six. Anyway, they didn't have any other kids, and . . . and they were really nice to me. Kept me out of trouble, tried to keep me on the right track . . . They wanted to adopt me, but my parents wouldn't agree or maybe the state thought I was too old. Whatever . . . It didn't matter, anyway."

"Sounds like great people," he allowed.

"Perry, my foster father, died my freshman year of college. A heart attack . . . and Grace died a couple years later . . ." Valerie smiled sadly but heaved another tremendous sigh. "Anyway, can we drop this?" she asked, pinning him with a scowl.

"Whatever you say, baby," Evan agreed. True, he wouldn't mind getting more answers out of her, but he was treading on dangerous ground, and he knew it. If he pushed her too far, she'd shut down completely. Besides, he'd gotten a lot more answers out of her than he thought that he would. Even then, the rest of the answers that he really wanted . . . Well, he doubted that Valerie knew them, either . . .

"It's ancient history," she went on in an airy tone and a flick of her wrist. To someone else, she might have sounded entirely convincing, too, but Evan knew better. It was all there, lingering in the depths of her eyes. Maybe she'd just been too young to understand any of it at the time, and even now, there was a part of her that still ached, still couldn't grasp exactly what had happened or why. Oh, he didn't doubt for a moment that she could understand at the basest of levels, why she was taken into protective services, but she'd never gotten to go home?

Thing was, she wanted to believe that it was ancient history, and he knew damn well that she'd spent a long time in convincing herself that she didn't care, and maybe on some level, she honestly believed that, too, but . . .

But she did care, and he supposed that he could understand that, too. A child was conditioned to instinctively cling to those people that they perceived to be the most important ones in his or her life—a blind kind of devotion that didn't make sense—the same kind of instinct that led youkai to fiercely protect their own, even if it meant dying in the process. It was the emotion that led ordinary men to do extraordinary things, and children understood that emotion without question, content to blindly follow their hearts . . .

And that was the emotion that Valerie was talking about, wasn't it? The one she'd never understood—the one that had caused her the greatest emotional pain.

"Okay, Roka," Valerie said as she pushed herself onto the counter and popped open the diet soda she'd retrieved from the refrigerator, "what you were saying before about Rocktoberfest . . . So you're telling me that it's basically like a big old carnival?"

He chuckled and shrugged. "Something like that," he admitted. "Actually, it's more of a freak show than a carnival, though."

"Interesting people?"

Digging a beer out of the refrigerator, he nodded. "You could put it that way," he allowed.

Biting her lip, she smiled a little nervously. "So you're saying that my normal clothes aren't going to cut it?"

"I gotta tell you, V, it doesn't matter what the hell you wear: you're _always_ fucking hot."

She rolled her eyes but giggled.

"Besides," he went on, relieved and unaccountably giddy at the sound of her very natural laughter, "I have it on very good authority that Maddy's flying in for the fun."

Her eyes brightened and she squealed happily, nearly spilling her soda when her arms shot into the air in celebration. "Really? Seriously? My Maddy?"

Evan snorted but grinned. "Your Maddy? Since when is she yours? Maddy's always been mine, you know."

Valerie wasn't impressed with Evan's claims. "Sorry, Roka," she told him. "You lost her to me a long time ago, but don't feel bad. It's a vagina thing."

His lip twitched, but he managed to keep an otherwise straight face. "Is that how it works? Damn . . ."

"That's right; that's right. Tough luck, pal-y."

"But I've known her longer," he pointed out reasonably.

Valerie scooted off the counter and tossed the empty soda can into the recycle bin before sashaying toward the bathroom. "Ah, but you don't have a _vagina_."

He sighed but didn't argue it with her. What was there to say, anyway?

' _There just ain't no arguing with the vagina-card_ ,' his youkai grumbled with a heavy sigh.

' _Not really_ ,' he agreed, watching Valerie go with a smile on his face. ' _But then, I'm kind of glad I don't have one._ '

' _Only because you'd spend all your time playing with it_.'

' _That, too, but you know, if I had one, then I seriously doubt that I'd want that woman to be my mate_ . . .'

' _Yeah, well, don't count your chickens before they're hatched . . . All that information she just gave you . . . it makes things about a gazillion times more difficult, and don't think that she's just going to wake up tomorrow and decide that you're all that and a bag of fucking potato chips._ '

His smile dimmed a little bit, and he gave a mental shrug. ' _Oh, I don't know_ . . .'

' _What do you mean, you don't know? Her damn father was a fucking druggie, and her mama wasn't much better—add to that the fact that he was a wannabe-musician, too, and I'd have to say that we gotta be kind of fucked . . . Jesus, she's never had any good experiences with the type, now has she? Between her old man and her exes—may they forever rot in the bowels of hell . . . She's so fucking stuck on that dumbass belief that safety is better than love that she really does think that she wants to marry that boring little pecker puss_.'

' _Relax, will you? The game's not over yet, right?_ '

' _Yeah, well,_ _just how the hell are we going to change her mind?_ '

Valerie stopped in the doorway and turned back to face Evan once more as her own smile faltered, as a sense of gravity entered her gaze. "Evan . . . umm . . . I'd really appreciate it if you didn't . . . didn't tell Madison about what I told you . . ."

Narrowing his eyes, Evan frowned at her. "Did you really think I was going to?"

She smiled a little sheepishly then shrugged. "No, I didn't; not really," she admitted.

She closed the door behind herself, and Evan let out a deep breath. He could tell from her tone of voice that she really hadn't thought he'd do any such thing, and maybe that was the reason she'd felt safe enough to tell him the story, in the first place. The idea pleased him, even if it did raise more questions in his mind than it answered.

As for the other question: the one posed by his youkai voice? Evan couldn't really say that he had an answer for that, either. Still, he didn't feel nearly as daunted as he supposed he could have. After all, if she really did feel safe enough with him to tell him as much as she had, then it had to mean something, right?

He smiled, rubbing his chin as he stared at the closed bathroom door. ' _Right_.'

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"I forbid it."

"Bone said that the crowd estimates are roughly seven-hundred fifty thousand and growing by the hour," Evan stated, looking entirely pleased and completely ignoring the glowering manager who stood, not five feet away, arms crossed over his chest and a formidable scowl on his face that might have erased just a little of the enthusiasm evident on Evan's face—if he had noticed, which he did not.

"Did you hear me, Roka? I absolutely forbid it."

"Holy damn, you can feel it, right, V?" Evan asked, grabbing Valerie's hand and hauling her out of her seat and over to the window. He shoved it open and breathed deep. "It's fucking electric out there!"

Valerie peered out the window and couldn't help but smile. Evan's enthusiasm was a palpable thing, and she wasn't sure if it was his influence or not, but she really could feel the sense of excitement that he was talking about. Honestly, he was like a little kid, wasn't he? A little kid who couldn't sleep because Santa was coming, and he wanted to catch him this year, for sure . . .

Of course, it helped, too, that the hotel where they were booked shared a parking lot with the new venue, as well. In fact, all of the musicians that were invited to play were staying—not surprising since the Detroit Industrialis was very proud of their tag line of being 'the hotel that rock built'. The entire facility was closed to the general public for the week, booked solid with the acts that were scheduled to perform at the festival. Valerie had to admit that it was, quite possibly, the most decadent place they'd stayed in during the mini-tour, and Evan, as the headlining act, was given preferential treatment over all the other egos present in the building, too. He and his entourage were given the top two floors of the place, and while Evan hadn't paid a lot of attention to the penthouse suite that was the entire floor, Valerie most certainly had.

It had everything from a state of the art theater system built into the main room that was easily the same size as ten of her apartments put together, a huge hot tub, a fully appointed industrial grade kitchen, no less than eight huge bedrooms that he'd promptly told Valerie were going to remain vacant except for the ones that she and Madison chose to use while they were here, and each of those bedrooms had huge, satin draped beds and enormous bathrooms that were appointed with what looked to be real gold fixtures and mirrors covering the walls from floor to ceiling. There was also a meeting room, a built-in recording studio—Evan had said it wasn't bad but wasn't that impressive, either—a good sized gym with a hot tub built into one end of the room, and even a game room, complete with pool table and about twenty different arcade games along with a virtual reality system that Valerie had seen on a tech show last winter. They'd said at the time that it cost nearly twenty thousand dollars for the system alone, and the games ranged from two to three hundred dollars.

All of it didn't really surprise Valerie, though. Rock stars were used to excess, weren't they? The first musician client she'd had was a guy from a popular boy band who had been arrested for driving under the influence when he'd wrapped his brand new Zerra Intego around a tree when he'd missed a curve in the road. He'd plead guilty and got slapped with six hours of community service that he'd served by hosting a charity event without the being paid the normal appearance fee, and an earnest promise that he'd never do it again, and he'd donated a hefty sum to the judge's re-election fund later on. He'd celebrated the release of his judgment by wrecking his next brand new car into a parked station wagon with a few kids inside. Two of the kids had suffered severe injuries, the pop star had tested well over the legal limit for alcohol, and Valerie had very conveniently passed the new case off to one of the other attorneys at the office . . . She supposed that it really wasn't any wonder that she'd originally written Evan off before she'd ever met him, given his prior record as well as his notoriety, not to mention her experiences dealing with other entertainers who had wandered into her office well before he'd ever heard of her . . .

What did surprise her, however, was that the penthouse was actually tastefully decorated, albeit in very dark colors, likely chosen to soothe the brooding rock star's propensity for all things dark and EMO . . .

Of course, now that she thought about it, Evan didn't conform to that kind of persona, either, did he? His house was quite airy and decorated in light neutrals, and while she had to allow that it was huge, it didn't seem to her that he'd indulged himself nearly as much as others in his position would have.

"Zel?"

"Shit! Look at all the kids, camped out there already!" Evan said.

Valerie shook her head. She couldn't miss them, could she? The parking lot was full of campers and trailers, beat up old vehicles that looked like they shouldn't be running, at all, and everywhere she looked, kids milled around, most of them wearing outfits that she'd rather die than to be caught out in. From their vantage point up so high above, she could see couples here and there doing things that they should probably be arrested for. Evan chuckled. "Looks like the festivities are getting started a little early . . ."

"Roka, I swear to God, if you sneak out of here and pull any of your usual shit, you're going to cause trouble, and if you do, _I_ might need an attorney—are you listening to me?"

Shaking her head again, Valerie turned away from the window to frown thoughtfully at Mike, who looked like he was ready to spit nails. When he intercepted her stare, he sighed. "He gets like this every year," Mike confessed, waving a hand at Evan. "Can't help being caught up in the excitement, I guess."

"Hey! Keep warm down there!" Evan yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth as he leaned halfway out the window. A distinct roar echoed up from the ground: thousands of voices melded together into one . . .

Valerie nodded and strode over to the wet bar. Not surprisingly, it was completely stocked, courtesy of the hotel, or so the valet who had showed them to the room and then given them a brief tour of it had told them. She poured a glass of scotch on the rocks for Mike and seltzer water for herself and walked back, handing the glass to the manager. Mike nodded in thanks and took a swig of the drink then heaved a sigh and shot Evan a thoughtful glower once more. "It's not that I don't want him to have fun," Mike said suddenly, his cheeks reddening slightly as a hint of defensiveness crept into his tone. "It's just harder these days."

"Because of his fame," Valerie commented. It wasn't a question.

"Because of that damned face of his," Mike grumbled, dropping heavily into a thickly cushioned black suede leather armchair. "Used to be that he could hide just by changing the color of his hair, of his eyes, but that doesn't work nearly as well anymore, and at a place like this . . .? Forget about it."

Valerie digested that in silence as she sipped her seltzer water and gazed thoughtfully at Evan's back. Still hanging halfway out the window and yelling down to the kids that could hear him, the din of the fans screaming back at him was deafening.

"If he sneaks out, there'll be trouble," Mike predicted rather glumly. "Every year, this thing just keeps getting bigger and bigger, it's a damn nightmare, really, and if it weren't Rocktoberfest, I'd try to talk him out of appearing . . ."

Valerie smiled half-heartedly and offered Mike a consolatory shrug. "Isn't it every rock star's dream? To play at this festival?"

Heaving a sigh, Mike nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. Headlining here is just a dream for most bands, and here he is, the only artist ever to be asked multiple times . . ."

"Shouldn't you be prouder?"

"I am," he countered though he looked even more displeased about the entire affair. "It's just getting harder to keep him safe; that's all."

She could appreciate his concern, of course. Evan tended to be just a little too impulsive for his own good, and she, better than anyone, knew that for a fact. It all put Mike in the very unenviable position of being Evan's warden, didn't it? Unfortunately, Valerie could understand it all just a little too well. It wasn't that Mike was trying to pick on Evan, but the very real possibility that someone could be hurt eventually really weighed on the manager, and she had a sneaking suspicion that his biggest fear—the one he didn't give voice to—was that the one who would end up being hurt would be Evan himself.

"So you want me to discourage him from going out. Is that it?" she asked evenly, making no attempts to beat about the bush with it.

Mike blushed a little darker but nodded. "He, uh, listens to you a lot better than he listens to me."

It was on the tip of Valerie's tongue to counter that assertion since she really didn't believe that in the least. In the end, though, she smiled wanly as her gaze flicked to the man in question once more. There were too many stories every day on the news: stories about people being injured or killed at these kinds of events where accidents were entirely too hard to avoid, and while she liked to think that nothing bad really would happen to him, the sharp memory of the hours following Dieter's shooting when she had no idea where Evan was or if he had been shot, too, were too fresh in her mind. Trouble was, she knew damn well that Evan wasn't going to like the idea that she'd side with Mike against him, but that wasn't really the case, now was it?

Still . . .

Letting out a deep breath as she set her glass on the table and sat back, crossing her arms over her chest, she stared at Mike for several seconds before she nodded once. "Okay, Mike. I'll talk to him."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Sad_** **_Eyes_** ' _originally appeared on_ _Robert John's_ _1979_ _release_ , **_Robert_** **_John_** _._ _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Robert_ _John_ _Pedrick_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Oh,_ _he's_ _just_ _not_ _going_ _to_ _like_ _this_ …


	92. 091: Acquiescence

' _Oh, May – put your arms around me_ …  
' _What you feel is what you are_ …  
' _And what you are is beautiful_ …  
' _Oh, May – do you wanna get married_ …?  
' _Or run away_ …?'

 

-' _Slide'_ by the Goo Goo Dolls.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Okay."

Valerie blinked and snapped her mouth closed as she gaped at Evan with a completely disbelieving sort of expression on her face. "Okay?"

Rolling his eyes as he pulled a black tour shirt over his head, Evan shot her a wide grin as her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "That's what I said, woman. Why are you looking at me like that?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, she shook her head, the high ponytail she'd pulled her hair back into just before announcing that she was going to test out the exercise equipment in the penthouse suite bouncing jauntily from side to side with the motion. In fact, her overall girlish appearance seemed completely at odds with the stern set of her features as she scowled at him as though she were trying to see into his head, and he had a very distinct feeling that she was doing exactly that, come to think of it . . . "That was entirely _too_ easy," she muttered.

"It's not like I have that much free time, anyway," he said, pulling the length of his hair out of his collar. "Between fucking interviews, photo shoots, and that damned documentary they're filming, I'm pretty well booked for the week, so no big deal."

His answer didn't do a thing to make her look any less suspicious. "You're agreeing way too easily, Roka—way too easily. Why?"

Evan sighed and shot her an entirely innocent sort of look. "I don't know what you're talking about, baby," he protested. "You asked me to promise that I wouldn't sneak out of the hotel, and I agreed. No sweat, right?"

"You're up to something," she insisted with a stubborn shake of her head. "I _know_ you are; I just don't know what it is."

"You're worried about nothing," he assured her, pasting on his 'best little boy in the world' smile that never failed to work on his mother. "Besides, Bone said he'd be happy to show you around and protect that hot body of yours, so it's all good, right?" Evan went on, grabbing a press release that Mike had dropped off for him to look over before he sent it out.

She didn't look like she was ready to buy into his story completely, and she looked even less likely to take his grin at face value, too, but she heaved a sigh and pulled up the end of the towel hanging around her neck to blot sweat off of her face. In fact, she looked like she was about ready to try beating the truth out of him, but suddenly, a deep frown surfaced—the kind of expression that normally appeared just after one was subject to a great epiphany of one kind or another. "Is this about Dieter?" she asked, her voice much softer, much gentler.

Evan blinked, glancing at her quickly before his gaze skittered away. "Is what about Dieter?"

She peered at him over the top of the towel for a long moment before letting it drop and draping her hands on her hips. "Is that why you suddenly don't want to go? Because Dieter's not here anymore . . .?"

Gritting his teeth at the overly gentle tone of her voice, Evan forced a smile. ' _Okay, so that is part of it_ ,' he admitted to himself seconds before he chuckled and shrugged for her benefit. "Maybe."

She nodded slowly, as though everything made sense in her mind. "Well, Mike did mention that the two of you got into an awful lot of trouble . . ."

"Who? Us? Here? Keh!" he scoffed then sighed. "Sometimes."

Valerie looked like she wanted to say something, but in the end, she changed her mind, pinning him with a compassionate look that lingered for a moment—an unspoken offer to listen should he want to talk about it, he supposed.

"Don't worry about me, V. I'm fine. 'Sides, weren't you supposed to be convincing me _not_ to go?"

"Yes, but . . ." Letting out a deep breath as she trailed off, she nodded again, and while she didn't look like she completely bought into his assertion, she did let it drop at last. "I thought you said that Maddy was going to be here," she pouted instead, turning away from him to examine the array of packages all over the room.

"She called and told you that she'd be here tomorrow, right?" Evan went on, turning his attention back to the press release.

"But you're going to be busy all day, aren't you? So what am I supposed to do? I'll be _bored!_ "

That got Evan's attention readily enough. Dropping the release onto the table, he crossed his arms over his chest and grinned. "Bored?" he echoed, unable to hide the grin that surfaced on his face. "Careful, woman. You're starting to sound like me . . ."

"Can it, Roka," she shot back, cheeks pinking at the perceived set-down. "I do not."

"So don't worry about it. Besides, I already asked Bone to take you on down there, right?" Wandering over and looking out the window, Evan chuckled, figuring that it'd be in his best interests not to point out to Valerie that she did, indeed, sound like him. The sight of the crowd, the sounds of the discord that drifted to him through the two inch crack between the window pane and the sill . . . It was all familiar to him, even as it registered in his mind that somehow, it felt completely different, too . . . Things were already in full swing, it seemed, and even some of the vendor rigs were set up. Hoping to do some impromptu sales or just getting the exposure was what their appearances were geared toward. Even some of the smaller companies that tended to cater more toward certain groups and less toward the mainstream were there—a lot more of them than there had been last year . . .

Most of the companies that were slated to set up shop since most of them had sent complimentary gift bags that had been arriving all day. The clothing peddlers were great since all of them were hoping that he'd be spotted at some point during the week-long event wearing something they'd sent him. Ordinarily, he'd avoid most of the stuff just because Mike would give him hell for doing what amounted to a free endorsement of the products, but Evan had to admit that the sunglasses that one company—Freschen-Ray—had sent were pretty damn nice . . .

The expression on Valerie's face when she'd come out after her three hour workout had been priceless, too, considering the complimentary gift bags had started arriving after she'd disappeared, and by the time she came out, they were all over the damn place.

"Anyway, try not to get into too much trouble when you go out," Evan suggested, giving a nod at the assembly below.

"Oh, that's rich coming from the master of all things deviant in nature," she scoffed at his warning. Evan chuckled. Then again, she didn't quite realize just what she was getting herself into, either, and he most certainly did, which was why he'd ordered Bone to accompany her. "Apparently the people who put these things together don't do their research very well," Valerie remarked as she rummaged through one very large black silk gift bag. "They sent you underpants . . ."

Evan chuckled and turned around to watch as Valerie explored the mountain of packages. "No rocker on earth's gonna wear those," he scoffed.

She shook her head and moved on to another bag, carefully pulling a sheer black muscle tee out of the bag and holding it up between pinched fingers. "If you wore this, you'd look so . . ."

"Gay?" he offered helpfully.

Valerie sighed and made a face as she shoved the garment back into the bag again. "No self-respecting gay man would wear that thing," she pointed out. "Maybe Bugs . . ."

He laughed and rolled his eyes. "He's not gay nearly as much as he's a woman trapped in a very little man's body."

She snorted and turned a clear plastic case filled with guitar picks over in her hand. "What do you do with all this stuff, anyway?" she asked, shaking her head slowly as her eyes roamed over the assembly of packages.

"Eh, usually Mikey just leaves instructions to send clothing to a homeless shelter and the music stuff to youth centers or schools, whatever."

She looked rather surprised by his answer, and she smiled. "So Zel Roka really does have a heart?"

"It's just free shit, V," he told her, rolling his eyes. "If you see anything you want, feel free to take it."

His offer didn't impress her very much, or so it seemed—at least, it didn't till she got to a garment bag with a snow white faux rabbit fur coat in it. "Why did they send you something like this?" she asked as she examined the coat. It was most definitely cut for a woman.

"I'd say more than half of those probably have girly shit in them," he remarked with an offhanded shrug. "Guess they figure I can give it to one of my many women."

"Hmph," she grunted, still giving the coat the critical eye. "So do you?"

Inordinately pleased at the sharp quality in her tone, Evan grinned. "Do I what?"

"Do you give stuff to your _many women?_ " she muttered.

"Eh, sometimes," he drawled, enjoying the way her back stiffened, the way the air around her seemed to come alive. ' _Totally jealous_ . . .' he gloated as he struggled for a more nonchalant stance.

She grunted again. "This isn't real, is it?" she asked, changing the subject with as much dignity as she could muster.

"Nah, but it looks like it could be, doesn't it?"

Only then did she swing the coat over her shoulders and slip her arms into the sleeves. "I can have anything I want, right?"

"You want that coat?"

Running her fingers up and down her arms, she nodded. "As long as it isn't real," she said.

"You one of those animal rights activists?" Evan teased.

She shook her head but didn't look at him as she continued to feel her arms up. "Not really," she admitted. "I just don't think that animals should be killed just to make them into a coat or a bag or a pair of shoes. It's different if you're eating them, too, but . . ."

"Don't let Maddy hear you say that," he teased. "She has no qualms in tossing it down for a pair of snakeskin stilettos . . . Besides, you're from Kentucky, right?"

"So?" she countered in a distracted tone.

Evan grinned. "Well, don't all Kentuckians eat road-kill on a daily basis?"

"You _didn't_ just say that," she gasped, whipping around to face him as her cheeks pinked indignantly.

"Yeah, V, I think I did."

"I'll have you know that not all Kentuckians are hillbillies," she shot back hotly.

"Name one who isn't," he countered.

"John Fetterman!"

Evan snorted. "You came up with that answer a little too quickly, V," he pointed out, "which means that someone else must've already told you that joke, right?"

Valerie rolled her eyes and grunted indelicately. "He won the Pulitzer Prize, you know, and I highly doubt that he ever ate road-kill."

"You're so fucking hot when you're all pissed off," he said, only half-teasing.

"Hmm . . ." Valerie wasn't paying attention. Venturing over to the floor length mirror by the door, she turned from side to side to admire the coat she'd claimed. "So warm," she murmured, pulling the hood over her head and smiling dreamily to herself. "I think I'm in love . . ."

Rolling his eyes, Evan chuckled and headed off toward the kitchen, pleased to note that the list he'd given Mike before they'd arrived in Detroit had been executed perfectly. Since they were going to be here awhile, he'd actually made out a full grocery list so that he could do a little cooking. It was one of the things that he missed when he was out on the road: having an honest-to-goodness home cooked meal.

' _You know, you probably should have put up a little bit of a fight_ ,' his youkai pointed out as he inspected the contents of the industrial sized refrigerator.

Scowling as he lifted a handful of basil to his nose, Evan grunted, grabbing the basket of various herbs still enclosed in the plastic boxes they'd come from the grocery store in and kicking the door closed with his heel. ' _That'd be rather counterproductive, wouldn't it?_ '

' _Maybe, but she knows you're up to something_.'

' _I'm not_ ,' he argued, setting the basket beside the sink and reaching overhead for a colander. ' _Just taking care of a little unfinished business, is all._ '

' _That's what you call it?_ ' his youkai scoffed with a snort. ' _Just remember, will you? If you're not careful, you're going to get in trouble._ '

' _Yeah, yeah, I know. Don't worry about it_.'

' _Don't you blow me off, Roka. If things get out of hand_ . . .'

' _I know_ ,' he interrupted, rinsing the herbs and setting them on towels to dry off.

The trill of the phone cut the conversation off abruptly, and Evan turned his head toward the blinking smart-center monitor mounted in the wall. "Answer."

The call connected, and Evan grinned when Madison's face flashed onto the screen. "You don't have an interview or something?" she asked in lieu of a proper greeting.

"Not at the moment," he replied with a grin. "Looking good, Maddikins . . . Going out?"

Taking a moment to adjust the spaghetti straps of the black dress she was wearing, Madison turned from side to side to allow Evan a better view. "Actually, no. I just bought this, and I'm trying to decide whether or not I like it . . . Do I?"

He chuckled since he'd heard that particular question more times than he could count. "Oh, I think you do. Damn, the girls are looking fine, indeed . . ."

Grasping one breast in each of her hands, Madison leaned toward the screen and gave them a little shake. "You think so?"

Heaving a sigh, mostly because, as much as he appreciated Madison's charms, he couldn't rightfully say that he was all that interested, either, he chuckled. "So you opted to stay there an extra day so you could go shopping?" he asked, letting the current subject drop.

"Nope," she explained with a shrug. "You're the one who asked me to drop that paper off, though, didn't you?"

Striding over to the refrigerator again, Evan grabbed a couple butcher paper covered packages of ground beef. "You mean, you didn't do that already?"

Wrinkling her nose, Madison propped her elbow on the desk and rested her chin in her hand. "I meant to do it earlier, but I misplaced the original copy," she said with a sorrowful frown. "Then I kept forgetting to print out another one, so I called my phone last night and left a message so that I wouldn't forget today. Wasn't that smart?"

He chuckled. "Brilliant, of course," he assured her. That she'd lost the first copy really didn't surprise him. She tended to lose things on a daily basis, which was why he always kept an extra set of her most important keys in his house at all times—normally a few copies of each, actually. "Did you." It wasn't a question.

Madison heaved a sigh. "Yes."

"And?" he prompted.

" _And_ that's why I didn't drop it off till today."

Evan grinned and shook his head. "But you'll be here tomorrow?"

Madison giggled. "You think I'd miss Rocktoberfest? Maybe they should rename it Rokatoberfest . . ."

"Yeah, well, I'll have you know that V's having a fit since you said you'd be here today," he pointed out.

"Aww," Madison crooned, "tell her I'll be there first thing in the morning, and I _swear_ I'll make it up to her."

"Can I watch?"

Madison snorted and shook her head. "Of course not!"

"Heartless," he grumbled, drying off his hands and carefully wrapping the herbs in damp paper towels for storage. "Is this another of those vagina-things?"

"Vagina-things?"

Evan chuckled, recalling Valerie's assertion that Madison was most definitely hers. "Yes . . . V said that you're hers because she has one and I don't."

"Like you'd do anything but play with yours all day if you did have one," she scoffed.

His grin widened, mostly because he'd already admitted as much already. "Well, I do like innies better than outies . . ."

"You're such a little monkey," she laughed. "Anyway, I just called to let you know that I dropped it off," she said with an airy wave of the hand. "Now I'm meeting a friend for an early dinner . . . late lunch . . . whichever you want to consider it, and I'll see you both tomorrow."

"An old friend, eh? Do I know him?"

"Maybe," she drawled then gave a quick wink. "Later."

"Bye," Evan said. The screen blanked, and he chuckled. Glancing at the clock, he let out a deep breath. He had about an hour before the film crew was slated to arrive, which didn't really leave a lot of time for him to get something cooked and eaten before they did—the main reason why he figured he'd cook hamburgers.

The stove came to life with a soft hiss when he pushed the button to preheat the grill before chopping up an onion and smashing it into the hamburger and pressing out the meat into patties. He sighed. Sure, he'd thought that maybe it would be all right. After all, Dieter wasn't here, of course, but they were also at a new venue for it, too. He supposed that the memories of the crowds, the things that made Rocktoberfest the spectacle it was had more to do with the people in attendance than it had to do with the venue or anything else. Dieter's absence might not be the only reason he'd agreed to stay in the hotel, no, but he had to admit, at least to himself, that it did have something to do with it, too . . .

"Were you talking to someone?" Valerie asked as she wandered into the kitchen with a thoughtful frown on her face. She'd showered and changed into a pair of faded jeans and a plain pink tee-shirt with her golden hair pulled back into a French braid that hung down the middle of her back looking absolutely adorable.

Dropping a couple fat hamburgers he'd smashed out onto the grill top in the middle of the industrial sized stove, he paused long enough to grin at her before reaching for the salt and pepper. "You just missed Maddy," he said.

"And did you ask her why she's not here when she _promised_ she'd be?" Valerie blinked and eyed the meat dubiously. "Those are as big as my head," she stated. "Ugh, my arteries are clogging, just looking at them . . ."

"Good because they're for me," he quipped, washing his hands and rummaging around in one of the air-lock drawers in a hunt for bread. "I could throw one on if you want, though, and don't worry, she'll be here tomorrow, and she promised she'd make it up to you—and she promised that I could watch."

"She did no such thing, you ass." Waving a hand, Valerie wrinkled her nose. "No, thank you," she replied dryly. "I'll pass."

"You sure?"

She heaved a sigh, but it might have been due more to the idea that she was staring at the two crusty loaves of bread he'd gotten out to use as buns. "Oh, I'm sure," she replied with a shake of her head. "Besides, I called Bone, and he's on his way up here to take me down to have a look around."

"Sounds like more fun than I'm going to have," he allowed. "You sure you don't want to stick around? Tell them that you're going to be Mrs. Zel Roka?"

Snapping her mouth closed, Valerie didn't look at all impressed with Evan's banter. "I'll be sure to have lots of fun without you," she goaded, crossing her arms over her chest and narrowing her gaze on him. "How about you tell me why you agreed to stay in the hotel so easily?"

Evan shot her a completely innocent sort of look—as innocent as he could manage, anyway. It only made her eyes narrow a little more, and he chuckled. "I got a lot of shit going on," he stated with a simple shrug. "Unless you _want_ me to sneak out, and if that's the case, then all you've got to do is say the word, V." He paused for a moment, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Did you bring my dress with you?"

"No," she stated, shaking her head and looking like she was either going to laugh or smack him—either was fine with him. "Just be good, won't you?"

Evan laughed and flipped the knife into the air, only to catch it by the handle again. "Baby, I'm always good," he insisted with a wink.

She didn't look like she believed him, but she heaved a sigh and leaned on the counter. "This kitchen is absolutely absurd," she said, tearing a small hunk of bread out of the middle of a freshly cut loaf. "And here I thought that rock stars don't eat."

"Some of us do," Evan said with a grin. "Of course, most of the more successful ones travel with their own personal chefs and shit."

"But you don't."

Evan's grin widened. "Why hire someone to do something I can do myself?"

She looked like she was going to say something witty about that, but she was interrupted when Bone swaggered into the kitchen. "Oh, damn, Roka! You feedin' me?" he asked when he spotted the huge slabs of meat that Evan had just flopped over with what looked to be a pizza paddle.

"Hunt your own, Bone," Evan shot back. "Better make damn sure nothing happens to her."

Bone winked at Valerie and slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Relax, relax. I'll take damn good care of my girl, right?"

Valerie smiled. "That's right. Don't make yourself sick with all that food."

Evan rolled his eyes and shook the paddle at them. "Yeah, whatever. Just get the hell out of here, will you?"

Bone escorted her out of the room, and Evan sighed. Okay, so getting out of the hotel would be a lot of fun, especially since Valerie would be part and parcel with the deal. Still, there were just too many other things he had to do, and as much as he loathed admitting it, the idea of sneaking out to the festival was a little hard to swallow with Dieter missing on top of everything else. After all, he'd never done Rocktoberfest without him, and that just made everything a whole lot harder . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Slide_** ' _was_ _originally appeared on_ _the Goo_ _Goo_ _Dolls_ ' _1998_ _release_ , **_Dizzy_** **_Up_ _The_** **_Girl_** _._ _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Johnny_ _Rzeznik_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _He_ _agreed_ _way_ _too_ _easily_ …


	93. 092: Rocktoberfest Part I

' _Well, I'm a wasted rock ranger_ …  
' _I live a life of danger_ …  
' _On the road to find a higher high_ …  
' _I don't need no one's affection_ …  
' _All I need is my injection_ …  
' _An out-of-tune Les Paul'll get me by_ …'

 

-' _Wasted_ _Rock_ _Ranger'_ by Great White.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

It was a lot colder than she'd thought when Bone and Valerie had first stepped out of the hotel. Being next to the looming buildings provided a windbreak of sorts, but as they crossed the parking lot—closed to traffic for the duration of the festival—on foot, she couldn't help the shiver that rattled her teeth. Pulling her coat a little tighter around herself, she could feel the dizzying electricity of the surging crowd, and she moved a little closer to Bone. It was surreal, almost frightening, and she couldn't help but to feel smaller, weaker, than she ever had in her life. It wasn't a pleasant or welcome sort of feeling, either.

"If we get separated, find one of the cops, and show him your pass. They'll get you back to the hotel, yeah?" Bone said, leaning down and raising his voice so that she could hear him over the din. "That's a big ' _if_ ', though, yeah? Lose you and Roka'd blow an ass gasket."

"Okay," she replied, casting him a somewhat nervous glance, opting not to comment on the ass gasket blowing. Someone bumped into her in passing, and she stumbled slightly.

He broke into a wide grin and shook his head as he steadied her on her feet. "Don't worry, V. I _did_ say ' _if_ ' we get separated. Won't happen without a fight, yeah?"

She laughed, as much at her own momentary sense of panic as from Bone's reassurance. "I just can't get over how many people are here," she confessed, grabbing Bone's arm to steady herself as she rose on tiptoe to get a better look at the crowd.

"Traffic's been completely diverted in a six block radius," he told her. "Guess the big boys came out to play this year."

She didn't comment right away. Staring in awe at the gargantuan projection screens situated all over the parking lot, she shook her head. "They're broadcasting the concerts?" she said, glancing at Bone for a moment then back at the closest screen once more. Hanging a good fifty feet up in the air and suspended by a network of some of the thickest rigging she'd ever seen, she wondered absently just how many roadies it took to accomplish all of it. After all, she knew that Evan's set was huge with lots of platforms for him to climb onto, but she had no idea how many roadies he employed, though if she had to guess, she'd say that it had to be over a hundred, and that wasn't counting the members of the tech crews or security teams.

"Bastards are selling out," Bone clarified with a mildly disgusted snort. "Closed down the parking lot and charging a hundred bucks for a one day pass or two-fifty for the whole week just to watch the damn thing on a bunch of fucking JumboTrons."

"How much were the tickets for the live concerts?" she asked.

Bone snorted. "Anywhere from five to fifteen hundred for the week, not counting Saturday, but I hear Roka's gig was going for more."

"And how much is Ev-Uh, _Zel_ making off of it?" she corrected herself, glancing around quickly to ascertain that no one had overheard her near-slip.

Bone grinned at her and shrugged. "Not nearly enough. Some bastard's getting rich off all this, but it sure as hell ain't the bands."

Valerie considered that as Bone navigated them through the crowd. "Then why does he do it?"

Bone laughed—a rather condescending, albeit, good natured, sound. "Because it's what he was born to do, V."

"What he was born to do," she mused, more to herself than to Bone. A thoughtful frown surfaced on her face, and she bit her lip. Every time she saw him onstage, she'd seen it for herself, and she couldn't help but think that what Bone said about Evan being born to be up there was absolutely the truth.

But the sheer magnitude of the crowd was insane enough—the smell of leather, of acrid smoke that didn't come solely from burning cigarettes . . . There was an overwhelming sense of wildness in the air, the barely contained feeling that there was something ugly looming just beneath the excitement. Somehow exhilarating and frightening, all at once—Evan's world—Zel's world—one in which she really didn't belong.

"Don't breathe too deeply," Bone cautioned.

She shot him a questioning glance and grimaced when she lost her balance and stumbled against him.

"Sorry, man," some guy muttered as Bone steadied her and pulled her closer to him.

"Not a problem," Bone said.

"I-I'm okay," she replied, realizing that the reason Bone had told her not to breathe too deeply was because there were a lot of people in the crowd that were smoking things that weren't exactly legal. Coughing slightly when one guy blew a cloud of reefer smoke right into her face in passing, Valerie waved a hand to dispel it as she struggled to keep from breaking down in a fit of hacking and wheezing.

Bone must have sensed her discomfort, though, and he pulled her under an open air tent and effectively relieving the slightly claustrophobic feel of the surging crowd on the thoroughfare.

She blinked and looked around at the hundreds of photos hung in giant frames on the posts and plywood dividers that had been set up under the canvas to block in three of the sides, and, to Valerie's relief, to keep in the welcome heat blowing out of two very large portable heaters.   All manner of tattoos, ranging from the garish to the gorgeous, were represented in those photographs: fire breathing dragons that covered the entire back from shoulder blades to waist, delicate fairies dancing on oversized flower petals that wrapped daintily around a woman's ankle, devilish skulls with snakes crawling into and out of every hole, an infant's portrait that looked so realistic in black and white that it could have been an actual photograph . . .

"Well, if it ain't the Bone! How the hell are you?"

Bone chuckled and leaned across the wooden counter to shake hands with a very skinny man with a hell of a lot of tattoos on every visible portion of his body. "Fine, just fine," he replied, clapping the man on the shoulder. "Business good, yeah?"

The man uttered a wheezing, wet laugh that bordered on the quintessential smoker's cough, and he set his cigar in a bent tin ashtray. "It goes; it goes," he said. "How's that little fucker you work for doing?"

"Ah, Roka's good. Roka's always good," Bone remarked with a chuckle. "Oh, this is Valerie, Zel's attorney. V, this is Skinner, Roka's favorite tat _artiste_."

The man's chuckle escalated as his gaze shifted to her, and for reasons that Valerie didn't quite understand, she had to control the overwhelming desire to duck behind Bone. Skinner leaned to the side, squinting as he slowly stared her up and down before breaking into a wide grin. "Attorney? That right?" Snorting loudly, Skinner made a face and narrowed his eyes at Bone. "She don't look like a fucking attorney. Looks like a done-up groupie, if you ask me."

"That's right," Bone replied with a nod. "Swear to Jesus, she's an attorney." Peering over his shoulder, he chuckled. "The groupie-thing wasn't an insult," he hurriedly explained, apparently believing that she was about to object to Skinner's commentary, which she was.

"It wasn't?" she countered.

"Hell, no! In this business, groupies are _great_ things, Valerie, I swear."

"Is that right?" she mumbled. "Guess I must've missed that day in Rock Stars 101 class."

Skinner laughed suddenly and shook his head. "Now I believe that she's an attorney . . . Damned if he ain't one lucky little bastard . . ."

"No, no, not what you think," Bone maintained, holding his hands up to stop Skinner. " _Just_ his attorney, yeah? Valerie's got too much class for the likes of him."

"H'ain't met a woman yet, what could ignore him," Skinner maintained dubiously, quite apparently not interested in listening to Bone's explanation of her relationship with Zel Roka. "Damndest thing, really. Even my Ellie . . ."

Valerie blinked rather blankly and leaned toward Bone. "Ellie?"

His grin widened. "His dog, now Zel's—You know her better as Mimi."

She thought about that but couldn't help the little snort that slipped from her, either. "He _stole_ his dog?"

Bone shrugged offhandedly. "More like she followed him home, but yeah, something like that."

Valerie wrinkled her nose. Why didn't it surprise her that Evan had managed to charm the man's dog? "So you did his tattoos?" she asked, mostly to steer the conversation in a different direction since Skinner was looking quite put out at the reminder of the loss of his dog.

Bone turned and grinned at her, winking quickly as he leaned down as though he was about to tell her a secret. "Skinner's the mastermind behind Zel's look, if you know what I mean."

It took a moment for her to figure out what Bone was trying to say, and when she finally did, she slowly shook her head. Skinner had designed all of the temporary tattoos that Evan sported every time he went out in public as Zel Roka? Glancing around at the numerous pictures of the man's work, she had to allow that he was damn good at what he did.

"Come on, V. Let's go find something to gnash on," Bone said suddenly, taking Valerie's hand and dragging her out of the tent. "Later, man!"

It took a moment for Valerie to respond, mostly because the wind that hit her when they stepped out from the cover of the tent was harsh. "Why can't they do Rocktoberfest in Hawaii?" she grumbled as she maneuvered herself behind Bone just enough to use him as a windbreak.

He laughed and shrugged off his long, black leather trench coat and dropped it over her shoulders. "Better?"

Biting her lip since it was much better even though she ought to give it back on general principle, Valerie frowned when she realized that the man was wearing only a very tight black tee-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. "Here," she said, pulling the coat off to hand it back.

Bone grasped the lapels and tugged it more securely around her shoulders. "Don't worry about it, V. To tell the truth, I was a little warm in that, anyway."

She didn't believe him. It couldn't be more than fifteen or twenty degrees out—less if one factored in wind chill. Still, she had a feeling that arguing with him wouldn't matter, anyway. Knowing Evan, he'd probably told Bone to do whatever it took to make her happy or something ridiculous like that, and she knew better than anyone that Bone tended to take his job seriously. Even then, she wasn't quite ready to let it go without a little more effort, was she? "You'll tell me if you need it back, right?" she growled, purposefully inflicting enough venom into her tone to let him know that she was dead serious.

She should have known that he wouldn't take her seriously, and he didn't. Breaking into a wide grin, he laughed. "Roka's right. You're damn hot when you're trying to be all pissy."

She opened her mouth to tell Bone just what she thought of his misplaced amusement, but she gave up before she could with a shake of her head. It wouldn't really do any good, anyway, and it might only serve to further his humor at her expense, too.

"Oh! Chili!"

Valerie blinked and squeaked out a surprised little yelp when Bone suddenly tightened his grip on her hand and made haste toward another booth farther down. ' _Chili?_ ' she thought with a shake of her head. Suddenly, though, a grin quirked her lips, and she gave a mental shrug. There was just an intangible excitement in the air, wasn't there? Besides, Bone wouldn't let anything bad happen to her, would he? After all, knowing Evan, he probably _would_ blow that proverbial ass gasket if Bone did . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"This is the ballroom here at the Detroit Industrialis where all the performers have been assigned practice time for the big show— _practice_ time, for fuck's sake! It's like high school band without the fat kid on trombone," Evan said, grabbing his crotch and giving himself a little shake when he said the word 'trombone' and pausing long enough to turn around and face the camera for a moment. "'Course, the fat kid in our band wasn't bad. Went to state contest and scored a first, if I recall . . ."

"Yeah? Was his name Herman, by any chance?" Tay said, rolling his eyes and shoving Evan forward once more. "That was our trombone player's name."

"Nah," Evan replied, digging a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it up for show. "Name was Klingerman. Nice kid but blind as a damned bat. One of the jocks stole his glasses once. Tied 'em to the basketball hoop in the gym for kicks . . ."

"Hell, in our school, the jocks hung _Herman_ from the basketball hoop by his underpants . . ."

Evan laughed and shook his head. "Yeah, see? Now that's a much better story."

Tay chuckled, pausing long enough to light a cigarette, too. "Why they got a fucking _ballroom_ in the hotel that rock built is entirely beyond me."

"That's because you're a dumbass," Frankie muttered.

"Hey, hey! Check out the chandeliers!" Tay said, slapping Evan's arm as he pointed at the ceiling. "Those are the biggest fucking chains I've ever seen!"

Evan lifted his head and laughed at the huge chains that held up the dangling light sticks from wide, circular brushed silver structures. No crystal and pretty little dangly-things in this hotel . . . He waved a hand at the cameraman at the moment—Frankie. "Get that, get that!"

"Damn . . . I think my camera's broke," Tay said, turning the camcorder that the producer of the Rocktoberfest documentary had given him every which way as he tried to figure it out.

Evan reached over and pushed the button to open the lens cover. "It ain't broke. There."

"Dude," Tay laughed, flipping the camera around and lifting it to his eye. "You're a fuckin' genius! Shit! It's already recording . . ."

"So how did we get suckered into filming everything in the hotel?" Frankie asked, still fiddling with the zoom on his camera while he was pointing it up at the chandeliers.

Evan wrinkled his nose. "Just lucky, I guess," he muttered. He didn't know who was assigned to cover the event outside, but he figured it was fair to guess that it was a few of the lesser known bands, but something about them being asked to film inside the hotel just smacked of Mike's meddling.

"Anyway, where the hell were we?" Tay asked, turning his body and the camera to follow a rather hot brunette in six inch stilettos and a little dress that barely covered her very nice assets.

"We were filming the ballroom," Evan reminded him with a wolfish grin.

"Oh, right," Tay remarked absently. He was still too busy following the woman with his camera. "That'd be why they call it the ballroom, Roka . . . I wouldn't mind balling _her_ . . ."

"You kidding?" Frankie mumbled, concentrating on keeping his camera from bouncing all over the place. "She's with that one guy . . . Umm . . . little dork, can't remember his name."

"Like that matters," Tay scoffed, scratching his head as he rolled his eyes. "Girls who travel with the entourage are always easy pickings . . . They like to keep track of how many rock stars they do so they can write about their sexploits when they're old and their saggy-assed boobs are hanging around their damn knees."

"Shi-i-i-it, you'd better hope to hell they cut that out of the finished video, you stupid fuck," Frankie pointed out with a shake of his head. Then he turned the camera and grinned into it. "So ladies, please direct any and all hate mail to Tay Nash, okay? Because I, personally, think each and every one of you is beautiful and are possessed of a very generous soul."

"What a crock of horseshit," Evan countered with a laugh. "If you have a pecker between the two of you, then I'd be surprised."

"What a funny guy!" Tay shot back in an obnoxiously airy, sarcastic tone. "Can I book you for a party when we get back to the city?"

"Shut the fuck up, Tay," Evan retorted with a cheesy grin. "You couldn't afford my going rate."

"Better start saving up your quarters now, you know," Frankie added with a marked chortle. "Gotta pay off those guys in the clink to keep 'em away from your ass, right?"

"Dude!" Evan protested. "Can I help it if every-fucking-body wants a piece of the Roka of Love?"

"The Roka of L—Jesus f'ing Christ!" Tay groaned, catching Evan around the neck with his arm and pulling him down into a headlock. It only took Evan a few moments to slither out of the hold and reverse it, dealing Tay a hearty knuckle-rub in the middle of his head.

"You see what I have to put up with?" Frankie complained after turning the camera around to capture him and slowly shaking his head. "A bunch of fucking juvenile delinquents, if you ask me."

He dropped the camera on the floor a moment later when Evan reached out, grabbing Frankie's leg to drag him into the burgeoning fray, too, and when Mike walked into the ballroom a few minutes later, the manager could only sigh and rub his forehead at the sight of three grown men, rolling around on the floor as they tried to imitate professional wrestlers.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Ro-o-oka-a-a . . .!"

Pushing open the frosted glass shower door, Evan blinked and stared as Valerie plopped down on the black canvas chair just inside the bathroom. It wasn't the sight of her in his bathroom that surprised him nearly as much as what she was wearing that did it. Gone were the jeans and sweater that she'd left the hotel room with. In their places were a pair of very tight black patent leather pants that fit her like a second skin and a lace up the front black leather vest—damn hot, really, and the six inch clear plastic, tacky as hell yet somehow beyond sexy platform shoes? Well, those were just pure freaking win, as far as he was concerned . . . With a contented sigh, she dropped four huge bags in her hands onto the floor and smiled at him. "Did you know that they're giving stuff away down there?" she asked, her eyes wide and rather glassy. "Oh . . . You're naked . . ."

"Usually happens when I take a shower, woman," he pointed out with a grin. "So is there a reason that you've decided that you needed to let yourself in here when I'm _nude?_ "

"Nude," she repeated, moments before she broke into a round of giggles. "That's a funny word, isn't it? Nu-u-ude . . . _noo-o-o-o-o-ood_ . . ."

Rolling his eyes, Evan reached for a fluffy black drying sheet to wrap around his hips before squeezing out a decent amount of shaving gel and spreading it on his face. Valerie was acting entirely weird, and it didn't take him long to figure out why. In fact, it only took a couple sniffs to tell him everything he needed to know. The woman reeked of marijuana . . . "You didn't smoke anything while you were down there, did you?" he asked, figuring that she didn't have to. Ending up with a contact high off of the fumes would've been quite easy to do, and he knew better than anyone that any kind of excess that could be contrived could also be found in the chaos of Rocktoberfest.

Her head rolled on her neck like a bobble-head figurine before she managed to level a semi-steady gaze on him. "I don't smoke, silly-dilly!" she scolded. "Smoking is really, really gross!"

He chuckled, grabbing the disposable razor that he'd picked up earlier when he'd realized that he'd left his regular one on the bus and didn't feel like tracking down someone to retrieve it for him. "You gonna tell me what happened to your clothes?" he asked, figuring that if she didn't realize that she was higher than a damn kite that he wasn't about to point it out to her.

She blinked and glanced down at her outfit then back up at him again. "I'm _wearing_ them," she informed him in a tone that indicated that he ought to have known that already. "Geez, man, get a clue!"

"You left the hotel wearing something entirely different, V," he told her.

Her eyes widened, and her mouth rounded in an 'oh'. " _Oh-h-h-h_ . . . I did . . ."

"So what happened to your other clothes?"

Scrunching her face up in an exaggerated show of thought, Valerie tapped her chin with her index finger. "Hmm . . . I don't know! Anyway, who cares? I'm hot, right?" she demanded, hauling herself out of the chair and posing rather clumsily, sinking her fingers into her hair and pushing up with her hands, letting her long locks cascade around her like a model posing for a picture.

Evan heaved a sigh. "Oh, yeah," he agreed almost ruefully. "You're hot, all right . . ."

"Anyway," she said, letting her arms drop in favor of grabbing Evan's arm and tugging insistently, "they all gave me a bunch of stuff, Roka! Everywhere I stopped, they smiled and shoved stuff into those bags—just shoved stuff in . . .!"

"Is that right?" he drawled since he had a fairly good idea as to why vendors would be more than willing to offer her free stuff. If her looks didn't sway them, the access pass that identified her as part of the Zel Roka contingent hanging around her neck from a bright yellow cord certainly would've been more than enough. "Better stop tugging on me before you make me cut myself up."

"Oh, poop!" she scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "You know, though, it was too bad Bone wasn't there," she went on absently, more to herself than to him. "I could've had him carry more stuff . . ."

That got Evan's full attention quickly enough. Head snapping up as the razor in his hand clattered into the sink, he whipped around to face her. "What's that? What do you mean, too bad Bone wasn't there?"

"He got lost," she explained as almost an afterthought. "I'm not sure how someone as big as him can get lost, though. Isn't that weird?"

Tamping down the anger that rose to the surface, Evan drew a deep breath and tried to mollify himself with the knowledge that Valerie was safe and relatively unscathed. It didn't help that much especially when Evan considered what could have happened to her. He damn well would give the big man a piece of his mind when he showed up, though . . .

"Look, look, look," Valerie suddenly said, holding out her hand like she was trying to show him ring or something. "What do you think?"

He blinked and stared at her fingertips and the five different colored nails she was obviously proud of. "Why different colors, V?" he asked.

Valerie wrinkled her nose then giggled again. "It's that Diamondz nail polish," she told him triumphantly. "I wasn't sure what color I wanted to try, so they let me try all these—then they gave me a bottle of each! Can you imagine? I've always wanted to try it, but there's no way in hell I was going to pay fifty bucks a bottle—fifty, Roka! _Fifty!_ And they just gave me ten of them! That's . . . that's . . ."

"Five hundred dollars' worth of stink?" he offered helpfully.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, slapping the back of her hand against his chest. Evan grunted. "Five hundred dollars!" Slamming her hand down on the counter, Valerie slouched against the surface, using her hand to prop herself up. "Do you suppose they actually make any money if they're just handing out samples of their products like that?"

"I'm pretty sure that you're the exception, not the rule, V," he pointed out.

Valerie nodded, turning her attention to her multi-colored nails. "I think I like this one best . . . It's got real gold along with the diamond dust in it."

Evan rinsed his face off and dried it with a hand towel.

She was rather entertaining, he had to admit, and she certainly wasn't acting at all like her normal self. On the one hand, it was nice to see her loosen up. On the other? He had to admit that it was a little unnerving, too.

Valerie sat down once more and started to rummage through one of the bags she'd carried into the bathroom with her. At last, she pulled a small bottle of nail polish remover out of it and frowned. "Roka, do you have cotton balls?"

"Uh, maybe. You want a couple?"

She giggled again—more of a twittering kind of sound. "Do they tickle when you walk?"

Pulling open the drawer beside him, he grabbed a few out of the compartment and tossed them to her. "Wow, V . . . That one was pretty bad . . ."

Valerie's giggling escalated. "If I had cotton balls, I bet they would."

Letting out a deep breath, Evan shook his head. "Come on," he said, grasping her hand and tugging until she stood up once more. "You realize, right? That joke is old . . ."

"Whatever," she retorted, but she allowed him to drag her out of the bathroom. "You know something?"

"No. What?"

"I'm _starving_."

Pausing long enough to glance over his shoulder at her, he grinned. That just wasn't as surprising as it should have been, was it? "All right," he allowed, altering his course to head toward the kitchen. "Let's go get you something to eat."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_'Wasted_** **_Rock_** **_Ranger'_** _originally appeared on_ _Great_ _White's_ _1989_ _release_ , **… _Twice_** **_Shy_** _._ _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Mark_ _Kendall,_ _Jack_ _Russell,_ _Alan_ _Niven,_ _and_ _Michael_ _Lardie_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
> … _She's stoned_ …


	94. 093: Rocktoberfest Part II

' _It's all the same_ … _Only_ _the names'll change_ …  
' _Every day_ … _It_ _seems we're wasting away_ … 

' _Another place_ … _Where the faces are so cold_ …  
' _I'd drive all night_ … _Just to get back home_ …' 

' _I'm a cowboy_ … _On a steel horse I ride_ …  
' _I'm wanted_ … _Dead_ _or alive_ …'

 

-' _Wanted Dead or Alive'_ by Bon Jovi.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Casting another surreptitious glance at the hulking head of the Zel Roka security contingent, Valerie bit her lip and grimaced at the fresh surge of bitter guilt that rose to choke her. That she really hadn't meant to get him in trouble was irrelevant: the end result had been just that. Evan had been furious, and while she could understand why he'd be upset, she really hadn't expected him to be angry enough to dock Bone's pay, either. She'd come in during the middle of their discussion last night shortly after she'd gotten back to the hotel. It hadn't helped at all, she supposed, that she'd so haughtily insisted that she wasn't lost since she knew well enough where she was the whole time. If anything, that had only served to irritate him further, and she didn't understand why at the time, even if she had to admit that she kind of did now. Funny how she hadn't realized until this morning that she was stoned out of her mind the day before. She'd thought that she was in complete control of her faculties, which just figured.

" _She's bouncing on a reefer cloud," Evan growled at the security guard_.

 _Bone stood stone still with his arms crossed over his chest and a completely impassive expression on his face. "Man, the entire place is," he pointed out_.

 _Evan wasn't impressed. "You swore you'd watch out for her, damn it_."

" _Listen, I went to get her a cup of joe," Bone said evenly. "I was gone for, like, ten minutes, tops, and when I got back, she was gone_."

" _And did you look for her?_ "

" _Sure, I did," Bone insisted then added sarcastically, "Ain't like there's more than a million people down there, of course_. . ."

" _Yeah, and you know that she's not used to that kind of crowd, and I'll tell you: she's worth a helluva lot more than you are_."

Catching her eye, Bone grinned. "What's that look for?" he asked with a shake of his head though his smile didn't wane.

Valerie drew a deep breath and gave a little shrug. "About, uh, yesterday . . ."

"Ah, don't even worry about that, yeah?" Bone broke in when Valerie trailed off. "Water under the bridge, ya."

"Bone—"

"Seriously, V, no sweat," he insisted, rolling his eyes at her very real concern. "Don't make it into a _thang_ , yeah?"

She still wasn't convinced, but before she could further her protests, Madison slung an arm around her shoulders and propelled her forward through the slowly moving crowd.

Heaving a sigh of protest and a wince when the sudden movement reminded her of the strange soreness under her left breast, Valerie glanced at the nearest JumboTron and shook her head as the lead singer of the currently-performing band gyrated his hips and dry-humped his microphone stand. He looked familiar, and the song was one she'd caught on one of Evan's playlists at one time or another, but she couldn't rightfully say that she could name the band, either.

"Don't worry about men's politics, V," Madison remarked with a sly wink at Bone. "They puff out their chests, grunt at each other a few times, practice the art of flatulence, and then they go have a beer."

"Sounds about right," Bone allowed, stroking his chin idly as he pondered Madison's assessment.

"If you say so," Valerie grumbled, still unwilling to let it all slide, even if Bone was trying his hardest to downplay the situation. Regardless of what he said, she had heard the word 'fired' being tossed around a few times, and though Evan didn't actually carry out the threat, it made it sound that much more serious in her mind.

The conversation was interrupted, however, when the group of people ahead of them stopped abruptly.   Yelping in surprise, Valerie smacked hard into someone's wide back.

"Watch what you're doing, bitch!" the woman with the man she'd crashed into hissed, carting around on the heel of her eight-inch platform boot to pin Valerie with a menacing glower. She was careful not to crease the exceedingly thick black makeup that she'd taken care to cake on, though, and before Valerie could think about it, the woman's hand shot out, catching her in the shoulder and shoving her back a step.

Bone steadied Valerie quickly and stepped up to insinuate himself between the women. "It was an accident, yeah? Don't get so bent."

"No, way," the woman said, her voice rising as splotches of red erupted in her pallid cheeks as she let her scornful gaze shift up and down Valerie's body. "What's she, anyway? Little rich bitch? Your kind don't belong at Rocktoberfest, _honey_."

"Is that right?" Madison interjected, neatly stepping around Valerie to block her even more. "If they let skanky-assed bitches like you in here, then I'd guess that they're not checking anyone at the gates, _honey_."

"What-the-fuck-ever! And just who the hell are—?" Cutting herself off abruptly, the girl's eyes flared wide then narrowed when she caught sight of Madison's access pass. " _Shit!_ You're with Zel Roka? No fucking way!"

"Come on, V," Madison said, turning her back on the girl and grabbing Valerie's hand to drag her away. "Let's go."

"V?" the guy exclaimed as a slight bit of the vacant, drugged-out look in his eyes receded. "As in, _V_ , V? Zel's V?"

"N—" Valerie began, unable to contain the stain of a flush that rose in her cheeks.

"That's right," Madison interjected quickly, lifting her chin a notch as a very smug grin surfaced on her features as her cool gaze flicked to the girl again. " _The_ V, and your old lady is jumping her shit."

An ugly, catty sort of expression slammed down over the girl's features as her crimson lip curled up in a sneer. "She ain't so much," she sneered.

"You just keep on blowing, you overgrown ass-hair," Madison went on smoothly, her voice taking on a deceptive purr. "Or have you inspired the biggest rock star on the planet to write an entire album about you?"

Valerie didn't like the leer that had entered the guy's gaze as he stared her up and down, and when he finally grinned at her, it was all she could do to control the desire to duck behind Bone once more.

"Because she fucked him or something," the girl scoffed derisively. "Anyone could do that."

"Anyone except you," Madison shot back pleasantly. "What's the special of the day, _honey?_ The clap on curls or gonorrhea with a side of mental masturbation?"

"Maddy," Valerie hissed. Madison ignored her.

The girl lunged at Madison. Bone caught her around the stomach and easily held her back. "You bitch! You cunt! I'm gonna kick your skinny ass! Let go of me!"

Madison rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to retort, but Valerie was quicker, grabbing Madison's hand to drag her a few feet away as she tried her hardest to ignore the widening circle of bystanders who had stopped to watch what they probably hoped would be an all-out catfight. "Do us all a favor and take your fat-fuck of a boyfriend there and get the hell out of here."

The girl screeched angrily, reaching up, raking her fingernails across Bone's eyes. He hissed and loosened his hold on her long enough for her to duck away from him before she launched herself at Madison. Madison barely had time to react as she jumped back to avoid the girl's flying hand. Valerie, however, wasn't quite as quick, and she sucked in a sharp breath as a burning pain fired to life on her right cheek just below her eye as she spun to the side a moment too late to avoid the girl's ungodly long fingernails as they raked across her skin.

"That's enough," Bone said, locking his arms over the girl's arms and yanking her away from Madison and Valerie. Holding onto her effortlessly, he pulled his cell phone out and dialed it. "Yeah, this is Bone," he said to whoever answered on the other end. "I need one of your guys over here to deal with crowd control."

"It's okay," Valerie said, ignoring the girl's continued tirade and touching her cheek gingerly with a grimace at the smear of crimson on her fingertips.

"Let me see," Madison said, grasping Valerie's chin and turning her face to inspect it. She sighed then clucked her tongue as she examined the damage. "Let's go back to the hotel."

"Don't be silly!" Valerie said, knocking Madison's hand away as she scowled at her friend. "You're making a big deal out of nothing. It's just a scratch."

Madison wrinkled her nose. "I doubt Zel'll think it's just a scratch," she predicted with a shake of her head.

"I don't care what—" Valerie began but cut herself off since she knew damn well that Madison was right—he probably would be furious, and he'd probably have another go at Bone over it, too.

A couple of policemen pushed through the crowd as a number of the gathering quickly moved away as though they were nervous to be so close to the perceived enemies. "Stand back," one of them ordered as the other one strode over to Bone. "Calm down, ma'am."

The girl growled and spit at the cop. Valerie sighed as Bone tightened his grip on her. "Settle it down, will you?" he said.

The cop wasted no time in handcuffing her before turning to look at Bone. "She do that?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the claw marks that extended from the man's right temple to the tip of his nose.

"Don't worry about me," Bone quipped as he waved a finger in Valerie's direction. "She did that, though."

The officer looked at Valerie and nodded slowly. "Do you want to press charges?"

"No," Valerie said.

"Yes," Bone insisted. "Yes, she does."

"No, I don't!" she said a little louder. "It was a misunderstanding. No big thing."

"She flew off the handle when V, here, accidentally bumped into them," Bone went on, completely ignoring Valerie's claim that it wasn't a big deal, after all.

Rolling her eyes, she opened her mouth to argue her point, but the steady reverberation of her cell phone drew her attention, instead, and she heaved a sigh as she pulled the device out of her pocket and scowled at the caller ID. "Denning," she said, pressing the phone against one ear and plugging the other with her free hand.

Mike sighed heavily on the other end. "V, Zel needs you," he said without preamble.

Valerie's frown deepened, and she shook her head, hunching her shoulders and ducking her head in a vain effort to find some measure of quiet. "What's going on?"

"I gotta go," he said suddenly. "They're demanding his statement, and I'd rather that he doesn't give it without you here."

"Statement?" she echoed. "Okay, okay. I'll be there as soon as I can."

The line went dead, and Valerie snapped the phone closed before stomping over to Bone and grabbing his arm. "Come on," she said, giving the bodyguard a good tug when he refused to move from his spot. "Mike called. Something's going on."

She didn't wait to see if he was going to follow or not as she turned on her heel and strode away from the gathering, ignoring the policemen's insistences that she needed to give a statement of her own. As far as she was concerned, they could keep waiting because she wasn't going to press charges for something as stupid as what had happened between her and the overzealous fan, but Evan? A statement? She sighed and quickened her pace, pushing people aside in her haste to reach the hotel once more, to find out exactly why Evan was expected to make a statement, in the first place.

Just what kind of trouble had he gotten himself into this time?

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Stomping into the hotel suite with a resounding crash as the door smacked into the wall and bounced back again, Valerie nearly collided with the police officer who was standing nearby. He caught her by the shoulders and pushed her back firmly. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but you're going to have to leave."

Pinning the officer with the most formidable glower that she could muster, Valerie shrugged his hands off and crossed her arms over her chest. "I will thank you to keep your hands off me," she bit out coldly, brusquely, her eyes flashing as her temper clicked a couple notches higher.

The officer looked distinctly uncomfortable. "All the same, ma'am—"

"V!" Mike exclaimed as he strode around the corner, only to come to a screeching halt when he got a good look at her face. "What the hell happened to you?" he blurted, moving the officer to the side in his haste to get to Valerie's side.

"It was nothing," she gritted out, shifting her no-nonsense expression on the manager instead. "Why does Zel have to give a statement?"

For a moment, Mike looked undecided, unsure whether he should answer her question or if he'd rather get some answers of his own. He didn't do either, though, since the door opened once more as Bone and Madison hurried into the suite. "Damn, woman! Don't take off like that," Bone scolded, gaze lighting on the policeman and lingering.

"Excuse me . . ." the officer interjected with a marked scowl. "Just who are all of you?"

"I'm Mr. Roka's attorney," Valerie said stiffly. "That is the head of Mr. Roka's security detail, and she—" she went on, flicking a hand at Madison, "—is my assistant. Now would you kindly tell me what you're doing here and why Mr. Roka needs to make a statement?"

"Let me go get my steno book," Madison quipped, a wicked smile surfacing on her face as she sauntered off toward the guestroom where she'd put her things.

The officer blinked and stared for a moment as a brilliant infusion of red blotched his cheeks. "His attorney?" he echoed rather dumbly. Valerie had to grind her teeth together to keep from growling in frustration. "Oh, uh, y-yeah . . . I'll go tell the detectives."

Narrowing her eyes on the retreating back of the policeman, Valerie snorted indelicately before pivoting to level the look at Mike. "What the hell's going on?" she demanded.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Mike slowly shook his head. "I . . . I don't really know, myself," he admitted at length. He looked completely at a loss, which didn't really matter to her. He was the one who had called her, wasn't he? He had to know something.

"Don't give me that," she gritted out from between clenched teeth. "You told me that he had to give a statement, didn't you? Why would he need to do that? How can you possibly tell me what you don't really know?"

Holding up his hands in an entirely placating sort of way, Mike grimaced and tried to calm her down. "He got into a fight," he explained quickly, his scowl deepening. "I don't know why or anything, but it . . . It was pretty bad."

"A fight?" she echoed, not understanding why Mike would be making such a big deal out of something as simple as a fight. Okay, sure, fighting wasn't exactly an upstanding thing to have done, but in the realm of things, it wasn't as earth-shaking as it could have been. "What? Did he break a table or something?"

This time, Mike's sigh was thoroughly defeated, and he shrugged almost helplessly. "The other guy's been taken to the emergency room," he muttered. "A broken nose that I saw and complaining about his arm, too."

The questions that shot to the fore in her mind were cut off abruptly when the officer strode back into the foyer once more. Sparing a moment to offer her a somewhat nervous little smile, he jerked his head in the direction that he'd come from and cleared his throat as he glanced from Bone to Mike then back again. "Detective Garson said you can go on back and talk to Mr. Roka."

Valerie managed a civil nod and brushed past the officer and toward the hallway that led to the master bedroom where she assumed that Evan was being detained. After pausing long enough to tap on the door, she pushed it open and strode inside, sparing a moment to let her gaze flicker over the two detectives before moving on to Evan.

"Valerie Denning, Mr. Roka's counsel," she said in a carefully blank tone.

The shorter detective didn't even attempt to smile as he gave her a very careful once-over. "Detective Garson," he said then jerked his head toward the other man. "That's Detective Carlisle."

She wasn't entirely sure what she had expected to see. In hindsight, she supposed that she'd expected for him to look at least a little worse for wear, but he didn't. The knuckles on his right hand were reddened and raw-looking, but if she didn't know better, she wouldn't have known a thing. "May I have a moment alone with Mr. Roka?" she asked, though her question was more of an understated demand.

The detectives exchanged looks, but in the end, Garson, who seemed to be the lead, nodded. "We'll give you a few minutes," he allowed. "We really do need that statement, though."

Valerie nodded, but remained silent as she watched the men file out the door.

Several moments ticked away before Valerie pivoted on her heel to face Evan, and the silence was thick, heavy. Clearing her throat at last, Valerie narrowed her eyes at the impassiveness that had entered into his expression. "Tell me what happened," she said in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

At first, she didn't think he was going to answer. In fact, she was trying to figure out a better way to get answers out of him when he finally grunted and slumped forward, resting his forearms on his legs, letting his hands dangle limply between his knees. "I broke his goddamn face," Evan said evenly, flatly—matter-of-factly.

"Did he start it?" she asked, puzzled by Evan's cold demeanor.

"Nope," he replied just as carelessly.

"Why would _you_ start a fight with someone?" she blurted. "Did he say something to you? Insult you or something?"

"The fact that he's alive is enough to offend me," Evan said in the same tone as though he were discussing something as simple as the weather.

"So you just went up to this guy and started whaling on him?" she demanded, arching an eyebrow in a show of contention.

"Yeah, sounds about right," he allowed, and though his tone was still completely even, she could discern the agitation in the stiffness that he was fighting to hide from her.

Something wasn't right, and she knew it. Sure, she'd seen Evan's temper, and yes, she knew that it could be bad, but . . . but Evan . . . He really wasn't a violent person, and she knew that, too. To have started a fight without provocation . . .? There really was something very, very wrong . . .

Evan's voice interrupted, though, before she could voice her concerns, and what he said . . . It was the strangest thing of all, as far as she was concerned . . .

"And if he was here in front of me right now, I'd break his fucking face some more."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_'Wanted Dead or Alive'_** _originally appeared on Bon Jovi 1986 release,_ **_Slippery When Wet_** _._ _Song written by and copyrighted to Richie Sambora and_ _Jon_ _Bon_ _Jovi_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :
> 
> _But he's not violent like that … is he …?_


	95. 094: Turbulence

' _The warden threw a party at the county jail_ …  
' _The prison band was there and they began to wail_ …  
' _The_ _band was jumpin' and the joint began to swing_ …  
' _You should've heard those knocked out jailbirds sing_ …'

 

-' _Jailhouse Rock_ ' by Elvis Presley

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Broken nose, cracked jaw, two fractured ribs, dislocated arm, five broken fingers, and a severely bruised tailbone," Valerie read off the list, one by one, off the preliminary complaint that the cops had already filled out. "There are also numerous lacerations and contusions, as well. Shall I read those off to you, too?" she demanded dryly.

Evan was careful to keep his expression completely blank aside from the slight lilt to his top lip—more of a sneer than a grin. "Didn't mention any brain injuries, did it?"

Narrowing her eyes at the hint of hopefulness in his tone, Valerie crossed her arms over her chest, tucking the written report under her elbow as she pinned him with a scathing glower. "Why would you do this?"

"Because I hate his goddamn guts; that's why," he replied simply enough.

"You don't hate anyone," she shot back with a decisive snort.

"Yeah, well, there's a first time for everything," he retorted. "Besides, he's a jackass. It's about time that someone put him in his fucking place."

"Did it have to be you?" she growled, dropping the phone onto the table behind the sofa and pacing across the floor. "According to the reports, you swaggered into the bar and lit into the victim without any provocation at all, and I want to know why."

"Oh, come on, V! You damn well know why!" he retorted with an indignant grunt. The look on her face stated quite plainly that she really had no idea just what he was talking about, and he snorted. "Jass fucking Martel was asking for it."

Valerie had her mouth open to say something, but at the mention of the victim—and he used the term very, very lightly—she snapped her mouth closed and slowly, slowly shook her head. "Are you telling me that you beat the hell out of Justin?" she asked quietly.

"Damn straight," he stated belligerently, lifting his chin a notch in a show of bravado. "I was about to break his fucking kneecaps when hotel security stepped in."

"Why did you go after him?" she demanded. Seconds later, though, her eyes flared wide, and she jerked her head in disbelief. "Because of what I told you?" she asked in a somewhat deflated sort of tone. "Is that why? Evan—"

"You think I wouldn't?" he retorted. "Passed you around like a fucking blow up doll? And for what? So he could look like a goddamn rock star?"

A strange sort of expression flickered over her face. For a moment, she actually looked like she might laugh. Whatever, though, because she didn't. Letting out a deep breath, she opted instead to scowl at him. "You're an idiot," she pointed out evenly, but her words lacked the irritation that probably should have accompanied them. "I can't believe you'd beat on him just because of what I told you . . . I did tell you that it was years ago, didn't I? Water under the bridge, you fool: water under the bridge . . ."

"Yeah, maybe," he muttered, snatching up the bottle of water off the table beside him and downing half of it in one long gulp. "You know, right? If he did that shit to you, he's done it to other women, too. His old lady was higher than a goddamn kite, and his fucking buddies were groping the hell out of her when I walked into the bar. Just a matter of time before he thought he'd be King Shit again, don't you think? That okay with you, too, V?"

She didn't respond to that and changed the topic completely. "Is that why you agreed not to leave the hotel? Because you knew he'd be here?"

Evan didn't deny it, turning just far enough to watch her as she strode away from him, stopping at the windows, raking her hands through her hair in a thoroughly exasperated sort of way. When she did, however, he noticed something else, and he shot to his feet, stomped over to her. "What the fuck is that?" he demanded, his tone at odds with the gentleness in his hands when he grasped her shoulders and turned to around to face him. His fingers were trembling when he pushed her hair out of the way and lifted her chin to inspect the angry scratches on her cheek. "Who the hell did that?"

Valerie snorted and knocked his hand away. "Don't you dare change the subject, Roka," she insisted.

Evan ignored her reprimand. "Where was Bone? Goddamn it—"

"It wasn't his fault," she snapped, glaring at him angrily as though she were daring him to gainsay her. "If you take it out on him, I swear to God, you can find yourself another attorney, and—"

"Taking care of you out there is his responsibility, woman—not negotiable—got it?" he growled back. "He knows damn well, and—"

"Leave it alone, Roka! It was an accident, okay?" Letting out a deep breath, she rubbed her forehead and slowly shook her head. "Anyway, I'll live, and you have bigger fish to fry than harassing Bone, don't you? You have to give a statement," she said, more to herself than to him. "The detectives want to know why you suddenly attacked . . . attacked . . ." Head whipping to the side to pin him with a no-nonsense glower, Valerie made a face and drew a deep breath, as though she had to bolster her own nerves just to say his name. ". . . Justin."

He blinked and stared at her for a long moment. "They can fucking suck my goddamn dick," he growled.

The look she shot him might have been damned funny—if he had been in the mood to see any real humor in anything. He wasn't. No, if anything, he was struggling with the restlessness that came with the feeling that he just hadn't done nearly as much damage as he'd wanted to do, and to see those livid scratches on Valerie's face? If he saw Bone any time in the near future, there was likely to be another fight, and to be completely honest, Evan rather hoped that the big guy wasn't too far away . . . "You have to give a statement," she reiterated slowly. "If you don't cooperate on some level, then you can bet that any judge that looks at this case is going to demand that you remain here in Detroit indefinitely."

He didn't like her assessment, not at all. It wasn't that he disliked Detroit, no, but being ordered to stay put for something as stupid as that just smacked him of ridiculous. That didn't mean that he couldn't appreciate what she was saying. He simply didn't like it. Still, he wished that he'd had a little longer to beat on that damned bastard. It wasn't nearly enough, as far as he was concerned.

"Fine," he gritted out from between clenched teeth. "Bring in the clowns."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Heaving a sigh, Valerie pushed her bangs out of her face and held them in place with one hand as she fumbled with a barrette with the other to secure them without taking her eyes off of the stack of statements in front of her.

It was colossally stupid, wasn't it? No less than thirty-two eye-witness accounts of Evan's impromptu attack on Justin—aka Jass—Martel, and while many of them hadn't actually seen what might have provoked the fight, it didn't matter when all of them had corroborated Martel's statement that he was sitting in the bar, having a beer with a few of the other performers at the event when Evan had strode in, headed straight toward them, and had let his fist do the talking.

' _Oh, Evan_ . . .'

In the end, all he'd told the detectives when he gave his statement was that it was nothing more than a bit of unfinished business, and no matter how many times they asked, he refused to tell them what it was all about. There wasn't a thing that she could do to stop them when they'd handcuffed Evan and escorted him out of the hotel, and she hadn't been able to bond him out of jail until the next morning, either. By then, though, the miscreant had only grinned at her, telling her that it was no big deal. How he could say that, however, was entirely beyond her. The story had broken in the news—it had even outranked the President of the United State's visit to South Africa—and there were more reporters trying to get into the hotel than Valerie cared to think about.

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie slowly shook her head, dropping the ink pen she'd been holding and pushing herself to her feet to wander over to the window. Rocktoberfest was still going strong despite the idea that Evan's show on Saturday—less than two days away—was still up in the air. The organizers of the event weren't entirely sure that they wanted him to perform after the fighting incident. In fact, that was where he was at the moment: in a meeting with the powers that be to decide whether or not it was a good idea to allow the show to go on as scheduled.

The thought that occurred to her, though, was the nagging memory of watching as the police handcuffed him and led him away. The image that lingered in her mind just wouldn't go away, nor would the unsettling sense of turmoil that she hadn't been able to shake off, even after she'd brought him back and fought through the throng of reporters who had camped out all night, beating on the window of the taxi as it slowed to a crawl as it approached the hotel, yelling questions that they hoped in vain that he'd answer . . .

Turning away from the window, Valerie sighed again. All of this over what she'd told him about her relationship with the jackass that had ended over ten years ago . . .? The stupidity of the situation left a bitterness in her mouth that she couldn't swallow. Why on earth would Evan let that get to him, anyway? After all, it wasn't like he was a saint, either. Hadn't she seen concrete proof of that when she'd seen him with those twins?

But the difference, she supposed, was that he never bullied anyone into doing anything, and as much as she'd like to condemn him, she also knew damn well that women really just couldn't seem to resist him, either.

She snorted and stomped over to grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator in the bar. ' _Because_ ,' she thought as she gave the cap a vicious yank, ' _because he's so used to loving women that he can't comprehend the idea of using them . . . maybe._ '

That man, though . . . Why was he so hell bent on getting into trouble? Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh, but still . . .

About the only good news she'd had so far, if one could call it that, was that the police had asserted that they'd leave it up to the victim as to whether or not he wanted to press charges. It seemed that the local DA didn't want to have to make the call when it came to whether or not they'd choose to prosecute the biggest rock star on the planet, especially when he was already in the midst of a fairly heated bid to be re-elected.

Unfortunately, that meant that she'd have to find a way to convince that jackass that he didn't want to press charges against Evan—as if it was really that cut and dried. While it was true that she hadn't seen nor spoken to Justin in years, she really didn't think he'd changed so much from the opportunistic little slime-ball he was back then, and the notoriety of being connected to the Zel Roka mystique, albeit in a bad kind of way, would be something that would speak to his shameless lust for exposure, she was sure.

The fax machine on the desk beeped softly moments before it spat out a couple pieces of paper, and Valerie stared at it for several seconds before she ventured over to retrieve it.

The letterhead was that of a very prominent law firm based in Los Angeles and renowned for representing a lot of entertainers. They were also notorious for only taking on cases that were absolutely cut and dried, and that just figured. It didn't surprise her at all that they'd have jumped on this one.

The cover page was nothing more than formality, introductions and a brief overview of the attorney's credentials and whatnot. It was an intimidation factor, she supposed, one meant to let her know that they apparently thought that she was not up to the challenge of successfully representing Zel Roka. Too bad that it wasn't going to work.

The second page, however, was much more interesting, as far as Valerie was concerned, and the gist of it drew a loud snort from her as she skimmed over the document. Not surprisingly, it was an offer to drop all charges against Mr. Roka if he agreed to an out of court settlement, the terms to be discussed should Mr. Roka decide that it would be in his best interests to meet with them.

"Settlement," Valerie grumbled under her breath. "That bastard doesn't deserve to get one red cent, one way or another."

Which was entirely true, but it didn't mean that she could ignore the offer, either. Even if she didn't like the idea of paying Jass Martel anything at all, if it would get Evan out of trouble this time, she couldn't just discount it, either, even if the idea of him benefiting in any way from the situation ticked her off more and more whenever she really stopped to think about it. There was still the case in New York City to think about, and any way she looked at it, tying everything up in a lot more legal red tape could be disastrous.

She sighed. The last thing she wanted to do was to call Jass' attorney to arrange any kind of meeting, but she would, just as soon as she talked to Evan to see what he said about the idea of offering him a settlement to forestall any kind of charges being filed . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Flopping down on the sofa, Evan closed his eyes and let out a soft groan as the quiet of the hotel suite seemed to thicken in his ears.

It had been a damn long day.

The meeting with the festival bigwigs went about as well as he had expected. They hadn't wanted to allow Evan's show to go on, of course—not surprising from old bastards who were trying to look hip despite their balding heads and their middle age spreads that looked truly laughable, hanging over the waistband of their faded jeans. Hell, one of them had even attempted to wear a pair of black leather pants. It was a painful sight to have been forced to see.

Mike had wanted him to pretend to be a little contrite for the fight that had caused all the uproar, in the first place. He'd damn near blown an ass-gasket when Evan sat back, crossed his arms over his chest, grinned at those old farts, and told them, point blank, that he'd love to have Jass come up on stage with him so that he could beat the living, breathing shit out of him again, and this time, in front of the entire arena.

Suffice it to say that the coordinators weren't well pleased, and neither was ol' Mikey, proving yet again that he'd lost what little sense of humor he'd had a long, long time ago.

So after a few hours of staunch reprimands, grave admonishments, and otherwise pointless lectures that Evan tuned out after the first minute, the old fuckers had finally said what Evan had known all along: the show, of course, would go on. Oh, he didn't doubt for a moment that if it were up to them, they'd fire him out of a cannon over the Pacific Ocean without a life raft, but they were just too damn scared of what would happen if they pulled his appearance, after all. It wasn't surprising. Rock fans didn't tend to be the most forgiving bunch on a whole, and given the exorbitant amount of scratch that they'd had to fork over just to see Evan's show . . . Well, refunding that much money would have put a serious dent into the festival on a whole, not to mention the mayhem that would have most likely broken loose if the show had been called.

' _You know, you might think it's all a big joke now, but you don't really think that your father's going to find any amusement at all in any of it, do you?_ ' his youkai asked rather wearily.

' _Who the fuck cares what ol' Cain thinks?_ ' he shot back hotly, blithely ignoring the hyperactive blinking of his cell phone, telling him that he really ought to check his messages. He didn't doubt that most of the messages were from various friends and acquaintances, but he also didn't doubt that there were at least a couple calls from the big dog himself. ' _Only gives a rat's ass when I do something that he doesn't like, anyway_ . . .'

' _Sure, if that's what you really think_ ,' his youkai shot back mildly.

' _Besides, all he wants to do is blow some shit about how I shouldn't be beating on humans, blah blah blah, and to be frank, I don't much care to hear it, thanks_.'

' _Great, great. If you know all that, then why don't you just go ahead and call him? Get it over with, right?_ '

' _Keh!_ '

As if in answer to his rebellious thoughts, the phone rang, and he sighed. Somehow, he knew before he even touched it that it was the aforementioned father, and he made a face, knowing damn well what was coming as he hit the button to connect the call and lifted the receiver to his ear. "Well, Cain, to what do I owe the delectation of actually drawing the notice of the oh-so-busy tai-youkai?"

"Cut the crap, Evan," Cain replied rather acerbically. "Why don't you tell me what's going on?"

"Aw, come on," Evan drawled, stretching out and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table in an unnecessary show of bravado. "You've read the papers, right? I mean, you wouldn't be talking to me now if you hadn't."

"So you deliberately started a fight with a human for no good reason?" Cain challenged mildly. "Is that right?"

"I had my reasons," Evan grumbled, feeling very much like a five year old who had just been caught getting into the cookie jar before dinner—or one of his father's cakes . . .

Cain didn't answer right away, almost like he was considering what Evan had said. "So you _did_ have a reason," he concluded after a lengthy silence. "Okay. I believe you."

Evan blinked, his waspish grin dissipating fast, only to be replaced by a thorough scowl. "That's it? No fucking lecture?"

This time, Cain sighed, and Evan didn't miss the tell-tale snick of a lighter. "I trust you," he replied quietly, thoughtfully. Cain hadn't smoked in months, and Evan knew that, too. That he was lighting up now . . .

Deliberately ignoring the slight twinge of guilt—Cain only smoked when he was worried or upset about something—Evan didn't comment on that. "Y-Yeah," he mumbled, brushing aside the misplaced feelings that lingered.

"Then that's what I'll tell the generals," Cain replied.

"Why do you have to tell them any-fucking-thing?" Evan couldn't resist goading. "You're their boss, aren't you?"

"That's true, but even I have to tell them things from time to time. It's not a big deal. I trust you, and they trust me."

"Whatever. Tell Mama I'll call her later."

"All right," Cain agreed. "Let me know if you need anything."

The line went dead, and Evan shook his head as he hung up the phone. The entire conversation was unsettling, wasn't it? Since when did Cain 'trust' him, and even then . . .

"Fuck the generals," he muttered under his breath, flopping back against the sofa, closing his eyes as he breathed a long, low exhalation. Start one little fight, and they think it's the end of the world . . . No wonder Cain smoked. If Evan had to deal with that kind of bullshit, he'd probably do a hell of a lot worse than just light a cigarette now and then . . .

Of course, he'd drop dead before he said any such thing to Cain, but that was neither here nor there . . .

The door opened quietly and closed just as quietly, and he heard the muffled sigh seconds before the no-nonsense click of stack-heels echoed in the foyer, methodically coming closer then stopping short right inside the living room. "So how'd it go?" she asked, her voice sounding tired—exhausted, really.

"Eh, no big thing," he replied without opening his eyes. "Like they'd really cancel my gig."

She sighed again, the click of her heels on the floor sounding once, twice, only to be dulled when she stepped onto the plush rug. "Well, I talked to that little bastard's attorney," she said without preamble, her tone indicating just what she thought of the meeting in general—or maybe it was the victim in particular. "Seems like Justin will be more than happy to settle the matter out of court—for a price, of course, greedy little son of a bi—"

"No need to insult the dogs," Evan cut in with a rueful smile. Sitting up slightly, he held out a hand to her, and though she looked like she wanted to argue with him, she rolled her eyes and took it, letting him tug her onto the sofa beside her. "Tell him I'll fork over a few million if he meets me in a darkened alley somewhere."

That earned him a chagrined sort of look. "It's not funny, Roka," she pointed out. "He's asking for fifty million dollars."

Evan snorted. "In his wet dreams," he muttered.

"That's pretty much what I said," she allowed with a shake of her head. "I think I can talk him down . . ." She trailed off, her lip curling in a decisive snarl. "It seemed like he wanted to barter."

Evan grinned at the slightly confused expression on her face, like she really couldn't believe she was talking in terms of millions of dollars like it was nothing at all, and while Evan wasn't exactly happy about the idea of handing the little fucker a damn dime, he couldn't rightfully say that he was all that sorry for having attacked him, in the first place. "Tell him I'll give him ten and I promise not to humiliate him again if he goes and crawls under a rock to die."

The scowl she leveled at him should have sobered him up a little. It didn't. If anything, it actually amused him a little more. "Damn it, Roka, we're talking about a lot of money here, and while I don't like the idea of giving him anything, the last thing—the _very_ last thing—we want is for him to decide to press charges against you after all."

"I know, V; I know," he grumbled since they'd already gone over this before. "Do whatever you have to do, but I don't want you anywhere near Jass Martel—do you hear me?"

"Too late," she replied with a weary shake of her head. "Of course he didn't look exactly how I remembered . . . His face was a little swollen."

Not even that was enough to amuse Evan, and he narrowed his eyes as a rush of anger ignited deep inside him. "Did he try to touch you? Did he—?"

Rolling her eyes, she gave him a healthy shove to shut him up. "Don't be stupid, Evan, and his attorney was right there! If you didn't want me to talk to him or anything, then you should have thought about that before you decided to let your fists do the talking!"

"At least take someone else with you next time—Bone or Mikey—hell, even Maddy," Evan asserted.

Valerie snorted and shook her head stubbornly. "I'm not the same teenage girl anymore, Roka! I don't need to take anyone with me to deal with the likes of Justin Martel; do you hear me?"

He didn't like it, and it must have shown on his face because her eyes narrowed a little more. He wasn't impressed. "Not negotiable, V."

For a moment, he thought that she might actually hit him. Then she sighed and shook her head, rubbing her face in a tired sort of way. "What am I going to do with you?" she asked, her voice muffled by her hands.

Evan relented. It bothered him to see her look so defeated. It bothered him more than he cared to admit. "Just stay away from him," he stated again, albeit in a much gentler tone. "I don't care what the hell he wants—let him have it. Just stay the hell away from him . . . please."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_'Jailhouse_** **_Rock_** ' _originally appeared on Elvis Presley's 1957 movie of the same name._ _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Jerry_ _Lieber_ _and_ _Mike_ _Stoller_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _He thinks money grows on trees_ …


	96. 095: Exhaustion

' _When you looked at me, I should have run_ …  
' _But I thought it was just for fun_ …  
' _I see, I was wrong_ …  
' _And I'm not so strong_ …  
' _I should have known all along that time would tell_ …'

 

-' _Vacation'_ by the Go Go's.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

The strangest sensation woke Valerie from a dreamless slumber. It was cold and wet and wholly unpleasant, and with a whimper of protest, she tried to burrow deeper under the blankets.

Evan chuckled and tugged the covers back. "C'mon, sleepyhead," he coaxed, smoothing Valerie's hair back off her shoulder. "It's a beautiful day outside!"

"Beautiful day _in_ side," she muttered sullenly, waving a hand blindly over her shoulder in a vain attempt to recapture the blanket he'd removed. "Give it, jerk."

"Sexy as hell when you're being crabby," he quipped.

Uttering a little growl and jerking slightly when another cold, wet droplet of water hit her bare neck, Valerie rolled over to pin the errant rock star with a decisive glower, only to find him standing there in nothing but a towel with bedraggled, wet hair dripping down his body in sparse little ribbons. Narrowing her eyes, she wrinkled her nose and snatched the blanket, yanking it up to her chin. "You're dripping," she muttered in an entirely accusing sort of way.

Evan's grin widened, and without warning, he gave his head a vigorous shake, sending a spray of water flashing through the air, and Valerie screeched when the cold droplets hit her full-on. "Evan!"

He laughed, his smile turning a little more wicked as he draped his hands on his hips. "You sure you don't want a shower, V?" he goaded. "You can be the second to try the new shower I had installed while I was out on tour."

She muttered something completely unintelligible as she flopped over onto her stomach and tried in vain to burrow under the blankets once more. Evan laughed and pulled them away despite her wildly swinging arm. "You're really grumpy in the mornings, baby," he remarked casually, letting the covers fall on the floor as his fists shot into the air while he stretched.

"Go to hell," she grumbled. "Better yet, get me some coffee."

That infernal chuckle of his ruffled over her like a caress, and she grunted, stubbornly burying her face deeper in the pillow, determined to ignore him—determined not to notice just how precariously low the soft white towel that he'd carelessly wrapped around his lean hips had dipped. "You win, V," he tossed casually over his shoulder as he let his arms drop and sauntered toward the door. "Coffee, it is."

Heaving a sigh, Valerie made a face as she rolled over to retrieve the tangle of blankets off the floor. If she were lucky, she'd be able to get back to sleep long before Evan reappeared with the coffee that he'd left to make. If she managed that, then he might let her alone—maybe. Then again, knowing him, it might well be a lost cause.

She'd only stayed over because it was so ungodly late when the final show of the mini-tour had ended last night. The show at Madison Square Garden had run a little longer than normal, mostly because Evan hadn't minded doing a handful of encores, and then they'd hung around after the show to spend some time with his special guests from the NYPD as well as Mr. Matthis' son, David and his best friend. By the time the limo had turned into Evan's driveway, she'd been too tired to argue with Evan about wanting to go home. At least, that's what she'd told herself. It had nothing at all to do with the sly little grin on Evan's face when he'd mentioned a little too casually that she might not see him for a few days.

" _Why? What are you planning on doing?' she demanded, crossing her arms and leveling him with a no-nonsense look_.

" _Nothing," he drawled innocently. "Just going to rest—That's all_."

 _Something about the wide-eyed look he gave her convinced her better than anything that the man was up to no good. "You remember the terms of our agreement, right?" she asked mildly_.

" _Now, baby, do you honestly think I'd forget about something as crucial as that?_ "

 _Somehow, that just wasn't as reassuring as he might have intended for it to be, and her thoughts must've been written in her expression because he chuckled. "If that's the case, then you won't mind if I come over to check up on you_."

 _That grin widened. "Fine, fine, but don't get all pissy if I don't answer the door_."

Of course, she hadn't really thought that he was actually dead serious when he'd said that he was just going to rest. Evan was akin to the Energizer bunny, wasn't he? Since when did he need that much sleep?

But he had, and as Valerie sat up with a terse grunt, she made a face. She vaguely remembered waking up yesterday a few times—long enough to use the bathroom before crawling back into that sinfully warm bed and instantly falling asleep once more, and when she glanced at the clock, she blinked when she realized that she'd slept for most of today, too.

It wasn't surprising, though. She'd spent a couple days, hammering out the details of the out of court settlement with Justin's attorney, slimeball that he was. He, of course, had asked for far more money than she was willing to agree to on Evan's behalf, so the back-and-forth had been exhausting. It was a small gift that most of it had been handled over the phone. In fact, there had only been three face-to-face meetings, all told, and one of those was nothing more than formality to have the agreement signed and be shut of it all. Bad enough, really, and something she hadn't told Evan: Justin had attended the second meeting, the way he'd stared at her, he'd known—at least, he thought that he'd known . . .

 _He still had that somewhat mocking lilt to his grin that she'd remembered. When they were young, she'd thought it was sexy. Now, however, the expression was almost enough to make her want to slap him silly. In fact, the only things that had curbed her desire to gouge his eyes out were the pronounced bandages, the cast on his arm, the still vivid purple bruises all over his face_.

" _You sure you're Roka's attorney?" he asked, leering at her with as much of a smile as he could manage—sad, really, given that his lips were still cracked and swollen_.

" _This is the best Mr. Roka is willing to offer," she said instead, her gaze dismissing Justin as quickly as she might a fly buzzing around her head in the summertime as she turned her attention to the smarmy looking lawyer in the chair beside the table in the small office that he'd borrowed from one of the hospital's staff for the meeting_.

 _Letting his gaze linger on her for several seconds before he took the file she extended to him, the attorney smiled rather stiffly, the kind of expression that irritated the hell out of her: the condescending look of a man who was merely humoring a woman. "Oh, I'm sure that your client is going to be more than generous; am I right?" he said glibly as he cracked open the slim-file and pressed the button to turn it on_.

" _I know you," Justin said, his mocking grin still in place though there was a hint of uncertainty in his gaze_.

 _Valerie didn't respond to that. What was the point, anyway? Waiting patiently while the attorney scrolled through the file before him, she didn't move, didn't even bat an eyelash, careful to keep her expression stony and impassive for the duration_.

" _We've met before, right?" Justin laughed suddenly, a husky, rasping sound, and nodded. "The after-Grammy party at Salozar's last year, right? The blue dress? Yeah?_ "

 _The attorney's terse and perfunctory chuckle cut off any response that Valerie might have been tempted to make, if she had been tempted at all. "Surely this isn't the best that your client can offer," he said, his voice a smooth mix of derision and disbelief. "Why, that's not even equal to the hospital bills and rehabilitation, not to mention the loss of wages for being unable to keep his commitments for the duration of his convalescence_."

" _And I assume you have an itinerary of the commitments that your client is going to miss?" she asked just as smoothly as he did_.

 _The attorney's smile thinned, but he dug a document out of his attaché case and handed it over after making a show of smoothing it a few times, as though the entire idea of sharing it with her was something that he hadn't really considered_.

 _There were a number of bookings that Justin was going to miss, most of them in second- or third-string venues, a far cry from the stadiums and arenas that Evan had sold out across the country, and the fees listed beside each very nearly made her raise an eyebrow in mock-surprise. "Are you sure that these amounts are accurate?" she asked at length and without lifting her gaze from the itinerary_.

 _The attorney chuckled rather indulgently. "I assure you, Ms. Denning, the numbers have been checked and double checked_."

 _She didn't bother even trying to smile as she lifted her eyes without moving her head. "Then you won't have an issue when I call all these contact numbers to verify the amounts_."

 _There was a moment of discomfort as the attorney's smile faltered for a moment, only to re-emerge a moment later as a dry, thin expression. "Are you insinuating that the numbers I've provided you are incorrect?_ "

" _Absolutely not," she replied in a tight, crisp tone. "I'm sure that you do believe that they're factual, however, from my time spent representing Mr. Roka, these number seem more along the lines of what he would be paid per appearance, and considering he's able to sell out huge venues, I don't know if I am willing to accept these figures without verifying them first." Pausing long enough to stow the documents into her attaché case, Valerie stood up to take her leave. "I think you should read over Mr. Roka's offer one more time. Since he's already offered to pay all medical bills as well as actual loss of wages on top of the lump sum payment, I think you'll change your mind about his generosity in this matter_."

" _We'll look it over and get back to you, Miss_ —"

" _V-Valene . . .?" Justin laughed—as much of a laugh as he could manage, all things considered. "Well, I'll be shit-damned!_ "

 _Valerie bristled, jaw tightening at the loathed name that she didn't care to hear, not to mention the shared past that she didn't want to think about. Summoning a tight, curt, barely civil smile, she shot Justin a bored glance that dismissed him completely before she ever really bothered to acknowledge him at all. "If you gentlemen will excuse me," she said without missing a beat, "I have other things that require my attention._ "

 _The slick, smarmy attorney didn't even bother to rise to his feet as she turned on her heel and strode out the door_.

At least they'd settled in the end, and while she had been afraid that they would drag it out, to milk it for all it was worth, she was surprised the next morning when the attorney had called to let her know that his client was willing to agree to a settlement that was only a little more than she'd originally offered.

Heaving a sigh, Valerie brushed the thoughts aside and shifted her gaze around the room. Usually it took her a little longer to truly wake up, but today she was entirely alert, no thanks to that rotten rock star downstairs and his dripping hair. Sleeping for as long as they had, though, she grudgingly admitted to herself that it wasn't entirely his fault, she supposed.

With a long, drawn out sigh, she sat up, shivering involuntarily when the cooler air outside of the cocoon of blankets she'd been cosseted by fell away. Making a face, she gritted her teeth and tossed the blankets aside before swinging her legs off the bed and pushing herself to her feet. Though a shower wasn't exactly the first thing she'd thought of right off the bat, she had to admit that the idea intrigued her, and if his newly-installed shower was really as impressive as he said it was, then she supposed that she might as well go investigate for herself.

Rubbing her face as a lethargic yawn threatened to split her jaw, she shuffled over to the sliding door that led to the rock star's master bathroom.

As usual, she couldn't help but appreciate the airy atmosphere that greeted her as the daytime lighting flickered to life even before the panel could completely slide open. One of these days, she would have to ask Evan who he'd hired to take care of his interior decorating, but that thought was quickly nudged aside as she rounded the corner and stepped inside the room. Pushing open the frosted glass doors that separated the shower from the rest of the wide open space, she frowned. True, the huge showerhead that had been there before was gone, but there wasn't really anything else in its place that she could tell aside from twelve small fountain heads that reminded her of the fire sprinklers installed in her office building. No, the only thing that looked different was the tile: a sealed and polished sandstone that was just shades darker than the off-white grout surrounding them.

Upon closer inspection, however, she finally saw them: camouflaged well enough that they weren't readily seen and set into the grout were literally hundreds—maybe thousands—of tiny jet nozzles, and when she knelt down to run her fingertips along the tile floor inside the cubicle, she could feel even more of those unobtrusive jets.

Biting her lip as she pushed herself to her feet once more, she couldn't help the little smile that quirked the corners of her lips as she reached for the touch panel installed in the bottom left side of the plate mirror that extended the length of the wall over the sink. 'V', the display read, and she blinked. Why didn't it surprise her that Evan had already programmed in a custom bathroom setting for her, anyway, she wondered as she pressed the one marked 'shower'. The default duration was preset to thirty minutes, and she figured that'd be more than long enough. The time setting flashed for a few seconds before the shower sprays erupted, and with a soft, giggle, she yanked off her clothes and stepped into the shower.

"Oh . . . my God . . ." she murmured, her eyes drifting closed as the soothing jets of water hit her from every conceivable direction. A few of them were more powerful than others, some of them only served to send up a soothing spray of steam. Opening her eyes, she noticed that one of the tiles on the wall had lit up, revealing a more detailed control system. Depressing the function button once changed the steady flow hitting her back into a welcome pulse massage, and she spared a few minutes to cycle through the other functions, as well. The one that intrigued her most was the sauna function. It brought down a sheet of clear glass that was somehow recessed into the ceiling and shifted all of the micro jets into steam mode while the ceiling fountains shut off and within seconds, she was surrounded by a delicious and sultry humidity.

With a heavy sigh and a thick dose of regret, Valerie pushed the function button to return the shower to its regular state. As much fun as it was to play around, real life was beckoning her, and she knew it.

"You like?"

Uttering a terse scream as she whipped around to face the intruder, Valerie slapped her hands up over her breasts and glowered at the errant rock star who had so casually wandered into the bathroom while she was messing around. Before she got a chance to lambaste him for it, though, she blinked. He had his face turned away from the shower with his hand stuck over the top of the frosted glass separator with a cup of coffee in his hand.

Scowling since she really ought to take him to task for his unceremonious appearance, Valerie sighed. He was Evan, wasn't he? Grumping at him wouldn't actually do any good, and she knew it. He didn't possess much in the way of a conscience, so she had very little doubt that he'd really feel bad for his intrusion, anyway.

Besides . . .

The coffee smelled damn good.

"Thanks," she allowed grudgingly as she stepped closer to the divider to better shield herself in case he decided that he needed to try to get a good peek. "It'll do."

He chuckled but still didn't try to look. "Just 'it'll do'?" he teased, tucking his elbow but not removing his arm from the divider. "You're a hard woman to impress, V."

Closing her eyes as she wrapped both hands around the coffee mug, she took a drink before she deigned to reply. "Oh, please, Roka. Like you had this put in for me, anyway."

"Maybe I did," he countered good-naturedly.

"If you had, then you'd have had one installed in my apartment instead of here," she argued.

Evan snorted, but she could tell he was grinning. "And why would I have done a damn stupid thing like that?"

"What's so stupid about that?" she countered, her voice muffled by the coffee mug that she'd lifted to her lips again.

Of course, he laughed again. "Considering that I'd rather that you were here with me instead of holed up in your apartment? Plenty," he scoffed.

After draining her coffee cup, Valerie wrinkled her nose and tapped his hand with the empty vessel. "Yeah, well, get out of here so I can finish my shower," she remarked primly.

"All right; all right," he drawled, taking the cup and finally pivoting his head to stare at her. "You want another cup of Joe?"

She opened her mouth to say 'no', but snapped it closed with a sigh. While she knew damn well that encouraging Evan in any way, shape, or form was a bad idea, she had to admit that the man could and did make one of the best cups of coffee, bar none. "Why don't you just bring me the whole pot, Roka, and leave it on the counter over there?"

Evan chuckled and inclined his head. "Your wish is my command, Oh Magnificent and Awe-Inspiring V-ness." His cheesy grin widened. "Get it? Venus?"

Rolling her eyes at his really warped sense of humor, Valerie just managed to keep from laughing outright—barely. "Move it so I can finish up in here," she commanded, though she couldn't keep the amusement out of her tone.

"You hungry? I could make you something," he offered as he turned to go.

She almost declined out of habit then sighed when her stomach growled. If he heard it, he gave no indication, but she relented. "Nothing overly fatty," she called after him. Now that they were home from their little odyssey, she had every intention of getting back into her regular routine of watching what she ate and getting more exercise. Being out on the road with Evan had made those things so hard to do, especially when they were rushed around so often, only to be confined to such cramped quarters, as well. To be honest, she should have gone for a jog this morning, and she would have if she hadn't slept so long. She'd just make sure that she was extra vigilant about her regime—starting tomorrow.

Raising a hand to indicate that he'd heard her without stopping to turn around, Evan sauntered away, pausing only long enough to glance back at her and waggle his eyebrows before moving on.

"Weirdo," she muttered under her breath at his perceived goofiness.

His laughter lingered long after he'd left the room, and Valerie shook her head. No doubt about it, he was definitely in a good mood, and she figured that it could only mean bad, bad things for her . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Vacation_** ' _originally appeared on the Go Go's_ _1982_ _release,_ **_Vacation_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Jane_ _Wiedlin_ , _Kathy_ _Valentine_ , _Charlotte_ _Caffey_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Okay_. _So_ _the_ _shower_ _is_ _nice_ …


	97. 096: Dr. Zelig

' _Say my name and say his in the same breath_ …  
' _I dare you to say they taste the same_ …  
' _Let the leaves fall off in the summer_ …  
' _And let December glow feel flames_ …'

 

-' _I Don't Care'_ by Fall Out Boy.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Shuffling out of the bathroom in a thick white terry robe sporting the letter 'V' embroidered on the back in pink thread and her hair wrapped, turban-style atop her head with a cup of steaming coffee in her hands, Valerie took her time sipping the drink as her gaze fell on her unpacked suitcase standing near the window. She'd dig out something to wear in a bit, but at the moment, she opted to wander over to the windows instead, narrowing her eyes against the bright glow of the late October sunshine.

Evan actually had brought her a full carafe of coffee, and he'd left it for her on the counter in the bathroom before assuring her that breakfast would be done 'shortly' and that he'd make sure that she had something 'acceptable' to eat. Of course, it was rather late in the day for breakfast, but Valerie wasn't going to argue about it. She didn't really want something heavy like supper, anyway.

She really needed to sit down and refresh herself on Evan's case, and to be honest, she probably should've started that a couple days ago when they'd first gotten home. Because of the mini-tour, she'd lost a lot of valuable time already, and while she had to admit that she had enjoyed the experience on a whole, she couldn't help but feel more than a little discouraged about the lack of progress she'd made on the case, too.

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie set the empty coffee mug on the window sill and turned her attention to getting dressed instead. Grabbing the first pair of jeans she laid hands upon and a white sweater, it didn't take her long to accomplish her task, and she couldn't help the smile that surfaced as she shook out the robe and held it up to stare at the 'V' embroidered on the back. It rather ruined her delusions that he was keeping the robe around for any of his many and varied female guests, all things considered. Shaking her head, she draped it over her arm and turned to head back toward the bathroom to hang it up again.

She supposed she ought to thank him, anyway, considering he'd actually taken the time to run both the towel that she'd used as well as this robe through the dryer long enough to get them good and toasty before she'd gotten out of the shower. When he'd returned with the coffee, he'd had the robe and the towel slung over his arm, and when reached for them a few minutes later, the warmth that still permeated the items was enough to make her smile despite herself.

After hanging the robe on the hook empty hook where he'd hung it after bringing it upstairs, she headed back to the bedroom once more. The rumpled bed was the only thing that seemed out of place in the bright room, and she frowned as she strode over to pull up the sheet and blankets.

It didn't take long to straighten up the bed, but as she moved to stand up on Evan's side, her toe bumped against a shelf that she hadn't seen underneath and winced at the unmistakable sound of breaking glass. "Damn," she muttered, dropping to her hands and knees to assess the damage.

It was some kind of glass ball that held what looked to be sand inside. It hadn't broken completely, but it had cracked, and Valerie grimaced. She doubted that Evan would be angry, of course. He never had been one to stand upon things, but that didn't make her feel any better about having broke it, in the first place.

Bracing her hands against the floor to push herself back to her feet once more so she could go find him and show him the damage, Valerie's thoughtful frown deepened when she noticed the books stacked on the shelf. There were two of them and one thin black leather binder that was sandwiched in between. ' _High school year books . . .?_ ' _Bevelle Bugler_ was imprinted on the spine, and she bit her lip, settling into a more comfortable position as she pulled them out and opened the first one.

Scanning through the index until she found the name 'Zelig, Evan', Valerie pressed her lips together as she flipped pages until she found the photograph. She wasn't sure what she was expecting to see. After all, didn't everyone's yearbook picture look a little awkward, a little geeky? But no, even in black and white—Evan was a freshman that year—she grudgingly had to admit that he really didn't look that much different back then: a little leaner in the face, a little more slender overall, but the reality of it was that he hadn't really changed that much, had he? "Figures," she muttered, shaking her head as she grasped the pages, referencing the next number in the index before flicking the edges, the pages whispering softly as she searched for the next image.

Evan and a very young-looking, very pretty Madison, sitting on the edge of the stage in the school auditorium . . . He had his arm slung around her shoulders; she had her temple resting against him. ' _Goofing around during practice for the spring production of '_ Grease _' are Kenickie (aka Evan Zelig) and Frenchie (aka Madison Cartham)_.'

Valerie smiled to herself. Somehow the idea of Evan in high school theater didn't really surprise her. After all, if music was involved, there was no way he'd have any kind of second thoughts about it, would he?

Those were the only two pictures of Evan in that year's book, though, and Valerie set it aside, enjoying her impromptu stroll down memory lane.

A little smile that quirked the corners of her lips as she ran her fingertips over the nondescript black leather folder widened slightly. The gold seal on the outside denoted it as having come from New York University. She'd known that he had attended college; he'd said as much before, but as she carefully lifted the cover, as she read the document inside, she frowned. ' _Wh . . . What . . .?_ '

"All right, woman. Breakfast's almost ready," Evan commented as she strode into the room with one hand jammed casually into his pocket, a cup of coffee in his other. "Hope you're hungry because I cooked a lot."

"You're a doctor?" she replied without looking up from the document in her hands. Her tone was even, a little impressed.

He didn't seem to notice. "Huh?" he countered, his voice muffled by the mug in his hands.

"A PhD," she reiterated, finally looking up to pin Evan with a challenging, albeit amused, gaze.

He finally seemed to notice what she held in her hands, a fleeting glimpse of a darker emotion flickering to life, only to be squelched before she could rightfully discern it. "Oh, that? Eh, that's nothing . . . It's . . . It's one of those honorary ones."

Valerie rolled her eyes and shook her head, grabbing the yearbook off the floor and carefully replacing the stack on the shelf once more before pushing herself to her feet again and crossing her arms over her chest. "That wasn't an honorary degree," she countered mildly, unable to fathom why he was downplaying the obvious accomplishment.

Evan snorted and drained his coffee cup. "It ain't no big thing," he insisted. "Music theory is hardly an accomplishment."

The disbelief in her expression grew as she stared at him, as she tried to comprehend the idea that he was actually trying to downplay the entire thing. In fact, if she didn't know better, she'd swear that he was . . . Irritated . . . But why? "Don't give me that, Roka," she challenged in a much milder tone than she wanted to use. "I went to college, you realize, and I graduated from law school. I know damn well just how hard it is to get a Ph.D. in _any_ subject, music or otherwise."

Evan made a face and let out a deep breath as he set his coffee mug aside and shuffled over to flop on the bed. "Music's always been easy for me, V, and it's not like I'm a _real_ doctor or anything," he grumbled, letting his forearm drape over his eyes.

"Like that matters," she scoffed, settling on the edge of the bed and smacking Evan's arm with the back of her hand. "Bet your mom thinks it's a big deal."

"Eh, she probably would," he allowed with a candid shrug.

The retort that had been forming on Valerie's tongue died abruptly as she shifted to stare at him, as her gaze clouded over with a suspect glint. "What do you mean, ' _probably_ '?" she demanded quietly, the implication plain even if she really didn't— _couldn't_ —believe it.

"Forgot to tell them," he replied as though it were of no real consequence.

Valerie blinked and stared in abject surprise. "You . . . _forgot_. . . to tell them?" she echoed dumbly. "How the hell did you _forget_ to tell them that you'd earned your doctorate?"

Lifting his arm away from his face far enough to cast Valerie a somewhat bored stare, Evan considered her question before answering. "Slipped my mind," he drawled. "'Sides, they just mailed it to me, anyway."

She snorted indelicately and let out a long, drawn-out sigh. "It's still a huge thing, Roka," she admonished almost sadly, disbelief still thick in her tone. "Why do you downplay every single good thing you ever manage to do?"

Pushing himself up on his elbows, Evan grinned unrepentantly. "Like anyone would believe it, anyway," he pointed out with a thoroughly amused chuckle. "Anyway, it wasn't about them. I just thought that the classes were interesting; that's all."

"You got your Ph.D. because the classes were interesting?" she repeated dryly. "Is that what you're trying to sell me?"

He shrugged and sat up, scooting off the bed before reaching for her hands to tug her to her feet, too. "Yeah, that sounds about right," he replied. "Damn, I'm fucking _starving_. . ."

She wanted to argue with him over the idea that no one would believe his accomplishment, but she sighed instead. It was quite obvious, judging from his demeanor, that he had no intention of entertaining further discussion on the subject, and even if she didn't understand why he harbored such reluctance to show anyone that he really was incredibly smart, she knew, didn't she?

Somehow, it wasn't nearly as surprising as it could have been, either. Evan . . . When had he ever tried to convince people that he was anything other than the cliché 'idiot rock star'? Even if it bothered her more than she could credit, maybe . . .

Maybe it was enough that she knew otherwise.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

" _I went to college, you realize, and I graduated from law school. I know damn well just how hard it is to get a Ph.D. in_ any _subject, music or otherwise_."

Drumming his knuckles on the table as he waited for the dump to be written, Evan tried not to think about Valerie's commentary.

What did it matter, anyway? It didn't, not really. It just wasn't a big deal.

Besides, he hadn't gotten his doctorate to impress his family or anything. No, he honestly had thought that the curriculum was interesting, which, in his mind, was as good a reason as any to have gotten the degree. After earning his master's degree, it had seemed like the logical thing to do, never mind he hadn't bothered to tell his family about that, either. He hadn't tried to keep it from them, no, but he hadn't actually gone out of his way to make a big deal out of it, either. He'd gotten his masters for himself, anyway—the bachelor's degree he'd first earned was to satisfy his father—and at the time, Evan had just wanted to do something for himself. Even then, as much as he had hated high school, college, he'd discovered, was a whole different ballgame, probably because he hadn't had to sit through hours of lessons that he'd already learned.

The truth of it was that there hadn't been as much of a thought of his future or anything involved. He'd simply been fascinated with the theory, the structure, of music, and he supposed that it was natural, given his propensity to gravitate toward anything and everything that was musically oriented.

He frowned. True, he hadn't told his family that he'd opted to continue his education, but the decision not to tell them about having earned his Ph.D. hadn't actually been planned at the time. In fact, had things been different, he might have let them know about it, but as it turned out, receiving his degree had been the last thing on his mind back then. The entire family had been turned upside down when his cousin, Samantha had inexplicably disappeared, and Evan hadn't given it a second thought, opting instead to fly out, to help everyone try to find her.

They had in the end—well, kind of. Samantha had come home after three months, and while no one had known where she was or what had happened to her during her time away, the mystery was cleared up soon enough when video chips had been found in her backpack, and the awful things that she'd had to endure during the three months when she was missing was enough to turn Evan's stomach even now. She'd been subjected to all manner of atrocities, all in the name of 'research', but in a strange twist of fate, she'd ended up falling in love with the man who had captured her in the beginning, and while Evan didn't like what Kurt Drevin had done, he had to allow that the man really did love Samantha and that he honestly hadn't realized at the time that all youkai weren't necessarily monsters.

Given the situation at the time, though, it wasn't really any wonder that Evan hadn't bothered to tell anyone about earning his doctorate. To be entirely honest, he had completely forgotten about it, anyway, until he'd gotten finished with the world tour he'd ducked out of to help with the search for Samantha. When he'd finally gotten home again, his degree was waiting for him, along with a small mountain of personal mail that had accumulated while he was on the road.

He supposed that it had become almost an afterthought then. It just hadn't occurred to him to tell anyone, and the more time that passed, the more he'd realized that his mother might be more upset that he hadn't mentioned his achievement years ago, so he just never bothered. After all, Gin really would have made a huge deal out of it, and, well, Evan hadn't thought that it was necessary to do so.

The portable chip writer beeped to indicate that the data transfer was complete, and Evan ejected the chip to put away. He wasn't completely finished with the song he'd recorded, but he figured that he could come back to it in a week or two, give it a listen, and probably be able to tell then just what he thought was lacking. It wasn't a big deal, and it was something that he'd done pretty frequently. Usually it worked, too, and some of his better songs had come about in such a way.

Heaving a sigh as he leaned back against the sofa, rubbing his neck to chase away the trace stiffness that had set in after hours of sitting in one place, hunched over the acoustic guitar he always used when banging out a new song. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he wasn't entirely surprised to see that he'd been holed up in his music room for over twenty-four hours since Valerie had gone home shortly after their impromptu breakfast with the admonishment that he'd better behave because she had to get back on the job of trying to keep him out of jail, and he, of course, had grinned since it never failed to amuse him whenever she behaved as though she believed that he was nigh unto Satan. 'Course, to her credit, he did have a bad habit of reinforcing that belief—or at least, he didn't go out of his way to disabuse her of the notion. But he'd retired to his music room just to spend some time playing whatever struck him, and at some point, he'd ended up with a riff that he'd liked enough to record and the start of a tune.

"Fuck," he muttered, hauling himself to his feet to place the old acoustic guitar back on the rack where it usually sat whenever he wasn't playing it. He honestly hadn't meant to stay in here that long. In fact, there was a good chance that Mike was going to be more than a little irritated with him since he'd blown off a meeting earlier—not intentionally, and not that it'd matter. He'd still get an earful from his manager, but it wasn't the first time that Evan had lost track of time because he was in his groove, and he highly doubted it'd be the last time, either.

Shuffling over to the central panel that monitored the house's systems, Evan grimaced when he noticed that he'd missed a number of phone calls during his session. Four of them were from Mike—those he deleted without listening to them since he figured he knew what those were about. Bugs had called to welcome him home, Bitches wanted to let him know that she'd stopped by a couple days before he'd gotten home to perform an aura cleansing, Bone was letting him know that he'd had to call the cops to have a couple overzealous fans picked up. That one elicited a lifting of the eyebrow since that wasn't something that usually happened. Normally the big guy would just hang out with the fans for a little while, give them an autographed photo that the team kept in the guardhouse, and it was all good. Those kids must've tried to sneak past security a few times or something. Even then, Evan figured that Bone just asked the fuzz to remove the kids until they calmed down, no big deal.

A phone call from his mama to let him know that Bas would drop off the dogs next week when he was in the city though Evan had little doubt that she'd try to keep at least one of them since that tended to be par for course, as well. A couple from Madison to let him know that she was currently somewhere in Beverly Hills with a guy named Viero Ruiz. Evan hadn't heard of him before, but Madison said that he was a 'lovely Spaniard' who didn't speak much English but seemed to speak _her_ language well enough . . .

Six calls from Valerie, and those made him smile. "Just thought I'd give you a call and make sure that you're behaving, Roka. You'd better be . . ." _Beep_. "You know, there's a bunch of construction workers doing some stuff to the sidewalk outside my office. One of them looks like he might be your type—big, muscle-y . . . Very little brain . . ." _Beep_. Evan chuckled. "Oh, I have a good one for you: what do you call a rock star with a Bible? Give up? A priest!" _Beep_. He grimaced, but couldn't help the grin on his face, either. "I saw a review for that new French restaurant in the Times today and was wondering if you've been there yet?" _Beep_. "Seriously, now, you're really not out getting into trouble, right? Please tell me you're behaving . . ." _Beep_. "So there was a guy outside my building earlier when I got home. He was apparently quite proud of his penis since he was flashing everyone who walked by. A relative of yours, maybe?" _Beep_. Those messages made him grin, and he'd have to tell her how much she amused him tomorrow. At the moment, though?

Keying in the password to set the locks in his house, Evan yawned and rolled his head back and forth a few times before turning to trudge toward the stairs.

True enough, he could usually run with the best of them, and he wasn't weary in body as much as he was mentally tired—something that tended to happen when he spent as long as he had, holed up in his music room. He'd be right as rain after a few hours' sleep though, and with that thought in mind, he headed upstairs.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _I_** **_Don't_** **_Care_** ' _originally appeared on Fall_ _Out_ _Boy's_ _2008_ _release,_ **_Folie_** **_a_** **_Deux_** _._ _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Pete_ _Wentz_ _and_ _Patrick_ _Stump_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _I_ _knew_ _he_ _wasn't_ _stupid!_


	98. 097: Insomnia

' _Deep in the bosom of the gentle night_ …  
' _Is when I search for the light_ …  
' _Pick up my pen and start to write_ …  
' _I struggle, fight dark forces in the clear moonlight_ …  
' _Without fear, insomnia, I can't get no sleep_ …'

 

-' _Insomnia'_ by Faithless.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

' _This is all_ his _fault_.'

Rolling over onto her stomach, Valerie made a face as she burrowed deeper into her pillow and tried to force herself to go to sleep. It might have worked if she was even remotely sleepy. She wasn't. Nope, if anything, she was even more wide awake, no thanks to that dork rock star. His mini-tour had completely thrown her usual schedule for a loop, and getting back into the swing of things was proving to be even more difficult than she'd thought it would be.

Of course, it didn't help that she'd spent the last few hours wondering just what kind of mischief he'd managed to find. He hadn't answered any of her phone calls since she'd left his house yesterday, and if she didn't know better, she'd swear that he was pouting or something, especially since she'd told him that she had to buckle down and work on his case, but surprisingly, he hadn't seemed to be too upset about her insistence that he stay out of trouble so she could work without worrying about whether or not he was out raising Cain.

Having spent the majority of the day in the seclusion of her office going over Evan's case, Valerie had hoped that she'd find something that she might have overlooked before—some kind of loophole that she'd be able to exploit—to no avail. She'd sat down with the vehicle inspection report that she'd taken with her on the tour, but combing through it was a long process, and she really hadn't made much more of a dent in it than she had on the bus. Frustrating, sure, but there had to be something, and with any luck, it was just a matter of time until she found it. The current problem, however, didn't have much to do with Evan's case in general. No, the current dilemma was that her mind was too wound up from work, and thanks to the extra-long sleep she'd indulged in after they'd gotten back from the mini-tour, Valerie just wasn't tired in the least.

Heaving a longsuffering sigh, Valerie sat up, shoulders slumping with a thoroughly defeated air, and she grabbed the cell phone off the nightstand, dialing the number without a second thought.

It rang four times before the voicemail kicked in. Wrinkling her nose, Valerie hung up on the machine and waited for a few seconds before hitting redial.

"Yeah?" Evan's groggy voice came over the line.

"What are you doing?" she asked, leaning back against the headboard as she glanced at the darkened window across the room.

"V-V?" he murmured almost vaguely.

Valerie snorted and wrinkled her nose. "Of course," she replied. "Who else would it be?"

He grunted something unintelligible.

"So what are you doing?" she questioned again.

Yawning loudly, Evan took a moment to answer. "Sleeping," he replied simply.

"Oh, you're not!" she argued. "You never sleep, remember?"

"Sometimes," he confessed. "I'll talk to you 'morrow, 'kay?"

"No, wait," she blurted, only to be greeted by the beep that told her that the call had been ended. That didn't dissuade her, though, and she hit redial again.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping, too?" Evan asked in lieu of a proper greeting. He didn't sound any more awake than he had a few minutes before.

"I'm bored, Roka—and no, I can't sleep."

He didn't say anything for a few seconds. Valerie had to wonder if he'd lowered the phone to double check the caller ID or something. "Bored," he repeated. "Is that right?"

"Yes," she said, her tone a little sulkier than she'd meant for it to be.

Evan sighed, but the sound shifted easily into a yawn. "Woman, you've _got_ to be shitting me," he muttered.

"Oh, like you've never been bored before," she retorted. "Aren't you the one who says that it's bad to be bored?"

"No," he countered mildly. "I said that it's bad when _I_ get bored. You, on the other hand, are entirely upstanding, so I don't think you'll get in the same kind of trouble that I do." He yawned again. "Night, V."

That didn't dissuade her, either. "Hey, you know, I'll bet that one place is still open—that crab shack place you took me to before."

"You're hungry?" he asked, the disbelief evident in his tone.

Waving a hand, not that he could see it, Valerie snorted. "Not really," she admitted. "Just bored, but you're _always_ hungry, aren't you?"

"Not tonight, I'm not," he informed her. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

She wasn't sure why Evan's question caught her off guard, but it did, and when she glanced at the clock, only to give it a classic double take, Valerie bit her lip almost guiltily—not nearly guiltily enough to hang up the phone, though. "So it's four in the morning," she scoffed, injecting just enough bravado to mask the prickles her conscience was dealing her.

"So I wanna go back to sleep," he insisted. "I'll call you after I get up."

Rolling her eyes as she tossed the covers aside and swung her legs off the bed, Valerie still wasn't ready to admit defeat as she paced back and forth across the floor. "Aw, come on, Roka. Let's go jogging."

"Baby, I swear to God, I'll do whatever you want. Just let me sleep for another . . . six hours or so," Evan offered.

" _Six_ hours?" Valerie squeaked. "Are you kidding?"

Uttering a half-groan, Evan chuckled wanly. "I wish," he allowed. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"Fine, fine," Valerie grouched, flopping down on the edge of the bed once more. "It's the beginning of the end for you, isn't it? Too tired to go do something with me today; living in Vegas and playing cover versions of the cheesiest love songs, ever, tomorrow . . . Zel Roka, shock rocker, all decked out in a white double knit pantsuit that looks like you were attacked by a Bedazzler, singing _How Do I Love Thee_ or something like that . . ."

"No way," he countered mildly. "I'm gonna open the most wicked metal chapel of love."

"Metal chapel of love?" Valerie echoed, eyebrow arching artfully. "You mean like the some kind of weird shrine dedicated to metal? Oh, and by the way, Roka. You're not metal, anyway."

"Keh," Evan snorted though he still had yet to actually sound irritated. "People will pay big bucks to be married by _the_ Zel Roka, don't you think?"

"Oh, no, I don't," she said with a wince, "and you obviously shouldn't, either. Besides, you don't have the accreditation to do any such thing. None of their marriages would be legal."

"Eh, I can get certified online or something," he replied carelessly. "That would be pretty fucking sweet, wouldn't it?"

"If you think so," she remarked rather acerbically. "Now are you coming over to go jogging?"

"Good night, V," he said—at least, that's what she thought he'd said. His words were pretty jumbled by the yawn that he had tried to talk through.

"Okay, I get the hint," Valerie grumbled. "I'll just go jogging alone . . . a nice, long jog . . . I think I might take the long trail through Central Park. Bye, Roka."

She hung up and tossed her phone onto the bed beside her, letting out a deep breath before she pushed herself to her feet and shuffled over to the closet to grab a warm up suit . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

'. . . _Damn it_.'

Smothering a yawn with the back of his hand, Evan plodded along behind the attorney, absently appreciating the very nice bounce in her step as the two of them jogged in companionable silence.

He wasn't entirely certain whether her remark about Central Park had been calculated or not, but there wasn't any way he could just ignore her after she'd said that considering the park was a dangerous place, especially at night.

Not that he really could complain too much, anyway. After all, he got to trail around after her with his eyes glued to her very shapely ass, didn't he? That had to account for something.

"I thought you said you were tired, Roka," Valerie said without breaking her brisk stride.

"Eh, well, you know," he drawled. "It was either stay in bed and have wet dreams about you or join you so that I could try to convince you to fuck me instead."

"Dream on," she scoffed though she sounded more amused than irritated, and that had to be a good sign, or so he figured.

"So tell me why you're up so late . . . early . . ." Evan asked as they jogged into the park.

"Just couldn't sleep," she replied airily. "Get your eyes off my ass."

Breaking into a wolfish grin, Evan didn't try to argue his innocence since his gaze _was_ planted firmly on her ass. He figured it wasn't too far a stretch that she knew, anyway. Considering he liked to spend an inordinate amount of time staring right at that, anyway, Valerie had to have known.

"And I wanted to talk to you," she went on.

"'Bout what?"

"About Saturday."

Her answer took him by surprise even as a little grin surfaced on his features. "What about it?" he asked instead.

Sparing a moment to glance over her shoulder at him, Valerie seemed satisfied that he was, indeed, listening to him. "Marvin's flying in to spend the day with me," she told him, "and you're going to swear to me that you're going to stay out of trouble so that I don't have to worry about you."

Wrinkling his nose, Evan stifled the low growl that surged in his throat at the mere mention of that little butt-nut. He much preferred when she went for days without talking about him, damned if he didn't . . . "What? I thought you dumped his ass," Evan replied rather obnoxiously.

Valerie snorted, lifting a delicate hand to wipe the slight sheen of perspiration off her brow. "Don't be a jerk, Evan," she retorted mildly.

"I'm not," he maintained reasonably—maybe too reasonably. "You didn't talk to him for weeks while we were out on tour, right? Stands to reason that I thought you'd dumped his miserable ass."

She snorted again but didn't bother to stop or to look at him. "Don't be obnoxious. Now promise you'll behave."

"No promises, V," he went on, increasing his pace so that he fell into step beside her. "I mean, Saturday's pretty far away, right? How the hell do I know what I'll be doing while Barfy's in town?"

He could feel her gaze on his face even if he didn't look to confirm it. "Oh, no, Roka," she said with a stubborn shake of her head. "You're going to swear to me that you'll be good. I haven't seen Marvin in months, you know. It's not going to kill you to behave for one day—I mean, you stayed out of trouble yesterday, didn't you?"

Rolling his eyes, Evan grinned. "That's because I was in my groove," he pointed out. "So what's the occasion?"

"Occasion?" Valerie repeated then snorted. "Does it have to be some kind of special occasion for my fiancé to want to spend some time with me?" Evan opened his mouth to answer that, but Valerie must've figured out that he was going to make some kind of disparaging comment, and she held up a hand to forestall it. "Don't go there," she warned matter-of-factly. "Besides, if you don't know what Saturday is, then I'm not going to tell you, anyway."

The almost sulking tone in her voice was enough to make Evan's grin widen. ' _Saturday, huh?_ ' he thought to himself. Of course he knew what Saturday was. Too bad he wasn't about to tell her that he knew, though . . . "Okay, V, you win. What's Saturday?" he asked instead.

"You really don't know?" she blurted almost incredulously. Her momentary surprise was quickly masked behind a scowl of pure irritation. "Well, if you don't know, then I'm _certainly_ not going to tell you."

"Saturday, Saturday," Evan repeated thoughtfully, dropping to a walk as he made a show of pondering the day. Eyes rounding suddenly, he snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "Oh! Saturday! Is that when the city decided to allow trick or treating?"

"W—I— _No!_ " she snapped, drawing up abruptly, swinging around to pin him with and incredulous look as she draped her hands on her hips and lifted her chin stubbornly.

Shuffling his feet, scratching his head thoughtfully, Evan shrugged. "It's the best day of the week for cartoons on TV?"

Her mouth dropped open, wisps of hair that had escaped from the industrious ponytail she'd pulled her hair into blowing into her slightly flushed face lending a gentleness to her features in the manufactured light of the path lamp beside the trail, and she shook her head. "You suck, Roka. Do you know that?" she grumbled.

"Okay, okay," he relented with a chuckle. "How about a hint?"

Rolling her eyes melodramatically, Valerie broke into a jog once more. "It's my birthday," she tossed over her shoulder. "And don't tell me that you didn't know."

"Oh, yeah? Happy birthday," he replied, plodding along beside her, mildly surprised that she'd given in that easily. Of course he'd known that. She didn't know that, though. "How was I supposed to know that? You never mentioned it before."

"It's not my birthday yet," she informed him tightly.

"So how old are you gonna be?" he went on. "Thirty? Thirty-five?"

She very nearly stumbled over a rock in the path as her head whipped to the side to glower at him. "I'm not that old!" she snapped haughtily.

He reached out, caught her around the waist to steady her, his laughter soft, breathy as he drew her back against his chest. "I was teasing, V. Sorry about that."

A slight tremor raced up her spine, and Evan had a feeling that it had nothing at all to do with the brisk October morning and everything to do with her body's proximity to his. Still she turned just enough to pin him with a darkened scowl. "Didn't your mother teach you better than to make fun of a lady's age?"

"Must've missed that lesson," he quipped. "You want to go get some breakfast?"

Wrinkling her nose, she pulled away from him and started jogging once more. "Tired already?" she goaded.

Evan's smile didn't fade as he took off after her again. "Naw," he drawled. "You're the one who mentioned food earlier on the phone, though."

"We haven't been out long enough to work up an appetite," she insisted. "A little longer, and then we can go find something for you to eat."

That sounded pretty fair to him, Evan supposed. Besides, he wasn't really that hungry, and having Valerie to himself? That made everything pretty well worth it, in his estimation.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"You're not seriously going to eat all that, are you?"

Glancing up from the huge, heaping platter of biscuits and gravy that the waitress had just set before him, Evan grinned. "Damn straight," he agreed.

Valerie shook her head and made a face. "But that's your _third_ plate."

His grin widened. "Damn straight," he said again.

"Ugh," she muttered, wrinkling her nose and shaking her head as she forced her gaze away. "I can feel my arteries closing, just from watching you."

"Wan' a bite?" he garbled around a huge mouthful of biscuits and gravy.

"No, thanks," she assured him, gesturing at the waitress to get a refill on her coffee. "Good thing you have lots of money, rocker-boy. You're going to need it in five years when you're getting that quadruple heart bypass surgery."

Evan laughed and stuffed another huge bite into his mouth. "'Eck iz ou, V," he said, setting the fork aside and lifting a whole biscuit off the plate.

Valerie watched in horrified fascination as the man managed to shove the whole thing into his mouth. "Good God," she whispered, her hand fluttering over her chest as though she were in the middle of severe heart palpitations. "You're just not right."

"Mmm," he moaned. "'O 'oo-oo-ood . . ."

It was kind of like a train wreck. She just couldn't make herself look away, even though she wanted to more than anything— _anything_. "I can't . . . I can't . . . _Eww_ , Roka! At least close your mouth!"

He tried to say something else, but she couldn't really understand it. Waving his hand toward her, he scooped up another biscuit and hefted it up proudly.

"Oh, no, no," she insisted, shaking her head stubbornly. "No way! Don't! You'll choke or— _u-u-ugh!_ "

He laughed as he somehow managed to shove that one in, too, though the actual sound was more of a wheeze.

"Well, that's just the sexiest thing I've ever seen," she muttered dryly.

Evan laughed harder, spitting out a few crumbs and a glob of gravy onto the table. Valerie grimaced, unable to contain the look of utter disgust as Evan choked and leaned to the side, doubling over as a series of unsavory sounds escaped him.

"Oh, my God, V!" he chortled finally, having somehow swallowed all the food that he'd crammed into his mouth as he reached for a glass of water to chase it all down. "It almost came out my nose!"

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head despite the hint of a smile that quirked her lips, Valerie pushed her plate of barely touched poached egg and grapefruit aside. "It would've served you right," she decided.

His amusement finally wound down though his smile didn't disappear. "Life would be boring without me, V," he pointed out as he lifted the fork and cut off another large bite.

"It'd be something," she allowed.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving a hand as he shoveled in more food. "So, what do you want for your birthday?"

Valerie blinked and shot him a look as she opened her mouth to offer the perfunctory answer: ' _Oh, you know, you don't have to buy me anything. It's the thought that counts, right?_ '

' _Right_ ,' the voice in the back of her mind said—the nice one that tended to always think in terms of 'politically correct'.

She snorted inwardly and sat back in her chair. "I don't care," she said instead.

"You don't care?" he echoed. "You gonna give me that, 'You don't have to give me anything as long as you are thinking of me' crap?"

Considering that was exactly what she had thought, Valerie couldn't help the giggle that escaped her. "All right, Roka, you know what I want?" she asked suddenly.

Evan's grin widened. "Yes, V, I do."

She nodded slowly and pinned him with a menacing stare. "I don't care what you get me," she stated once more, "but it had better be expensive."

Evan blinked and barked out a laugh. "That right?" he asked between chuckles.

Valerie raised an eyebrow, as though daring him to argue with her. "You've got more money than God, don't you?"

"Do I?" he countered, his amusement obvious.

"Well, you used to," she couldn't resist adding, "until you decided to use Justin as a punching bag."

"Ah, yeah," he allowed. "Happy birthday to me."

"It's not your birthday," she pointed out.

Evan chuckled again and stared at his empty plate as though he were considering ordering yet another. "I consider that to be an early present to me," he told her.

For some reason, that didn't surprise her—and she couldn't rightfully disagree with him, either—even if she wasn't too pleased that he'd done such a stupid thing, to start with . . . "Anyway, if you can afford to dish out money for stupid stuff like that, then you can afford to spend lots of money on me then, can't you?"

"I thought it wasn't the price that mattered but the thought that went into it," he remarked.

Valerie snorted indelicately and reached out to push his hand down when he started to raise it to call over the waitress. "Whoever said that was poor," she countered.

"Is that so?"

She nodded. "Of course it's so. You've got money, so spend it."

He nodded slowly. "You going to tell me what you want then?"

"Of course not!" she scoffed. "A present isn't a present if you have to tell someone what to buy."

"As long as it's expensive, you mean."

Valerie nodded. "You catch on pretty quick," she allowed.

"Yeah, but if you're gonna spend the day with Myrtle, then I won't be able to give you a present," he goaded.

Valerie sighed and waved a hand as she drained the last of her coffee. "So give it to me the day before," she challenged.

Evan laughed and finally pushed his plate away, much to her relief. "You've put some thought into this, V," he mused. "You sure you don't want to tell me what you really want?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Well, what if I get you something you'd hate, even if it is expensive?"

She grinned at him. "Just make sure you save the receipt so that I can exchange it."

Evan stood up and held out a hand to help Valerie out of the booth. She ignored it as she got to her feet, too. "Damn, you're tough," he lamented.

Valerie paused beside him long enough to pat his cheek. "I think you'll live, Roka. In fact, I'm sure of it."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Insomnia_** ' _originally appeared on Faithless_ ' _1996_ _release,_ **_Reverence_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Rollo_ _Armstrong,_ _Maxi_ _Jazz_ , _Ayalah_ _Deborah_ _Bentovim_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Expensive,_ _huh_ …


	99. 098: Twenty-Eight

' _You say it's your birthday_ …  
' _It's my birthday, too, yeah_ …  
' _They say it's your birthday_ …  
' _We're gonna have a good time_ …  
' _I'm_ _glad it's your birthday_ …  
' _Happy birthday to you_ …'

 

-' _Birthday'_ by the Beatles.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"V . . . Oh, V-ee . . ."

Swatting a hand over her shoulder as though to brush away an annoying insect, Valerie stubbornly tried to stay asleep. "Go play in traffic," she grumbled as she snuggled down further under the blankets.

A soft chuckle brushed over her neck in an entirely unsettling way. "Come on, V. You're not really going to sleep all day, are you?"

"Yes," she mumbled, along with a few other choice words that weren't quite intelligible.

Evan's chuckle sounded again. "Okay," he allowed easily enough. "I just figured you'd want your present . . ."

Valerie's eyes snapped open at the mention of 'present', and she sat bolt-upright. "Fail, Roka," she complained. "Where's my coffee?"

He laughed and leaned up on his elbow as he reached over to nab a steaming mug off the nightstand beside him. "Here you go, birthday girl," he said. "You want your birthday kiss now or later?"

Valerie didn't answer, bringing the cup to her lips with one hand, smashing her hand over Evan's face with the other as the incorrigible man leaned in to try to pilfer that kiss.

True to form, he just laughed. "You're going to fuck up your whole year if you don't get your birthday kisses," he pointed out a little too reasonably.

"You're so full of it," she informed him despite the hint of a smile that quirked her lips as she drained the cup and set it aside. "Now, about that present . . ."

He laughed. "Patience, V. I thought we'd play a little game."

She blinked and shook her head slowly. "A game? What kind of game?"

"Relax, it's an easy game," he assured her with a wolfish grin. "You can even leave your clothes on for it—unless you don't want to, of course."

Rolling her eyes, she snorted indelicately, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. "Nice try, Roka," she shot back. "Tell me about this game of yours."

He chuckled again—the sound that never failed to send a very distinct and almost enjoyable shiver right up her spine. She ignored it. "It's easy," he repeated. "Here's the deal: I give you a gift, and you can either keep it or trade it for the next one."

Valerie's mouth dropped open, and she stared at him, trying to decide whether or not he was being serious. He looked like he was. She wrinkled her nose. "Or you could just give all the presents to me," she suggested with a pointed lifting of her eyebrow.

"Are you kidding?" he replied incredulously. "You gotta be, right? I mean, it'd be one thing if you were my girlfriend. Then I'd be more than happy to give all the presents to you, _bu-u-u-ut_ . . ."

"O-O-Oh, that's just low," she shot back.

Evan's grin widened. "It was, wasn't it? Still, it was worth a shot."

She snorted and waved a hand dismissively. "Fine, fine. Bring on the presents then, rocker-boy."

Evan chuckled and pulled a long, narrow box wrapped in festive pink paper out of a huge bag that Valerie hadn't noticed beside the bed. She leaned to the side, trying to sneak a peek, but the infuriating man was faster, and he pushed the bag away with the toe of his boot. "No cheating, woman," he said, clucking his tongue in mock censure. "Here you go."

She eyed him for a long moment, trying to make him feel bad. It didn't work, not that she figured that it would, anyway. Taking her time, she turned the package over in her hands and gave it a little shake. It rattled dully but gave no real indication as to what was inside, and she sighed. Carefully picking at the tape that held the seam closed, she bit her lip when Evan rolled his eyes.

"Give it up, V. Just tear into it; you know you want to."

With a giggle, Valerie gave up on the pretext and did as he had suggested, tearing the paper away in a matter of seconds before slipping the box out of the cardboard sleeve and carefully lifting the lid. "A fountain pen?" she asked quizzically, her fingertips running gently over the length of the pen.

"Not just any pen, woman," he scoffed. "It's a Montblanc—a _personalized_ Montblanc."

It really was a gorgeous pen, and Valerie couldn't help but be a little surprised that Evan had picked out such a thing for her. He'd left the little tab with the price embossed on it in the box, which just figured. He was likely trying to make a point to let her know that he had actually listened to her demand that he get her something expensive when he ought to have realized that she was joking. Not surprisingly, the Montblanc had cost almost eight hundred dollars. Price aside, though, she had to admit that the pen was gorgeous, and also true, her initials were engraved on the clip. In fact, she was happy enough with it that she didn't notice when he pulled another gift out of the bag and cleared his throat.

Glancing up from the booklet that had come in the package with the fountain pen, Valerie blinked and stared blankly at the gift in his hands for a moment. "I don't know, Roka," she remarked slowly. "I like this pen a _lot_."

"So you don't want this one?"

She made a face and bit her lip as she closed the booklet and sat back. "Why don't you let me open them all so I can pick which one I like best?"

"That's not how the game is played," he scoffed. "Rules are rules, V."

"Your rules suck."

He laughed since she was pouting, and he gave the gift in his hands a little shake. "So you want to trade or not?"

Heaving a longsuffering sigh, Valerie put the booklet back and snapped the box closed again. "Fine— _if_ you want to be mean," she huffed, sticking the box under his nose.

Evan took it and handed over the next one. Valerie shot him another pouting glance before ripping into the new present. "Oh . . ." she breathed as she carefully lifted the delicate sculpture out of the box. A spindly fairy complete with flirty little skirt and intricately carved wings—the newest in the set of the mystical creature creations that acclaimed artist Cleo Nazuride was known for . . . "It's beautiful . . ."

"You're a Nazuride fan? Really? Good!"

She nodded slowly and without taking her eyes off the sculpture. She already owned one—just one. It was a gift from her foster parents when she'd graduated from high school. Though she'd thought that the fifteen-hundred-dollar price tag was a little exorbitant, she couldn't help but love the piece just because of the beauty of it. There were only a thousand pieces made of each release worldwide, which accounted for the price, and though Valerie always loved to see the latest ones, she'd never actually bought any of the others. This one she recognized from the small gallery that she passed by every day on her way to work. That Evan had bought one for her? She smiled. "I love her work," she admitted quietly.

"Mama does, too. Besides, I cheated on that one," Evan confessed.

Valerie glanced up and frowned. "Cheated?"

He nodded. "You've got one of them in your living room, right? The mermaid, right?"

"It was a present from my foster parents," she admitted as her gaze fell to the statue in her hands once more. "So beautiful . . ."

He didn't seem to be as impressed with the piece as she was. "It's all right," he allowed. "It's just a figurine."

She shot him a look designed to let him know just what she thought of his assertion that it was 'just a figurine'. Biting her lip, though, she sighed and slowly shook her head. Sitting patiently, his eyes reflecting a certain warmth that she didn't quite understand, Evan seemed content just to watch her open the gifts he'd selected. "Evan," she said quietly as she shifted her gaze to the gift once more. "I was kidding about the expensive present thing."

He chuckled softly and shrugged but seemed a little surprised by her softly uttered commentary. "You don't really think I bought those things because you said you wanted something expensive, do you?"

"Didn't you?" she countered.

"I bought stuff that I thought you'd like," he replied simply, in a tone that implied that she ought to have known as much.

"Still . . ."

"Yeah, yeah," Evan drawled, waving off her concern and tapping the next present against his thigh. "Moment of truth time, V. Keep or trade?"

She grimaced as her grip tightened slightly. He seemed to be having a good time playing the game he'd invented. The least she could do was play along with him, right? "Entirely unfair, Roka," she grumbled, still reluctant to give up the beautiful figurine.

Evan laughed, proving once more that he didn't really have a soul. "You can stop if you really want to," he said slowly.

Valerie sighed and frowned at the figurine. She was perfectly happy with the gift she was holding, but that nagging sense of curiosity was hard to ignore. "Evan . . ."

"For the record, I guess I should tell you that I've arranged your presents in order from cheapest to most expensive," he pointed out casually. "That means that this one cost more than that one."

Rolling her eyes, she shot him a droll look but didn't relinquish the statue, either. "And I _told_ you that you should've known that I was kidding about the expensive-thing," she shot back.

Evan's grin widened. "I've got more money than God, remember? It ain't a big thing."

She wasn't inclined to believe him. He hadn't known when her birthday was until she'd told him, had he? Which meant that he'd spent his day yesterday, running around, buying presents for her, and for some reason, that idea made her want to laugh. He just didn't know how to do anything halfway, did he . . .?

"So you're not even a little curious as to what is in this box?" he asked lightly.

Valerie sighed and wrinkled her nose. "I think this is just fine," she said.

"That right? Seriously?"

He was goading her. She knew he was, not that it made her any less curious. Then to make matters worse, he pulled another package out of the bag, too, and this one, he set on the bed near her just to taunt her, she was sure. "You're really a jerk," she remarked mildly. "Just so you know."

"C'mon, V. Be a sport," he teased, waving the smaller package under her nose.

"All right," she grumped, snatching the box and thrusting the sculpture at him. "If I don't like this one as much, though, can I have that one back?"

He set the delicate piece aside and shrugged offhandedly. "If you really think so, V."

She didn't reply as she tore the paper off the black velvet jeweler's box and flipped back the lid. A soft gasp escaped her as her eyes widened at the three carat solitaire teardrop diamond pendant hanging on a thin platinum chain and matching earrings nestled in the bed of black satin. "Oh, my . . ." she breathed. Even in the weak light of the very early morning sun that shone through the window, the diamonds glittered and glinted.

To his credit, he gave her a few minutes to stare at the set before clearing his throat once more. "You going to stop now?" he asked, nodding his head at the last box sitting on the bed.

If it weren't for the size of the remaining gift, she probably would have agreed to stop with the necklace and earrings. Too bad that the last box was large enough to peak her interest all over again. It was shaped like a garment box but was definitely bigger, and she really couldn't help the curiosity that welled up inside her as she continued to stare at it.

"I'm _really_ starting to dislike you," she pointed out in a huff as she snapped the box closed and held it out to him.

Evan chuckled again and leaned against the footboard. "Ah, it's almost over," he assured her.

She picked up the final box and turned it over. "And you think I'll like this better than those other things?" she challenged.

He shrugged but kept grinning.

Valerie ripped open the last package and wedged the lid off the box.

And then she giggled.

A silver fox fur throw blanket that was unbelievably soft under her fingers was nestled carefully in layers of simple white tissue paper, and she pulled it out of the box, snuggling the fur against her cheek. "Is it real?" she asked breathlessly, her eyes drifting closed.

"Well, as politically incorrect as it is, yes, it's real," he allowed. "You like it?"

"I've died and gone to heaven," she informed him. "Oh, my God . . . So _soft . . .!_ "

"So, I take it that you approve?"

She nodded dreamily and buried herself deep in the folds of the blanket with a happy sigh.

Evan chuckled. "Hey, baby . . ."

Fluttering a hand at him, Valerie curled up in bed again, wondering if she couldn't get away with a nice nap since she was pretty sure that the blanket was probably as close to absolute divine bliss as she was ever going to get. "Quiet, Roka. I'm going back to sleep now."

He chuckled again and leaned toward her, hooking the blanket with his index finger to pull it away from her face. "But there's one more package to trade for," he pointed out reasonably, his voice a low, almost gravely, infinitely intimate resonance.

"Perfectly happy with this," she murmured, shrugging her shoulder to loosen his grip on the blanket.

"Oh, come on," he coaxed gently. "You're not even a little interested to see what's in this package?"

He shook it. She heard him shake it. It made a nice, dullish thumping sound. Okay, so she was mildly interested. If she didn't open her eyes, though, she could resist the burgeoning curiosity that he was inspiring in her. "Not even a little," she lied.

The damned man shook it again. Valerie made a face, not that he could see her. He couldn't. It didn't matter, though. He knew she was interested, didn't he? At least, curious just to know what he could possibly believe would be better than the sinfully warm, decadently soft fur. "But I picked this one out especially for you."

"You picked all these out just for me, didn't you?"

Evan snorted. "You think that I went running around all day just to buy a bunch of presents that I'm going to have to return tomorrow?" he scoffed.

Valerie sat up slowly, unable to hide the frown on her face as the blanket fell away, as she met Evan's amused gaze. For some reason, the idea that he might have sent someone else shopping for her presents bothered her, didn't it? It bothered her a lot . . . "Did you pay someone else to do it?" she heard herself asking before she could stop herself.

Evan laughed. Whether it was because of the sulkiness that she couldn't keep out of her tone or the obvious irritation on her face that she didn't bother to try to hide, she didn't know. Either way, he grinned at her, the jerk . . . "Of course I didn't," he admitted, sounding anything but contrite. "Yes, I picked out all your presents."

Wrinkling her nose, Valerie snorted. "I don't care," she shot back disagreeably, wondering vaguely if he'd stop laughing if she tossed the blanket straight into his face. "Did you at least pick out that one yourself?" she asked, nodding at the unopened package in his hands.

"I picked out all of them," he reiterated. "So yes, I picked out this one, too."

"But you said you didn't," she grumbled, her gaze taking on a saddened sort of expression as she stared at the beautiful fur blanket.

"I didn't say that," he argued mildly. "I was teasing you, woman."

She didn't believe him entirely. What he had said was more than enough to make her wonder whether or not he was telling her the truth. "Fine then," she replied, shoving the fur at him. "I don't want anything that you didn't pick out, anyway."

He opened his mouth to argue with her, but blinked when she yanked the last gift out of his hands. "You know, I really _did_ pick everything out for you," he said.

' _Stop it_ ,' she chided herself as she frowned at the package in her hands. ' _Just why are you letting that get to you?_ ' Valerie sighed and bit her cheek. She knew why, didn't she? Of course that she knew that he was busy. She wasn't fool enough to try to tell herself that he wasn't. Still, what was the point of a few presents that meant nothing to him if he didn't take the time to choose them himself? It made the gifts rather hollow, didn't it? And it made her feel as though her birthday had been downgraded to something that he was doing to humor her . . . and that bothered her more than she could credit.

"You going to open that or are you just going to stare at it all day?" he teased.

Drawing a deep breath, brushing aside the bruised ego that made her feel entirely childish, Valerie shot him an overly bright smile and tore open the final gift.

And blinked.

"Oh, my God," she stated flatly as she gaped at the silly plastic box in her hands. "You bought me a lunch box?"

He chuckled. "Not just any lunch box, woman—a _Princess Sasha_ lunch box—and I'll have you know that it was damn near impossible to find."

Shaking her head, she couldn't help the little laugh that escaped her as she lifted her gaze to meet his. The silliness of the lunch box . . . the idea that he'd listened—really listened—to her story . . . It left her feeling a warmth that she just couldn't credit, even if she didn't fully appreciate how that could possibly be. The lunch box she hadn't gotten but had so desperately wanted when she was a child . . . and as goofy as it was now—more than twenty years later—there was also something infinitely sweet in the gesture—something that maybe only a man like Evan Zelig would think of.

"I would have liked this better twenty years ago," she remarked dryly though her smile didn't fade. Letting her gaze fall away, she blinked quickly as the sudden and perverse urge to cry shot through her.

"Yeah, well, why don't you open it?" he prodded.

Biting back the tears that stabbed her eyelids, Valerie laughed. "For the thermos, you mean?"

His grin widened. "Well, you did want more coffee, didn't you?"

"You filled up the thermos with coffee?"

"Yeah, I did," he told her. "It should still be hot . . . I hope."

She giggled as she carefully opened the lurid pink plastic lunch box and lifted out the thermos. Princess Sasha and her very best friends were printed on the thermos, smiling prettily up at her as she giggled again and twisted the lid. When she pulled it loose, however, a small bit of plastic fell out, clattering dully against the inside of the box. "What's this?" she asked, lifting the thing that had fallen. No bigger than a credit card and not that much thicker, either, there were raised bumps on the one side of it, and it looked like a . . .

Grabbing her hand and tugging her to her feet and out of the bedroom, Evan marched her into the living room, only to stop near the barely opened window. She didn't remember leaving that open the night before, but she didn't have time to remark on that, either. "Push the middle button," Evan said, his grin widening as that expression that brought to mind a little puppy that was all excited about having been praised for doing something good surfaced on his face.

She eyed him for a moment, unable to quite grasp what her brain whispered, and she slowly, hesitantly, pushed the button.

The little light bulb on the card flashed once then two more times in quick succession, and from the distance, Valerie heard the very distinct sound of a car horn beeping in the same cadence as the blinking light. Casting him a quizzical glance, she wasn't surprised when his grin widened even more before she stepped over to the window and peeked down at the street below.

It was pink. Well, maybe not pink, pink, but more of a pastel pink—white with the barest hint of pink—though it reflected the early fall morning sunlight in a rainbow of colors, thanks to a very thick iridescent finish that was rather like the swirls of mother-of-pearl, and the bright red bow that was tied to the top of the car on the street lilted slightly in the mild breeze. From where she stood, she couldn't rightfully tell what make the vehicle was, not that it mattered. Her brain seemed to slow even more as she stared down at the street, as she tried to make sense of the blatantly decked-out birthday present. "Oh . . . Oh, _my_ ," she murmured, pressing the button once more, as though she wanted to make sure that the car she was staring at was really intended for her. "Roka . . . That's a . . ."

Evan's soft laughter cut her off, and before she was ready, he was tugging her toward the door. "C'mon, V. You've got to take her for a test drive."

"But," Valerie protested weakly as Evan pushed open the doors to the stairwell and pulled her along behind him, "but that's a car, Evan," she pointed out, as though he really hadn't realized that already.

"Not just _any_ car, V," he countered lightly, tossing a grin over his shoulder at her. "It's a Vestron Luminesta—the first one of next year's models to be sold _ever_."

"Vestron Luminesta?" she repeated almost dumbly.

"Yep," he replied, taking no note of her obvious inability to process the information he'd given her. "You know—the luxury car of luxury cars. Perfect for an attorney, right?"

Shaking her head as they descended the stairs at lightning speed, Valerie gasped when they stepped outside, as she got her first really good look at the beautiful car. "Oh, I . . . I can't accept this, Evan," she breathed, casting him a wide-eyed look as she quickly shook her head. She didn't dare glance at the car again. Sure, she'd heard of the Vestron Luminesta. She'd even put one together online once, just for kicks. Never had she actually considered owning one—not in a million years . . . Luxury car of luxury cars, sure—with a price tag to match, she knew, and Evan . . . He'd bought one for her? Was he out of his damn mind . . .?

"Sure you can," he challenged offhandedly, as though he thought that she was just joking. "I was going to take her for a spin, but she's not really made to fit my ass."

"No, Evan," she said, her voice sounding a lot weaker than she'd like. "I mean it . . . It's too much."

"Well, considering how much crap you put up with for me, then I'd say it's the least I can do," he replied. He still didn't sound like she was getting through to him, which wasn't entirely surprising. Evan wasn't used to being told 'no', and he probably thought that she was just arguing with him on principle . . .

There was a huge difference between a silver fox blanket and a car, though, and Valerie winced. "Listen to me, Roka. It's a gorgeous car, and—" she swallowed hard, "—and you're fantastic for having bought one for me, but . . . I really can't accept it. It's just too much."

Rolling his eyes, he looked like he was finally listening to her—at least, somewhat. "It's not a big deal, V. You said yourself that I have more money than God, right?"

Biting her lip, she made the mistake of glancing at the car out of the corner of her eye, and she sighed. It really was a spectacular car: streamlined enough to earn it the classification of a sports car yet designed to be very easy on the wallet when it came to filling the tank, she knew damn well that they were considered to be one of the safest vehicles on the road, too, and she grimaced.

"I'm happy enough with the lunch box . . . It means . . . It means that you really listened to me; that you really _heard_ me," she murmured, her cheeks pinking as her gaze dropped to the sidewalk—and her sock-covered feet. "You didn't have to buy me a car."

She started when his fingertips ran down the length of her cheek, under her chin, bringing her face up so that she was looking at him once more, but it was the tender little half-smile on his face that very nearly made her forget to breathe. "I knew you would be," he told her gently, that smile taking on a rather sad sort of air. "That's why I bought you the car, too."

He stared at her for another long moment then sighed and let his hand drop away from her face as he straightened his back and shifted his gaze over the city block; the passing traffic, the curious glances that were no more than an afterthought as people hurried about their lives. "'Sides . . . You can't really tell me that you don't want to take her for a spin, right?"

"Take it back," she said suddenly, grasping his hand when he started to move toward the car. "I appreciate the thought, I do, but you really should get your money back instead."

"Can't," he said simply, as though it really was no big deal. "These babies are custom made, you know. It's not like you can just walk into a showroom and drive one home that same day. Hell, they even disassemble the old floor models because they're not customized—and even if I could, I wouldn't," he added, a hint of belligerence creeping into his tone. "This one was made for you, V. Even the paint job is custom. The color is in Vestron's catalog now, you know. V."

"What?" she asked, shaking her head, unable to grasp just what he was saying.

He chuckled. "The color is called 'V'," he explained. "Guess someone else saw it while they were busy, building yours, and she liked the color so much that she wanted the same on her Luminesta. Since it's customized, though, they have to get your permission to use the same color on another car. The girl I talked to said that she'd get in touch with you to see if reusing the color mix is okay with you."

"The color is named 'V'?" she demanded with an incredulous shake of her head.

"Well, yeah. When they mix a new color from scratch, they always name it after the customer who ordered it."

The irony wasn't lost on her. "Then shouldn't it be called 'Evan Zelig'? Very girly . . . very pretty . . . very _pink_ . . . absolutely 'Evan Zelig', if you ask me."

He snorted and tried to look offended. The grin on his face ruined the overall effect. "So how 'bout it, V? Take it for a test drive? I mean, you can't say you don't want it if you refuse to test drive it first."

Rubbing her arms against the chill in the air, Valerie tried to ignore the bait that he was dangling before her. After all, there were a million reasons why she couldn't accept such an exorbitant gift, not the least of which was Marvin. How would he feel if she took the car? He might not be angry—when was he ever—but wouldn't it be like rubbing salt in an open wound? There was no way in the world that he could even come close to being able to buy her anything of the sort. Besides, usually they only went out to dinner and maybe a movie or something to celebrate birthdays since she knew well enough that Marvin always felt bad when he didn't have the money to buy her anything extravagant . . .

"I'm serious, Roka," she began with a shake of her head. "Take it back. Donate the money to charity in my name or something. I . . ." She let out a deep breath and tried not to look at the car. "I just can't take it. I'm . . . I'm sorry."

"Jesus, V, it's a gift. You can't feel bad about accepting a gift, for God's sake," he told her, shaking his head as an expression of definite irritation briefly flickered over his features.

Biting her lip, Valerie slowly shook her head. "Come on, Roka. Even you have to admit that buying a car for someone's birthday is a bit much, don't you think?"

"Not really," he replied easily. "I bought Maddy one a few years ago, and _she_ didn't have an issue with taking it."

Valerie snorted, crossing her arms over her chest as she shot the man a completely exasperated look. "Did you buy her one this expensive?" she asked pointedly.

Evan shrugged. "What the fuck does that matter? _This_ is the one that I thought you'd love, so it's the one I bought."

"Spoken like a spoiled rich kid," she muttered, eyeing the car once more almost sadly. It wasn't that she didn't want it, no, but how in the hell could she ever really accept it?

"What? Just because I was raised in a family that had money, it makes the car unacceptable?" he shot back. Then he took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead like he was trying to control his emotions. "You know, it's not going to matter if you take it for a short drive. Besides, did you see the license plate?"

She stared at him for another long moment before she strode a few feet over so that she could get a better look at the rear end of the car, and when she spotted the plate, she shook her head—and giggled. "' _ONLY V_ ', huh?" she said.

He chuckled. "They didn't like the idea of putting just 'V' on your plate," he explained. "Wicked, right?"

"Yes, well, as nice as it is, I still can't—" she began.

Waving his hands suddenly to cut her off, he grinned at her. "Before you say that, V, there's one thing that I really think I should point out to you."

Against her better judgment, she cocked an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Unlock the car," he commanded.

She did—reluctantly. The car beeped twice to let her know that the command had been accepted, and Evan strode over, pulling the door open and slipping in behind the steering wheel—kind of. His legs were still outside the car, and Valerie closed her eyes when the entirely nice and wholly unmistakable 'new car smell' hit her full on in the face. 'New car' with a healthy dose of 'leather', actually . . . and the interior of the car was the same color as the outside.

He pressed a button in the middle of the steering wheel and grinned at her. "Top down," he said slowly, carefully. A moment later, a quiet hum drew her attention as he stood up and snatched the bow off the car as the top retracted.

"Oh, my God," she breathed, her eyes flaring wide as she stared. "It's a _convertible!_ "

"Totally sexy," he agreed. "Now you want to take her for a test drive?"

"I . . . I don't have any shoes on," she blurted quickly.

He glanced down at her feet and grinned. "I can always run upstairs and grab a pair for you."

Her conscience demanded that she turn right around and go back inside without doing any such thing. ' _But it's a convertible!_ ' she rationalized, and she'd always, always wanted one of those . . .

Evan chuckled, apparently interpreting the expression on her face correctly, and he grabbed her hand and gently pushed her toward the vehicle. "It's your birthday, baby. Live a little, why don't you?"

"And what do you think I should tell Marvin to explain this car?" she asked pointedly.

"I don't rightfully care what you tell the little nutsack," he replied in a mild enough tone despite the telltale darkening of his blue eyes, "but he isn't allowed to drive it." Wrinkling his nose when he caught the disapproval in her gaze, he sighed. "Did I tell you, V? The seats are heated, too."

Uttering a terse growl, Valerie narrowed her eyes on Evan but scooted into the driver's seat anyway, noting a very swirly 'V' was embroidered on the headrests, too. Evan chuckled and leaned in to push another button on the steering wheel. Within moments, Valerie could feel the delicious warmth enveloping her, and she sighed happily. "Oh . . . Oh, so _nice_ . . ."

"Figured you'd like that," he said, unable to keep the pride out of his tone.

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie opened her eyes and shifted her gaze to meet his. "I guess a test drive can't hurt," she ventured slowly. Somehow, it felt like she was hammering the nails in her proverbial casket.

He pressed the button to lower the driver's side window before closing the door and leaning casually on it. "Press the center button on that console."

"This one?" she asked. He nodded, and she pressed it.

"Vestron Motorworks. I'm Carol, your personal car guide. How can I help you today, Ms. Denning?"

Valerie blinked—they knew who she was?

"Morning, Carol," Evan said smoothly. "Ms. Denning needs to set the indentilocks, right?"

"Of course," Carol agreed. "Just give me one second . . ." Valerie could hear the soft 'click' of a computer keyboard. "All right. Ms. Denning, if you'll press the pad of your thumb on the scanner until you hear a tone, we'll have everything set up in no time."

Valerie frowned at Evan, and he flicked a finger at the remote control in her hand.

The identilock pad was on the front of it just under the buttons. Pressing her thumb in place, she waited for a second until a soft beep sounded to let her know that her fingerprint had been accepted.

"Okay, you're all set," Carol said pleasantly. "Is there anything else you needed help with today?"

"N-No, that's it," Valerie replied. "Thank you."

The woman laughed. "Not a problem, Ms. Denning. Feel free to contact me whenever you need my help, and welcome to the Luminesta family."

The connection ended, and Valerie shook her head.

Evan chuckled again. "You can start the car with that from inside," he told her with a grin, "but you can't put it into gear until you enter your fingerprint there."

She pressed her thumb against the tiny scanner next to the monitor. The car purred to life, and she giggled softly. "Nice, but this isn't exactly the kind of car that one can keep on the street."

"That's true," he agreed easily enough. "So you ready to take her for a spin now?"

Valerie heaved a sigh, but it was more of a wistful sound than anything else. "Evan—"

"Consider it a bribe," he cut in before she could protest again.

"A bribe? For what?" she asked.

His grin widened. "For having to put up with a rock star."

She stared at him for a long moment, then she finally shook her head. "Fine," she agreed at length. "A test drive—that's all."

Why did he look like he'd just won the war?

"Let me run upstairs and grab my purse and shoes," she said as she reached for the door handle.

"Nah, I'll get them," he offered. He looked way too pleased with himself, in her estimation.

Still, she nodded as he stood up and headed back toward the building once more. "Thanks," she called after him. He lifted a hand to indicate that he'd heard her, but he didn't stop moving.

' _I thought you weren't going to accept the car, Valerie_ ,' her conscience prodded.

' _I . . . I'm not_ . . .' she thought without opening her eyes, ' _but taking it for a test drive is okay, isn't it?_ '

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_'Birthday_** ' _originally appeared on the Beatles'_ _1968_ _release,_ **_The_** **_Beatles_** ( ** _The_** **_White_** **_Album_** ). _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _John_ _Lennon_ _and_ _Paul_ _McCartney_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Valerie_** _:_  
>  _Oh, no, he didn't …!_


	100. 099: Spontaneous

' _Making love in the afternoon with Cecilia_ …'  
' _Up in my bedroom (making love)_ …'  
' _I got up to wash my face_ …'  
' _When I come back to bed_ …'  
' _Someone's taken my place_ …'

 

-' _Cecelia'_ by Simon and Garfunkel.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan shook his head as he stepped out of the building a few minutes later, only to find the place where the car had been was completely and utterly empty.

' _Damn . . . She totally ditched us_ ,' his youkai voice pointed out, sounding entirely amused by the conspicuous lack of attorney that greeted him.

He grinned and chuckled softly. ' _Damn straight, she did_.'

' _You think she'll keep the car?_ '

That question put an end to his laughter easily enough, mostly because he really wasn't too sure. He'd like to think that she'd accept it as the gift that it was intended to be. Damned if he'd stopped to think even for a second that she might actually refuse it because he hadn't. No, he'd just thought that it would be the kind of thing that she'd love—the kind of thing that she wouldn't have ever bought for herself. He knew that, didn't he? She had a deep appreciation for the finer things in life, yet she still drove a very modest car that she kept because it still ran well despite being a few years old. It was probably one that she'd gotten in college or law school, likely used, and tasteful even if it wasn't really flashy, and while Evan could appreciate that she didn't want to waste money, a woman like her deserved much better, and he meant to make sure that she knew it.

Then again, he should've realized that she'd balk at the gift, if, for no other reason, than the idea that Valerie Denning prided herself on being self-reliant, thrived on the fact that she relied on no one to do things for her that she could easily do for herself. That included her ability to buy the things that she wanted, too, didn't it?

And if he wanted to be perfectly honest with himself, he'd have to admit that he loved that about her, too—adored the idea that she didn't need anyone to get where she wanted to be. No, it was more that he wanted to be the one she allowed to help her; that was all. If he could only get her to realize it, too, he'd be one step ahead of the game, wouldn't he?

Sinking down on the steps of the building, Evan pushed aside the deeper thoughts as he concentrated instead on the absolute wonder on her face as she had opened the gifts he'd given her one by one. The sparkle in her hazel eyes, the pretty flush on her cheeks . . . Damn, but that woman really was something, and while she might know that she was drop dead gorgeous, he had a feeling that she really didn't quite comprehend exactly what kind of power she actually held over him. God save him if she ever figured it out because if she ever decided to use it, he'd be belly-up in the water, so to speak. Okay, so he would probably end up, having to apologize for teasing her with the idea that he'd actually take the other gifts back to the store since he had absolutely no intention of doing any such thing, but that was small potatoes, as far as he was concerned. No, the main focus should be getting her to agree to keep the car.

As if in answer to his musings, the woman pulled back into the parking spot again and shot him a brilliant smile when she spotted him sitting on the steps. Evan grinned back as he slowly got to his feet. Judging by the grin on her face, he didn't figure he had too much work ahead of him . . .

"Taking off without me?" he drawled, holding out her shoes as he approached the car. She hadn't shut it off.

"It was taking you too long," she countered, taking the shoes from him and leaning to the side to slip them on over her thick socks. "Are you getting in or not?"

He chuckled and loped around the car, only to be stopped before he could actually get in. "Wait!" she demanded suddenly, her gaze narrowing as she frowned at him. "Are your shoes clean?"

He blinked at her a few moments before making a show of lifting each foot to inspect the bottoms. "Just fine," he assured her with a quick wink.

She didn't look like she believed him entirely, and he laughed, but she did nod to indicate that she'd allow him in the car. "So what'd you think?" he asked as he sat down and handed over her purse.

"Taking the car around the block was hardly a test drive," she pointed out as she checked over her shoulder and in the mirrors before pulling out of the parking spot again. "I also noticed that you even had the foresight to set my stereo."

He grinned wolfishly since he had done that—complete with an entire Zel Roka anthology, too, which was what she was currently listening to now though much softer than he'd like. He figured he could let that slide at the moment, considering he had bigger fish to fry, anyway. "Oh," he said suddenly, fishing her cell phone out of his pocket, "I figured you'd want this."

"Thanks," she said as she stopped behind a cracker-box of a sports car at a red light. "I'll have to figure out how to hook it into the car later . . ."

His grin widened, mostly at the implication that she actually would be keeping the car, though he had to wonder if she even realized what she'd said. Leaning forward, he dropped the phone into the docking bay on the dashboard and pushed the button that would connect the device with the car via wireless connection. A moment later, a soft beep indicated that the operation was complete, and he sat back. "All done," he told her with a careless shrug. "If you're on the phone, your speakers automatically change over to intercom."

"This car is amazing," she murmured, her fingers dancing lightly along the contour of the steering wheel. Whether she realized she'd spoken out loud was arguable. It was enough for Evan that she seemed to be completely enamored of the vehicle. "The seat is heaven . . ."

"It was made just for you, you know," he pointed out reasonably. "I mean, you can move the seat and all that, but the owner preset is customized to fit you and only you."

That earned him a curious glance before she turned her attention back to the road once more. The light turned green, and she wrinkled her nose since she had to wait behind the sports car a moment longer than she wanted. "How'd they manage that?" she asked. "I didn't go in for that."

"Yeah, but you went shopping with Maddy, right? That red dress?"

"So?"

"Yeah, well, she told me what store you went to, I called and turned on the ol' 'Roka charm', and I had her pick up a copy of the stat sheet they keep on all their clients, complete with your measurements."

Valerie shot him a long stare. "You're telling me that Madison was in on this?"

"Of course she was," Evan scoffed. "I mean, hell, we were off in the middle of God only knows where when I ordered the car, so—"

"So you _did_ know when my birthday is!" she interrupted triumphantly. "You think you're so sneaky, don't you, Roka?"

"Well, I try."

She snorted and turned the corner, and while she didn't seem to have a real destination in mind as far as he could tell, she was heading toward the highway that led out of the city. Before he could comment on that, however, her phone rang, and she glanced around to figure out how to answer it. Evan chuckled and leaned over, making a show of pushing the button in the middle of the steering wheel that would answer it. "Hello?" Valerie said, sparing a moment to give Evan a droll kind of glance.

"Hey, Val. I didn't know if you'd be up yet . . ."

Evan gritted his teeth at the sound of that particular voice. Maybe he had only met the man once, but it was more than enough to have embedded itself deep within his memory. ' _Damned Merklin_ . . .'

"Oh, uh, y-yeah," Valerie agreed. He could feel her gaze on his face, but didn't turn to verify it. "Just doing a few things before I pick you up. Are you on the plane?"

Marvin sighed. "Well, um, that's why I was calling you. You remember Grant Haviland, right? I mean, I mentioned him to you before?"

"The Springfield Project director . . .?"

"Yeah! That's him," Marvin said, obviously pleased that Valerie remembered this 'Grant Haviland'. Evan stifled the urge to snort. "Anyway, I was at that party last night, and he mentioned that he and a few of the other board members were going to get together this weekend at the Chicago Golf Club. He said that they were really interested in hearing more about my research, and kind of hinted that they might be interested in underwriting some of the costs . . ."

' _Un-fucking-believable! That little nutsack is gonna ditch her? On her goddamned_ birthday? _Chicago Golf Club? Well, at least I know where the little bastard is . . ._ '

Evan's gaze darkened though he was careful to keep his expression otherwise blanked since he knew damn well that Valerie kept glancing at him, probably worried that he was going to say something rude. "O-oh," she said in a falsely bright tone that Evan could see right through. "That's fantastic," she went on. "You think they'll really underwrite you?"

Marvin chuckled, apparently relieved that Valerie seemed to be accepting of the idea that he—her fucking _fiancé_ , for Christ's sake—was going to blow her off on her birthday. "I hope so," he remarked a little reluctantly. "Never mind about that, though. Happy birthday."

"Thanks," she said quietly.

"I . . . I'm really sorry," Marvin muttered slowly.

"Don't worry about it," Valerie replied. "This is a good opportunity for you, isn't it? Besides, it's just a birthday—another year older. Big . . . Big deal."

Grimacing inwardly, Evan had to grind his teeth together hard to keep from making a comment at that. If Marvin couldn't hear the obvious upset in her tone, then he was even denser than Evan already believed him to be. Damn him . . .

"You're great, Val, you know," Marvin said instead, much to Evan's growing irritation. "Maybe you can find someone to take out to dinner with you or something."

"Y-Yeah," Valerie agreed.

"Oh, my cab's here, so I'd better get going. Happy birthday, and thanks," he hurried to add almost like an afterthought.

"Bye," Valerie replied just before the connection died. Then she sighed but didn't say anything as she flicked on the turn signal and pulled into the empty parking area outside a gas station and shifted the vehicle into 'park'.

He desperately wanted to tell her exactly what he thought of Valerie's so-called fiancé's _laissez-faire_ attitude, but one glance at the trepidation in the depths of her gaze was enough to curb that desire right nicely, and he sighed. "Now aren't you glad that I got nothing on the agenda today?" he asked baldly instead.

Valerie blinked and dared a peek at him out of the corner of her eye. "Is that right?"

Forcing a grin, he nodded slowly. "That's right."

She made an exaggerated display of rolling her eyes, but he could feel the tension ebb out of her, and that was good enough, as far as he was concerned. "So what do you suggest?"

His grin widened. "Well, you can't really get a good feel for this car, driving around the city, can you?"

She considered that for a moment, but finally nodded. "I suppose . . ."

"So take her out somewhere so you can open her up a little."

For a moment, Evan thought that she'd argue with him on general principle. Suddenly, however, she turned to face him, a wide smile adding a brilliance to her gaze that made his breath catch in his throat somewhere between his lips and his lungs, and the result was entirely debilitating, really, culminating in a light-headedness that nearly made him groan.

"In my pajamas, Roka?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as she giggled softly. "I haven't even gotten dressed yet."

He grinned. Considering her idea of 'pajamas' was baggy sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt, he had to admit that she didn't look too bad—if it were even possible for a woman like Valerie Denning to look bad at all, and Evan kind of didn't really think that it was . . . "Fuck, woman. You're still an eight on the ol' Boneometer even in the pajamas," he remarked.

The other eyebrow lifted, too. "An _eight?_ Only an _eight?_ And how would I improve upon that ranking?"

Evan's grin took on a devilish tilt as he let his gaze slowly wander down her body and back up once more. "Shake those tits at me, V, and we'll see how much of an improvement you get."

She rolled her eyes but giggled. "I figured it'd be something like that," she said. "You're such a pig. Why are you such a pig?"

"I dunno, V. Why were you in my bushes?"

Valerie blinked and stared at him for a moment, her confusion quite evident in her gaze. It took her a few seconds for her to actually figure out what he was talking about, and when she did, she snorted loudly and slapped his chest with the back of her hand. "You're such a dork! You can't still bring that up, you know!"

"Oh, I totally can," he shot back with a chuckle, catching her hand when she tried to smack him again and neatly planting a kiss on her knuckles. "Silly woman. Don't you know the rules of the game?"

"It's a game?" she demanded, tugging on her hand to gain her freedom but giving up after a few token attempts. "You never told me, so, no, I don't."

"Well, basically, I _can_ and _will_ ask you that question until the end of time—or until a better one occurs to me," he informed her.

She snorted again. "That game sucks," she insisted. "Ever hear the phrase 'beating a dead horse'?"

His devilish grin took on a more lecherous air. "I got something you can beat, baby."

Pulling her hand away, she shifted the car into gear again and headed out of the parking lot. "Save it for the jury, Roka."

He replied with a deep laugh. Something about the idea of spending the entire day with Valerie . . . Yeah, he had to admit that he liked it. A lot.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Sparing a surreptitious glance out of the corner of her eye at Evan, Valerie pressed her lips together to keep from laughing outright. It wasn't the first time that he'd told her he had to make an 'emergency call' to Mike for whatever reason—like she believed that. No, she had a feeling that he was up to _something_ ; she just didn't know what that 'something' was.

Buzzing up the coast on their return trek from the day of what Evan had called 'bumming around', Valerie had to admit that she'd had more fun, just hanging out and driving around with the errant rock star than she might have had otherwise. Why was it that she could say anything— _anything_ —to him, and he seemed to understand? And he'd behaved himself remarkably well for the most part, except when he had tried to get her to let him drive, that was. Still, he'd only wanted to pick on her, she knew, so that wasn't such a big deal, anyway.

She had to admit, she'd had a good time thus far.

"Sorry 'bout that, V," he said as he snapped his phone closed and dropped it into the cup holder between the seats. "Life of a rock god. What can you do?"

She rolled her eyes and adjusted the cheap sunglasses he'd bought her in a gas station where they'd stopped to get coffee about half an hour into their trip: burnt orange with very large mirror finished smoked-glass lenses . . . Evan's were neon green with Canus Arcanus, the leader of the popular cartoon series, The Dog Squad, molded onto the corners. "A rock god wearing cheap plastic sunglasses that were made for a child?" she deadpanned.

He grinned. "Don't diss Canus," he told her. "The Dog Squad is almost as cool as the Power Puppies."

"You say that like you've watched it before," she remarked.

Evan chuckled and fiddled with the radio station presets. "I'm a _huge_ fan," he confessed. "I did a guest voice spot on the Christmas special last year."

She glanced at him and shook her head. "Zel Roka on The Dog Squad?"

He laughed, apparently seeing just as much humor in that idea as she did. "No . . . Evan Zelig did it."

Shaking her head, she drew a deep breath, enjoying the brisk wind that tossed her hair despite the fact that they'd put the roof back up a while ago. Evan had then opened up the sunroof, and even though the windows were down, she wasn't nearly as cold as she might have been had the seats not been quite toasty. It was remarkable, really. The Luminesta was such a quiet car that she could hear the vague sounds of the fall afternoon—those ambient tones that were easy to forget or ignore. At least, she could hear them when Evan messed around with the radio, anyway . . .

No doubt about it, Valerie loved the car. Evan had counted on that, hadn't he? He'd figured that she'd never be able to give it up if he could talk her into test driving it, and he'd been right in the end. She wanted to keep the car, even if she knew that she just couldn't.

"So . . ." Evan drawled, interrupting her musings, "what are your plans for the evening?"

That earned him a slow stare, mostly because he knew damn well that she didn't have anything planned, but her giggle a moment later efficiently ruined the effect she was going for. "Oh, well, you know, I thought I'd jet off to Spain, have some dinner at some small, remote establishment, and be home in time for work Monday morning . . ."

"Well, fuck, that sounds better than what I was thinking," he said with a grin. "You planning on taking me with you?"

"Are you kidding? Why would I do a fool thing like that?" she shot back. "With my luck, you'd end up doing something to get yourself arrested, and then I'd have to deal with that instead of enjoying my getaway."

Evan chuckled. "And if I promised to behave myself?"

"No way, Roka," she went on, fluttering her hand in a thoroughly dismissive kind of way. "Unless you can think of something better, it's Spain or bust, big boy."

"That right? You'll consider it if I can come up with something else to do?"

Slapping his hand lightly when he reached for the stereo yet again, Valerie nodded. "It depends on what you have in mind—and it had better not involve your genitalia in any way, shape, or form."

He considered that for a moment then opened his mouth.

"Or mine, either," she added before he could get the words out.

"Da-a-a-amn!" he complained. "Take all the fun out of it, why don't you, _Val?_ "

"Suck it up, Roka. Pouting isn't the least bit 'sexy' or 'rock', just so you know," she shot back, opting to ignore the obnoxious way he'd said her nickname—or at least, the nickname that Marvin used for her, anyway.

"Figures you'd say that, woman," he went on, the 'pout' in his tone growing thicker by the moment. "You're just my ' _Cecelia_ '."

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "And what's that supposed to mean?" she demanded as she slowed down and pulled the car into an abandoned parking lot just off an equally deserted beach. She thought that they were back in Connecticut though it was entirely possible that they were still in Rhode Island . . .

 

 

"' _Celia, you're breaking my heart_ . . .'  
' _You're shaking my confidence daily_ . . .'  
' _Oh, Cecilia, I'm down on my knees_ . . .'  
' _I'm begging you please to come home_ . . .'

' _Celia, you're breaking my heart_ . . .'  
' _You're shaking my confidence daily_. . .'  
' _Oh, Cecilia, I'm down on my knees_. . .'  
' _I'm begging you please to come home_ . . .'  
' _Come on home_ . . .'"

 

 

She considered that and nodded slowly. "I've heard that song before," she allowed. "And that makes it sound like I'm sucking the soul right out of you," she added almost as an afterthought.

Evan grinned and opened the passenger side door when she pulled to a stop and killed the engine. "I wouldn't say that . . . and if that's what you're doing, then I gotta say, I don't seem to mind it too much . . ."

Valerie spared a moment to lock the car after she got out, too, and she shot Evan a droll stare over the hood before rolling her eyes and heading for the empty stretch of beach. There was a sign that said that the area was closed to swimming for the winter, which was fine, in her estimation. Sitting on a weathered strip of lumber long enough to pull off her shoes and socks, Valerie pushed up the cuffs of her sweatpants and waited for Evan to catch up with her.

He hadn't bothered to take off his boots. In fact, he seemed to be inspecting the car before he finally made his way over to her. Grin widening as he reached her side, he grabbed her hand and tugged her along behind him down toward the water through the cool sand. "Twenty-eight, huh?" he drawled, grinning over his shoulder at her.

His eyes were the same shade as the fissure where the water met the air on the distant horizon—the barest delineation where the color of the water was somehow darkened just before it met the gray-blue sky . . .

Forcing her gaze away, Valerie swallowed hard, wondering absently if Evan could hear the hammering of her heart. She sincerely hoped that he couldn't.

"I was wondering if you were feeling up to a small party," he finally ventured, lifting his face toward the heavens, letting the breeze ripple through his hair. "Not Spain or anything, _but_ . . ."

She heard herself laugh. It sounded a little strained, a little weak. "Hmm, it might be okay," she remarked. "I'll just do Spain some other time."

His grin turned wolfish, and he squeezed her hand. "You really want to go to Spain sometime?" he asked.

A slight mist off the ocean hit her full in the face, and she smiled. "I don't know," she allowed with a little shrug. "I've always wanted to see the world . . ." Dragging in a deep breath, she laughed softly. "When I was in high school, we had to make a list of the things we wanted to do before we died. I don't even remember what class it was for; I just remember that I wrote down that I wanted to step foot on every continent on earth—well, maybe not Antarctica . . ."

Evan chuckled and stopped long enough to pick up a shell that was half-buried in the sand. "Sounds like a pretty nice goal," he agreed.

"What are you doing with that?" she asked, nodding her head at the shell in his hand.

Valerie blinked when Evan's cheeks pinked slightly, as that boyish little half-smile touched his lips. "It's, uh, for Mama," he admitted at length in a tone that made her wonder if he thought that maybe she was going to tease him. "The old man—"

"Old man? Your father?" she cut in.

Evan snorted. "Hardly. Cain's just Cain. There's only one 'old man' and that's my grandfather—Mama's father."

She didn't quite get it. "Isn't that kind of disrespectful?"

He snorted again. "Keh! 'Disrespectful' to him would be to call him anything else."

She didn't quite understand that one, but it appeared to make perfect sense to Evan. "I . . . see . . ."

"Anyway, the old man used to bring her shells when she was little, you see . . . I mean, he still does whenever he sees her, but . . . but I always thought that it was kind of sweet, how happy she was whenever anyone gave her one of these . . ."

Biting her lip, Valerie digested that in silence, daring a peek at him out of the corner of her eyes. The hint of a flush hadn't dissipated, and she smiled inwardly. It was extraordinary, wasn't it? That Evan could be quite charming and entirely sweet was something that she'd known of course. Too bad he tended to hide that part of himself. The moments when he let his guard down completely? Those times when he allowed her to see past the glittering façade that he'd so carefully constructed all of his life . . . when he was nothing more than a little boy who so desperately wanted to please those whom he loved . . .

"That's really sweet," she said, her voice low, almost reluctant, as though she were afraid that he'd scoff at her assessment.

He grunted, his blush darkening just a touch though he didn't try to argue with her. No, he simply let out a deep breath and continued to stroll along the shoreline with her . . .

Valerie sighed. If she kept up with the current conversation, she was only going to make him retreat behind a wall of acerbic comments and outrageous talk, and she knew it. It was his M.O., so to speak.

Evan, however, seemed ready to change the topic—or at least, to revisit the one that he hadn't finished contemplating. "So how many continents have you made it to, anyway?"

Wrinkling her nose since her answer wasn't all that impressive, she waved a hand dismissively. "One," she said in a careless sort of way. "I'll get to the others, though, eventually."

"You will," he agreed. Then he laughed. "Maddy and I talked about that kind of shit before. She said she wanted to bone a guy on every continent on earth— _including_ Antarctica."

Valerie rolled her eyes but giggled. Somehow, that sounded like a Madison kind of answer. "I'll bet she did."

Evan chuckled. "It's just spreading the love."

She snorted but didn't disagree with him. Leave it to Madison Cartham to come up with something like that . . . "What about you?"

His amusement died away, and he frowned slightly as he stared off into the distance. "Me? That's easy. I just want to see the Northern Lights."

"The Northern Lights?"

He nodded. "Yep."

"Why those?"

Shrugging offhandedly, he made a face—not really a bad one, but one that seemed more thoughtful than anything else. "I don't know why, exactly. Guess that they always seemed kind of mysterious or something. Anyway, I just thought that they sounded cool when I first learned about them, right? So I figure that it'd be a good thing to see some time."

He really was a dreamer, wasn't he? She knew that, sure. Musicians in general tended to be that way, but Evan . . . he lived those dreams through his music. Somehow, he'd learned how to harness the power of those dreams into a viable form, even if that form only held for the length of a single song . . . "I think you'll see them, then," she stated in a tone that left no room for discussion.

He nodded again then suddenly grinned at her—that cocky, rock star grin that she knew a little too well. "C'mon, V," he said, turning around, pulling her along with him as his grip on her hand tightened. "You're getting cold, aren't you? Time to get Cinderella back to the city. 'Sides . . . don't want your party to start without you, now do you?"

Valerie giggled and tugged on his hand to speed him up just a little. "Well, if I'm the guest of honor, then it'd be pretty bad if I was late," she allowed, pulling the key card out of her pocket and hitting the remote ignition control. "Last one to the car is a rotten egg!"

With that, she let go of his hand and broke into a sprint. Evan laughed and let her have a few seconds' head start before barreling after her . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Laisses-faire_** _: French term meaning 'let do' or more loosely, 'to allow to do' … while most often used in regards to certain governmental practices, this phrase can often be used to convey a lackadaisical outlook on certain practices or beliefs_. 
> 
> ' ** _Cecelia_** ' _originally appeared on_ _Simon_ _and_ _Garfunkel's_ _1970_ _release,_ **_Bridge_** **_over_** **_Trouble_** **_Waters_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Paul_ _Simon_ , _Art_ _Garfunkel_ , _and_ _Roy_ _Halee_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _The Northern Lights …?_


	101. 100: Promises

' _I don't care if you never come home_ …  
' _I don't mind if you just_ …  
' _Keep on rowin' away on a distant sea_ …  
' _Cuz I don't love you and you don't love me_ …'

 

-' _Promises'_ by Eric Clapton.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Turning from side to side as she eyed her reflection in the mirror, Valerie smoothed the skirt of the flirty little red dress. Fussing with her hair—she'd washed out all the dark rinse in the shower—she sucked in one cheek as she tried to make sense of the giddy excitement that wouldn't let go of her.

A birthday party, he'd said just before he'd send her off to his bedroom to change. When she'd started to tell him that she didn't have anything to change into and that she'd just run home to get ready, he'd just laughed at her, and no wonder. Somehow, he'd managed to arrange to have a dress by none other than _the_ Tessa Hildalgo delivered for her—a complete ensemble, actually, right down to stockings and lingerie. The dress wasn't much more than a slip, really, with a double layered satin skirt that flowed around her in a whisper of motion. Tessa Hildalgo wasn't regarded as one of the most feminine designers in the world for no reason, after all. Her designs graced runways and the most exclusive of parties the world over, worn by women who could afford the insane price tags that always went with them. Valerie didn't actually want to think about just how much money he'd spent on her clothing—or on the blood red ruby that was as large as a half-dollar, easy, that was set in a stunning platinum pendant and was now hanging around her throat and the matching ruby teardrop earrings . . .

The skirt brushed her legs at about mid-thigh, not overly short, but enough to show off a generous length of her legs, she supposed. Tasteful, certainly . . . In fact, she was pretty sure that this dress in particular had been one of the ones featured in last month's issue of _Vogue_ . . .

The shoes were a perfect match, as well, the same shade of red as the dress and the rubies, and for once, she didn't have to worry that she was going to tower over her escort for the evening, either, and that was enough to draw a soft giggle from her. Heck, she could easily wear six inch heels and still not have to worry about that, not with Evan. It was a nice feeling—a feeling that set off a slight twinge of guilt when she thought about Marvin. After all, she adored Marvin for whom and what he was, didn't she?

No doubt about it, she looked like she was going to some infamous Hollywood party or something, and when the hair and makeup artist had arrived about an hour ago, Valerie had laughed and shook her head in disbelief. She recognized the girl as one of the ones who worked for Madison, and she'd stated quite plainly that Evan had instructed her not to cover up Valerie's natural beauty—his words, she'd said.

Even then, Valerie had to admit that being pampered like that was more than a little nice, and maybe that was the real reason that she was trying to be so fussy with her appearance tonight. Evan had gone to such lengths just to make her birthday memorable, hadn't he? That same expression that he'd had on his face while he stared at the seashell he'd picked up for his mother . . . was that what he was feeling now?

Glancing at the clock, she drew a deep breath. Evan had told her that he'd give her two hours to get ready, and those two hours were about over. She didn't really think that he would do anything outrageous like storm the bedroom, but she had to admit that she was looking forward to the party, no doubt about it.

After one final glance at into the mirror, Valerie nodded once before heading out of the room. She hadn't thought to ask Evan what he was going to wear or anything, and maybe she should have, but then, she was so happy at the moment that she figured he could probably get away with ripped jeans and a cut up tour shirt, and she wouldn't complain at him about it.

Soft music greeted her long before she reached the stairwell. His house was rigged up with thousands of fiber optic speakers build into the walls, so even ambient music was easily audible. She couldn't place the artist, but she was surprised to hear the dulcet tones of jazz. Then again, given Evan's love of all things musical in deviation, she supposed it wasn't so farfetched, after all.

The living room made her smile as she descended the stairs. At some point while she was upstairs getting ready, he'd hung silly streamers and floating letters that spelled 'Happy Birthday', and there was a huge cake in the middle of the table: a white frosted cake with shades of pastels adorning flowers and vines that ran up and down the sides. The top had a spray of flowers, and from where she stood, she couldn't rightfully tell if they were real or fake, but either way, they were coated with finishing sugar, and the result was an iridescent effect that shimmered in the soft light of the room.

He'd built a roaring fire in the hearth, had lit candles that sat on every surface in the room. She laughed softly as she stepped off the staircase. A moment later, Evan let himself out of the music room, pulling the door closed as he shrugged on the black tuxedo jacket. It wasn't the same one that he'd worn the night of the benefit soiree, and for that, she was glad.

There was something about that moment, though, something that held her captivated. Staring at the man she knew so well, why did he seem just a little less approachable, a little more aloof? His hair was loose, spilling over his shoulders, framing his face in a soft kind of light, his eyes sparkling as candlelight was caught and reflected. Lean hips, long legs, the muscles that she knew lie just beneath the flimsy cover of the fine linen shirt . . . He didn't wear a bowtie since the shirt had a mandarin collar, but she couldn't help but smile just a little at the fat ruby set in platinum button cover that almost matched the ruby pendant she wore exactly.

When he spotted her standing at the base of the stairs, he started to smile, but the expression died almost as quickly as it surfaced.

For some reason, the absolute silence from him disturbed her. He might not be smiling, but he was pleased; she could tell from the brilliance of his gaze as he slowly, slowly looked her up and down. Flipping the collar of the jacket, he straightened it absently as he deliberately strode toward her. "Happy Birthday, V," he said.

She giggled since he'd already said as much earlier in the day. "Thank you for the dress," she replied, unsure why she felt a sudden sense of shyness that simply hadn't been there before.

Evan chuckled and offered his elbow, waiting until she tucked her hand up through the crook of his arm before he led her deeper into the living room. "You look damn good in red," he remarked, ignoring the thanks that she'd offered. "Then again, I doubt you'd look bad in much of anything."

She smiled, pressing a hand against her stomach as a strange sort of fluttering broke loose deep inside her. He really was a damn fine looking man, wasn't he? Blinking suddenly when she noticed the old fashioned red checked cloth that he'd spread on the floor near the fire, she giggled again when he gestured at the blanket, indicating that she should sit down. She wasn't sure why it amused her so much. She wasn't sure why it surprised her a little. If there was one thing that she knew about Evan after the months since she'd met him, it was that he never, ever did anything the way that one might expect. Still, she laughed softly as she sank down on the cloth.

Evan made himself comfortable beside her and reached for a bottle of wine that had been set up next to the cloth on a pristine white marble tray-table. There were three such tables—the one where the wine sat was slightly larger than the others, and the other two were arranged so that one was beside Evan while the other was beside Valerie, kind of like modified TV trays, she mused. "I hope you're hungry," he said, handing her a glass of wine with a wink.

"I thought you said this was going to be a party," she said, setting the glass aside without taking a drink.

"You don't think we can have a party with just the two of us?" he contended.

Valerie smiled and shook her head. "What are you up to?" she asked though there was no real accusation in her tone.

Evan sipped his wine. "I just want you to have the most memorable birthday ever," he assured her with the boyishly endearing half-grin.

It was there, just below the surface, wasn't it? That anxiety, that nervousness, that underlying desire to please her . . . She could feel it. He really meant what he said, and she knew that, too . . . and that idea was both frightening and exhilarating, all at the same time. "Evan—"

"I'll go get your dinner," he said suddenly, giving no indication that he'd heard her start to speak. Then again, maybe he didn't want to hear whatever she was going to say; maybe he was afraid to hear it . . .

That thought drew a frown from her, and she bit her lip as she watched him get to his feet and saunter off toward the kitchen. Did he think that she was about to upbraid him over something? She wasn't sure, but that certainly hadn't been her intention; not at all.

But he didn't leave her much time to mull it over. Striding back out of the kitchen a minute later, he grinned at her. Her mouth dropped open slightly when she realized what he was carrying: a bright red plastic lunchbox in one hand and the pink Princess Sasha lunchbox in the other.

"What are you doing?" she asked, unable to keep her amusement out of her tone.

He sat down next to her once more and handed her the Princess Sasha box. "What does it look like?" he grouched. "It's dinner, of course."

She laughed, tucking her hair behind her ear before unlatching the lunchbox and opening the lid. "Sushi!" she gasped, a little giggle escaping her as she stared at the unexpected surprise. "I love sushi!"

Evan chuckled and set his open box on the cloth between them as he stretched out on his side, propping himself on his elbow as he carefully opened a very ornately painted black lacquered pot filled with soy sauce.

She bit into the first one and groaned. "So good . . ."

He glanced at her, only to do a double take as his eyebrows lifted, disappearing under the thick fringe of his bangs. "Eating with your fingers, V?" he teased.

Wrinkling her nose, she swallowed the bite and stopped before popping the rest of the roll into her mouth. "I always eat sushi with my fingers," she replied.

"Yeah, but you've got chopsticks in there," he pointed out.

"So there are," she agreed with a shrug. "My fingers are faster, though."

"Are you telling me that you don't know how to use those?" he asked, his unspoken challenge punctuating his words.

Rolling her eyes, she let out a deep breath but picked up the chopsticks since he seemed so set on seeing her try them out. It didn't really help when she glanced at him, either. He was using his pair with the proficiency of a seasoned pro. He was staring down at his own food—he had something else, though she wasn't entirely sure what it was, but she didn't delude herself into thinking that he wasn't paying complete attention to her, which only served to make her a little nervous.

She watched him for several moments as he worked his chopsticks quietly. He made it look easy enough, didn't he?

And her first attempt wasn't too bad. She actually managed to pinch the sushi roll between the points of her sticks, but they slipped when she started to lift it to her mouth, and she wrinkled her nose and tried again.

Evan laughed and watched her next two attempts without a change in expression, and by the time she'd dropped the roll for the fourth time—she'd almost gotten that one into her mouth, damn it—she was ready to admit defeat if it meant that he'd leave her alone and let her eat in peace. Judging by the look on his face, though, he wasn't about to give up, and with a pronounced snort, Valerie stabbed the chopsticks into the sushi roll and bit into it with a triumphant grin.

"Oh, hell, you can't do that in civilized company," Evan complained despite the throaty chuckles that escaped him.

"Why not?" she demanded, quirking an eyebrow. "I got it to work, didn't I?"

His chuckle escalated into a bark of laughter. "Well, see, in Japan, you don't stab your food unless you're offering it to the deceased."

She shot him a look that stated quite plainly that she thought that he might well be full of it. "Who told you that?"

Pulling a bite of food out of a long, shallow box, he ate it before speaking to her again. "Mama told me. When I was little, I didn't want to use the chopsticks, see? So I thought I'd be smart and use them to stab my food—until Mama told me that it was very rude." He winced. "I thought she was going to cry or something, she was so shocked . . . I never did it again."

Valerie vaguely remembered Evan mentioning that his mother was Japanese by birth, so that made sense. For some reason, the idea of a little Evan exasperating her with his antics . . . It brought a smile to her face. "You were kind of a brat, weren't you?" she commented at length.

He looked like he was going to argue with her. "I'll have you know I was a really goo—Okay, yeah, I kind of was." Setting his chopsticks aside, he pushed himself to his feet and moved around behind Valerie. "Here," he said, leaning in close to her, his arm reaching around to grasp hers. Slipping his other arm around her, too, he adjusted the chopsticks in her hand and chuckled. "See, you use this one as a lever like . . . this . . ." he murmured.

Turning her head just enough to look at him, she swallowed hard at his proximity. He was staring at her hand in complete concentration, and she forced her attention back to the task, albeit grudgingly. Strange, wasn't it? She would hardly call Evan a big guy—he was a little on the lanky side, really—but he could manage to make her feel so small by comparison: not in a bad way, no, but in a wholly masculine sort of presence that left her feeling almost vulnerable, though never in a negative sense . . . ' _Knock it off, V_ ,' she chided herself, frowning at the chopsticks in her hand. Fawning all over him like some lovesick school girl? She snorted inwardly and straightened her spine as Evan, using his hand to guide hers, helped her to pick up a roll properly.

"H-Hey!" she complained when he guided her hand toward his mouth. "You have your own food, Roka!"

Evan chuckled and leaned over her shoulder to intercept the bite as she tugged against his hold. She managed to thwart him—kind of. He ended up with half of a bite for his efforts, and before he could steal the rest of it, she grasped his wrist in her free hand and guided it into her mouth easily enough. "Ack off, ocker-oy," she garbled. "Eat your own food."

"You're a tough woman, V," he complained with an exaggerated sigh. She was almost sorry that she'd said what she did, though, when he let go of her hand and moved back over onto the cloth to finish eating.

"What is that?" she asked, leaning over to peer into his lunchbox.

"It's torafugu," he replied simply.

She blinked and stared at him for a long moment. "What's torafugu?"

Swallowing the bite that he'd just eaten, Evan set his chopsticks aside again. "Tiger blowfish. 'Tora' means 'tiger'. 'Fugu' means puffer fish—blowfish. It's a kind of Japanese puffer fish. Fugu's a delicacy. It's also highly poisonous and can be lethal if it isn't prepared correctly."

"It's _what?_ Then why the hell are you eating it?" she demanded.

Picking up his chopsticks again, he took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. "You heard me say that it's a delicacy, right?"

She wrinkled her nose. "So you're eating something that could kill you," she said. "That sounds sane."

"It's fantastic," he maintained, "and it's perfectly safe if it's prepared the right way."

She couldn't help but stare as he ate another bite of the grisly dish. He caught her unabashed eyeballing and blinked. "Forget it, V," he told her. "You're worth more than I am—you know, in case this one is toxic."

She snorted, more at his statement than him saying that he wasn't going to share. "I'd rather eat something that doesn't have the potential to kill me, thanks," she retorted, using her fingers to lift a sushi roll out of her lunchbox and popping it into her mouth. "Anyway, you're the international star, so you're definitely worth more than I am."

"Not to me," he replied simply. She stared at him, unable to decide whether she thought he was being serious or not. He had said it so easily, just off the cuff, as it were, that she wasn't entirely sure. He didn't seem to notice her preoccupation, though, and he sat up a moment later, stowing everything back into his lunchbox again—Power Puppies, no less—and set it aside before pushing himself to his feet again. "Better go check on the guy I hired to serenade you tonight," Evan said when he finally noticed her attention. "He's late . . ."

"You hired someone to serenade me?" she asked, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. "You, Mr. Musicman? You hired someone else to serenade me?"

He chuckled. "Well, yeah. I mean, I can't pay much attention to you if I was busy playing for you instead, now could I?"

She wasn't sure what to make of that, but she slowly nodded. He shot her an easy grin before striding off toward his music room and disappearing behind the closed door. It was entirely possible that his reasoning held water. Still, Evan loved performing, whether it was for one person or one hundred thousand . . .

She didn't have long to wait. A few minutes later, the door opened again, and Valerie turned, only to blink as her eyebrows lifted, as she stared at Evan, who had changed into a regular tuxedo shirt along with a pristine black bowtie, and a shorter-waisted jacket, complete with long coattails. It wasn't the difference that drew her attention—and her amusement. It was the absolutely awful black dreadlock wig that he'd donned that did it. Small, round framed, blue tinted lens glasses completed the weird ensemble, and he didn't look at her as he strode purposefully toward the piano, sheet music in hand. Sheet music? Since when did Evan need something as simple as sheet music? Valerie bit down on her cheek to keep from giggling out loud.

When he reached the piano, he turned to face her, offered her a low bow before slipping onto the bench before the piano and taking his time adjusting the pages of the sheet music.

"I think that's the best look, ever, Roka," she commented with a smile as she selected another sushi roll.

Evan shot her a blank kind of look and slowly shook his head. "No hablo Inglés."

Snapping her mouth closed, Valerie giggled and rolled her eyes. It amused her that Evan was suddenly trying to say that he didn't speak English, and if he wanted to pretend, then she figured it was all right, even if he didn't look even remotely Spanish, either—maybe Jamaican . . . _maybe_.

She was still smiling when he shot her a curt nod before turning back toward the piano and lifted his hands to play . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Slipping out of the music room as he adjusted his cuffs and shrugged his shoulders under the jacket that he'd just put back on, Evan heaved a longsuffering sigh as he pulled the door behind him and grinned apologetically at the woman who was still seated on the red checked cloth he'd spread on the floor. "Sorry, V. I couldn't find him. Little bastard must've taken my money and ran. Maybe it was stage fright or something . . ."

Valerie laughed and set her wine glass aside before getting to her feet to face him. "No, he came out and played a few pieces—classical music, no less."

"Oh, did he? Well, shit. I wanted to hear him, too," Evan drawled.

"Ah, well, you just missed him," she went on, the smile on her face widening. "A shame . . . He was very, very talented."

Evan snorted. "He didn't hit on you or anything, did he?"

She giggled. "Nope. He said that he didn't speak English."

Evan snorted again. "Keh. Bet he's illegal. I should turn him in, don't you think?"

"It's too bad that you missed him," she replied with a shrug. "I would've liked to have danced with you."

He grinned and shot her a sheepish kind of look. "Maybe I could come up with something else."

He half expected her to come up with a reason why that'd be a bad idea, but she didn't. Evan moved over to change the music settings on the central control panel. Valerie laughed softly when the stereo reset itself.

"Are you sure you planned all of this today?" she asked when he returned, only to pull her gently into his arms, swaying to the soft music as she stepped in just a little closer—nothing inappropriate, but very nice, just the same. "Calling Mike, indeed . . ."

Closing his eyes as the soft scent of her surrounded him, Evan very nearly sighed. "I'm good, huh?"

She laughed. "You're something, Evan Zelig."

Letting out a deep breath as he contented himself with the nearness of her. He wouldn't say that he'd ever been a patient kind of guy, no, but something about the little victories with Valerie made everything worthwhile, didn't it?

She sighed softly, her right hand resting on his arm, her left hand clasped in his, and she didn't say anything for a while. The silence was companionable, a welcome thing, a viable entity.

"Evan?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

He leaned away far enough to get a good look at her face, and when he saw the tears standing in her eyes, he frowned. "H-Hey . . . What's the matter?" he asked gently.

She wrinkled her nose, swatted at a single tear that managed to slip unbidden down her cheek, and she looked irritated, as though she couldn't quite believe that she hadn't been able to hold them back. "It's nothing," she lied, the tremor in her voice cutting through him like a knife.

"Yeah, but I don't think those are happy tears," he argued as he pulled her into a hug. "You can tell me, you know," he assured her. "You can tell me anything."

Shaking her head, she seemed to resist the comfort that he was trying to offer her for a moment before slumping against him, allowing him to support her as a the bittersweet smell of a few more tears filled his nose. "It's stupid," she confessed, balling her hand into a tight fist that rested against his chest. "So stupid . . . So _stupid!_ "

"Nothing about you is ever stupid, V," he admonished her.

She drew a ragged breath and sighed. "It . . . It's just . . ." Drawing another deep breath as she struggled to find the words she wanted to say, Valerie leaned back, smiled weakly as he carefully brushed her tears away. "No one's ever gone out of their way for me, not like you have. My own parents never—"

"Your parents can go to hell, V," Evan interrupted in a much sharper tone than he'd intended. A fresh wash of anger surged through him at the reminder—the people who should've taught her what it meant to be loved, to be cherished . . . bastards, all, as far as he was concerned.

She didn't argue with him though he could feel her whole body tense at the reprimand, and he sighed. "I tried to tell myself for years that they tried their best, you know? I tried . . . Tried to make excuses for all the times that I'd get ready to see them—put on my prettiest dress and fix my hair and wash my face . . . and they rarely showed up . . . maybe once every six months or so . . ."

His arms tightened instinctively, though to be entirely honest, he wasn't sure if he was trying to shield her or if he was just trying to hold onto a part of himself. "V . . ."

She choked out a half-laugh, half-sob. "Do you . . . Do you think that they even know what today was? Do you . . . Do you suppose that they stopped at some point today and . . . and remembered?"

He didn't know what to say to her, didn't know how to make it all okay for her when he wasn't entirely sure of anything at all. Her pain was a palpable thing, hanging in the air around them like a vile mist. In the end, he did the only thing he could do, pulling her close, tucking her head beneath his chin, wrapping himself around her in a stupid and useless effort to show her that she wasn't nearly as alone as she thought she was.

Clearing her throat, she let out a deep, ragged breath. "That's why . . . Evan? Those presents you bought for me?"

"Yeah?" he whispered, unable to rightfully speak past the suspicious lump that nearly choked him.

"I'll keep the lunchbox," she said simply as she leaned away to smile at him, and this time, the smile was blinding. "That's what I want, Roka."

He smiled, too, hoping that she couldn't see the darkness that loomed just below the surface—a hostility that he couldn't quite repress: the outrage for a little girl who should never have had to learn some of the lessons she was taught. "Just the lunchbox?"

She nodded. There was no hesitation, and if anything, her smile grew even brighter. "It'll do."

He shook his head. "You're keeping all of it, V. Consider it payback for a lifetime of birthday parties that I missed."

She looked like she was going to argue with him. It was second nature to her, wasn't it? Evan snorted and made a show of rolling his eyes before he pressed a finger to her lips to stave off the disagreement before it could begin. "I swear on all that's holy, V, if you argue with me, I'll kiss you silly," he warned.

She blinked and stared at him, a sweet flush rising to stain her cheeks. For a moment, he almost thought that she was going to argue with him on purpose, just to see if he'd make good on that threat, but she must've realized that he was deadly serious, because she slowly, slowly nodded just once.

Letting his hand drop away from her, he smothered the desire to sigh. "You, uh . . . You ready for some cake?"

Valerie looked a little confused by his question, as though her brain was functioning at a crawl. He stepped away from her—damn, but he needed to gain a little distance before he made good on the threat without the provocation of her trying to give back his presents—only to stop short when she caught his hand and squeezed it gently.

"Fine, then," she allowed, inflicting a level of curtness into her tone that nearly made him grin. "But only on one condition."

Slowly peering over his shoulder at her, he raised an eyebrow in silent question.

"You," she began then cleared her throat. "You've got to promise me that you'll keep your birthday cleared, okay?"

He wasn't entirely sure what he'd expected her to say, but that certainly hadn't been it. Staring at her for several moments, he slowly grinned and shook his head. "You're going to spend my birthday with me?"

She nodded, a glimmer of determination adding a sparkle to those amazing eyes of hers. "Yes," she stated in a tone that left no room for argument, "and it'll be the best birthday ever, I promise." That said, she let go of his hand and started to march past him toward the table where the cake stood, waiting. When she drew up beside him, however, she leaned up on her toes, her hands braced on his shoulder, and kissed his cheek.

Evan stood stock-still as she continued her trek toward the cake, a silly grin surfacing on his face as he watched her go. "It's a deal, V," he said quietly, unsure if she even heard him speak. "It's a deal."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Fugu_** _: Japanese_ _pufferfish_ _that_ _is_ _renowned_ _as_ _a_ _delicacy_ _but_ _notorious_ _because_ _of_ _the_ _potential_ _to_ _be_ _poisoned_ _if_ _it_ _is_ _not_ _prepared_ _correctly_. 
> 
> ' ** _Promises_** ' _originally appeared on Eric Clapton's_ _1978_ _release,_ **_Backless_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Richard_ _Feldman_ _and_ _Roger_ _Linn_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> _**Final** **Thought** **from** **Evan** :  
> My birthday, huh …?_


	102. 101: Favors

' _Here we stand_ …  
' _Worlds apart, hearts broken in two, two, two_ …  
' _Sleepless nights_ …  
' _Losing ground, I'm reading for you, you, you_ …'

 

-' _Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)'_ by Journey.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

The incessant tapping on the bedroom door was enough to draw a low groan from Evan as he slowly sat up and rubbed his face in a weary sort of gesture that lasted all of ten seconds—long enough for his brain to kick in as he recognized the youki of his older brother. "C'm in," he muttered, knowing well enough that Bas would hear him without any trouble. Sure enough, the door slowly opened as the very large frame of the future North American tai-youkai peered into the room. "Uncle Evan!" Bailey hollered, launching himself onto his bed.

Evan grunted when the boy landed square on the family jewels. "Ouch . . . damn," he groaned, hooking Bailey under the arms and moving him aside, though not roughly. It did take him a couple minutes to tamp down the urge to cup his nuts and cry like a girl . . .

"You okay?" Bas asked, hefting an eyebrow as Evan tried to remind himself that he sorely needed to breathe.

"Ah, yep, never better," Evan wheezed. "It's fine."

"Be more careful, Bailey," Bas admonished, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head slowly, sternly at his son. "You hurt your uncle."

"I'm sorry," Bailey said, his prior enthusiasm waning fast. If he had the legendary hanyou ears, they would've been flattened, Evan figured. "I'm sorry!"

Forcing a grin, Evan reached over and tugged the boy back onto the bed. Bailey hadn't meant to hurt him, and he knew it. The pain had settled into a dull ache, more or less, and Evan figured that he'd make it. "Hey, Bailey," he finally managed, sounding more like himself than he'd have thought possible. "Nice threads."

Bailey grinned, relieved to have been forgiven so quickly as he scampered to his feet atop the coverlet and held out his arms to his sides. "It's my costume!" he exclaimed happily, pleased that Evan noticed it. Of course, it'd be pretty hard not to have since the boy was wearing a full-body dog costume, complete with floppy ears and a faux fur tail that jiggled whenever he moved.

"So you wanted to be a puppy for Halloween?" Evan asked with a grin as he tugged one of Bailey's fake ears.

Bas rolled his eyes. "Actually, no, but Sydnie talked him into it."

"And what did he want to be?" Evan couldn't resist asking.

Bas actually grinned. "A fireman."

"Mommy said I'd get more candy in this costume," Bailey informed him in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Isn't it kind of early for trick-or-treating?" Evan asked dubiously.

Bas shot him a 'don't be stupid' kind of look and shook his head. "He put it on this morning," he explained.

"Kind of early, aren't you?" Evan asked with an artfully lifted eyebrow.

Bailey shook his head happily. "It's not too early for candy!"

Evan laughed. "No, I don't suppose it is."

"Anyway, Bailey wanted to come with me to drop off your dogs," Bas went on.

"Yeah, thanks. You guys going to go trick or treating later on?" Evan asked. True, Halloween wasn't until tomorrow, but the city figured that it'd be better to have trick-or-treating tonight, instead.

"Well, we're going to the Halloween party at the children's hospital tonight," Bas explained. "Mom and Dad were going to go, but some stuff came up, so Sydnie figured it'd be fun."

"What if he ruins his costume before the party then?" Evan teased.

"Oh? So you forgot that you'd put your Halloween costume on a week before and wear it for days when you were a pup?" Bas replied mildly.

Evan grinned. "I guess I did," he allowed with a shrug. "Hey, Bailey, I think there's some cake down in the kitchen if you want some."

Bailey's eyes grew wide and round. "I like cake," he said. Suddenly, though, his cautious expression faded, only to be replaced by a thoughtful frown. "Gramma didn't make it, did she?"

Laughing at the consternation on the boy's face, Evan shook his head. "Nope, but it's still pretty good."

"Daddy? Can I have some?" he asked, rounding on his father as he bounced on the balls of his feet in anticipation.

Bas laughed and gave his consent with a curt nod. "I suppose," he allowed, trying to look stern and failing miserably, "but don't tell your mama or she'll have my hide for ruining your lunch."

"Go on down, and I'll be there in a few minutes," Evan said. Bailey grinned and hopped off the bed, skittering out of the room as fast as he could go.

"I'll get it for him," Bas offered, turning to follow his son.

"Wait a minute," Evan called after him. Bas slowly pivoted to face him again, his reluctance speaking volumes since he knew damn well that Evan favored sleeping naked.

Fortunately for Bas, however, Valerie had stayed the night last night, so he'd actually worn sweatpants to bed to accommodate her. Unfortunately for him, though, she'd insisted upon leaving early this morning to go in to the office to work on his case, and despite his best efforts to keep her here, she'd insisted, which just figured. It was a lost cause, and he'd told her as much. She'd smiled sweetly at him and told him that she wasn't ready to give up on him just yet, damned stubborn woman . . . So he had gone back to bed, but he still hadn't bothered to remove the pants, either, which was why he was able to toss the blanket back carelessly and roll to his feet before indulging himself in a good stretch. "You wore clothes to bed?" Bas asked baldly.

Evan yawned then grinned at his brother. "Sure, I did," he agreed. "Anyway, I wanted to ask you to do something for me."

That earned Evan a rather suspicious quirking of the eyebrow from the older Zelig brother since Evan wasn't usually given to asking for favors—at least, not from Bas . . . "What do you need?" Bas asked, taking care to keep his tone completely even.

Scowling at his brother's attempt to pretend that they were simply discussing something as simple as the weather, Evan draped his hands on his hips and stared at him.   "I, uh . . . I wanted to know if you could look into something for me."

Bas nodded slowly—he wasn't agreeing, just listening. "What kind of 'something'?"

Letting out a deep breath, Evan tried to interpret the expression on Bas' face. It seemed almost like a mix of curiosity and foreboding. "Last name: Duyer from near Lexington, Kentucky—I'm not entirely sure where, exactly. Had a daughter named Valene that was taken away by the welfare when she was in the first grade or so . . . she just turned twenty-eight yesterday."

Bas blinked then narrowed his eyes as he considered Evan's request. "Valene?" he echoed with a shake of his head.

"That was V's name before she had it legally changed, yes," Evan supplied, unable to keep the clipped tone out of his voice as his jaw hardened, as a stoniness seeped into his gaze.

"So . . . You want me to investigate Valerie's parents?" Bas reiterated.

Evan nodded curtly. "Yeah."

It took a moment for Bas to respond. When he did, he refused to meet Evan's gaze. "Can I ask you why?" he finally ventured in that carefully contrived tone of voice.

"They hurt her," Evan growled. "Ain't that good enough reason?"

Slowly, thoughtfully, Bas nodded, but he sighed and rubbed his face in a weary sort of way. "You sure know how to pick your favors," he mumbled ruefully.

Evan snorted. "Keh! It's what you do for a living, isn't it? Isn't that what the youkai special crimes division is? Just glorified private dics, right?"

Narrowing his gaze, Bas eyed Evan for a long moment. "It's not something that should be exploited just because you want some information, Evan," he pointed out reasonably.

"Fuck! Never mind! I—" Evan exploded, stomping across the floor angrily.

"Calm down, Evan," Bas interrupted with a sigh and a shake of his head. "I didn't say I wouldn't do it, did I?"

Stopping abruptly, Evan slowly turned to stare at Bas, who looked exasperated but not completely against the idea of looking into the situation. "If you're afraid that it'll piss off ol' Cain, then don't worry about it," Evan grumbled.

That barb worked to irritate Bas, and the elder grunted as his eyebrows drew together in a marked scowl. "Dad's got nothing to do with it, you little fucker, and you know it," he growled, pinning Evan with a fierce glower. "What makes you think that your friend will appreciate your interference?"

Letting out a deep breath, Evan yanked open a window and frowned at the weak and hazy daylight that filtered into the room. "She won't," he allowed at length. "I'm not doing it for her."

"Oh?"

Evan shook his head, idly scratching his chest as he continued to stare outside. "You got any idea what it's done to her through the years? Of course not—neither do I. After all, we were raised in Mama's house, and Mama loves everyone. Thing is, V . . . She doesn't have the same kind of memories that we do, you know? She doesn't have . . . She doesn't have shit . . ."

He didn't see the way Bas bit his lip, didn't see the slight wince that his frank and quiet assessment had garnered. If he had, he would have known that Bas was very likely thinking about his mate and her own version of a hellish childhood . . . As it was, however, Evan didn't rightfully care because the only person on his mind was Valerie . . .

Truth of it was, if Valerie hadn't been so upset, he wouldn't be asking Bas anything of the sort, but she was, and he wanted answers. He wasn't entirely sure what he would do once he had those answers in hand, but he'd figure that out when the time came, too. The only thing he did know was that the heartache on her face, the pain that she fought so hard to hide . . . He couldn't stand that, could he, and even if her parents never fully appreciated the anguish they'd caused her over the years, he just couldn't let it go; not this time. She meant too much to him to just leave it alone. She deserved answers even if she wasn't exactly ready to ask the questions.

"All right," Bas said quietly. "I'll see what I can do, but it might take a bit," he went on as though to warn his brother. "I'm knee deep in a few other things, too."

Evan turned away from the window, leaning on the sill, grasping the bottom of the frame in his hands. "Thanks," he said. "I owe you one."

"You don't owe me a thing, Evan," Bas muttered, swinging around to head out the door to follow his son down to the kitchen. "You never have."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie bumped the rim of her glasses back into place with her knuckle without glancing up from the notes she was jotting in the margins of the forensic report on Evan's car. She still had quite a way to go as she muddled through it, but she was making progress, and that was good. The man she'd hired to go over the vehicle was meticulous in his inspection, starting at the bottom of the car and working his way up, and there was more technical jargon based on the mechanics than she would have thought possible.

She sighed. She'd woken up this morning with a fresh resolve to find out exactly what had happened that night. Maybe it was just because Evan had managed to give her the single best birthday in the history of birthdays that was spurring her on, but she couldn't quite shake the feeling that she was running out of time, either. The real problem was that she wasn't certain if there really was more to the story that no one was telling her or if he just wanted there to be. Worst of all was the idea that she knew—knew—that she was slowly losing her objectivity when it came to that particular man. If she lost too much of it, it could be disastrous for Evan, especially if it clouded her judgment when it came to him . . .

Then again, she'd had the feeling from the start, hadn't she? Back when she'd first interviewed everyone who had been at Evan's house that night, she'd gotten the feeling that there was something going on that she didn't know about, that they were all seeking to keep from her. She hadn't been influenced by Evan, had she? If anything, she'd been ready to talk him into pleading guilty and seeing what she could do about getting him minimal punishment.

But . . .

It didn't make sense, did it? Why would Evan's friends all be willing to go along with his story if it was just a story? They all understood that there was a good chance that Evan was going to end up in jail for his efforts. They didn't want him to end up there, and she knew it. So why . . .?

She didn't know, and no matter how many times she pondered it, she wasn't any closer to figuring any of it out than she was months ago when she'd conducted the first round of inquiries, and she knew damn well that it wouldn't make a bit of difference if she tried again. His friends were protecting him—or something like that, anyway.

If she could get Evan to talk, it'd be a lot easier, of course. Too bad he was as stubborn as they came, and for some reason, he seemed unconcerned with the idea that he really would be spending some time in the big house. She might have thought that he was twisted enough to think that garnering a prison stint would add to the mystique that was Zel Roka, but she didn't think that was it, really. The trouble was, she really had no idea what he _was_ thinking when it came down to it.

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie blinked when the intercom on her phone beeped. "Yes?"

"Sorry to interrupt, but there's a delivery guy here with a package for you," her secretary said in lieu of a greeting.

Valerie frowned since she wasn't expecting a delivery, but she pulled her glasses off and dropped them onto the report with a dull thump. "Okay," she said, letting go of the button and pushing her chair back so that she could get to her feet.

A few moments later, the secretary hurried into the office with a very large box before casting Valerie a puzzled frown and slipping out of the room once more.

She slowly, hesitantly reached for the box. There was a white envelope affixed to the package, and she grabbed that first.

 

 

' _Hey, V, you took off too quick this morning so I didn't get a chance to ask you if you wanted to go to a little Halloween party with me tonight. Took the liberty of sending over a costume for you, so come by around six, and we'll go together. Oh, yeah, might want to grab some candy before you come by, too._ ' 

' _Evan_.'

 

 

' _A Halloween party?_ ' she thought with a scowl as she stared at the harmless looking box. For some reason, she didn't think that it was nearly as 'harmless' as it might look. Oh, sure, it sounded okay, this Halloween party, but knowing Evan . . . Well, that's what she was worried about.

Drawing a deep breath before she grabbed the box and yanked it open before she could talk herself out of it, she blinked at the rather plain looking pink-and-white-striped blouse that lay inside. ' _Donnegan's Dogs_ ' was embroidered over the left breast pocket of the button-down shirt, and there was a silly plastic name tag with 'V' written on it, too. A pair of white jeans, white canvas shoes, white bobby socks, a pink scarf, and a cute little paper white and pink service cap were included in the box, and Valerie wrinkled her nose as she slowly shook her head.

Okay, so he'd definitely surprised her this time. Considering how horrible the man really could be, he'd chosen to dress her up like a carhop or something? How . . . "Bizarre," she mumbled under her breath as she reached for her cell phone.

Evan answered after two rings. "Hey, baby," he greeted happily. "You get the costume yet?"

"What are you up to, Roka?" she demanded rather dryly.

He chuckled, and even over the phone, the breathy quality of the sound sent a rather nice shiver straight up her spine. "Just figured you'd want to go to the party with me, is all," he insisted. He sounded like he had a grin on his face . . .

"I meant, what's with this costume," she reiterated, wrinkling her nose yet again at the rather silly outfit in the box. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nah, and it's for the kids, you know. Couldn't really send over some hoochie mama costume, now could I? Well, not that you'd look bad as a hoochie, but c'mon, V . . . You'd totally destroy some little girl's self-esteem, don't you think?"

"There's something wrong with you, isn't there, Roka?" she countered, rolling her eyes as she slowly shook her head. "Anyway, that's fine, but why do I have to look like a cafeteria server?"

"Correction: a _smokin'_ cafeteria server," he parried. "So you'll go with me?"

"You know, I could probably pick up another costume before the party," she ventured since she still wasn't entirely sold on the idea of the one he'd picked out for her.

"Nah, you're a busy woman, aren't you? Like you've got time to run around, looking for a costume when I sent one over for you."

She snorted. "You're up to something," she stated. "I know you are."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, my V-ness," he countered. "Anyway, I gotta go. Have to go meet with He-Man and the Masters of the Universe before the party."

Giggling despite herself at the silly statement, she cleared her throat. "And who is He-Man?"

"Mike likes to think that he is," Evan replied.

"You're not in trouble again, are you?"

He grunted. "Nope. They want to know what the plan is for the next video shoot."

"There's a plan?" she challenged mildly.

"There's always a plan, woman."

"Fine, then, I'll see you at six," she told him as she caught the receiver between her ear and her shoulder to free up her hands so she could replace the lid on the box once more.

"Later, baby," he said, hanging up promptly before she could chastise him for his use of the endearment.

Valerie sighed and dropped the phone back into the cradle once more before turning her attention on the closed box thoughtfully. Okay, so she wasn't that impressed with his idea of a costume for her, but he was right. She really had too much to do to worry about running around to find another one on such short notice. It only served to remind her yet again, just how far behind she was in her efforts to get Evan out of trouble.

If only it really was that easy.

' _A kids' Halloween party . . .?_ ' she mused with a sigh as she sank down into the chair behind the desk once more. Why didn't that surprise her, either?

Still, she couldn't help the little smile that quirked her lips as she pushed the box back far enough to pull the report toward her once more. Somehow the irony of the situation didn't escape her, either. Who'd have thought that the world's biggest rock star on the planet would want to spend Halloween with a bunch of children, anyway . . .?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Separate_** **_Ways_** **_(Worlds_** **_Apart)_** ' _originally appeared on_ _Journey's_ _1983_ _release,_ **_Frontiers_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Jonathan_ _Cain_ _and_ _Steve_ _Perry_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Food service worker …?_


	103. 102: Halloweenie

' _The things you say_ …  
' _Your purple prose just gives you away_ …  
' _The things you say_ …  
' _You're unbelievable_ …'

 

-' _Unbelievable'_ by EMF.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Arf! Arf, arf, arf, arf, _arf!_ "

Evan grinned as Bailey knelt on the floor and stared at his sister, barking at her as Evan carefully fussed with the furry kitten costume on the little girl. "You know, Livvy, you should put these on," he said, holding up the kitten ears that were affixed to a small brown headband.

She shook her head, but smiled at him.

He sighed and shook his head, wondering if Sydnie would have more luck in coaxing the girl to wear them once she arrived in a little bit. Since Bas and she were putting in a few hours on a case they were working on, Evan had volunteered to watch the children. Besides, it was pretty fun, he had to admit, and Olivia was a damn fine chick-magnet . . . He'd gotten about five phone numbers when he'd taken them down the street earlier to do some early trick-or-treating, not that he actually wanted or needed the digits. True, they were very nice looking ladies, sure, but . . . but they just weren't Valerie-Denning-caliber, either. None of his neighbors had actually seemed put out to have such adorable visitors, even if they were a few hours early. It was probably better that way, anyway, he figured, since both Bailey and Olivia had managed to fill their little plastic loot containers with candy just from the places where they had gone. Olivia hadn't said 'trick or treat' or donned the ears, but she'd smiled bashfully, cuddled against Evan's shoulder, and the local womenfolk, it seemed, were quite the suckers for it. Bailey, on the other hand, had insisted that they take Evan's dogs with them, and he'd enjoyed telling the people that they were his family.

Speaking of those dogs, Momo was edging just a little too close to the children's Halloween buckets, and Evan growled curtly at the animal. "You guys go on outside and play," he commanded, "before you stick your noses in there."

Three heads swiveled to stare balefully at him. He almost laughed, but managed not to, jerking his head in the direction of the kitchen and their dog door. They realized that he wasn't actually joking around, and he shook his head when the collective commotion that they raised echoed through the house as they took off.

Besides, Valerie would probably be there soon, and even though he knew damn well that his dogs were the best behaved bunch of mutts anywhere, he also knew that Valerie really _did_ believe that those same dogs were plotting her imminent demise.

The door opened in the distance, and Evan's grin widened. ' _Speak of the devil_ . . .' It only took him a moment to recognize the feel of Valerie's presence, and he wasn't surprised when she strode into the room a moment later, all decked out in the costume that he'd sent over for her earlier even if she didn't look entirely pleased with it.

She stopped short when she spotted the children, and the slight frown on her face disappeared, and Evan braced himself for the potential of the unnaturally high squeal that most women would unleash upon him. It didn't come, but it was close. "Oh, my _God!_ How _cute_ is she?" Valerie breathed, bending over, bracing her hands on her knees as she smiled at Olivia. "Hi, sweetie . . . Do you remember me?"

Olivia stuck her fingers in her mouth, twisting her body from side to side as she smiled shyly at the attorney. "V!" she said, barely above a whisper and without removing the fingers from her mouth. "You taked me fwimmin'!"

Valerie giggled and ruffled Olivia's hair. "Yes, I did," she agreed. "You had that pretty kitty-cat swimsuit."

"Do you like firemans or puppies better?" Bailey demanded, grasping Valerie's hand and giving a little tug to gain her attention away from Olivia.

She grinned up at Evan before giving Bailey the once-over. "Oh, puppies," she said, and Evan might even have believed her—if he didn't know damn well that she really _didn't_ like puppies better at all. "Definitely puppies."

"My mommy does, too," Bailey announced, letting go of Valerie so that he could unwrap a grape Tootsie Pop.

"Tan I have dat?" Olivia asked sweetly, popping her fingers out of her mouth and waving her hand at her brother.

Bailey rolled his eyes but handed over the candy without a fuss. In retaliation, Olivia ran over to her brother and leaned in to plant a big, fat smooch on his cheek as he plopped down to dig through his candy again. He wrinkled his nose and tried to back away but couldn't avoid the unwanted affection, so he did the next-best thing: wiping his cheek on his shoulder as he dug another Tootsie Pop out of his plastic pumpkin.

Olivia popped the candy into and out of her mouth—she had to strain to do it, her mouth was so tiny—and when she turned away, Bailey, little scamp that he was, reached over to give her tail a playful little yank.

Olivia spun around so fast that Valerie blinked while Evan leaned forward, hands dangling between his splayed knees, and grinned. The tiny girl pointed a finger at her brother and shook her head. "No, Bailey! You don't pull on my tail! That's _bad!_ " she said, bobbing her finger and stomping her foot to emphasize every syllable. "You be nice! Mommy said!"

Valerie pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. Evan cleared his throat and sucked in his cheeks.

Bailey snorted and rolled his eyes in a thoroughly exasperated sort of way before pinning Evan with a knowing look. " _Women!_ " he exclaimed, as though that explained everything, and he shrugged, throwing his hands up in the air. "What can you do?"

Evan burst out laughing at that, since he knew damn well that that particular expression could not have come from the boy's father. No, it probably came from his 'uncle', Gunnar, actually. In fact, Evan would lay a bet on that . . .

Valerie reached over and smacked Evan in the chest with the back of her hand to make him stop laughing. It didn't really work, but he caught her hand and gave her fingers a warm little squeeze. "Absolutely, Bailey," he agreed.

Satisfied that she'd properly reprimanded her brother, Olivia plopped down on the floor and concentrated on the sucker.

"Are they coming to this kids' party with us?" Valerie asked, pulling her hand away from him and tapping it against his chest again.

"Nah," Evan drawled, reaching for the kitty ears he'd dropped onto the coffee table. "Bubby and Sydnie are taking them to the children's hospital, though I have serious reservations about that. I mean, do you really think that they'll want to give _away_ their candy?"

She laughed and rolled her eyes as her gaze shifted back to the children again. Olivia's sucker was gone—she'd decided that it'd be far more expedient to crunch it than suck on it—and she was leaning over, peering into Bailey's pumpkin. He nudged her bucket toward her with his foot, but she ignored it, apparently deciding that Bailey's candy must taste better than her own. Actually, Evan had a feeling that Olivia just liked for her brother to open the candy for her in much the same way that Sydnie refused to drink milk unless Bubby poured it for her. Like mother, like daughter, he supposed . . .

"Where is your costume?" Valerie suddenly asked, narrowing her gaze as she stared at him.

Evan grinned and held up the kitty ears. "It's at the YMCA. I'll just change when we get there."

"The YMCA?" she echoed.

He nodded. "Yup. It's a party for the kids I teach music."

"Oh," Valerie drawled as a little smile quirked the corners of her lips. She seemed satisfied enough with his answer, and she shrugged her shoulders to adjust her own costume. "This has to be the worst costume, ever," she grumbled, heaving a sigh and slowly shaking her head.

"Nah, you're hot," Evan assured her with a grin and a wink before turning his attention to the children once more. "Livvy, why don't you come here and let me put your ears on you?"

She blinked and stared at Evan for a moment, her lips glossy and sticky from the candy Bailey had been steadily feeding her. "I already gots kitty ears," she said with an impish grin that showed off the deep dimple in her cheek.

Evan laughed though he supposed he should try to divert the conversation, lest Olivia say something that she really shouldn't say. Valerie laughed, too, obviously figuring that the child was just joking. "You do?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at the little girl.

Olivia nodded, grasping her very human-looking ears. "See? Dese is my kitty ears!"

"Bubby likes to call her his little kitten," Evan murmured loudly enough for Valerie to hear him. "He's kind of weird that way."

Valerie laughed and took the headband from Evan as she slipped off the sofa and onto the floor to scoot over next to the toddler. "Is that right?"

Nodding happily once more, Olivia's eyes widened as she stared up at Valerie. "Oh! I got my ears pierced!" she said, slipping her fingers behind her ears to push them out for Valerie's inspection. "I'm pwetty like Mommy!"

Valerie leaned in to get a better look at the tiny gold ball studs in the girl's ears. "Those _are_ really pretty," she agreed. "But I'll bet you'd look cute with these on," she coaxed.

Olivia giggled and seemed to consider it before finally nodding and giggling some more. She let Valerie place the band on her head and carefully adjust it.

"What an adorable little kitty," Valerie declared with a smile as she sat back to observe her handiwork. "You agree, Roka?"

Evan chuckled and nodded slowly. "Absolutely," he agreed, sparing Valerie a wink. "Just a hottie, aren't you, Livvy?"

Olivia pushed herself to her feet and moved over to sit in Valerie's lap instead. "I'm a hottie," she repeated, cuddling against Valerie's chest.

"You are," Valerie agreed. "You definitely, definitely are."

' _She looks damn good with a pup, doesn't she?_ ' Evan's youkai piped up as he contented himself with watching her.

' _Hell, yes, she does_ ,' he agreed. ' _Better if the pup was mine, though_ . . .'

His youkai sighed. ' _Yeah . . . Yeah_ . . .'

Sitting up a little straighter when she heard the front door open and close, Valerie wasn't surprised to see Bas Zelig's huge frame a moment later.

"Daddy!" Olivia squealed, pushing herself out of Valerie's lap moments before she skittered over to her father's side. "Up, pwease!"

"What kind of costume is that?" Evan demanded, arching an eyebrow at the red and black flannel shirt and old blue jeans that his brother was wearing.

Bas chuckled. "A good one," he countered mildly. "I'm a lumberjack."

Evan made a face and slowly shook his head. "Where's your axe?"

"It's in the truck," Bas explained without missing a beat.

"How fucking boring," Evan muttered, shaking his head.

"Yeah, well, after last year? This was as good as it was going to get," Bas replied.

"What were you last year?" Valerie asked, slowly pushing herself to her feet.

Evan held out a hand to help her, and by the time she stood up, Olivia was safe in Bas' arms while Bailey was standing on the arm of the sofa, while their father laughed and kissed Olivia's baby-soft cheek. "He was the ass end of a cow last year," Evan supplied with a wolfish grin.

Valerie blinked and stared at him as though she were trying to decide whether or not he was being serious. "A . . . cow . . .?"

Bas sighed though his grin remained. "Sydnie likes cows," he supplied.

Valerie nodded, but she didn't look like she really understood that answer. Evan chuckled.

"Were you two good for Uncle Evan?" Bas asked, arching an eyebrow at his son before glancing at Valerie. "Nice costume."

"Thanks," she replied, unable to hide the grin on her face as she watched the big man with the tiny, tiny girl. "Evan chose it for me."

That earned him a rather suspect look from his brother, and Evan's grin widened though Bas didn't bother to ask for more details.

"I was good," Bailey said, launching himself onto his father's back and hooking his arms around Bas' throat. "Uncle Evan took us trick-or-treating!"

"Did he?" Sydnie Zelig said smoothly as she stepped into the room and held out her hands for her daughter. Valerie blinked. The woman wore a costume almost exactly like her daughter's, but hers was a hell of a lot tighter, fitting her like a second skin. "You went without your daddy?"

"Mommy!" Olivia shook her head stubbornly but let her mother take her. "Bailey pulled my tail!" she complained, her eyes wide as she stared at Sydnie.

Bas chuckled and tugged Bailey loose, pulling him over his shoulder and catching him easily before he fell. "Did you? Well, that wasn't very nice, was it?"

"I wasn't being mean," Bailey protested. "I was playin' wif her!"

"I'm sure you were," Sydnie agreed. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Olivia smiled brightly and cuddled against her mama's chest. "He gived me candy," she said.

Sydnie laughed. "You shared your candy with your sister? That's so sweet of you, Bailey."

Wrinkling his nose at the overzealous praise, Bailey tugged on the paw-shaped mittens that hung from the cuffs of his costume.

"Well, damn, Sydnie, that's a helluva costume," Evan breathed with an idiotic grin on his face.

"Isn't it?" Sydnie nearly purred as she slowly turned around for Evan's delectation.

"Hottest damn cat I've ever seen," Evan agreed.

"Okay, okay," Bas interrupted. "I'd thank you for watching them, Evan, but if you keep talking, I might have to beat on you, instead . . ."

Evan laughed and wandered over to kiss Olivia's cheek and hand Bas the two plastic containers of candy. "Not a problem, Bubby. Sydnie, make sure you send me a picture of you in that get-up, will you?"

Sydnie rose on her tiptoes—no small feat, considering she was already wearing four inch black stiletto heels—and licked Evan's cheek, which, of course, only made that particular man grin even wider.

"All right, kitty," Bas growled, pinning Evan with a dark scowl. "That'll be enough of that."

"Bye, Bubby," Evan called as Bas escorted Sydnie out of the living room.

Valerie shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest, trying to look stern when she met Evan's amused gaze. "You're asking for trouble, aren't you?" she questioned, arching an eyebrow since she remembered damn well just how one-sided Evan's fights with Bas tended to be.

Evan chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Keh! He's all bark and no bite," he scoffed. "Don't worry about it, V."

Valerie wasn't so convinced, but she let it go since Evan was already preoccupied again, picking up a handful of candy wrappers that the children had left on the floor. "So anyway, you about ready to go, too?" he asked when she fell silent.

Letting out a deep breath, she nodded. "Okay," she allowed slowly, "but this had better be fun."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Oh . . . _oh_ . . . not on your life, Roka."

He grinned at her. He _actually_ grinned at her. "Something the matter, V?" he asked innocently.

Valerie snorted, crossing her arms over her chest as she slowly shook her head and wondered vaguely if anyone would notice if she smacked him over the head to knock him out long enough for the party to pass. "You can _not_ be serious," she stated flatly.

"Well, see, I normally try not to be too serious, ever, if that's what you mean," he deadpanned as he fidgeted around slightly and made a rather pained face. He looked like he wanted to grab his crotch, not that he could, all things considered. "Oh, damn . . . my boys!"

Valerie didn't feel the least bit sorry for the sick man, and she snorted again then rubbed her face in an entirely exasperated sort of way. "If that's why you wanted me to dress up like some demented carhop, Roka, I swear to God, I'll—"

His laughter cut her off. "You're not a carhop, baby!"

That earned him a very droll stare, and she was relatively sure that she didn't want to hear the other half of whatever he was going to say.

"You're a hotdog vendor!"

She groaned. Yeah, she was afraid that it had to be something like that . . .

He was wearing a giant hot dog costume, for God's sake! The top of the foam hot dog had a hole cut out for his face while the bottom of the stupid thing ended right below his knees—his legs stuck out of holes in the sides of the bun at about mid-thigh, and if that weren't bad enough? She sighed inwardly. The crazy man was wearing a pair of bone colored tights, too . . .

All in all, it was quite possibly the single most demented thing she'd ever seen in her life, and Evan? Damned if that man didn't think that the entire situation was funny as all hell . . .

"I'm a _wiener!_ " he howled between guffaws of laughter. The stuffed body of the hotdog was too gangly, too cumbersome, and he very nearly toppled over, he was laughing so hard.

Valerie sighed, rubbing her forehead as she wondered if he'd notice if she slipped out of the YMCA before the kids started to arrive. "I swear, Evan, if you start singing the _Oscar Mayer Wiener_ song, I'll leave," she warned.

That didn't do a thing to curb his amusement, either, not that she figured it would. When he opened his mouth, probably to start singing, Valerie narrowed her gaze dangerously. That, of course, only made him laugh harder. "Come on, Roka, you really aren't serious, are you?" she asked pointedly, flicking a hand in the general direction of the complete and utter spectacle that was the rock star.

Evan shrugged—at least, she thought he did. It was hard to tell under all those layers of stuffing. "Halloween is about fun," he told her airily. "What's more fun than a giant wiener?"

She snorted. "Halloween is about _scary_ ," she corrected brusquely, "and there's nothing _scary_ about _that_ . . . well, not scary in the _right_ way, anyway . . ."

"Aww, the kids'll think it's great," he assured her. "You'll see! _Oh!_ " he exclaimed suddenly, turning around and grabbing a clipboard off of the desk in the office where he'd dragged her off to while he changed into his costume. Thrusting it at her with one hand, he groped around for an ink pen with the other then slapped it on the board in her hands with a cheesy grin. "You're gonna need that."

"Why am I going to need this?" she asked, sparing a moment to glance at the Xerox copy affixed to the clipboard.

"Because you're going to be the contest judge," he replied simply.

She blinked at that then shoved the clipboard back at him. "Oh, no," she stated firmly. "No way."

He rolled his eyes and forcibly gave the clipboard back to her once more. "Oh, yes."

"Why me?" she demanded.

He grinned. "Because you're the only unbiased person, right? So, it stands to reason that you'd be the judge. Besides, I trust you."

Valerie snorted again and crossed her arms over her chest though she didn't try to hand the board back to him. "I don't want to!" she insisted hotly. "What if they get mad at me? What if they decide to gang up on me or something? _What if they give me the big-eyes?_ "

His grin widened, and he chuckled. "You telling me that you're scared of a bunch of kids, V?" he teased.

"No!" she insisted hotly then wrinkled her nose as she tried to fight down a slight flush to no avail. "Contests are stupid, Roka," she grumbled.

Evan rolled his eyes and tried to turn his body to look down at the back of his left leg. "Did you even read the list of categories?" he asked patiently and a little distractedly.

"No . . . and just what the hell _are_ you doing?"

He glanced at her then resumed his attempt to see the back of his leg. "Come here and take a look, will you? I think I've got a run in my stocking . . ."

Snapping her mouth closed, Valerie refused to respond to that as she turned her attention back to the clipboard again. There were three— _three_ —pages of categories—easily twenty or thirty of them. A slow suspicion nudged at her, and she lifted her gaze without moving her head to eye the rock star. "How many kids are going to be here?" she asked at length.

He pulled a handheld mirror out of a desk drawer and positioned it so that he could see the back of his leg. Satisfied that there wasn't a run in his stocking, he put the mirror back and closed the drawer once more. "I don't know . . . Twenty? Twenty-five? Somewhere in there. Why?"

"' _Tallest girl'?_ " she read off the list. "What kind of category is that?"

"There's also one for the smallest girl," he supplied helpfully.

Breaking into a slight smile, Valerie shook her head. "So all the kids will win something; is that what you're trying to tell me?"

The grin he shot her was endearingly shy. "Something like that," he allowed.

The knot of anxiety that had twisted her guts at the idea of officiating the judging subsided. "What kind of prizes are they going to win?" she asked instead, wrapping her arms over the clipboard against her chest.

"Five pound Hershey's Kisses," he told her then laughed when her mouth dropped open in surprise. "It _is_ Halloween, after all . . ."

"You think their parents will thank you?" she asked, shaking her head despite the smile on her face.

"The kids will," he assured her.

Valerie groaned, envisioning twenty to twenty-five kids, all hyped up on sugar and the chaos that might well come to pass. Still, she couldn't help but laugh at the lengths that Evan was willing to go for them, too. He really was a generous person, wasn't he? And it wasn't just for her, either. No, the longer she knew him, the more she'd come to realize that Evan simply wanted to do whatever he could do to bring a smile to someone else's face, and whether it was through music or by throwing a silly Halloween party for some underprivileged kids . . . or hunting down a Princess Sasha lunchbox for her . . .

He was a special guy— _really_ special . . . and she loved that about him, too.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Unbelievable_** ' _originally appeared on EMF's_ _1991_ _release,_ **_Shubert_** **_Dip_** ( _the_ _song_ _was_ _released_ _as_ _a_ _single_ _in_ _1990_ ). _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _James_ _Saul_ _Atkin_ , _Deran_ _Brownson_ , _Mark_ _Simon_ _Decloedt_ , _Ian_ _Alec_ _Harvey_ _Dench_ , _and_ _Zachary_ _Foley_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _I'm a wiener!_


	104. 103: November Rain

' _I know it's hard to keep an open heart_ …  
' _When even friends seem out to harm you_ …  
' _But if you could heal a broken heart_ …  
' _Wouldn't time be out to charm you_ _… ?_ '

 

-' _November_ _Rain'_ by Guns n' Roses.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Okay, Roka. Let's play a game."

Evan glanced up from the acoustic guitar and slowly pulled the pencil that he'd been using to transcribe a song from between his teeth as he looked the attorney over thoroughly. "I like games," he agreed with a lecherous grin, dropping the pencil onto the notebook that he'd been scribbling in just minutes before her unceremonious arrival.

She rolled her eyes and pushed the glasses up her nose as she dropped her attaché case onto the sofa and perched on the edge of the cushion. Hiding herself away under one of those suits of hers, she'd obviously just come from work. That was all right. He rather liked that she'd rush right over, didn't he?

"So, you do want to play?" she reiterated.

Setting the guitar aside, he shrugged. "Sure. Don't suppose it involves your boobies, does it?"

Nabbing a throw pillow, she tossed it into his face before answering. "No. Now are you going to listen to me?"

"Don't suppose it involves _my_ boobies?" he suggested a little too hopefully.

Snapping her mouth closed as the pinched lawyer-look settled over her features, Valerie heaved a sigh and slowly shook her head. "You don't have 'boobies', Roka, and even if you did, the answer would still be 'no'."

"Take all the fun out of it, why don't you, V?" he complained.

"Get over it, Roka. You're being a baby," she scoffed.

Evan snorted and wrinkled his nose. "Besides, I'm busy."

One delicate eyebrow arched at his assertion. "Doing what?" she challenged mildly.

He shot her a cheesy grin. "Pondering the mysteries of the universe."

She snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. "What mysteries would that be?"

He shrugged offhandedly and reached for the bottle of water that he'd set on the coffee table about three hours ago when he'd first started messing around with a riff that had been going through his head all morning. "Oh, you know, the usual stuff."

"Like what?" she prompted when he left off at that.

"Eh, like: if you choke a Smurf, what color does he turn?"

She stared at him for several seconds before uttering a loud grunt followed in short order by a long, melodramatic sigh. "There's something wrong with you," she muttered. "Is that the only question?"

Sparing a moment to cast her a blank sort of look, Evan slowly shook his head. "Nope. There's also: if I were you, how could I stand to be so damn sexy?"

Pressing her lips together in a thin line, she looked like she was suspiciously close to laughing, though she managed to keep herself in check quite admirably. "Beyond bent," she grumbled, her tone much more stern than the expression on her face. "So, those are your idea of the greatest mysteries in the universe?"

"Nah, there's one mystery that is way more important than either of those," he admitted.

She didn't look like she was entirely sure that she wanted to know, but in the end, she rolled her eyes and straightened her back proudly. "Okay, I'll bite. What's that one?"

He would never know how he managed not to grin like a damn fool at the foreboding yet curious expression on her face. Clearing his throat, he swallowed half of the bottle of water before answering. "That's easy," he said glibly as he set the bottle on the table once more.

"And?"

"The biggest mystery in the universe is why, V, you were in my bushes?"

He thought she was going to throw something at him; he really did. She didn't, which surprised him, but the look she shot him might well have killed any other man on the spot. Too bad Evan just thought it was amusing as hell, and the grin that surfaced on his features stated that plainly enough.

"You're such a jerk, Roka," she informed him, her tone as dry as the desert even though he didn't miss the telltale glint in her eyes.

"You asked," he reminded her.

She snorted again but didn't bother to deny it. Drawing a deep, cleansing breath, she quickly waved her hands, as though she'd just remembered what she'd come over to talk to him about. "Anyway, do you want to hear about this game or not?" she demanded once more as she held out her hand and flipped it, palm out, making a show of inspecting her nails.

For some reason, Evan couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't going to like whatever her game was, but he figured he could humor her. "All right, V. Let's hear it," he drawled.

Satisfied that he was listening to her, Valerie grinned triumphantly and dug a fat booklet out of her attaché case. "Do you know what this is?" she asked in a deceptively sweet tone of voice.

"Nope," he replied. "What is it?"

"It's the forensics report on your car," she replied. "Now, I'm not completely through this thing yet, but I'm far enough into it that I've discovered something that I find of sovereign interest. Want to hear it?"

He did a damn good job of hiding his reluctance, as far as he could tell. Considering the smugness in her demeanor, he figured that he didn't really want to know what she thought she'd found out. "What's that?" he asked in a rather bored tone.

"According to the findings, it indicates that your vehicle was going slower than you seemed to think it was," she said simply.

"So?"

"So, your sworn statement was that you were traveling at or around forty miles per hour—higher than the posted speed limit in that area—but according to the report, your car was traveling around twenty miles per hour, give or take."

Evan shrugged offhandedly and reached for the guitar again. "Doesn't matter," he replied. "They'd still blame me, even if the car wasn't moving at all."

"Did you mean to lie about your speed?" Valerie asked, point blank.

"Nope," he answered without batting an eyelash.

"I'd like you to tell me about the night of the accident again," she finally said.

Evan figured it was something like that. "That doesn't sound like a game," he informed her in a completely bored sort of way.

"Sure it is," she argued smoothly.

"How do you figure?"

She grinned, but there was something about that cat-like grin that definitely worried him, no doubt about it . . . "We're going to play truth or dare—kind of," she informed him. "Thing is, you always have to take truth, and I'll always have to take dare."

That got his attention quickly enough. His head snapped up though the dubious expression on his face was easily discernible, too. "Within reason, right?" he muttered, shaking his head slowly.

"Yes, within reason," Valerie repeated. "Sound fair?"

Heaving a longsuffering sigh designed to let her know just what he thought of that idea, he bobbed his shoulders once in pseudo-agreement. "Can I dare you to strip naked and hop onto The hEvan Express?"

She didn't even blink. "No."

' _Damn, she's good_ . . .'

He chuckled. ' _Yeah, she is._ '

' _Didn't even faze her_ . . .'

"Can I dare you to jack me off?"

Still no reaction. "Nope."

"But you did it before," he reminded her with what could only be described as a lecherous grin.

And . . . nada—not even as much as a telltale flaring of her nostrils—just nothing. "I was drunk then. I'm not drunk now," she pointed out calmly.

He grunted and made a show of rolling his eyes. "Can I dare you to marry me?"

"Been there, done that," she informed him brusquely. "Don't think that we need to go there again, now do we?"

He heaved a heavy sigh and snorted indelicately. "Your game is sounding lamer and lamer by the minute," he muttered, slowly shaking his head.

Valerie wasn't impressed with his complaints. "Clean dares, Roka," she stated matter-of-factly.

He made a show of yawning in response.

"Oh, and one more thing," she added almost as an afterthought. "If you lie to me, I can refuse any dare I want."

He snorted. "And who gets to judge whether I'm being honest or not?"

Pulling off her glasses, she deliberately took her time, stowing them in the leather case. "I will."

That earned her a rather blank look. "I dunno, V," he drawled slowly, scratching his chin as he took his time pondering the situation. "Seems to me that it'd be fairer if you'd, I don't know . . . take your _shirt_ off or something."

It was Valerie's turn to look completely unimpressed. "Right, _ri-i-i-ight_ , Roka. Anyway, question one: who all was with you on the night when you hit Mr. Mathis' car?"

Evan considered that then shrugged. "Before or after we got in the car?"

She shot him the 'we-are-not-amused' look. " _In_ the car."

"Madison and I were," he replied, his tone as flat and businesslike as he could manage.

Nodding slowly, Valerie stared at him for a long moment, her expression inscrutable. "No one else."

"Yeah, that's right. No one else."

She didn't look like she believed him, but she didn't argue with him, either. "All right; your turn."

Evan snorted since he wasn't entirely sure what, exactly, he could get away with daring her. All the things that might interest him were off limits, and he knew it.

Glancing down at the table, he reached for the pencil that he'd dropped on the composition paper and grinned. "Okay, Denning," he said, drawing a raised-eyebrow-ed expression from the attorney since he didn't often—if ever—call her by last name. "I dare you to stick this up your nose."

Valerie blinked and stared at him as though she were trying to decide whether or not she thought that he'd lost his mind. Without a word, she leaned toward him, snatching the pencil out of his hand and jammed the eraser end up her left nostril. "Okay, Roka," she said, completely unfazed by the writing instrument dangling from her face. "Pay attention, will you?"

Evan couldn't stop laughing to comply. He couldn't help it; she still had the pencil stuck up her nose.

She waited for a few seconds before slowly shaking her head, which only served to further his amusement since the pencil kept swinging back and forth though not enough to become dislodged. "Whatever," she muttered, resigning herself to the idea that Evan just wasn't going to calm down. "According to your sworn statement, you said that the police didn't ask you to submit to any sobriety testing until after you'd given them your name, correct?"

At least he managed to curb his amusement—kind of. "Yes, V," he replied in a tone that was more indulgent than anything. "When they found out that I was Zel Roka, hell yeah, they jumped all over that."

"So, you're saying that they were only concerned about testing you after they found out who you were."

Pushing himself to his feet to amble over to the desk, Evan scratched the back of his neck idly. "Yeah, that's right. That doesn't matter, though, wasn't that what you'd said?"

"Not directly, no," Valerie admitted with a sigh. "I mean, if I can get the officers to admit that you weren't behaving in an impaired fashion, it might help a little when it comes to sentencing."

"Sounds like you're giving up on me," he ventured, grabbing a pencil before shuffling back toward the chair he'd just vacated.

She sighed again, only this one sounded somewhat defeated. "It's not like you really had that much of a chance to begin with," she admitted. "I mean, you might have had more of a chance if you hadn't asked officer that administered the sobriety tests if she would give you oral sex."

Evan grinned. He couldn't rightfully help himself, all things considered. "She was wicked hot," he said in his own defense. "She had _handcuffs_ , V!"

Valerie didn't look impressed. "Warped little monkey," she mumbled, leaning forward to snatch the second pencil out of his hand and shove it up her other nostril.

"I didn't dare you yet," Evan pointed out between howls of laughter.

"But you were going to," she countered, her voice completely impaired by the blockage of her nasal passages. "I think I'm going to sneeze . . ."

"If you do, turn your head that way," Evan instructed, waving a hand at the other side of the room. "I don't want to be stabbed by one of your nose missiles."

The dry look she cast him was completely ruined, and he couldn't help it as another guffaw of laughter escaped him. "That's So, sexy!" he gasped out, wiping his eyes as laughter induced tears clouded his vision. "Sexiest thing, ever!"

Rolling her eyes, Valerie yanked the pencils free and tossed them onto the coffee table. "You're so infantile," she pointed out sourly. "You know that, right?"

"Oh, _I'm_ infantile, but _you're_ the one who shoved pencils up your nose," he jeered.

"Because you dared me to," she retorted. "Anyway, according to the reports, you were trying to get Mr. Mathis out of his vehicle when the police arrived, correct? You weren't worried that he might have had a back injury?"

Letting out a deep breath, Evan's amusement died down quickly enough. Just thinking about the accident was enough to make him wince inwardly, even if he did manage to keep his expression blanked well enough. Even now, sitting in the living room in the place that he knew best, he could still smell the toxic fumes as gasoline leaked out of his car. Yes, he knew that Mathis had likely injured his back in the crash, but at the time, he'd been worried that the fuel would ignite . . . "Better to move him than to leave him in a vehicle that might explode," he remarked. "Then I'd be looking at involuntary manslaughter, wouldn't I?"

She nodded slowly as though she figured that what he'd said made perfect sense. "But you could have injured him more by moving him," she pointed out reasonably.

That earned her a pronounced snort. "Better that than dead."

Holding up a hand, Valerie stood up and headed toward the kitchen. "I agree," she called back over her shoulder.   "It'll come up in court, though. I just wanted to hear your reasoning before it did."

Evan heaved a sigh, the trace irritation that had surfaced receding fast at her statement. Reaching for the guitar once more, he strummed a few chords and slowly nodded at what he heard. Grabbing a pencil off the composition notebook, he scribbled a few things down and stuck the pencil into his mouth before turning his attention to the guitar once more.

"You've only got two weeks before the trial begins, you know," she pointed out as she strode back into the living room once more. Twisting off the top, she started to lift a bottle of water to her lips but stopped short, her eyes flaring wide as she gawked at him. "What do you have in your mouth?" she screeched.

Evan's head snapped up, and he stared at her rather blankly for a moment, unsure why she looked so disgusted. It took a moment for it to register in his mind, though, but when it finally did, he couldn't help the little chuckle that slipped out of him as he slowly, deliberately, sucked on the end of the pencil So, that it created an obscenely loud 'pop' when he pulled it free. "Mmm," he intoned, grin widening as the grossed-out look on her face grew worse by degrees. "Boogers . . ."

"U-U-U-Ugh," she moaned, squeezing her eyes closed as she affected a full-body shudder. "That's sick, Roka—really, _really_ sick."

"Maybe if it had been up someone else's nose," he agreed mildly, sticking the pencil back into his mouth again.

The look she shot him was designed to let him know exactly how warped she thought he was. Actually, she looked a little peaked . . . "It's still gross," she maintained stubbornly. "Would you take it out of your mouth?"

"But it's you, baby," he complained around the pencil that he didn't spit out, "and you're sexy, right?"

She grunted, downing half of her water before she deigned to answer him. "There's nothing 'sexy' about that," she argued.

He laughed. "Eh, it's not like you've got a runny nose or anything," he countered as his grin widened. "Get it? It's not? 'S'not'?"

"I'm going to be sick," she grumbled, shaking her head in utter disbelief. "Urgh . . ."

Tossing the pencil onto the table again, Evan relented. "Anyway, your game is kind of a bust, V," he told her.

Valerie strode over to the sofa again and frowned at the pencils. Then she scooped both of them up once more and stomped off toward the kitchen. When she reappeared a moment later without them, Evan grinned. "Just because you can't dare me to do questionable things?" she challenged mildly.

He shrugged and strummed the guitar a few more times.

She didn't say anything else as she stowed the report into her attaché case once more. Wandering over to the glass doors that overlooked the pool and yard, she seemed content to listen to him play.

He wasn't really trying to write a song. No, he'd been unable to shake off a lingering feeling of restlessness that had clung to him all day.

Of course, it might have had something to do with the package that Bone had brought up earlier, too . . .

" _What's that?" he asked, tugging the towel that was slung around his neck back and forth since he'd just gotten out of the shower_.

" _No idea," Bone said, setting the box on the table. "Came registered courier, if that means anything_."

 _Evan frowned thoughtfully as he looked it over_. 'Carson and Whittier, attorneys at law,' _he read on the label. He knew the names, sure. They were very expensive estate lawyers here in the city_.

 _Bone shrugged offhandedly. "It's about Deet, ya?_ "

 _Evan didn't answer, and, ignoring the heavy sense of foreboding that rose inside him, he forced himself to reach out, to slice through the tape that held the box closed_.

 _There was an envelope on top of the packing peanuts that covered whatever was in the box, and Evan pulled it out first_.

 

 

 

Mr. Roka: 

I am Cal Whittier from the Carson and Whittier law firm, and I'm contacting you in regards to the recent passing of Mr. Dieter Reichardt. While the bulk of Mr. Reichardt's estate has been assigned to his widow, he had expressed the desire to ensure that you receive one of his personal effects. Please accept my condolences on your loss and do let me know if there is anything I can do to further assist you in the future. 

Regards, 

Cal Whittier.

 

 

 _Sparing a moment to draw a fortifying breath, Evan plunged his hand into the packing peanuts and frowned when he pulled the thin cardboard folder out. "Shit_. . ."

" _Oh, wow," Bone muttered, peering over Evan's shoulder at the cover of the old vinyl album. "He left that to you, ya?_ "

" _Y-Yeah," Evan said, swallowing a thick lump that threatened to choke him as he blinked and stared at the first edition Led Zeppelin's fourth album—officially untitled but often referred to as_ 'Led Zeppelin IV'— _Dieter's most prized possession. Dieter didn't have a record player or anything, but when he'd seen the album in one of the dusty old shops that he and Evan frequented occasionally, he'd had to have it. Something about receiving the album made everything a little more real than it had been in quite some time . . . "Deet, uh . . . He always said I could have this over his dead body," Evan rasped out with a hoarse bark that should have been a laugh but was sorely lacking. "Fuck_ . . ."

 _Clapping Evan on the shoulder, Bone chuckled. "Don't go there, man," he advised softly. "Deet would kick your fucking ass if he heard you getting all emotional and shit_."

 _Nodding quickly, clenching his jaw, Evan set the album on the table. "He'd_ try _," he countered with a grin that was closer to normal though was still sadly lacking. "Dieter never was any good at fighting_."

 _Bone nodded, too, crossing his arms over his meaty chest. "Naw, but he was a damn good friend, ya_."

 _Evan let out a deep breath, scrubbing at his head with his fingers. "Yeah, he was," he agreed_.

"I hate it when it rains this time of year," Valerie murmured, rubbing her forearms without looking away from the glass doors where she stood.

Blinking away the remnants of the memory, Evan glanced over at the attorney. Something about the way she stood there, outlined by the grayness of the light outside made him feel melancholy and almost apathetic. "You want it to snow?"

He saw her sigh more than hearing it; saw it in the rise and fall of her shoulders, in the way she tightened her arms over her chest and seemed to diminish just a little. "Why does November rain always feel so much colder than December snow?" she mused softly.

"Does it?" he questioned, but it was more of an observation than a contrary thought. There was something sad about her, something that he could sense even if he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

And in that moment, she seemed so very far beyond him: farther away than the brightest star in the Maine skies that he'd stared at So, often during the years of his youth. How often had he stared at those skies, wondered what it'd be like to capture one of those stars in a jar to keep on the shelf in his bedroom, to appreciate long after everything else had grown silent and dark in the depths of the night?

Such fanciful thoughts—things he hadn't remembered in years, but something about Valerie brought it all back with a vivacity that he could hardly credit . . .

"Tell me something, Roka," she ventured at length, breaking the solemn quiet that had stolen the last stubborn remnants of daylight from the skies outside.

"What's that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as though he were afraid that he would ruin the moment if he spoke any louder.

Letting out a deep breath, she finally turned away from the doors, pinning him with her brightened gaze. The sense of knowing that illuminated her eyes was disconcerting at best, downright spooky at worst, and Evan forced himself to look back at her without blinking and without faltering. It took a few moments before she went on, spending those precious seconds studying him with a steady glint, her eyes narrowing, her head ducking slightly with the barely noticeable nod, as though something made sense to her. "How am I supposed to help you—to _save_ you—when you have no interest in doing anything for yourself?"

"Because I'm your client," he remarked, grinning wryly as he set the guitar aside and slumped back in the chair.

She shook her head stubbornly, but her gaze didn't move away from him. "Because you're my _friend_ ," she corrected, her voice gentle yet somehow fierce, all at the same time.

"I don't need saving, V," he told her.

For some reason, his softly uttered statement made her look even sadder than she did before.

She stood still for a minute, maybe two. The tick of a clock was the only sound in the silence. Finally, though, she strode over to the sofa, her movements purposeful, almost driven. Grabbing her attaché case, she headed for the doorway while Evan watched her through half-closed eyes.

When she reached the threshold, though, she stopped, but she didn't turn to look at him. "I've told you things, you know, because I never thought that you'd judge me: because I trust you," she said quietly, her voice thick, ragged, husky. "I would have thought that maybe . . . maybe you'd trust me, too."

Then she slipped out of the living room and, a moment later, out of the house, too.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Led_** **_Zeppelin_** **_IV_** ' _is_ _Led_ _Zeppelin's_ _officially_ _untitled_ _fourth_ _studio_ _album,_ _alSo, referred_ _to_ _as_ _' **Four**_ **_Symbols_** _'_ _and_ _' **The**_ **_Fourth_** **_Album_** _'_. _It_ _was_ _released_ _on_ _November_ _8,_ _1971_ _and_ _contained, among_ _other_ _songs,_ **_Stairway_** **_to_** **_Heaven_**.   
>  ' ** _November_** **_Rain_** ' _originally appeared on_ _Guns_ _n'_ _Roses_ ' _1991_ _release_ , **_Use_** **_Your_** **_Illusion_** **_I_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Axl_ _Rose_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Trust, huh?_


	105. 104: Dead Leaves

' _I can't get no satisfaction_ …  
' _I can't get no satisfaction_ …  
' _Cuz I try and I try and I try and I try_ …  
' _I can't get no – I can't get no_ …'

 

-'( _I_ _Can't_ _Get_ _No_ ) _Satisfaction'_ by The Rolling Stones.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Roka, you listening?"

Starting out of his reverie, Evan blinked and slowly shifted his gaze to meet the darkened eyes of the director. "Sorry," he muttered without any traces of his usual bravado.

Ryder Talbot nodded slowly as though he were trying to figure out just what Evan was thinking. "I asked if you had anything you wanted to add to the video concept I proposed."

"Uh, no. It sounds fine," Evan said, waving away the question without another thought as he flipped the small storyboard closed and dropped it onto the coffee table.

Ryder's frown intensified. For some reason, it almost made Evan laugh. Something about the gravity in his expression seemed so horribly out of place on his boyishly handsome face. Shoulder length dirty blonde hair hanging in loose curls to his lithe shoulders and falling into his face in a careless sort of way, the video director of the elite looked like he should be kicking back on a remote beach somewhere with a bleach blonde in one hand and a beer in the other instead of sitting in the living room of Evan's Long Island mansion discussing concepts for a music video that'd end up being all about sex anyway. "I'm about as far from a therapist as I can possibly be," Ryder commented, measuring his words carefully, "but you look like you're wound tighter than my old man's ass."

Evan snorted since that was saying a helluva lot, as far as he was concerned. Ryder's father, Martin was the junior senator from California, and, according to what Ryder had said before, he was even more upper ass-crack than both Cain and Bas, combined—or worse. "It's nothing," he lied, forcing a smile that must've been as thin and weak it had felt because Ryder didn't look at all convinced.

"Your trial's coming up, right?"

Evan grimaced inwardly. "It ain't a big thing," he lied, trying to brush off Ryder's concern with a nonchalant flick of his wrist.

"The hell it _ain't_ ," Ryder countered, his knee bouncing up and down. It wasn't the first time that Evan had noticed that the dolphin-youkai was constantly in some kind of motion. If he didn't know better, he'd swear that Ryder was on speed, but as far as he could tell, Ryder wasn't actually into using any kind of drugs at all and never had been. "You gonna beat it?"

"Eh, it doesn't matter," Evan insisted, draining his beer and setting the bottle down with a heavy thud. "Name one rocker who hasn't done some time."

Ryder didn't look entirely impressed. "Jens Gutreich hasn't," he retorted.

"I said 'rocker', Talbot," Evan shot back. "Jens isn't a rocker. He's a poser."

Ryder grinned, likely because he'd just finished filming a video for Jens' band, Junkmale. Evan knew from experience that Jens was as fake as they came since Mike had booked Junkmale to open for him a number of years ago in a handful of shows. It should've been a longer gig, but Jens and Dieter hadn't gotten along very well, and by that, Evan meant that Dieter hadn't liked Jens at all because Jens had spent the majority of the time bitching and whining about the lack of attention that Junkmale was receiving. Junkmale had a couple moderate hits that were more mainstream than rock, and they weren't a terrible band, but they certainly weren't headliner material, either. Evan had ignored Jens' bitching for the most part, but Dieter had decided that the overfluffed, would-be diva would make a good target for some of his more malicious practical jokes, and when a photographer from _Overkill_ magazine had snapped some pictures of a passed out Jens with a mouthful of Dieter's nutsack that the magazine had felt compelled to publish, _well_ . . .

"Those pictures were classic," Ryder remarked, grin widening as his dimples broke free. He didn't have to be able to read Evan's mind to know that he was remembering that incident, too. "Laughed for damn near an hour when I saw 'em . . . For that matter, I _still_ have trouble looking at Jens without laughing straight in his face."

Evan couldn't help the chuckle that slipped from him. "Jens wasn't too happy about those, was he?"

Ryder snorted, digging a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket—Lucky Strike, non-filter—and lit it with a match before he replied. "Bitching about that during the video shoot, as a matter of fact. Kept saying that Dieter was a good guy, even if he was high all the damn time, but you know damn well that he was only saying that because it was the 'polite' thing to say . . ."

Uttering a terse grunt, Evan felt the familiar spark of anger flicker to life deep down but squelched it just as fast. Ryder wasn't trying to piss him off, and he knew it, just as he knew that Jens Gutreich wasn't worth getting all bent out of shape over, and who the hell gave a rat's ass what he thought, anyway?

Besides, there used to be a time when Dieter _was_ pretty fucked up, and Evan knew that, too. "He can suck my left nut," Evan muttered then broke into a shit-eating grin. "Oh, wait. He already did that, didn't he? Just didn't have any fucking cameras around to catch it that time."

"You're a sick fuck, Roka," Ryder remarked with a wince and a shake of his head, but his smile widened. "A really, really sick fuck."

Evan's smile faded, and he let out a deep breath as he stood up and headed toward the kitchen to grab another beer.

He hadn't seen Valerie in almost a week; not since the evening when she'd walked out of his house after he'd refused to tell her anything else about the night of the accident. Oh, she'd called him, and he'd called her, but she'd maintained that she needed to go into her office to work, and he hadn't pushed the issue. There was a certain distance that he could feel, and whether it was all in his mind or not, did it really matter? She wasn't pushing him away, no, but he couldn't help but feel guilty over the things she'd said to him before she'd left, and maybe that was the real reason that he felt so far away from her . . .

" _How am I supposed to help you—to_ save _you—when you have no interest in doing anything for yourself?_ "

That was the million dollar question, wasn't it?

A sardonic little smile that was as full of irony as it was devoid of any real amusement twisted his lips as he yanked two bottles of beer from the cooler and shoved the drawer closed a little harder than he needed to.

"That chick you took out on tour with you—your attorney, right?" Ryder asked as he sauntered into the kitchen and took the beer that Evan offered to him. Evan nodded as he gave the cap a twist and tossed it into the trashcan. "What's the story on her, anyway?"

"No story," Evan lied. "Just my attorney; that's all."

Ryder snorted and rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Don't bullshit me, man," he challenged. "Bone said that she's your V."

"Bone talks a little too much," Evan muttered, tipping the beer to his lips.

"Yeah, maybe," Ryder agreed. The expression on his face was carefully blank, as though he'd schooled his features to keep his thoughts from showing at a glance. "All over the newspapers, right? She was beating on you?"

Evan grinned slightly at the reminder of that picture. He'd almost forgotten about that . . . "She must've taken offense to something I'd said," he deadpanned.

Ryder grinned, too. "Go figure, eh?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, go figure."

"So-o-o," Ryder drawled, shuffling his feet as his grin widened by degrees, "is she the one?"

"The one?" Evan repeated with a shake of his head. "Is there really such a thing as 'the one'?"

"Hell! If my old man can find his 'one', then I guess that someone like you can do it, too," he scoffed.

"She's engaged," Evan admitted. Keeping the hint of irritation out of his tone, however, was just beyond his abilities, or so it would seem . . . "Engaged to a guy named Marvin Pinkle, if you can fucking feature that."

Ryder blinked once, twice, slowly lowering the beer that he'd been starting to tilt to his lips. "No . . . No goddamn way," he breathed like he was afraid to say it louder.

Evan snorted and drained his beer. "Way," Evan countered, thumping the empty bottle onto the counter before reaching for another.

"Fu-u-u-uck . . . and I thought that it was harsh, being named 'Ryder' . . ." he said with a commiserating grimace. "Think he got beat up a lot in school?"

"Probably not," Evan grumbled, unsure why he'd bothered to tell Ryder anything about Marvin, in the first place. "Wedgies maybe . . ."

Cracking a grin, Ryder took a deep swig of the beer in his hand. "So, she's just your attorney."

"That's right."

"That's cool. She's hot, though. I didn't realize they made attorneys as hot as she is," Ryder went on.

Evan finally grinned, too, and the chuckle that slipped from him a moment later was warm, even if it did border on rather nasty. "Yeah, she is," he agreed. "She's got an even hotter temper."

"Sounds like you've seen it more than once."

Leaning back against the counter, Evan's smile widened. "You got no idea, man . . ."

Ryder chuckled, but shook his head as his grin faded, only to be replaced by a determined sort of expression. "All right; all right. Enough of the fun and games, right? Shall we get back to work?"

"Yeah," Evan agreed, feeling a lot more like himself than he had in a few days. "Let's do it."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie dropped the report onto the desk with a dull thud and braced her hands against the desktop to push herself to her feet.

"My God," she muttered with a long sigh as she moved over to the window that overlooked the busy street fifteen stories below. Pedestrians hurrying down the sidewalks on both sides while a steady procession of traffic moved up and down the way, and she saw none of it; none of it . . . "Evan . . ."

What the hell was going on?

She'd spent the last week going over that report, carefully reading everything once, twice, to make sure that she hadn't missed anything, making sure that she completely understood exactly what was documented.

Unfortunately, the things that were alluded to in the report were even more perplexing.

A long, slow breath eased out of her, and she shook her head. If only she could get some answers out of the stubborn man, things would make more sense, but . . .

But they didn't, and no one was willing to say anything, either.

The beep of the intercom broke through her musings, and Valerie's head snapped to the side at the interruption. "Yes?" she said after stalking back to her desk and leaning down to push the button.

"Valerie? I've got Mr. Thompson on the line."

Rubbing her forehead as she slipped into her chair once more, Valerie nodded. "Thanks, Anne. Put him through, please."

It took a moment to connect the call. Valerie drummed her fingernails on the cover of the report while she waited. She'd tried to get a hold of the man earlier, but he was out at the time, but she wanted some answers regarding a few things she'd read in the report, and he was the only one who could answer them.

"Ms. Denning?"

"Yes, hello, Mr. Thompson," she greeted when his voice came over the line.

Mr. Thompson chuckled. "I figured that I'd be hearing from you soon," he remarked. "I take it you finished reading through the report."

"Yes, and I had some questions," Valerie replied, rubbing her forehead as she tried to make sense of everything that she'd read. "I realize that it's short notice, but I wondered if you'd have time today to talk to me?"

"As a matter of fact, I do have a little bit of time," he said. "Give me an hour or so to go over the report again to refresh my memory, and I'll meet you after that?"

Glancing at her watch, Valerie frowned. "I wondered if it'd be possible for you to show me everything on the vehicle? It'd help me to make sense of it all. It's still being held in impound, correct?"

Mr. Thompson didn't answer right off. She heard the shuffling of papers on his end, but he finally sighed. "Sure. I'll meet you there? Say, around three?"

It was two o'clock now, and Valerie frowned. It'd take her a good half hour at least to get there, more if traffic was heavy, but she figured that it was possible. "All right," she agreed. "Thanks, and I'll see you shortly."

Hanging up the phone, Valerie's frown grew darker. Madison was likely the one person she might get some real answers out of, and she'd intended to give her a call, but it would be better to have the concrete answers before she called her in. Considering Madison had already given her sworn statement to corroborate Evan's, Valerie didn't delude herself into believing that getting the hairdresser to recant her story was going to be a cakewalk by any means, but given the evidence that she'd read in that report . . . Well, maybe Madison would change her story, after all . . .

With a slight scrape, the chair slid back as Valerie stood up and grabbed the report along with the notebook where she'd scribbled her questions to stuff them into her attaché case. Glancing at her watch, she let out a deep breath. If traffic wasn't too bad, and she was hoping that it wasn't, she'd have just enough time to go over her notes before she met with Mr. Thompson.

"Anne, I'm leaving for the day," Valerie said over the intercom as she absently checked the contents of her case to make sure that she'd grabbed everything that she'd need to look over things once she went home.

"All right," Anne replied. "Have a good afternoon."

Grimacing as she headed for the door, she stopped short, only to pivot on her heel to retrieve her cell phone off the desk. She flipped it open long enough to make sure that she hadn't missed any calls. She hadn't, and that idea made her sigh. Ever since the failed game of truth or dare with Evan, she'd noticed that he didn't seem to call her as much as he had before, and that bothered her. She figured that he simply didn't care to be asked about the accident anymore. Still, she had to admit, at least to herself, that she missed spending time with the unpredictable man. Of course, she'd never tell him as much. No, he really didn't need that kind of encouragement, now did he?

Letting out a deep breath—she was finally satisfied that she hadn't forgotten anything—Valerie strode toward the door, pausing only long enough to flip off the lights and nab her long tweed coat off of the hook before stepping out of her office and pulling the door closed behind her.

"I'm sorry. Ms. Denning is leaving now for the afternoon," she heard Anne saying as she carefully juggled her attaché case and purse while she shrugged on her coat, one arm at a time.

A woman's soft voice that Valerie didn't recognize . . . "Then is there a number where—Oh! You're V, right?"

Valerie blinked as her chin snapped up at the mention of the nickname that Evan had given her. Eyebrows drawing together as she came face to face with Miss Reichardt, Valerie nodded. "Miss? Hi . . . Is there something I can do for you?" she asked, glancing at her watch and realizing that the already small window of time that she'd been given was shrinking fast.

A strange kind of expression flickered over Miss' pretty face: almost a sad kind of look but bolstered by an uncanny sense of resolve . . . "You were on your way out, right?" Miss began, wringing her hands in a nervous sort of way. "I really, really need to talk to you," she blurted.

Valerie made a face, hating to blow the woman off, but desperately needing to get to the meeting that she'd set up with Mr. Thompson. "I, um, I'm sorry, Miss," she said with a placating little smile. "Maybe you could come by tomorrow morning?"

Valerie blinked when Miss grasped her forearm before she could pass. Staring at the woman's thin hand for a long moment, she slowly lifted her gaze to meet Miss' far more imploring one. " _Please_ ," she whispered, unable to keep the hint of urgency out of her tone, leaning toward Valerie, her eyes wide, dark. "It's about Zel."

She couldn't help the clanging alarm bells that shot off, one by one, at the mere mention of Evan's stage name. Had he done something else? Was that why she hadn't heard from him much the last couple days? A guilty twinge twisted her stomach, and she had to school her features to keep it from showing. "O-Okay," Valerie agreed, turning to lead the way back to her office.

Miss said nothing more as she let go of Valerie's arm and followed her back into the office again. She said nothing when Valerie set her things down and shrugged off her coat, hanging it back on the rack beside the door. She said nothing while Valerie flicked on the lights once more and strode over to her desk, leaning on the front of it, ankles crossed, and she waited.

Pacing over to the windows behind the desk and back again, rubbing her forearms through the black leather jacket that was about ten sizes too big for her tiny frame, Miss seemed to be trying to gather her thoughts.

Biting her lip, Valerie glanced at her watch again and grimaced inwardly. She still had time to make the meeting with Mr. Thompson, but barely, and as much as she hated to rush Miss along, if she wanted to get to that meeting, then she'd have to . . . "Uh, Miss," she began slowly, carefully.

"I wanted to thank you for coming to Dieter's funeral," Miss suddenly blurted, as though she hadn't heard Valerie start to speak at all. "He, uh . . . He said that you were nice. He said that Zel liked you a lot."

Valerie frowned. She got the feeling that Miss was just making small talk while she continued to try to figure out what she wanted to say. In the end, though, Valerie didn't really have the heart to put an end to the stilted conversation, either. "I liked Dieter, too," she murmured softly.

Miss smiled but the expression was tempered by a rawness, a soreness that still hadn't quite faded. "Y-Yeah. I mean, Dieter could be a little weird at first, but once you got to know him . . ." Trailing off, Miss abruptly waved a hand as she turned away from the window. Face pale, drawn, she looked like she hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in a while—or a good meal, either, for that matter. "Y-You're in a hurry, right?"

Valerie nodded once but smiled apologetically. "I'm going to go meet with the forensic expert who looked over Ev—Zel's car. There are some inconsistencies . . ."

Miss nodded quickly. "About that," she blurted, stepping away from the windows, digging into the inner pocket of the leather jacket, "He can't . . . Zel can't go to jail for that. Don't let him. You _can't_ let him."

Heaving a heavy sigh, Valerie crossed her arms over her chest. "There's nothing I can really do about it," she intoned. Something about the young woman's behavior, though . . . "According to everyone who was there at his house that night, Zel—"

"He wasn't driving," Miss cut in, her voice rising as the sense of stubbornness grew stronger. Swallowing hard, she ducked her chin suddenly, and Valerie knew that she was blinking back tears. "Zel," she finally murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Valerie felt the breath whoosh out of her lungs, a feeling of lightheadedness making her dizzy, and for a moment, she wasn't quite sure she'd heard Miss correctly. "Wh . . . _What?_ "

"Zel wasn't driving," Miss said, clearing her throat nervously, and she finally lifted her chin, her gaze steady despite the brightness that lingered in her eyes. "Zel wasn't driving," she repeated again, a slow sense of resolve lending strength to her words. "Dieter . . . Dieter was."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _(I_** **_Can't_** **_Get_** **_No_** ) **_Satisfaction_** ' _originally appeared on_ _The_ _Rolling_ _Stones'_ _1965_ _release_ , **_Out_** **_of_** **_Our_** **_Heads_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Mick_ _Jagger_ _and_ _Keith_ _Richards_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _He … wasn't driving …?_


	106. 105: Upheaval

' _You can't hide your lyin' eyes_ …  
' _And your smile is a thin disguise_ …  
' _I thought by now you'd realize_ …  
' _There_ _ain't_ _no_ _way_ _to_ _hide_ _your_ _lyin'_ _eyes_ …'

 

-' _Lyin' Eyes'_ by the Eagles.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Come again?"

Miss bit her lip and fidgeted under Valerie's incredulous gaze, but she squared her shoulders and drew herself up a little taller. "Dieter was driving," she stated once more.

A spark of anger flared deep within Valerie's chest—anger that she had to tamp down before it showed itself in the form of righteous indignation—or a million other things that all hinged, one upon another. Anger at a group of people who would rather watch Evan take the fall for the accident than to fess up about what really happened—anger at a friend who was trying to be everyone's hero—anger at a man who refused to believe in her enough to tell her the truth—and yes, anger at herself that she hadn't figured it out from the beginning. "And why didn't you come forward with this information sooner?" she demanded, her tone sharp but not unkind.

Miss winced and quickly shook her head. "No, no!" she insisted. "It's not like that! I mean . . ." She grimaced. "I mean, I didn't _know_."

Valerie rubbed her face, struggling for a calm that she was far from feeling. "But that doesn't make sense," she countered then heaved a sigh. Damn it, as much as she wanted to be angry, it wouldn't really help her now, and Miss . . . She looked as confused as Valerie was irritated. No, taking her anger out on Miss wasn't really going to help anyone, and she knew that, too. "I apologize," she relented, willing herself to calm down, to think logically. "Why don't you tell me why you think that Dieter was driving?"

Miss nodded once as she stared at Valerie for several moments. In the end, she sank into one of the chairs that faced Valerie's desk, scowling at the worn edge of the leather jacket a she fiddled with the heavy zipper pull. "Danny misses him," she finally said at length, her voice rough, raw, full of the pain that she still hadn't managed to come to grips with yet. "He wanted to come home, and I . . . I thought it was time to put some of . . . of Dieter's things away. I started to do that, you know? Started to go through his drawers, to pack away his clothes . . ." Trailing off, she covered her face with her trembling hands, as though she were struggling for some sort of calm that she couldn't quite reach, not yet. After a moment, she lowered her hands, and her face was pale, peaked, but there was a certain determined light in her eyes. She cleared her throat. "Anyway, there was a letter in his drawer . . ." Pulling a rumpled envelope out of the inner pocket of the leather jacket, Miss held it in her fingertips and stared sadly at the bold scrawl on the front. "I . . . I don't know when he wrote it. He thought that I'd be mad at him . . ." Wincing as she uttered those words, she held onto the envelope so tightly that her fingertips turned white. Then she drew a deep breath and slowly, jerkily, shoved it at Valerie. "It's all in there," she said quietly.

Valerie stared at the envelope for a long moment before slowly, hesitantly, reaching out to take it. "He wrote this to you . . ."

Miss nodded as she grasped the arms of the chair and pushed herself to her feet, looking as though the venture had taken the very last vestiges of the strength that she possessed. "He didn't want to see Zel take the blame for something he did," she explained hollowly, wearily. "It's . . . It's my fault," she admitted with a shake of her head, "He thought that I'd leave him . . . I told him I'd leave him if . . ." Choking on a sob, Miss quickly dashed the back of her hand over her eyes and sniffled loudly as Valerie pulled a couple tissues out of a box on her desk and offered them to her. "I wouldn't have," she maintained with a shake of her head. "I mean, he was a little drunk, but he wasn't stoned . . ."

Valerie frowned at the young woman, wishing that she had something to say that wouldn't sound trite or even condescending when she meant to be neither of those things. In the end, there wasn't really anything she could do, not really, and she sighed.

Forcing a weakened smile, Miss tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. "Anyway, I think Dieter would have wanted you to have that. He, uh . . . He didn't want Zel to go down for something he did."

"But why would Dieter have let Evan take the blame to start with?" Valerie couldn't help asking. It just didn't make sense. Dieter was one of Evan's best friends, and to stand back and watch as Evan claimed responsibility . . .? No, she really hadn't thought that Dieter had that in him; not at all . . .

"Dieter had just gotten out on parole," Miss explained. "I guess they all thought that he'd get sent back if the cops knew he was driving." Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked like she wanted to say something else. "Do you think . . .? That is, if it isn't a problem, do you think that I could have that letter back? When you're done with it, I mean . . ."

"Yes, of course," Valerie allowed. "I'll make sure you get it back."

"It's just . . . It's the last thing I have from him, you know?" Miss went on quietly. "It proves that he was a good man, right? Because a good man . . . He'd never let his friend take the rap for something he did . . ."

She was grasping at straws, trying to hold onto the belief that Dieter really was all the things she wanted him to be, wasn't she? Valerie could sense that, could see it, and in the end, she smiled. It was thin, and it was weak, but it was heartfelt, and the younger woman smiled, too. "I don't think that you need proof of that. I think you already know that he was," Valerie said. "But yes, I'll make absolutely certain that you get this letter back."

Miss' smile widened, and the lingering shadows in her gaze faded. "Thanks," she said, moving toward the door, but she stopped with her hand on the handle. "I want Danny to be like his daddy," she said, rattling the handle almost nervously. "I want him to know what's right and wrong, I mean . . . Maybe not make the same mistakes, but . . . But I want him to understand that it's okay to make those mistakes as long as he's man enough to own up to them, too . . . like Dieter did."

Valerie nodded, watching as Miss let herself out of the office. She didn't know how long she stood there, staring at the closed door. Whether it was minutes or seconds, she wasn't sure.

Dieter had been driving that night?

Somehow, that answer seemed completely natural as well as entirely surprising, and she wasn't sure why.   Gaze dropping to the envelope in her hand, she let out a deep breath, her tongue flicking out to moisten her lips as she pulled the letter out and slowly, methodically, unfolded it.

 

 

 _Dear Miss_ ,

 _How's it going? Just got home from the gallery, and you're gone right now. I think you took Daniel to the dentist or something. Damn, I hope to God he doesn't bite him like he did the last time. Thought we'd never hear the end of that one, but who the fuck is stupid enough to ask people questions when they got their damn paws in your mouth, anyway_?

_I know you said before that you think it's stupid for me to write letters to you when I could just talk to you, and I've tried to tell you a few times, but always chickened out of it. I been thinking lately, right? About you and me and all the mistakes I've made. I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. I mean, I've told you that before, but then I just screw up again, and you get pissed at me because I let you down again. I try real hard not to, but it always seems like I'm constantly apologizing for one reason or another, and it's always my fault because I didn't think._

_Thing is, I'm real sorry because I got to do that again right now, and I figured that maybe you'd listen to me if I write it down, or at least read it all before you get pissed off. I mean, you got the right to be mad, and I figure that I deserve it, too. I'm just hoping that you'll forgive me one last time. I know you said that if I screwed up again that you'd leave me. I deserve that, but I hope you won't_.

 _It's about that accident: you know, the one that Zel said was his fault? With the guy that is in the hospital now? They said he might not walk again, and Zel said to leave it alone, but I can't, you know? Because he's my friend. I've thought about it. I know that if I go and tell them what I know, they're gonna throw me back into the can again because of the terms of parole and all, but it's not fair, right? Not fair to Zel, and kind of not fair to me, either. See, I was driving that night. Zel was more fucked up than I was, but I'd been drinking a lot of beer and some whiskey. I mean, I was fine; I swear I was, but you know how those tests are, right? It doesn't matter how sober I was, those tests always say that you're more messed up than you are_.

 _I freaked out. I mean, after that guy zipped into the intersection, you know? Miss, I swear I tried to avoid him, but he was just flying. It was weird, too. The whole thing just kind of slowed down. I remember seeing stupid shit, right? Like how the streetlights sort of seemed to stream out like a ribbon? The car was moving fast. Guess the old guy hit us pretty damn hard. Scared the shit out of me because he hit us on Zel's side, but afterward, you know, before we got out of the car, I was flipping out, I guess. I should've been more concerned about the other guy, right? And I wasn't. All I kept thinking was that I could hear the sirens already, and they were going to take me back to jail, and you'd said that you wouldn't wait around for me if I fucked up again . . . How fucking cowardly was that? And now when I think about it, I can't believe I was such a goddamn pussy_.

 _Zel forced his door open—I'm still not sure how he did that. I mean, his door was bashed in, right? But he did, and he moved so fast. One minute he was sitting in the car beside me, and the next, he was yanking me out of the driver's side. He told me to get the fuck out of there, and I did, running into the alley and disappearing before anyone actually saw me, you know? I'm ashamed to admit that I was scared. Coulda pissed myself, I was so scared. So, I ran back to Zel's house to pretend like I had been there all along while he took the rap for the accident so that I wouldn't get hauled back in, and the hell of it? Everyone's going along with it, too, and they all knew, right? They knew I was driving, and they didn't say anything because Zel told 'em not to_.

 _I've tried to tell him a couple times that I don't want him going down for my mistake, but he won't listen to me. He says that it's okay because he doesn't have the same things that I do; that he doesn't have anything to lose. He says that I got a family that needs me and all that, which is true, but . . . Thing is, I can't stand the idea of him getting sent up when he didn't do anything wrong. I know you're going to be mad at me, and I don't blame you, Miss, I really don't. I mean, what kind of person lets his best friend take the rap for something like this, and I guess it's just another screw up on me_.

 _I guess I just wanted to tell you, wanted for you to understand. I get it if you don't, though. Even if you're mad at me for the next thousand years, it's okay as long as you don't leave me. As long as I have somewhere to come back to, then I'll be fine. I'll make it up to you. I swear I will. I've told you that a lot, but I mean it. I'll find a way to prove it. You and Daniel are everything to me_.

 _I'm going to go talk to V next week and tell her everything about the accident. I think I'll try to talk to Zel one more time first. I figure I can do that after we get done at the children's hospital. He usually ends up in a pretty good mood after those visits, so he might listen better. I know he means well, and that he thinks he's protecting me. Thing is, for once, I want to be the one who does the protecting, you know? Instead of relying on Zel to talk us out of trouble, if I just go and tell everyone the truth, then maybe I won't be such a worthless fuck up anymore. I hope you can understand, Miss. I just want to be someone worthwhile—someone Daniel can be proud to call 'Daddy'_.

 _Love you more than bunnies_ ,  
 _Dieter_.

 

 

 

Valerie finished reading with a heavy sigh and let the letter bend closed over her thumb as she slowly shook her head. Evan . . . He was trying to protect Dieter . . .?

And somehow that just wasn't really surprising, was it?

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Dropping his cell phone on the table with a heavy sigh, Evan rubbed his face in an infinitely weary way as he trudged toward the living room with only one thing on his mind: escape. Maybe it'd help him to clear his head if he locked himself away in his music room for a day or so . . .

He'd spent the majority of the afternoon, driving around with Ryder to look at various venues that were being considered for the impending video shoot, and while Evan normally enjoyed such things, this time . . . Well, he was just tired—exhausted, really. It wasn't a physical thing, no, more of a mental kind of block that, he supposed, stemmed from the conspicuous lack of a certain woman's presence of late and those parting words of hers that made him feel like the biggest asshole alive . . .

" _I've told you things, you know, because I never thought that you'd judge me: because I trust you . . . I would have thought that maybe . . . Maybe you'd trust me, too_."

It wasn't that. It really wasn't that. He trusted her; of course he did. It wasn't a question of trust, damn it. It was a question of protection, wasn't it? Protecting Valerie from the idea that she might well know too much, and protecting her from having to lie for him because it wouldn't matter in the end. Whether she knew the truth or not wouldn't help him. He didn't want help, damn it. He never had . . .

That didn't mean that the guilt had waned. Nope. Far from that, actually. What made it worse? He knew— _knew_ —that she hadn't really been trying to do any such thing. Valerie just wasn't the kind of person to stoop to deliberately trying to lay a guilt trip on him, and he knew it. If anything, she'd just said what was on her mind—something that he appreciated about her, damn it—and if he felt guilty? Then he supposed that it was because he had a reason to feel that way . . .

In fact, he was so busy thinking about all of that stuff that he somehow managed to miss the single most important thing that he should've known from the moment he'd stepped into his house, and as he shuffled into the living room only to stop short at the sight that greeted him, he blinked.

"H-Hey, V," he greeted, pasting on a weakened smile for her benefit. It was the best that he could do. "Been here long?"

Valerie didn't even try to return the sentiment as she gazed at him over the rim of the glass of red wine in her hand. Sitting quite comfortably in the chair directly across from him with her ankles crossed demurely, still wearing the sensible albeit boring suit she'd worn to work, the darkened hue of her eyes was enough to give him a moment's pause. "Not really," she replied, her voice low, soft, almost like a caress, even if she wasn't intending for it to be. "Maybe ten minutes."

That earned her a raised-eyebrow-ed look from him. It was almost eleven o'clock at night, and she was still dressed like that? As fastidious as she was about how she kept her work clothes, he knew damn well that she had to have just left the office before coming over, foregoing a trip back to her place to change . . . "Putting in a late night, were you?" he asked rather noncommittally.

Uncrossing her ankles only to cross them the opposite way, Valerie merely lifted the glass of wine to her lips again, taking an inordinate amount of time as she slowly sipped the liquid, and he watched in silence as her throat bobbed lethargically. If he stared at her long enough, he might even be able to make out the pulsations of her aura that were in time with the beat of her heart . . .

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he sighed inwardly and moved off to grab a beer out of the kitchen. There was something odd about her demeanor, wasn't there? Something almost frightening . . .

Brushing away the strange undercurrent—he had to be imagining things—Evan pulled a beer out of the cooler and headed back into the living room once more.

Valerie hadn't moved an inch, was, in fact, still idly sipping the wine when he returned. Holding the glass in front of her face, she stared thoughtfully at the rich color of the wine, projecting an air of contrived nonchalance as she lazily examined the glass. "I had a really long day," she admitted at length, her voice quiet, almost hypnotic as she sat back a little deeper into the cushions of the chair.

Ambling toward her, Evan sank down on the end of the coffee table and set his beer aside. "Yeah? You sound tired," he allowed.

"Not really," she contended though her voice was almost brittle, attesting to the lie that had slipped so glibly from her lips.

"Don't suppose you came over here to tell me that you've changed your mind about marrying me?" he drawled.

That earned him a snort. "Not in a million years, Roka. Besides, it's bad form to ask something that ridiculous when the ask-ee has already been through the day from hell."

Reaching down to retrieve one of her feet, Evan pulled it into his lap, tugging the sensible black pump off and letting it thump on the floor as he gently massaged the sole of her foot with the pads of his thumb. "Day from hell, huh? Want to tell me about it?"

Easing down a little farther into the chair, she let out a deep breath and wiggled her toes. "I went to meet Mr. Thompson—the man who did the forensic testing on the car," she said.

Evan's fingers stilled momentarily before he resumed his task once more. "That right?" he asked, careful to keep his tone as neutral as he possibly could.

Her eyes were closed, and if she noticed his lapse, she didn't remark upon it. "Yeah. Of course, I was running late . . . had someone who wanted to see me come in right as I was leaving."

Concentrating on massaging the arch of her foot, Evan glanced up at her, only to find her staring at him through half-closed eyes. Cheeks slightly flushed, probably from the half of a glass of wine, there was a frankness behind her gaze that both startled and unsettled him, and he forced his gaze away before he did something really stupid, like lean over and kiss her . . .

"So why don't you tell me who was really driving the car that night, Roka?" Valerie asked, her tone carefully neutral, though there was something else there, too, just below the contrived calculated calm. Almost as though she . . .

"I told you, V," he started to say.

"Tell me again," she interrupted before he could finish his sentence, "you were hurt, right? You had a pretty good gash on your forehead, didn't you? Where was it again?"

Something about the tone of her voice . . .

Evan brushed aside the odd feeling that something just wasn't right. "Eh, I don't remember. It wasn't that bad," he lied.

"It was on your right temple, wasn't it?" She laughed suddenly, though the sound wasn't actually amused at all. No, it was more incredulous than anything. "See, I knew there was something strange about that, but I couldn't put my finger on it . . ."

"Strange?" he echoed. It was his turn to keep his voice carefully neutral as he let go of her foot and reached for her other leg.

"Mm," she intoned, allowing him to continue with the impromptu foot massage. "You said in your statement that you hit your head on the driver's side window, and that's how you got that cut," she reminded him. "That's what you said, remember?"

"I guess," he murmured. Something about her demeanor convinced him that he was treading on very dangerous ground . . .

"It's funny, though, isn't it? I mean, how the hell could you have hit your right temple against the window that was on your left side?"

"Stranger things have happened during a car crash," he pointed out a little too reasonably.

"I suppose," she allowed. "I also suppose that you've got a good, sound explanation as to how your blood and some of your hair ended up embedded into the passenger side window where it was cracked?"

He snorted. "It's my car, V. My DNA is all over that thing, I'd imagine."

She nodded slowly as though she were contemplating his statement. "I'd buy that," she agreed easily enough. "Oh, and something else?"

"What's that?"

She looked positively smug as she set the wine glass aside and grasped the ends of the armrests to pull herself upright. "The driver's side window was down the whole time. No damage at all."

Evan wasn't impressed. "So I hit my head on the steering wheel or something. Big deal, V," he scoffed.

"Evan?"

"Hmm?"

She cleared her throat until he looked at her, and when he did, he grimaced inwardly. She knew— _knew_ —what had happened. He wasn't sure how she knew, but she had to. It was all there in her expression . . . "Tell me the truth, Evan," she prompted. "I need to hear it from you."

"Don't know what you're talking about, V," he muttered, pushing her foot off of his lap and standing abruptly to stomp across the room.

She shot to her feet, grabbed his arm before he could move away from her. "Yes, you do," she argued. "You didn't ask me who came to see me."

Blinking at the sudden change of topics, it took him a moment to collect his wits, and he shrugged offhandedly. "Doesn't matter to me," he challenged.

"It does," she argued, letting go of his arm and striding over to the sofa to rummage around in her attaché case. Pulling out a few papers that were stapled together in the upper left corner, she leafed through them before turning her troubled gaze on him once more. "It was Miss," she said quietly, "I mean, I couldn't very well turn Dieter's widow away, now could I?"

Evan grunted and shrugged. "So, she came to see you. Doesn't mean anything."

"Doesn't it?" she parried with a raised eyebrow. "She told me, Evan. She told me that Dieter was driving that night."

The air in his lungs whooshed out of him, like an overinflated balloon. Miss didn't know—he knew she didn't. No one had ever told her about any of that. "She wouldn't have known a damn thing," Evan muttered, more to himself than to the attorney.

"You're wrong," Valerie said, shaking her head as she strode toward him once more. "He wrote it all down," she went on. "He wrote her a letter, and he told her that he was going to tell me, too, but he . . . He died before he got the chance."

Blinking as she stuck the papers into his hand, he narrowed his eyes. It was a copy; certainly not an original document, and Evan grimaced inwardly. Even at a glance, he could recognize Dieter's familiar scrawl. "What the fuck is this?" Evan demanded, unable to muster as much irritation as he probably should have as he crumpled it in his hand.

Valerie sighed, rubbing her arms through the wool jacket of her suit. "It's a copy of his letter, Evan," she explained, "and it won't matter if you destroy it or not. I have the original, safe in my office."

Evan snorted. "You can't prove that he wrote it," he insisted.

"Are you really going to make me drag in someone to analyze this?" she countered with an arched eyebrow. "Do you honestly think that Dieter would have wanted you to go to jail for something he did?"

"Damn it, V, leave it alone," Evan growled, tossing the letter to the side and planting his hands on his hips as he glowered at the attorney. "Deet wouldn't have lasted a day if they'd have thrown him back in jail!"

"You don't know that," Valerie argued. "Dieter never wanted you to take the blame!"

"Yeah, well, that was just too damn bad," Evan snarled, his anger rising, thick and ugly and fast. "He had a hell of a lot more to lose than I ever did!"

"Like what?" she challenged.

"Like Miss! Like Daniel!"

Grabbing his arm, Valerie hung on when he tried to jerk away from her. "You can't protect everyone, Evan!" she shot back, her fingers digging in as she stubbornly held onto him. "And you certainly can't protect people like this!"

"The hell I can't!" he yelled. "You have no idea what jail did to him the first time, V! No idea! And Miss . . . _Goddamn it!_ "

"You're wrong," she contended, letting go of his arm. "Miss was proud of him— _proud!_ Proud of him because he'd rather tell the truth than to watch his best friend take the blame for something that he did! Don't you take that away from her, Evan Zelig! Don't you _dare!_ "

Glowering at her for a long moment, trying to get a grip on the rage that he just couldn't repress, Evan had to struggle to keep his emotions in check. "He'd just gotten out on parole," Evan gritted out from between clenched teeth. "They'd have sent him right back faster than you could spit, and they'd be damned before they'd listen to anything he had to say."

"You don't know that, Evan," she said quietly, pleadingly. "A few beers and a couple shots of whiskey . . . He might not have even tested close to the legal limits."

"And it wouldn't have mattered," Evan insisted. "Terms of parole, V! No booze, right? They'd have thrown him in the clink and lost the fucking key . . . and Miss and Daniel . . .? How fucking long do you think it took him to convince her to let him have another chance to start with?"

"But if he didn't test over the legal limits, then the accident would have fallen squarely upon Mr. Matthis," she contended. "You didn't even give them a chance to do that, did you? What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking about my friend," he growled, slamming his fist down on the corner of his desk so hard that the things on top jumped and bounced. The small marble bowl of polished river rocks teetered on the edge before crashing to the floor. Neither Evan nor Valerie seemed to notice. "Call them tomorrow," he insisted stubbornly. "I want to change my plea to guilty."

"No," she stated flatly.

He snorted. "Don't you think that it's a little too easy? Blame the accident on a dead guy? It's not like they can do shit to him now, right?"

She narrowed her gaze and slowly shook her head. "Why are you still so determined to take the blame?" she demanded.

"Oh, come on, Valerie! Do you really want Daniel's last memory to be of his father fucking up _again?_ "

"No, Evan, I don't," she bit out, obviously struggling for a semblance of calm that she simply didn't feel. "I want what Miss wants: for Daniel to know that his father was just like anyone else: that he made mistakes, but that he was man enough to own up to those mistakes, too."

"That's bullshit, and you know it," Evan growled. "Just plead me guilty."

Letting out a long breath, Valerie shook her head again. "I can't," she said simply, as though it was the simplest thing in the world. "Even if I wanted to, I can't."

"What do you mean, you can't?" Evan demanded.

Valerie grabbed her attaché case. "I mean, I already talked to the DA, and he's going to look into it and very likely drop all charges against you. He's got Miss' sworn affidavit that the letter did come from Dieter, and after reviewing Mr. Thompson's findings, I'm sure that he'll find that you really couldn't have been driving at the time of the accident, anyway."

He didn't respond as she started out of the room. The anger within him was bitter, cloying, rising thick and hard with a bitterness that rivaled only the sense of inevitability that he just couldn't shake.

Valerie stopped in the doorway and slowly turned back to look at Evan, her gaze belligerent but punctuated by an air of sadness, too. "You hired me to represent you, Roka. You didn't hire me to hang you."

He still stood there long after she'd gone, well after the last vestiges of her presence had started to fade. A low howling thumped in his head, the cadence of rage that he knew all too well, but there was more to it, too . . . and underlying melancholy, the feeling that, try as he might, he hadn't been able to protect anyone at all and an overwhelming bitterness that turned his stomach and threatened to engulf him . . .

"Dieter," he growled, hunching forward, digging his claws deep into the thick desktop. "Damn it, _why . . .?_ "

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Lyin' Eyes_** ' _originally appeared on the Eagles'_ _1975_ _release,_ **_One_** **_of_** **_these_** **_Nights_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Don_ _Henley_ _and_ _Glenn_ _Frey_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Damn_ _it_ …


	107. 106: Wandering

' _There are hills and mountains between us_ …  
' _Always something to get over_ …  
' _If I had my way, surely you would be closer_ …  
' _I need you closer_ …'

 

-' _Get Here'_ by Oleta Adams.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _Maybe it was meant to be this way_.'

Snorting at the unwelcome intrusion of his youkai-voice, Evan dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his leather jacket and kept moving. Down the boulevard, along the tired and familiar paths that he and Dieter had walked often enough, laughing, joking, discussing the craziest things, like zombies in Central Park . . . Dieter, somehow talking Evan into hiring out on a fishing boat for some quick cash . . . Dieter, paying a couple working girls to pose for pictures with knives and water pistols that looked real enough so that he could paint them later . . . Dieter, buying a cheap police scanner in hopes that he'd hear about someplace where they'd discovered a dead body so that he could see it before it got bagged and removed from the scene . . .

It had started to snow.

It was that hopeless kind of snow: the fat flakes that melted about the second that they touched the pavement. There was a certain melancholy about them, wasn't there? A tragic beauty that was never intended to linger, like the skies just before a summer storm out over the ocean or that insular moment when he'd pull the smashed and abused flowers that he'd toted around all day during his misadventures when he was small, that moment he'd show them to his mother, only to receive that look of pleased surprise that only a mother could give . . .

And none of it meant anything at all; not a damned fucking thing.

' _You're being too harsh_.'

That statement made him snort: a low, dry, derisive sound. It skittered over his raw and razed nerves with a vindictiveness that he just couldn't reconcile. Harsh? Who was to say? When all he'd ever wanted to do was to protect his friend?   Was he? Was he really?

' _I'm going to go talk to V next week and tell her everything about the accident. I think I'll try to talk to Zel one more time first. I figure I can do that after we get done at the children's hospital. He usually ends up in a pretty good mood after those visits, so he might listen better. I know he means well, and that he thinks he's protecting me. Thing is, for once, I want to be the one who does the protecting, you know? Instead of relying on Zel to talk us out of trouble, if I just go and tell everyone the truth, then maybe I won't be such a worthless fuck up anymore. I hope you can understand, Miss. I just want to be someone worthwhile—someone Daniel can be proud to call 'Daddy'_.'

That letter. That damned, God-forsaken letter . . .

The dull thud of his heels hitting the pavement echoed in his head like gunfire. To be someone worthwhile? That was what Dieter's letter had said, and yet the one thing that Dieter had never understood . . .

He was worthwhile to Evan, wasn't he? A friend, one of his best friends . . . someone who had understood Evan in his own way, and that was worthwhile to Evan . . .

' _But you really shouldn't have tried to cover up the truth from the start_ ,' his youkai-voice chided.

Evan snorted and hunched his shoulders a little more, drawing into himself as he deliberately slowed his gait, ignoring the crush of the city around him—the reek of trashcans and oil spots on the dingy, cracked streets, the greasy, wizened light of the streetlamps that lined the sidewalk at intervals that were just a little too wide to be helpful . . . Somewhere in the distance, the wail of sirens came to him, rattling through his head as yet another stab of unaccountable rage slammed through him.

If he only knew who it was that he was truly angry with.

' _Face it; you're mad because Dieter decided that he didn't need your help. That's what's really eating at you, right? Your friend, and you wanted to fix things for him, but you never stopped to think that maybe_ —maybe— _he didn't want you to fix a damn thing_.'

Then again, Evan knew damn well that Dieter, with all his idiosyncrasies, with all of his problems, existed on that precarious cusp, didn't he? Always balancing between joy and despair, how many times had Evan seen Dieter battle against the demons that his own mind had created? If he were human, he likely would have been diagnosed as bipolar. As a youkai, there weren't any medications that could have helped him that much, and even if there had been, did it really matter? Through the years, Evan had made it his mission to make sure that Dieter stayed on that even plane. At the time, he hadn't seen it. At the time, he'd just figured that he was hanging out with Deet. Now, though, looking back . . .

And that was what he had been trying to do this time around, wasn't it? Unable to do more than to watch as Dieter had been packed off to jail for the drug charge before, Evan had known, hadn't he? He'd been the only one to go see Dieter in the big house. He'd seen the shadows that had built layer upon layer just beyond the scope of the mortal eye. He'd almost lost Miss at the time, and the things that haunted him had very nearly destroyed him, too.

Knowing that, seeing that . . . being unable to do anything to smooth things over for Dieter . . . and one of the things that Dieter never knew was that Evan had gone to Miss, had begged her just to listen to Dieter when he got out of jail.

She had.

Evan wasn't vain enough to try to think that he was the sole reason that Miss had taken Dieter back, but he had to believe that his talk with her had helped to at least open her heart to the idea of listening.

But somewhere along the way, maybe Evan had just gotten used to the idea of trying to keep Dieter out of trouble. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd even blamed himself for the drug bust that had ultimately landed Dieter in jail, in the first place—never mind that Evan hadn't had anything to do with it; never mind that if he'd been there, Evan would have ended up in just as much trouble as Dieter, too.

The thing was, Evan knew— _knew_ —that if Dieter had gotten sent back to jail for the accident that he wouldn't have walked out of there, either. He knew Dieter too well to believe otherwise. Stuck in that place, there would have been no one to distract him from himself, and that was the real reason that Evan had tried . . .

And failed.

The snow was coming down much heavier now. Whether he had been walking for a minute or an hour, Evan didn't know. The people who wandered the same street that he was seemed to dull and fade away—nameless, faceless nobodies that meant nothing at all to him. Wandering the same streets as he was, there was a cautious kinship that would never be shared again; not by the same people, not in the same place, and the emotions would change, too . . .

Wouldn't they?

It was too easy, wasn't it? Too simple? Easy to cast the blame on a dead man, on someone who couldn't defend himself . . . How in the world could he possibly be let off, free and clear, when Dieter . . . Dieter would never be allowed his own moment to explain . . .

" _You think you should drive, Zel? You're pretty fucked up_ . . ."

" _It's all right. I ain't that bad_."

 _He wasn't that bad, right? Just staggering a little bit, right into Dieter, almost knocking him over_.

 _Pushing him back, Dieter shook his head as Evan stumbled but caught himself. "Fuck! You can't even walk a straight line, fucker!_ "

 _Insane laughter . . . Madison was the voice of reason . . . "Come on, Evan. Maybe you should let Dieter drive._ "

" _All right; all right," he agreed, tossing the keys to his friend. "Don't wreck my car, Deet. The ink ain't even dry on the title yet_."

He'd let Dieter drive, hadn't he? He hadn't been the one behind the wheel, but he'd allowed Dieter to be there . . . That was the truth of it, wasn't it? If he'd told Dieter to forget it . . .

Did it matter who was driving, anyway? It was Evan's car, Evan's choice as to who was sitting behind the steering wheel. He _was_ responsible, and that was why he'd had no issue in taking the fall . . .

None of it was supposed to be this way. He was supposed to protect Dieter, and he had done a miserable job of it.

' _Come off it, Roka. Isn't that just your ego talking?_ '

Snorting indelicately as he stumbled onward, Evan kept walking, kept walking. ' _Ego?   What the hell? You know why we were doing that_ ,' he maintained, tilting his shoulder back as he maneuvered past some homeless men gathered around a barrel. The stench of the burning garbage stung his eyes, his nose. He kept moving, ignoring pleas for money, the cloying hands of filthy men who had lost to the more vindictive side of life. Stumbling onward into the night, down the corroded streets of the city, lost in a haze of dulled realization . . .

' _To protect Dieter, but you know, Dieter tried to tell you, didn't he? He didn't want you to protect him. He didn't need for you to do that, and maybe what he really wanted was to be the protector for once. You're going to take that from him even now? Even after he's gone?_ '

Grimacing against the condemnation in his youkai-voice, Evan felt his fists tighten, could feel the flickering heat of despair as it stubbornly hung onto him. There was no rhyme or reason to anything that had happened, was there? There was nothing to prove or disprove: nothing that would ever become of questions that simply had no answers, and where did it leave him in the end? Alone as he struggled with loss that he still couldn't comprehend . . .

And the falling snow, the pristine whiteness, seemed to mock him: the innocence of the moment that fell onto a warped and bitter world. Drifting down with a gentleness that only served to highlight the abuse and excess of a world that simply stopped caring, and yet it still turned.

Dieter lived, Dieter died, and the only constant was the continuing seasons, the ebb and flow of an endless procession of faces that didn't know or care about anything, let alone one life that had slipped away. A boy without a father, a woman without her mate: two lives that were irrevocably changed without any reason, without any sanity.

Perhaps it was the only thing that he could do to protect Dieter's memory. The seeds were already planted, sure. There was more to it than that, wasn't there? The wife and child he'd left behind . . . What kind of legacy would that really be? Dieter had fucked up one more time: that was what they'd say. Whispers and looks, pointed fingers and silent laughter, smothered the moment that they were discerned . . . Didn't Miss and Daniel deserve better than that? Evan had always been the joke, hadn't he? Would it really have been so bad to have let it remain that way . . .?

If Valerie had just left well enough alone . . . He had known that she'd never let it go if she had known, and that was the real reason he hadn't told her. It wasn't a question of trust, no. It was a question of promises and perception, of what he could and could not be.

If Miss had just kept that Godforsaken letter to herself . . . Even if she thought that what she'd done was the right thing, what was the point? Once the conviction of her belief wore off, once she realized that the pitying glances and sorrowful expressions could easily give way to the innuendo and speculation of a world that was entirely too fickle . . .

If . . .

' _Or maybe you're underestimating people . . . Maybe you're forgetting the truth behind it all_.'

' _Truth?_ ' Evan scoffed, trudging down the street, alone in the midst of a thousand faces. ' _There is no truth. There are just shades of gray that shift like shadows in the night_.'

That was the ultimate truth, wasn't it?

And Evan, better than anyone, knew that, too.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

The heavy scrape and clank of the gate closing behind him was the most real sound that had occurred to Evan all night. As the first rays of weak and watery sunlight stabbed through the pallor of the morning haze, he shuffled along the driveway of the too-familiar place that he called home.

He'd walked all night, searching for some elusive comfort, some transient semblance of truth. Wandering through the city, along the streets, down the alleys and the passages, but he hadn't had that magical epiphany, hadn't suddenly been blessed with that sense of enlightenment that he'd been searching for. He had come to realize somewhere around Fifty-Third Street that there wasn't any real answers, no insular moment of clear definition.

"H-Hey, Zel."

Blinking as he lifted his chin, Evan stopped short at the rather miserable sight of Miss Reichardt, sitting on the porch steps, huddled so small and frail-looking in the oversized leather jacket—Dieter's jacket. Hair flattened by the wind and snow, cheeks burnt by the weather, only her red-rimmed eyes were bright as they searched his face, looking for something, though Evan didn't know what. She was a little thinner than she should have been, maybe a little worse for wear, but at least she didn't look like she was faltering, and for that, Evan was thankful. "Miss," he said, digging his hands deeper into his pockets, shuffling his feet in a decidedly nervous sort of way. "How you been?"

Pushing herself to her feet, she drew herself up proudly, as though she were expecting that Evan was about to light into her. "I, uh . . . I know about the accident," she said. "Dieter wrote me a letter . . ."

"You told V," he said, though there was no accusation in his tone. No, only a flatness, an air of inevitability, and maybe somewhere deep down, he'd realized that it would eventually come to this. "It's all right."

She sighed, shoulders slumping, rubbing her face with her slightly trembling hands. Evan grimaced, realizing a moment too late that Miss had to have been sitting here for quite a while, and she had to be cold—freezing, even. Striding past her, he loped up the steps and slapped his hand against the identilock to open the door and let them inside.

"Let me get you something hot to drink," he said, not waiting for her answer as he headed off toward the kitchen.

"You were gone an awfully long time," she said as she stepped into the room behind him. "You okay?"

Evan spared a moment to cast a small grin over his shoulder at her before resuming his task of making a pot of coffee. "Fine, yeah," he lied.

She saw right through it. Not surprising. Miss was a lot more perceptive than Dieter had given her credit for being. "I know that you were trying to take the blame for the accident," she said quietly, slowly. "What I don't understand is _why_."

The air whooshed out of Evan in a gust, and he slammed the coffee reservoir closed harder than he'd intended. "Fuck, Miss," Evan muttered, shaking his head, refusing to look her in the eye, "he'd just got out of there. Damned if I wanted to see him go right back."

Managing a wan smile, she nodded as though his answer didn't surprise her. "You were trying to protect him."

"Fat lot of good it did," he said, yanking a couple mugs out of the cupboard.

"I'm proud of him for wanting to tell the truth," she ventured. "He didn't want to see a friend take the blame for his mistake, and there's nothing wrong with that."

Her statement did nothing to alleviate the feeling of guilt that still ran deep. "He belonged with you, Miss, not in some goddamn jail—not for something as stupid as that."

"Your friendship meant a lot to him, you know?" she said, her sad little smile widening slightly. She took the mug of coffee he held out to her, taking her time, sipping the steaming brew. Her smile faltered as she lowered the mug, setting it on the counter, spinning it idly between her hands as she ducked her chin, stared into the cup. The shift in her demeanor was a painful thing. Gone was the upbeat façade she'd so carefully affected, and the sadness, the rawness that surrounded her was thick and heavy. "Just seemed kind of . . . right, I guess," she said. "That he died protecting you . . . It doesn't surprise me in the least."

Rubbing his forehead, Evan sighed. "You deserve better," he admitted. "The press is going to fucking crucify him when they get wind of this. I didn't want that. I didn't . . ." He grimaced then heaved a heavy sigh. "Damn it . . ."

"You think he didn't know that?" Miss argued quietly. "You think _I_ didn't . . . didn't know that?"

"You don't need the press and shit," Evan growled, scowling at the cup of coffee before him that he hadn't touched yet. "They're like vultures, you know. They'll hover and speculate and print fucking lies . . . and what happens if Matthis comes after you for punitive damages? What then?"

She stared at him for several moments—painfully long moments—as her gaze bored into his skull with a quiet intensity, an understated grace. "It'll be worth it," she contended at last, a determined sort of light entering her stance, her gaze. "No matter what they say; no matter what they do—if Mr. Matthis wants money for his injuries, it'll be worth it."

"How do you figure?" he demanded softly, finally daring to lift his chin, to meet her steady eyes.

Her answer took a moment as she considered her answer. Her smile resurfaced, but this one was bigger, a little more genuine, and she reached out slowly, hesitantly, and squeezed his hand in hers. "Danny," she said with a simple shrug. "It's okay, isn't it? To teach him that being a man—a _real_ man—doesn't mean that you have to be perfect. What makes a man a real man is the ability to own up to his mistakes—and to do whatever he can do to protect the people he cares about . . . like his father . . . and like you."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Get_** **_Here_** ' _originally appeared on_ _Oleta_ _Adam's_ _1990_ _release,_ **_Circle_** **_of_** **_One_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Brenda_ _Russell_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Miss_** :  
>  _Unless Dieter_ _came_ _back_ _as_ _a_ _zombie_ …


	108. 107: Reconciliation

' _Now nothing seems as strange as_ …  
' _When the leaves began to change_ …  
' _Or how we thought those days would never end_ …  
' _Sometimes I hear that song and I'll start to sing along_ …  
' _And think, man, I'd love to see that girl again_ …  
' _Man, I'd like to see that girl again_ …'

 

-' _All Summer Long_ ' by Kid Rock.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

There was something infinitely therapeutic in the simple act of placing one foot in front of the other while pushing oneself beyond the limits of one's own endurance.

At least, that's what Valerie told herself as she plodded along the waterfront.

She'd been out here for hours, running along the streets of the city, along paths that she knew all too well; along paths that she'd just discovered. Her entire body ached, but it was a good kind of pain, a satisfying kind of pain: the kind of pain that only came from a lot of physical exertion. The weakness in her limbs only convinced her to keep moving, to keep going, plodding along the streets that were gray and dingy, covered with the same dust and dirt that seemed to coat every inch of the city at this time of year as the wind blew in, only to die in the dead end streets and the darkened alleys, until all that was left was the grime, the filth . . .

It was all out of her hands now.

The district attorney was more than a little skeptical of the letter and the convenience of a confession from a dead man, but after talking to Miss, after conferring with a handwriting analyst and after hearing what Mr. Thompson had to say regarding the physical evidence found in the car, he'd come to the same conclusion that Valerie had: there simply was no way on earth that Evan could have been driving the car that night. It just wasn't possible.

In fact, she was waiting to hear back from him now for the formalities to be set: the official dropping of the charges against him, and while she had a feeling that the DA wasn't going to let it go with just a hand-slap, the worst Evan could be charged with now was obstruction of justice. It was true that there could be fairly stiff penalties for the charge, but considering who he was, and given that the police had done a downright shoddy job of investigating the accident, in the first place, she was pretty sure that she'd be able to get him off of it without too much incident. That Evan had maintained his guilt from the beginning shouldn't have mattered. The police were too dazzled by the idea that they'd finally caught him in an air-tight case, one that he was more than happy to claim responsibility for, and it should have been open-and-shut, right?

Valerie sighed but kept moving, ignoring the stitch that was slowly developing in her side.

If anything, the DA was more agitated that Evan had tried to make a mockery out of the legal system—at least, that was the impression that Valerie had gotten.

' _Stupid man . . . lying to me, just like every other guy that I've ever met . . . He's just like the rest of them: a liar . . . saying stupid things to me, asking me to marry him, of all the stupid things . . . and I almost bought into it, didn't I? Some . . . Some friend_ . . .'

But the righteous indignation was wearing thin, too—the anger that had carried her through the last couple days was fading, and while she could appreciate why he'd refuse to tell her, why he'd lied to her, she couldn't help but feel pretty foolish, too.

She'd told him so much—of course, it wasn't like he'd flat-out asked her, though, was it? No, she'd just told him, voluntarily . . . given so much of herself away to him—parts of herself that she didn't like to even consider, and yet . . .

And yet, he'd given her nothing; not really. Gifts that meant nothing but the price tag, pretty words when it suited him to do so . . . and somewhere in the back of her mind, in the part of her soul that she kept so fiercely protected . . .

But he didn't trust her, and that . . . that hurt . . .

Grinding her teeth together as she pushed herself a little harder, Valerie reached down, adjusted the volume on her music player. Raw, aggressive . . . perfect for her current mood, she supposed . . .

' _And that's just your pride talking_ ,' a voice deep inside her said with a derisive scoff. ' _Face it, Valene: you just can't stand the idea that maybe_ —maybe— _he didn't think you'd understand—and you hate it even more that you know that you wouldn't have_.'

Wouldn't she? What kind of crap was that, anyway? She couldn't say one way or another whether or not she'd have understood because he didn't give her the chance to try. Assuming that she wouldn't? That was stupid, just stupid . . .

' _And you know it's not. Your ego, you know. It's so damn big that there's no way you would have ever seen it as anything other than the personal slight that you think it is now, right? You think that the reason he didn't tell you was because he didn't trust you, but you know, that's just your way of making it all about you, isn't it? Because you've always got to do that, now don't you?_ '

' _That is so not true,_ ' she reasoned, unconsciously increasing her pace, jerking her head to flip the hair out of her eyes. ' _All about me? I don't!_ '

' _Don't you?_ ' the voice countered, taking on a nasty little twinge—the voice of every failure in her lifetime. ' _So you did stop to think that maybe his reasons had nothing at all to do with you? Then again, maybe I'm wrong. After all, he probably didn't want you to know because he knew that the first thing you'd do would be to run off to the DA to make sure that the charges were dropped before you even bothered to ask him why he'd ever take the blame for something so big . . . right?_ '

Snorting indelicately, Valerie stubbornly refused to acknowledge that thought. Of course she'd go talk to the DA. Of course she would . . .

' _You really hate to lose, don't you, Valene? That might make you a damn good lawyer, but winning isn't everything, now is it?_ '

"This isn't about winning," she muttered, her voice broken by the bobbing thud as her feet hit the pavement in a methodical cadence. "It's about Evan . . . and it's about him, keeping secrets that almost landed him in jail."

The voice in her mind didn't reply, but it did snort derisively.

As she plodded forward, she sighed. The temperature was dropping with every minute as the sun sank lower on the horizon above the buildings that all seemed to fade together in a similar gray that only held variances in shades and slight hues. Why was it that the world seemed so much larger, so much more ominous when Evan wasn't with her?

Scowling at the capriciousness of her thoughts, she concentrated instead on the ground below her feet. She might as well head home soon. The forecast called for snow overnight, and while she liked the distraction that the exercise offered, she'd just as soon not be caught out in that.

A strange sound, like soft clicks, a little jingle, cut through her musings as she jogged along the walkway that ran beside the water's edge. A moment later, a low half-woof, half-growl sounded, and Valerie stumbled when she caught sight of the very large dog that fell into step beside her. An involuntary squeal escaped her, even as it registered in her mind that she knew the creature.

The dog barked loudly, wagging his tail in an insane kind of way, his huge body shaking in excitement. Valerie stepped back and yelped again as she slammed right into something very hard, very solid—or someone, anyway.

Arms snaked around her waist, pulling her back against a very firm chest, and she almost screamed—almost.

"Jesus, woman, your heart is beating so fast it feels like it's about to leap right out of your chest."

"Damn it, Roka!" she growled, fighting in vain to regain her freedom while refusing to take her eyes off the dog that was hopping back and forth at her feet. "Give me a heart attack, why don't you? And call that thing off!"

Odious man that he was, he chuckled. "You know, he'd never hurt you," Evan pointed out reasonably.

She wasn't as inclined to believe him. In fact, she'd swear that the beast really was staring at her as though he wanted to sample her leg, and it didn't help, either, that he had a long and gross string of slobber hanging from his loose jowls, either. She shivered. "I'm serious, Evan," she warned, inflicting as much coldness into her tone as she possibly could—not much at the moment, all things considered.

"Okay, okay," he relented. "Go on home," he told the dog.

Under ordinary circumstances, she might have scoffed at him when he gave that particular command, but two things struck her before she could: that dog was absolutely one of the largest monsters she'd ever seen, and she also knew well enough that Evan's dogs tended to obey him whenever he told them to do something. So it wasn't entirely surprising, though it was a huge relief to her, when the gangly beast gave a bark then careened around, lumbering off into the night.

She didn't speak until the dog was out of view. "You're sure he'll go home?" she asked grudgingly.

"Yeah," Evan allowed, finally letting go of Valerie and taking a step back in retreat. "He'll be fine."

Rubbing her arms against the conspicuous and sudden loss of warmth, she noticed absently that it had grown much cooler. "You could have called my cell phone," she pointed out with a shake of her head. "You didn't have to come looking for me."

Evan shrugged, rubbing his face as a deep breath escaped him. "Actually, V, I was out jogging, too."

She opened her mouth to scoff at that but snapped it closed again when she finally noticed that he was, indeed, wearing a pair of insulated jogging pants and a matching windbreaker. In fact, with his hair pulled back into a low-hanging ponytail, he looked like anyone else on the streets and not some infamous rock star . . . For some reason, the idea that he hadn't been out looking for her bothered her more than she cared to admit, too, and she turned abruptly, resuming her pace without another word.

He fell into step beside her easily enough. The man was in uncanny physical condition, she'd have to give him that. He didn't say a word for a while, opting instead to jog with her in silence, but it was a heavy silence, wasn't it? A strange, stilted silence that was rife with the things that neither of them were willing to say . . .

They rounded the corner onto the street that was a lot busier with people hurrying on their ways as they made the trek home after work: women wearing smart little business suits, men sporting the grays and blues that made up a hopelessly normal existence as they avoided eye contact, reading newspapers or walking with their hands dug deep into the pockets of the long coats that they wore to keep those work clothes from inhaling the scent of the open air streets. Somewhere up ahead, she could hear the lonely sound of an acoustic guitar—a street-corner performer; a young man with an acne-pocked face hustling passers-by as he tried to pass off cheap gold tone watches as genuine Rolex ones . . .

But none of those things were more than a cursory thought to her. As she plodded along, the larger questions swirled in her mind—questions that she still wasn't entirely sure that Evan would answer if she asked him.

And it was that uncomfortable, stilted silence that lingered and grew. She could sense the wariness in him, the reluctance to speak. As though he worried that anything he said would only lead to those questions that he wasn't ready or willing to answer, he kept his own counsel.

Stepping onto the street she knew better than any of the others in the city, Valerie heaved a sigh of relief. She could still hear Evan's steady footfalls, could feel his presence, but it was as though something was missing—something important that had somehow managed to be lost along the way. She said nothing, increasing her speed as she sought the sanctuary of her apartment building. Up the slightly bowed steps, worn by a thousand people who had come and gone over the years, worn by the weather that silently passed without remark, she sighed again as she let herself into the foyer, pausing briefly to nod at the security guard, situated behind the desk with his feet propped up and a magazine open in front of him. He smiled at Valerie and tipped his hat—an old fashioned kind of gesture that never failed to amuse her just a little.

Evan followed her inside, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do, and he still said nothing, even after they'd entered her apartment.

Valerie sighed as she glanced at the clock: almost six. She'd hoped to hear back from the DA's office today, but it didn't look likely now. To be honest, she just wanted the whole ordeal to be finished. Stealing a surreptitious peek at Evan, she figured that he did, too.

He looked . . . haggard, didn't he? Dark circles under his eyes, a certain tightness around his mouth that bespoke the anxiety that he surely must have been feeling, but it was the hollowness in his features, in the depths of his gaze, that made her grimace inwardly. He hadn't looked quite like that in a while; certainly not since Dieter's death. Had this whole thing somehow brought it all back to him?

Stripping off the two sweatshirts she'd worn to keep warm while jogging, Valerie tossed them onto the sofa carelessly, knowing the answer to her own question. Of course it had, and she could understand what he'd meant. The first reaction she'd gotten when she'd gone to see the DA was one of smug disbelief. It _was_ easy to blame something on a dead man, wasn't it? A little _too_ easy . . . But that . . . That wasn't really what was bothering Evan, and she'd have to be stupid not to realize that, too. No, she had a feeling that it had more to do with the idea that he'd somehow abandoned a friend that did it, and that, more than anything, tempered her emotions.

"How have you been?" she heard herself asking. Funny, wasn't it? She didn't realize she knew what to say at all . . .

Evan shrugged moving around the room without a purpose, as though he needed to keep it up. Maybe he did. "Eh, you know: same ol', same ol'," he hedged. "You?"

"Good," she replied, her gaze following him as he paced. "Busy, but good."

Licking his lips, he still refused to meet her gaze. Finally, though, he sighed and shook his head, that vulnerability, that confusion that she'd seen in him before back with a vengeance. "I talked to Miss," he admitted at length. "She thinks . . . She thinks everything'll be all right."

"And you don't?"

Heaving a sigh, Evan sat down on the edge of the chair, leaning forward, burying his face in his hands, his elbows propped on his knees. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he asked, his voice muffled, his tone lacking any real rancor. He sounded weary, exhausted, and very, very sad . . . "I don't know jack shit anymore, V."

Valerie sighed, too. "I'm sorry if you're mad at me," she said quietly. "I just . . . No one wanted to see you go to jail for something you didn't do. Miss didn't, I didn't . . . and you know Dieter didn't, either."

"I know," he admitted. "I . . . I know."

She left him in the living room and filled two glasses with iced tea. He looked like he could use something stronger, but she didn't really have anything other than wine, and she didn't figure that would do, either. But he took the iced tea gratefully, sucking down half of it before coming up for air. "Thanks," he said, setting the glass aside. Suddenly, he cleared his throat, shifting almost nervously. "V . . . it's not that I don't trust you," he muttered, refusing to meet her gaze as he steepled his fingers and rocked back and forth just a little. "I do . . . I just . . . I didn't want him to go back to jail."

"But you can't save everyone, Roka," she said softly, gently. Perching on the edge of the sofa cushion, her knees almost touched his, and she leaned forward without another thought and patted his hands. "As much as you loved Dieter . . . Don't you think that he loved you that much, too?"

Evan grimaced and shook his head, though she had the feeling that he wasn't arguing with her as much as he was still searching for a semblance of truth behind it all. "You don't understand," he told her. "Deet . . . Deet would have died in there. He really would have. He would have . . . have killed himself or something . . ."

"Do you really believe that?"

Slowly, he lifted his gaze—not his head, but his eyes, and she grimaced inwardly. He did believe it; it was there in his expression—absolutely believed it, and there wasn't a thing that she could say to him to convince him otherwise, either . . . "Deet was bipolar or maybe . . . maybe manic-depressive," Evan said. "I mean, he was never officially diagnosed, but . . . but, yeah . . . and if he thought that he had nothing, even if it wasn't true . . . You just . . . You never saw him; not like that. It was . . . _ugly_ . . ."

The look on his face . . . He was seeing something in the past, wasn't he? Things that she couldn't even begin to comprehend, and while she could appreciate that he cared about Dieter . . . It made perfect sense . . . and yet, it didn't. "But you can't always save people, you know," she told him.

"But _you_ can," he cut in, his gaze narrowing as an intensity mounted. "You can save them from what you think is a huge mistake, right?"

"Maybe," she agreed. "But I think you know it, too. Do you think that Dieter would have ever been able to deal with the guilt that he felt? It's there in his letter, Evan." She sighed and rubbed her forehead, wishing she could get him to understand, wishing that she could make him stop feeling responsible for . . . for everything. "That you wanted to protect Dieter is a noble thing, you know, but not when it wasn't something that Dieter wanted you to do."

"Yeah," he muttered, his eyes dull, glassy . . . _empty_. Suddenly, though, he heaved a sigh and shook himself, sitting up straighter, his gaze clearing as he frowned at her. "You," he said, his tone a lot more forceful than it had been moments before, "You shouldn't be out jogging in that area alone."

She blinked and sat back, unable to completely grasp his abrupt change in topics. "Wh-What?"

He snorted, crossing his arms over his chest as he continued to stare at her. "You heard me," he stated. "The docks can be dangerous, you know."

She snorted, too. Sure, she knew that the docks weren't exactly among the safest areas to go running, at least at night, but she was out there during daylight hours, and there were more than enough people milling around: men who worked there, loading or unloading the boats that came in, men who worked on the different shipping vessels . . . and she hadn't gone there purposefully, either. No, she'd just ended up there during her marathon jaunt through the city. "There were more than enough witnesses if someone had tried to abduct me or something," she pointed out dryly.

Evan shook his head stubbornly. "Like that matters. Women are abducted all the time, even in broad daylight."

Wrinkling her nose, Valerie pushed herself to her feet and snatched the sweatshirts off the back of the sofa. "So I'll get a can of pepper spray," she assured him.

He grunted. "You'll call me, and I'll go with you or I'll send the dog over or something."

Her back stiffened as she drew herself up abruptly at the mention of the animal. "I don't need your dog, Roka," she pointed out, proud of the way she was able to keep the slight tremor out of her voice. "You keep that thing away from me."

"Are you kidding? He's harmless!"

"I don't like dogs, Roka," she reminded him, hating the petulant lilt in her tone, "and I _really_ don't like that one in particular."

"He'd never hurt you," Evan insisted with a wave of his hand. "Anyway, I mean it. That area is dangerous, and you don't belong there."

Clamping her mouth closed as she stomped into the bathroom and tossed the sweatshirts into the laundry hamper, Valerie shook her head, knowing damn well that she wasn't going to win that particular argument with him. If she knew nothing else, she knew damn well that he could be stubborn in the extreme, especially when he thought that he was right, and he most certainly did think that he was right this time.

The trace irritation that she should be considered one of those weak little women who couldn't take care of herself was instant, a conditioned response that she'd developed over the years, and she snorted indelicately as she washed her hands and face. That irritation, however, didn't linger for more than a few moments at best. She knew, didn't she? Evan hadn't ever been one of the people who had tried to make her feel incompetent in any way, and he wouldn't have started to do that now, she was sure.

Still . . .

' _And what would be the harm in letting him have this one, Valerie?_ ' she asked herself as she headed back toward the living room again.

There wasn't any, was there? It wasn't really a question. It might well give him back some of what he thought that he'd lost, and maybe that was worth it, too. Of course, it'd be a cold day in hell before Valerie allowed him to send that monster of a dog over for her jogs. Still, she knew, didn't she, that Evan had more than his fair share of the desire to protect, and as misguided as it was in Dieter's situation, she really could appreciate that about him, couldn't she?

Letting out a deep breath, she stepped into the living room, only to stop short as a frown surfaced on her face. "Evan?"

There was no answer, and even before she moved toward the kitchen, she knew that he was gone.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _All_** **_Summer_** **_Long_** ' _originally appeared on Kid_ _Rock's_ _2007_ _release,_ **_Rock_** **_n'_** **_Roll_** **_Jesus_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Edward_ _King,_ _Kid_ _Rock,_ _Gary_ _Rossington_ , _Uncle_ _Kracker,_ _Ronnie_ _Van_ _Zant,_ _Robert_ _Wachtel,_ _Warren_ _Zevon,_ _and_ _Leroy_ _Marinell_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Where'd he take off to now?_


	109. 108: Illusory

' _Time for me to fly – Oh, I've got to set myself free_ …  
' _Time for me to fly – And that's just how it's got to be_ …  
' _I know it hurts to say goodbye_ …  
' _But it's time for me to fly_ …'

 

-' _Time for Me to Fly_ ' by REO Speedwagon.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Are you going to be able to make it home for Christmas?"

"Eh, you know. No promises, but I'll try."

"Okay, okay. I mean, you're still busy with that awful trial, right? Do you think that they'll let you come home? Maybe I should call the judge . . ."

"Don't do that, Mama . . . I, uh, don't know," he said since he didn't really want to get into the details of the latest turn of events. Surprisingly enough, the truth hadn't yet been leaked to the press—a small favor that he didn't delude himself into thinking would last much longer. His conscience nagged him. He should tell his mother that he was as good as home free, according to Valerie. Trouble was, he was still too irritated by the turn of events to talk about it without getting agitated all over again . . . "We'll have to wait and see."

Gin giggled softly. "It's too quiet here, you know," she pointed out, as close to scolding as Gin ever got. "Especially since Sebastian and Sydnie are in New York City, too . . ."

"I'm sorry, Mama," Evan insisted, tapping his knuckles on the counter as he stared out the window at the grayish wash of November daylight. "I'll do my best."

"Hmm, if you see your brother, could you tell him that he's more than welcome to drop the children off here for a while—you know, so he and Sydnie can have some alone time."

Smiling at the implied innocence of his mother's request—too bad he also saw right through it—Evan chuckled. "I'll tell him if I see him," he promised.

" _Or_ you could find your mate so that I can have your children over for extended stays with baa-chan!"

"Oh, is that right?" he deadpanned.

"What about that beautiful girlfriend of yours? Oh! You should bring her with you for Christmas!"

That reminder was enough to wipe the slight grin off Evan's face. "Ah," he hedged, wondering if his mother would believe him if he hung up and said that the connection went dead. "Well, you know how things go," he went on, carefully choosing his words as well as his tone. It wouldn't do to get his mother worried, no. With his luck, she'd hop right into her car and drive down if she thought that he was in trouble . . . "We figured we'd take things slower. Careers and stuff, right?"

"Careers are important," Gin allowed slowly, thoughtfully, "but so is family, Evan. You're not overdoing it, are you?"

"Of course not, Mama," he assured her. "She's just got a lot on her plate, and so do I; that's all."

She wasn't impressed with that, either. "Nothing in this world is more important than love, you know. Are you sure you're okay? You looked a little pale when you were doing your show—oops, your _gig_ —in Maine . . ." she trailed off, giggling softly to herself. She found great enjoyment in using what she considered to be 'technical jargon'.

Evan's eyebrows lifted at the mention of his concert there. He hadn't realized that they'd known about it. "Did I?"

"Yes," she insisted. "I wanted to stop in to see you after the show, but your father was afraid that I'd be crushed . . . some of the people there were just wild, weren't they?"

His eyebrows drew together at that. It almost sounded like . . . "Were you there?" he asked, unsure why he felt so reluctant to hear her answer.

"Of course we were!" she said. "My baby, the rock star!"

"Yeah," he agreed easily enough despite the frown that had grown darker. They'd gone, but they hadn't bothered to come backstage to say hello? Now why didn't that surprise him . . .? "Hey, Mama, I need to get going. Love you."

Gin giggled again. "Okay, sweetie. Remember, you promised that you'd try to make it home for Christmas."

"I know," he assured her. "Talk to you later."

"Love you, Evan," she said. A moment later, the connection died, and Evan snapped the phone closed against the heel of his hand.

It was a lot to take in, wasn't it? Talk about strange things . . . His parents had actually come to one of his shows? It wasn't entirely surprising that Gin had. She always wanted to see him perform, but Cain? Well, there was a good chance that Cain wasn't nearly as impressed with it as Gin had been, and even though he wasn't in what he'd consider to be a good mood, the idea of his poor darling mother's reaction to the Sea of Breasts? Yeah, that might have been worth seeing. Too bad he'd missed it . . .

There was little doubt in his mind, though, that Cain had only gone along with Gin because he didn't want her to go alone, which was stupid, really. If Evan had known that she wanted to be there, he sure as hell would have sent for her and made sure that she was well protected the entire time. Hell, he'd probably have stuck her up in the skybox with Valerie. Of course, knowing Cain, he probably hadn't believed that Evan could watch out for her properly. It just figured, didn't it? It really, really did . . .

Hell, the way his life was going, he fully expected that he'd get an earful from good ol' Cain just as soon as the news broke, anyway. In fact, he'd lay a bet on that . . .

" _What about that beautiful girlfriend of yours? Oh! You should bring her with you for Christmas!_ "

And that was the other half of the problem, wasn't it? Okay, if he wanted to be brutally honest, he'd have to admit that it was more than half of it.

Almost a week since she'd found out the truth, and he'd known what would happen. Damn it, he'd known, even if he didn't really want to accept it. Even if he didn't really want to believe it. Those words she'd uttered in what seemed like a lifetime ago kept running through his head, whispering to him in the night when he tried to sleep, always spoke to him, and he couldn't forget them, couldn't shake them . . .

" _Listen, Roka . . . I wouldn't marry you for real if you were the last man on earth, and God himself decreed it. Right now, I don't really like you very much, and even if I did, do you think I'm stupid enough to marry someone who doesn't know when to keep his damn pants on? Someone who's never even had a girlfriend because he's too much of a player and a jackass to be serious for even five minutes? As soon as your case is over, I swear to God that I never, ever want to see your sorry face, ever again_."

She'd meant that, hadn't she, and why not? He hadn't given her any kind of reason not to feel that way. If anything, he'd done his level best to reinforce her idea that he was nothing more than your run of the mill rock star: all flash, no frazzle. The thing was, he had no idea how to change her mind, and he had a feeling that it was too damn late to even try.

Wasn't that the real reason he'd slipped out of her apartment after finally finding her, jogging near the docks?

So he'd lied and said that he was out doing the same thing, that finding her had been coincidence. He'd gone to her apartment, hoping that he could coax her out to go for a jog with him, sure, but then he'd chased her all over, and by the time he had, he'd been irritated. She was an attorney. She had to have known that it really was dangerous down by the docks.

It wasn't until after she'd summarily dismissed his worry that he'd realized that he was acting no better than a jealous boyfriend or something, and he'd panicked, taking off because he hadn't wanted to push her away even more than he already had.

He sighed and made a face, throwing himself into the chair, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table with an air of disgust. No doubt about it, he'd screwed up in a colossal way. Valerie might well be his mate, but it made no difference at all when she had no idea, and he had no way to show her. The problem was, he was completely at a loss as to what, exactly, he could say or do to convince her that she ought to stick around. Maybe if she didn't have a lifetime of letdowns to support her general belief that musicians were no better than garbage, he'd have a chance, but . . .

But he couldn't rightfully blame her, either. He knew what those men had put her through, starting with her father, echoed in every musician she'd met after him. It was all coming back to bite Evan in the ass, and while he couldn't blame her for her feelings, she had to know that he was different.

Or did she? When had he ever actually tried to prove her wrong? Making jokes because he wanted to hear her laugh without considering that his idea of a joke and hers were vastly different or ignoring the things that bothered her because he couldn't understand how anyone could possibly be afraid of a big dust-mop like his dog? Maybe he hadn't done any such thing; not really . . .

" _As soon as your case is over, I swear to God that I never, ever want to see your sorry face, ever again_."

Yeah, she'd meant that. He knew deep down that she did.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"V! Sweetie! I've missed you!"

Valerie blinked and turned to look as Madison breezed into her office with a smile on her face and a light tan on her skin. "Hey, Maddy," she said, rising to her feet and leaning toward her friend when she stepped around the desk and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm glad you're back."

Madison's brilliant smile dimmed and faltered when she finally noticed the wan expression on Valerie's features. "Uh oh . . . Did Evan do one of his 'stupid man things' again?"

Valerie managed a small smile and shook her head then shrugged. "Kind of . . . not really," she allowed.

That earned her a raised eyebrow. "Well, that was an evasive answer, wasn't it?" Madison parried dryly, perching on the edge of the desk and extending her foot to show off a very nice, very expensive fawn colored leather boot. "Aren't these _delicious?_ I found them in Madrid along with a lovely man named Eduardo who was more than happy to spend a few hours helping me try on shoes . . ."

Smile widening, Valerie rolled her eyes. It was absolutely impossible to be irritated or even a little vexed with Madison Cartham, and she knew it. "Sounds like you had a good time."

"Well, you know what they say about all work and no play, right? So . . ." She drew a deep breath, her foot falling away as she folded her hands together on her knee and turned her complete attention to Valerie, "what did Evan do this time?"

Dropping heavily into her chair once more, Valerie crossed her arms over her chest and stared hard at Madison for a moment. She'd lied to her, too, and while Valerie knew that it was loyalty to Evan that had kept her silent, she had to wonder not for the first time if the reason that Madison had suggested that she take Evan's case in the beginning was because she was hoping that Valerie would be able to get to the truth of it all . . .

"The charges against Evan are going to be dropped," she said without preamble, watching Madison's face for her reaction. "He wasn't driving. You knew that, right?"

Madison's smile faded, her shoulders drooping, her chin dropping. She didn't respond right away, and she had the grace to look contrite. "I didn't want him to take the blame," Madison admitted softly. "Dieter begged him the next day to go to the cops, to tell them the truth, but Evan . . ."

Valerie snorted and shook her head. "If he wanted to go to the police, then why didn't he? Evan isn't the end-all, be-all, damn it. Why would you have gone along with this story, Madison?"

Madison winced, and she offered Valerie a small smile, a contrite smile, a sad smile. "Because Evan was right," she said.

"How could you possibly think that going to prison for something he didn't do was 'right'?" she demanded.

With a sigh, Madison rubbed her forehead. "Dieter wouldn't have lasted in jail, not again," she explained. "Everyone knew that—everyone." She shrugged almost helplessly, as though she thought that it was the only way she had to express herself. "That's why we all went along with it. We _knew_ . . . and Evan knew . . ."

"You really thought that?" Valerie asked with a scowl.

Madison sighed, pushing herself off the edge of the desk and wandering toward the windows. "He tried to kill himself the first time he was in prison," she said quietly. "He told me once . . . He cut himself because Miss had sent him a letter saying that she didn't want to see him after he got out." Staring outside without seeing anything at all, Madison shivered slightly, but it had nothing to do with the temperature inside the office. "I don't think he ever told Evan about that," she admitted then sighed once more. Pushing her sunny blonde bangs out of her face with the back of a limp hand, she shook her head, adjusted her red silk blouse in an idle sort of way. "I'm sorry that I lied to you, V," she murmured, cheeks flushed, head bowed, "but I . . . I didn't know what else to do."

Frowning, Valerie slowly shook her head. Sure, Evan had said that he'd worried that Dieter wouldn't have made it, too, but she'd really thought that he was overreacting. For Madison to say it, too, though . . . Maybe he wasn't . . . That still didn't make it right, but maybe, _maybe_ , she could understand, even if she didn't agree. "But he didn't want to be protected, not like that," she said. "I only wish he had said something sooner . . ."

Madison turned to look at Valerie at last, her gaze suspiciously bright though she didn't lift her chin. "I think he tried," she ventured sadly. "I think he tried a few times. I just think . . . I think he was afraid of letting Evan down."

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Madison how ridiculous that was. She didn't. What was the point, anyway? They'd all tried, hadn't they? Covering for one of their clique because they didn't think that he could withstand it himself . . . To be that well-protected? What was it like to be that loved?

Brushing that thought aside, Valerie stood up, wandered over to stand next to Madison, her back to the window. "I don't think that Dieter ever really understood why Evan had befriended him," Madison went on, her voice a little stronger, a little sadder. "His family was a lot worse off financially, and he was a little awkward, you know? Too shy to be really popular with the girls and not even remotely interested in sports or anything . . . Dieter didn't really fit in with anyone . . ." Madison laughed softly. "Maybe that's the real reason why Evan liked him."

"But Evan had lots of girlfriends," Valerie scoffed, unable to help the hint of irritation in her tone.

Madison stared at her for several moments as though she was trying to see inside Valerie's head, but in the end, she smiled just a little. "Evan always wanted to be friends with everyone," she explained, "and when he found out that Dieter played bass? He thought that was really cool." Letting out a deep breath, Madison reached out, squeezed Valerie's arm. "I hate to run, but I've got a few things I need to do at the salon."

"Okay," Valerie allowed, giving Madison a quick hug. "I'll call you later."

Madison nodded, and though she looked like she wanted to say something else, she didn't. Instead, she pasted on a wan smile and sauntered out of the office, leaving Valerie to mull over the things she'd said. That Evan had a lot of friends in school was a given, wasn't it? But Dieter didn't? And somehow, that sounded about right, too.

" _He thought that was really cool_."

Yeah, Valerie supposed that Evan would have thought that it was cool. Hearing Madison explain it that way . . . It made a lot more sense to her, didn't it?

Evan really would want to be everyone's friend, wouldn't he? Knowing him the way she did, she had to admit that it made sense. That it was Dieter who was in trouble hadn't mattered. He would have tried to cover for anyone that he felt was his friend; that he worried about.

Misguided, maybe, and frightening how close he'd come to taking the blame for it all, but to Evan? If he really thought that Dieter wouldn't have made it out of prison alive, maybe she could understand that . . .

A soft knock on the door sounded, and a moment later, Anne peeked into the office. Spotting Valerie by the window obviously deep in thought, she grimaced in apology. "This was just sent over," she said, holding out a manila envelope.

Crossing the floor in her no-nonsense gait, Valerie took it and frowned. It was from the DA's office. "Thanks," she said, waving away the receptionist. The girl ducked out of the room and quietly closed the door behind her.

She wasn't sure how she ought to feel as she pulled the docket from the envelope. It was the formal discharge of all charges levied against Zel Roka for the accident occurring on that cold night half a year ago. For some reason, it didn't make her nearly as happy as it should have. By rights, she should be gloating, shouldn't she? It should have been a slam-dunk case for the prosecution, right? She'd just saved the man from certain jail time, and that should have been reason to celebrate.

Remembering the sadness in Evan's expression, however—recalling the pain in Miss' eyes that still hadn't waned—considering the haunted kind of blankness in Madison's gaze . . .

It was a bittersweet victory, wasn't it? Bittersweet and a little heartbreaking, too . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Loping down the steps with a towel tucked loosely around his waist and another towel covering his head, Evan hummed the song he'd been working on under his breath. As he hit the bottom of the stairs, he stopped short, tugging the towel off his head as his brain kicked in a moment later, telling him what he ought to have known to start with. "H-Hey, V," he greeted casually—a little _too_ casually—as he tossed the towel in the general direction of the sofa. "What's up?"

The smile that she offered him was forced and thin, anxious. "Thought you'd want this," she said, holding out a manila envelope as that tight little smile widened.

Evan blinked and stared at the envelope, but he was hesitant to take it. Something about her demeanor . . .

"What's that?" he asked without reaching for it.

Valerie's smile dimmed and disappeared, licking her lips as she shifted from one foot to the other. "Why don't you look and see?"

Against his better judgment, he finally took the envelope and pulled out the court papers. Somehow it seemed almost surreal, didn't it? Just like that, and the charges against him had been dropped? It was over, really over, and yet . . .

Those words stuck in his mind. ' _It's . . . over_ . . .'

" _As soon as your case is over, I swear to God that I never, ever want to see your sorry face, ever again_."

It hit him hard—really hard. The realization that came with it was harsh, painful. Dieter and now Valerie . . . ' _Sh . . . Shit_ . . .'

"Congratulations," she said, her voice tentative, almost reluctant. Then she drew a deep breath. "Listen, Evan, I know you aren't too happy about this, but really, you shouldn't have been jailed for something you didn't do."

He nodded once, still keeping his eyes trained on the docket. "Well," he said, inflicting enough carelessness into his tone to make her believe it, adding a smile for good measure, "it'll be great for your career, right?"

She didn't look impressed with his statement. Crossing her arms over her chest, she just stared at him. "You think that's why I took your case?"

Evan chuckled, turning away and dropping the docket onto a nearby table before she could get a good look at his face. "Naw, you took it for Maddy, right? Because she asked you to. That's okay; it's all good. You're a damn fine attorney."

"You think that I'm a pain in the ass," she argued dryly.

He shrugged. "Not really," he admitted. "You'll be glad to be rid of me, right?"

"Rid of you?" she echoed.

Evan tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as a sardonic little smile twitched on his lips. "The case is over, ain't it?"

"Yeah, but . . . That is, you could still be charged with obstruction of justice."

"But that's not much," he countered mildly. "I mean, who the hell gets into real trouble for that?"

"You could," she muttered darkly.

He chuckled at her tone though the expression didn't really come through on his face. "I'm a fucking rock star, V. They won't toss me in jail for something that fucking stupid. They'll just fine me or something."

"That's probably true," she allowed. "Still, you don't know . . ."

"Anyway, who the hell cares?" he scoffed, rubbing his chest with his knuckles, and still he refused to face her. "No big deal, right?"

He heard her sigh, then she suddenly grabbed his arm. "Hey, why don't we go out to dinner? You know, to celebrate the charges being dropped?" she asked brightly. "My treat."

The smile that he'd managed to conjure up for her faltered and faded. For a moment, his entire body stilled as her suggestion dug into his brain. ' _Celebrate . . .?_ '

"Evan?"

Clearing his throat, struggling to regain his composure, Evan slowly turned to look at her. "Ah, you know, as fun as that sounds, V . . . I . . . I think I'd rather go out tonight," he lied. "Hell, you've kept me on such a short leash, it's about time I did, don't you think?"

A strange sort of expression flickered over her features, but she blanked it before he could adequately discern it. "Oh . . . right," she said, letting her hand fall away from his arm. Shaking her head, she turned away quickly. "I don't know what . . . what I was thinking . . ."

Grimacing inwardly, Evan opened his mouth, ready to beg her to stay, to beg her not to make good on her word . . . What did anything matter if he lost her now? What did anything matter? The first time he'd lost her had been a travesty. This time? He just couldn't let her go; not without a fight, damn it. Pride be damned, right? He'd just have to change her mind about not wanting to have anything to do with him, no matter what it took.

Drawing a deep breath, he swung around to face her, to beg her, to plead with her if he had to.

Somehow while he wasn't paying attention, she'd slipped out of his house—and out of his life—for good.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Baa-chan_** _: Japanese informal address that is roughly equivalent to 'granny' or such_. 
> 
> ' ** _Time_** **_for_** **_Me_** **_to_** **_Fly_** ' _originally appeared on REO Speedwagon's_ _1978_ _release,_ **_You_** **_Can_** **_Tune_** **_a_** **_Piano_** **_but_** **_You_** **_Can't_** **_Tuna_** **_Fish_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Kevin_ _Cronin_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Damn_ _it_ …


	110. 109: Dinner for One

' _I see you – the only one who knew me_ …  
' _And now your eyes see through me – I guess I was wrong_ …  
' _So what now – it's plain to see we're over_ …  
' _And I hate when things are over – when so much is left undone_ …'

 

-' _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ ' by Deep Blue Something.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"I'd like the grilled chicken breast Caesar salad with the dressing on the side, please, and a glass of white wine."

"Okay, I'll be right back with your food," the waiter said with a bright smile just before he hurried away.

Valerie heaved a sigh and stared at the glass of ice water that the waiter had left for her when she'd first sat down.

" _Ah, you know, as fun as that sounds, V . . . I . . . I think I'd rather go out tonight . . . Hell, you've kept me on such a short leash, it's about time I did, don't you think?_ "

' _Don't think about it, Valerie_ ,' she told herself sternly. ' _Don't think about just what that miscreant is out doing._ '

That was easier said than done, wasn't it?

' _He just couldn't wait to go out and get right back to his bad habits, now could he?_ ' she couldn't help but think. ' _Jerk_ . . .'

Okay, so that wasn't entirely fair. It was his life, wasn't it? He was a grown man; he could go out and do whatever he wanted, couldn't he? After all, he was only behaving because she'd insisted, right? So, of course, he'd think that he needed to go out and find some hapless woman first thing, and why on earth that surprised her, she didn't really know.

' _He could've waited another day_ ,' she thought with a decisive snort.

Sure, he could have. He also could have decided that her terms had proved to him that he didn't really need to womanize on a regular basis, either, but it obviously hadn't.

So why was it that the very idea that he might be out right now, prowling the streets to find some willing woman, really bugged the living, breathing hell out of her?

Snorting indelicately, Valerie sat up a little straighter, sipped the water as she dug her cell phone out of her purse to see if she'd missed any calls.

It didn't bother her, damn it, and just why the hell should it? So the idiot man would end up with some nasty disease one day, and all because he couldn't keep his penis in his pants. What did she care? She didn't; not by a long shot. That'd just be stupid, and she was as far from 'stupid' as they came . . .

Pulling the media reader out of her attaché case, Valerie browsed through her subscriptions, looking for _The New York Times_ , and she heaved another sigh when she read the headline on the front page: _Charges Dropped against Rocker Zel Roka_. She hadn't figured that it'd take long for the story to hit the press. After all, as soon as the legal documents had been signed by the judge, they became a part of public record, which meant that the vultures that combed through the day's dockets likely found it and hopped on the horn to be the first with the breaking story.

But it wasn't the story itself that bothered her. What bothered her was what might be potentially said about Dieter.

She was still debating whether or not she really wanted to read the article when the trill of her cell phone cut through her musings.

"Hello," she greeted, unable to keep the tired quality out of her tone.

"Hey, Val. Congratulations! I just read the paper about Zel Roka!"

"Marvin, hi," she said, smiling wanly, grateful to hear a friendly voice. "Thanks . . ."

"That's really fantastic," he insisted. "I'll bet he's really glad you're on his side, right?"

For some reason, she didn't have the heart to disabuse Marvin of that notion. "Uh, yeah," she murmured noncommittally.

The waiter returned with her food and wine. He deposited it on the table and left again without disturbing her phone call.

"Anyway, I'm sure you're busy," Marvin went on, missing the preoccupied tone of her voice. "I just wanted to ask you if you'd decided what you want to do this year for Christmas?"

Valerie winced inwardly. To be honest, she hadn't given that much of a thought. Usually, they tried to go somewhere together if they had the time. Last year, they'd gone to a really nice bed and breakfast upstate near Niagara Falls. "Do you have any ideas?"

"I was thinking that you like skiing, right? How about that?"

She considered that for a minute then smiled. "That sounds fantastic," she decided.

He laughed, very proud of himself for coming up with something that Valerie would enjoy. "I should be able to come home around the twentieth, so if you want to go ahead and make the arrangements, just let me know when I should fly in."

"Okay," she agreed.

"Great," he said. "I've got to run, but give me a call and let me know when I need to be there."

"Take care," she replied, snapping her phone closed. Skiing would be fantastic, she decided, setting the phone down and reaching for the glass of wine. Marvin wasn't exactly the best athlete in the world, but he wasn't too bad at skiing. In fact, they'd gone skiing shortly after they'd started dating. Dr. Darrin Williams, one of the United States' leading authorities in leukemia research, enjoyed the sport, it seemed, and he'd invited Marvin and a few others up to his house in Vermont to join him for a weekend of skiing and serious discussion. Marvin had loved every minute of it, and so had she.

She let out a deep breath. Maybe a nice vacation on the slopes was just what she needed . . .

Glancing at her watch, Valerie's smile dimmed and faded. Six o'clock . . . What was Evan out doing now?

Scowling at the unbidden intrusion in her thoughts, Valerie bit her lip and picked at her salad with the fork. She could call him, she supposed, but she dismissed that idea about as quickly as it occurred to her. Call him? Had she lost her mind? When he was out trying to pick up some floozy, the last thing she wanted to do was to get him on the phone so that she had no choice but to hear the debaucher in action.

Why hadn't she expected it? Why hadn't she expected that he'd decide that he wanted nothing at all do to with her once his case was finished? And she hadn't, had she? Not once did it cross her mind that he would want to get back to his life as he knew it once everything was said and done?

She really should have known. Somewhere along the way, she'd gotten too used to having his undivided attention, hadn't she? As much as she wanted to be angry with him, though, she couldn't be. She ought to just be glad that she'd known better than to fall for him and his pretty words, and as much as she'd like to be irritated, she didn't have it within her to do that, either.

But she'd hoped . . .

The sound of her cell phone interrupted her bleak thoughts, and she reached for it, setting the fork aside, only to blink and stare when she read the name and number on the caller ID screen. ' _NYPD: 18th Precinct_ ' . . .

"Denning," she said after she connected the call, an unbidden smile quirking the corners of her lips.

"V? Oh, thank God! I've been _framed!_ "

Somehow, it wasn't at all surprising to hear Evan's voice, loud and clear, coming through the line. She sighed for good measure. "What'd you do now, Roka?" she asked rather mildly.

Evan snorted. "Didn't you hear me, woman? _Framed_ , I tell you!"

"Two more minutes, Roka," a man said in the background.

"You gotta get me outta here," Evan insisted, ignoring the warning.

Valerie's amused smirk widened. "And why would I do that? Maybe you belong in there."

He groaned and half-whined. "C'mon, baby! Don't do me like that!"

Rolling her eyes, she slowly shook her head, "You going to tell me what you did to get taken into the police station?"

Evan snorted. "I didn't do a damn thing," he insisted hotly.

"Okay, Roka. Time to hang up now."

"Get me outta here!" Evan howled as the phone was taken away from him.

"Can he be bailed out?" Valerie asked, raising her voice enough to be heard over Evan's claims of police brutality in the background.

"You're gonna think 'police brutality' if you don't stop your yapping," The officer that had taken the phone warned then heaved a sigh. "You're his attorney, right?"

Valerie blinked, lowering the receiver to stare at it for a moment before she answered. "Yes, yes I am."

He seemed satisfied with her answer. "Yeah, he can go home if you come in and pick him up."

"What did he allegedly do?" she asked.

The officer paused before answering. "Um, I'll be happy to explain it to you when you get here," he replied.

"Okay. I'll be there shortly," she said. The call ended, and she dropped her phone on the table so that she could dig through her purse for enough money to cover the dinner that she hadn't gotten to eat.

Evan was being held at the police station? Again?

Somehow, it wasn't nearly as surprising as it probably should have been, nor was it quite as alarming, either . . . In fact, she had a sneaking suspicion that he had done whatever it was he'd done on purpose.

And that idea . . . It made her smile.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"V! Thank God! These bastards wouldn't even let me have a doughnut!" Evan complained when Valerie strode into the interrogation room where he was being held. Seated at the small table, he hadn't been left alone for long.

She stared at him for a long moment. He could discern the barest hint of a twitching lip. "No doughnuts?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow, her expression carefully blanked.

Evan wrinkled his nose. "I know! Grumpy, right?"

Those fantastic eyes of hers narrowed slightly, and he had the feeling that she was about two shakes from laughing out loud. "Is what Officer McGuinness told me true, Roka?"

Licking his lips, he shrugged offhandedly. "No way," he argued. "I told you: I was framed! It totally wasn't me!"

Yep, those lips were definitely twitching now. "So someone _else_ who looked _just_ like you was caught mooning people in the Statue of Liberty?"

He considered that. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

"And that someone managed to get caught by the security guard standing _right_ beside him?"

"Yes!"

"And can you explain how it is that the security guard ended up with you in custody and not the other guy?"

"Framed, V, _framed_ ," he stated yet again.

She nodded again. She didn't look like she believed him, no, but she did nod. "Okay, but . . . did your look-alike _have_ to moon a class of sixth graders from St. Mary's School for Girls?"

"Well . . . that was completely accidental," he insisted, blinking at her in a hopelessly innocent kind of way. "I mean, I don't think that he knew that there were a bunch of, uh, twelve year-old girls standing right there . . ."

Definite twitch-age of her lips.

"Sister Mary Catherine wasn't very impressed," Officer McGuinness commented as he let himself back into the room.

"That's because she didn't see the front side," Evan remarked.

McGuinness' lips were twitching, too. "Luckily, she believes in the power of forgiveness—a good woman, she is. She doesn't want to prosecute Mr. Roka as much as she would like to see him," he cleared his throat to hide his obvious amusement, "mend his wicked ways."

"See? If she doesn't want to throw me in the clink, then you guys can just ignore it, right?" Evan asked a little too hopefully.

McGuinness rolled his eyes. "Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way, Mr. Roka. You were caught red, err . . . _handed_ . . . so to speak . . ."

Evan heaved a long, drawn out sigh.

Valerie cleared her throat. "Has he been arraigned?"

McGuinness nodded. "He has. Judge Morrison."

Nodding, she took the papers that McGuinness offered: copies of the appropriate paperwork.

"Public nudity," she read then sighed. "At least you didn't get nailed with lewd and lascivious . . ."

"It was just m— _his_ —ass, V," he scoffed, rolling his eyes as he flopped back in his chair for good measure. "And then they manhandled me on the way in! Tossed me around like a ragdoll, I tell you!"

Snapping her mouth closed, she came dangerously close to laughing outright. Somehow, though, she managed to contain it. "I'm sure they did, Roka," she said. "Come on. Let's go."

Evan stood up slowly, sparing a moment to grin at Officer McGuinness who tried his best to look stern. "Later, man," he said as he stepped past.

"Yeah, try to keep your pants on, eh?" McGuinness reminded him. "At least, when you're out in public, anyway."

Evan grinned. "Will do," he called over his shoulder as he followed Valerie out of the room, down the hallway, down the stairs, and through the open air lobby.

"You know I had to bail you out of jail," she remarked mildly as they finally pushed out of the building and into the cold November night.

"Framed, V," he stated once more. "I'll pay you back."

"Keep your money, Roka," she told him as they turned down the sidewalk. She apparently had caught a cab over. "Framed, eh?"

He grinned. "Absolutely. I mean, I was just out, trying to decide where I wanted to go, and I figured that I'd go up the Statue to clear my head, you know?"

She snorted, but the trace smile that illuminated her gaze was more than enough for him. "So you went up there and dropped your britches to clear your mind?"

He made a face. "What ever happened to innocent until proven guilty?"

She rolled her eyes. "Those poor children."

"Do you want to hear my side of it or not?" he grouched.

Valerie didn't look like she was entirely sure that she did, actually.   "I already heard your side of it," she pointed out reasonably. "I read the report."

He nodded rather emphatically. "Good! Then you know it wasn't my fault!"

She considered that for a long moment as they waited for the traffic light on the corner to change before crossing the street. "Okay, but if it wasn't your fault, then how is it that you ended up in custody? And why in the world is your hair hot pink?"

"I was going for 'punk'," he told her then shrugged. "Okay, not really. I was going for red, but I accidentally washed it out too soon, and by then, I was too damned lazy to add more color. And to answer your question, who knows? The guard got it all wrong—all wrong!"

She cleared her throat, carefully averting her gaze. "Except that the report says that you were standing right next to him."

"Of course he _says_ that!" he insisted, waving a hand dismissively. "It was a set-up, right? Anyway, I was, like, five feet away, minding my own business. I was using one of those goofy binocular-things, trying to figure out where you'd gone for dinner—"

"Because you'd see me with a pair of those," she cut in dryly.

"Yeah," he agreed. "And all the sudden, the guard grabs me and tells me not to fucking move—okay, so he didn't say 'fucking', but you get it, don't you?"

She nodded slowly.

"So I just stood there like a good boy and waited for the fuzz to show."

"And the man who really mooned the sixth graders?"

Evan shook his head. "Never saw him—Pity, right? I mean, if he looked that much like me, he had to be a drop dead gorgeous guy, y'know?"

Valerie stopped and swung around to face him, her face carefully blanked except for the unnatural brightness in her eyes. She was damn close to laughing her ass off, and why not? She knew— _knew_ —that he was lying about the entire set-up, not that it mattered . . .

"So . . . So, I guess I still need an attorney," he remarked.

Valerie didn't look at all surprised. Staring at him for a few moments, she sighed as she slowly turned and started to walk once more. "Only you can get into that much trouble," she muttered, more to herself than to him.

"So you'll take my case?" he asked, trying to keep the hopefulness out of his tone and failing miserably.

Valerie heaved another sigh. "I don't really have a choice, do I? No other attorney in his right mind would take you on as a client."

Letting out a deep breath—he hadn't realized that he'd been holding it, to start with—Evan chuckled as he fell into step beside her. "That's true," he allowed, feeling the tension finally starting to ebb away. "Thanks."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Breakfast_** **_at_** **_Tiffany's_** ' _originally appeared on Deep Blue_ _Something's_ _1994_ _release_ , **_Home_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Todd_ _David_ _Pipes_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Why is that just not surprising …?_


	111. 110: Rebuff

' _You know I'm a dreamer_ …  
' _But my heart's of gold_ …  
' _I had to run away high_ …  
' _So I wouldn't come home low_ …' 

' _Just when things went right_ …  
' _Doesn't mean they're always wrong_ …  
' _Just take this song and you'll never feel_ …  
' _Left all alone_ …'

 

-' _Home Sweet Home'_ by Mötley Crüe.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"So . . .?"

Valerie didn't move, didn't even blink, as she sat, arms crossed over her chest, staring at the television with a blank kind of expression that gave away nothing—or maybe it gave away everything. It was too soon to tell.

Clearing his throat as he reached for the remote control to turn off the television, Evan waited for her to say something about what she'd just seen. As a minute passed in utter silence, he started to wonder if she was actually going to say anything at all, and for reasons he didn't delve into, it tickled him beyond belief . . .

"No comment?" he hinted, arching an eyebrow as he nudged the attorney with his shoulder.

She finally deigned to shift her gaze to the side, entirely nonplussed. "Do you honestly think that that . . . that . . . that _hussy_ looks like me?" she demanded dryly.

Evan really wasn't sure how he was able to keep his amusement from showing in his expression, but he did. "You don't think so?" he asked innocently.

She blinked once, twice, without taking her eyes off him. "No," she stated flatly, "I don't."

"Well . . ." he drawled.

Her snort cut him off. "You think that bottle blonde, big-haired, fake-boobed, lyposuctioned overgrown Barbie doll looks like me?" she countered.

His lips twitched. He couldn't help himself. "Her boobs didn't feel fake," he allowed.

She was even less amused by that comment if the look on her face meant anything at all. "You slept with her, didn't you?" she asked though it sounded more like an accusation than an actual question.

"Nope," he replied with a good natured wink.

Valerie didn't look entirely convinced. "You're _naked_ with her," she pointed out, flicking a hand at the television.

"Nope," he repeated, "and actually, I had a cup on."

Valerie snorted and rolled her eyes, attesting to the idea that she really didn't believe him; not at all. "Like that matters," she scoffed, "and she was naked, too!"

"Well, not completely," Evan drawled.

Valerie was having none of it, though. "Have you no shame?" she demanded hotly. "She could be _dirty!_ You don't know where she's been!"

He chuckled, mostly because the poor girl in question actually had spent quite a bit of time, rolling around in a mud pit—actually a child's wading pool filled with very clean mud—for the shoot. "Now, V, you know that you're the only woman for me so you don't have to be jealous," he quipped.

His statement drew a series of snorts and indignant blustering from her. "W-I-Y—I am _not_ jealous!" she sputtered, smacking Evan in the center of his chest with the back of her hand. "As _if_ , Roka! In your _dreams!_ "

"V, baby, in my dreams, you're as naked as she was, and so am I," he countered, shaking his head slowly. "You want to hear what you're doing to me in my dreams?"

"No!" she growled, her cheeks pinking prettily despite the show of righteous indignation she was displaying. "Sometimes I think there's something wrong with you. You know, right? You're dirty, too. In fact, it's not surprising in the least, really. The two of you were probably being dirty _together_ since you're such a—"

He laughed. "You want to hear what _I'm_ doing to _you?_ "

"Huh?" she asked, apparently caught off guard since he'd interrupted her tirade.

He blanked his features. It took a moment of very real effort on his part. "In my dreams," he clarified.

She stared at him for a full minute before rolling her eyes and throwing her hands up in the air. "I give up. You're rotten to the core, you twisted little monkey, and no, spare me the details— _please_."

With a shrug, he went on as though he hadn't heard her at all. "You've got those sexy as hell legs wrapped around my waist while I slam my co—"

Slapping her hands over his mouth, she pinning him with a very chagrined scowl despite the livid blush staining her cheeks, and she didn't seem to notice that twisting her body to shut him up had accomplished one very important thing: she'd smashed her breasts against his chest, and it didn't matter that they were both wearing shirts, the heat of her body was very nearly his undoing, and he groaned involuntarily. "Don't you _dare_ finish that statement," she warned, refusing to move her hands off his mouth.

"B . . . Boobies," Evan gasped, his voice muffled.

"What?" she demanded.

He reached up and gently but firmly pulled her hands away. "I said, 'boobies'," he half-groaned.

She blinked but must have realized just what he was talking about because a minute later, she launched a series of smack-hits against his chest as he laughed helplessly.   "Is that all you ever think about, Roka?" she complained.

"What? Am I supposed to ignore the fact that you had your squishy parts smashed against my not-so-squishy parts?" he laughed.

Uttering a terse growl of complete frustration, she scooted away from him and crossed her arms over her chest again. "Anyway, that girl looks nothing— _nothing_ —like me."

"She didn't have to look like you," he pointed out a little too reasonably. "I mean, she was just an actress in the video."

"Yeah," Valerie shot back, crossing her legs, her left foot bobbing fast as she fought to control her irritation, "but you wrote the songs about 'V', didn't you? And that woman was not— _not_ —'V' material."

Clearing his throat since he figured she wouldn't like to have it pointed out again that she really did sound jealous after all, Evan heaved a sigh and hauled himself to his feet. "I think that the video's fucking hot," he ventured as he strode over to the portable metal box where he kept the temporary tattoos.

"I guess," she allowed grudgingly, a hint of poutiness explicit in her tone. "If you _like_ that kind of thing, that is."

He wisely hid his amusement as he pulled the tattoos out that he needed to apply. Considering the bulk of that video was him, rolling around almost naked with a gorgeous model with lots of sexual imagery and bordering on pornographic? Yeah, 'hot' was a good way to describe it.

That he had spent pretty much the entire time during the two day shoot wishing that Erin, the girl that had been hired to fit the part of 'V' was a certain attorney wasn't even important, was it? And as much as he hated to admit it, he'd told Valerie the honest-to-God truth about not doing a damn thing with her, either, even though she'd made it abundantly clear that she'd be more than happy to ride the bony pony. Of course, that didn't mean that she was unhappy. Oh, hell, no. He'd found out later that she was more than willing to give Bone a go instead, though that was a little surprising since the head of security usually wasn't attracted to her type. A little skinnier than Bone tended to like without as much backside as he'd have preferred, too, but she apparently gave a good titty-fuck, and that had made up for it, according to the big man . . .

"It _looked_ like the two of you were having sex," Valerie pointed out in an entirely accusatory tone.

"Totally did, didn't it?" he chuckled as he pulled out the bottle of activator spray from the box then set it aside to pull the tee-shirt he'd been wearing over his head.

She snorted indelicately. "Are you sure you didn't?"

"As much of a turn-on as it might be to film it, V, I assure you that Ryder has way too much integrity to film porn—more's the pity . . ."

She stomped over and yanked the large tribal tattoo out of his hands. "You're such a pervert," she grouched, carefully positioning the tattoo on Evan's back. "I'm not sure why that is. Your mom doesn't seem like a pervert, and your dad doesn't seem like a pervert . . ."

It was Evan's turn to snort. "Are you kidding me, woman? Cain's the biggest damn pervert in the northern hemisphere," he retorted. "Do you have any idea how many times in my lifetime I've been unfortunate enough to see his ass while Mama's legs were high in the fucking air?"

"Nuh uh!"

Her response made him blink—and grin. "Yuh huh," he parried. "'Oh, Zelig-sensei! Not here! The children might see—oo-o-o-o-oh!'" he added in a high falsetto.

Valerie snapped her mouth closed, her cheeks puffing a few times as she tried to control her amusement. "You're talking about _your mother_ ," she pointed out when she finally managed to get her laughter under wraps.

He heaved a sigh and grimaced when she sprayed the cold activator on his skin. "I know . . . That's what makes it about a hundred times worse, don't you think?"

"Oh, my God," Bas Zelig grouched as he stepped into the living room with a scowl on his face and a large blue cooler in his hands. "Thanks for the flashbacks, Evan," he went on darkly. "I appreciate it."

Craning his neck, Evan peered over his shoulder to smirk at Valerie. "See?"

She did manage to keep her face straight despite the telltale flaring of her nostrils.

"Here," Bas said, setting the cooler on the table.

"Dead body?" Valerie asked, bracing her hands against Evan's back and standing on tiptoe to look over his shoulder.

Evan grinned. "Oh, sweet," he breathed. "Thanks, Bubby!"

"What is it?" she asked.

"Yeah, well, Mom said that she was afraid that you'd miss having Thanksgiving dinner with the family, so . . ." Bas remarked, frowning at Evan's blue-black hair. "That color makes you look like a vampire," he muttered, shaking his head as he turned to go.

"You sure you don't want to stay?" Evan called after him, his grin widening. "I just got a copy of my latest video if you want to see it . . ."

That earned him a darkened scowl, and he snorted. "Pfft. I'll pass, Evan, thanks," he remarked dryly.

"You sure?" Evan couldn't help but ask. "It's really hot . . ."

Bas snorted again, his cheeks pinking slightly as he quickly shook his head and started moving toward the doorway. "I've seen some of your other videos, Evan, and I'm still paying off the therapy bills."

Evan's laughter followed Bas out of the house. By the time the front door closed, he'd wound down to chuckles.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"What's this?"

Evan leaned over to look into the white plastic container in Valerie's hands. "Cranberry salad," he said, sitting up straight and stabbing a forkful of dressing. "Try it. It's good."

She scooped a spoonful and lifted it to eye level to inspect it. "So your mom packaged up all this food just because you couldn't make it home for Thanksgiving?"

"Yup," he replied. "What can I say? She loves me."

Valerie stared at him for a moment. "God only knows why," she muttered.

Evan nabbed a forkful of salad and popped it into his mouth. "Eh, she felt bad when I told her that I had to go to court Wednesday," he explained, "and she knows how much I love her Thanksgiving dinners."

Tasting the salad, Valerie chewed thoughtfully. It was good, she had to admit. She wasn't sure what to make of it to start with. It looked like jelly with tiny bits of carrot and celery and stuff in it. "Yeah, speaking of court," she drawled, setting the plastic container aside and turning to face Evan, "you're damn lucky that the judge let you off with restitution and community service. Obstruction of justice is a pretty big deal, you know."

"I know," he agreed, but he sounded a little too placating for her liking.

"Don't you humor me, Roka," she warned.

Evan chuckled. "I'm not," he assured her, sounding even more like he was. "Besides, a couple of benefit concerts and a PSA? No big deal, right?"

She shook her head. True enough. He'd arranged to do a couple benefit concerts: one for inner city kids youth clubs and another for a battered women's shelter, and that would take care of both the restitution as well as the community service. Those shows were being planned. Mike had scheduled the first one for early December, and the other one should take place in early January. The public service announcement was set to film tomorrow, which was why he was getting all decked out in his Zel Roka gear, though when she'd heard what the PSA was about, she'd very nearly snorted right in Mike's face.

"So you're really going to film a PSA for condoms?" she asked at length, reaching for a slice of perfectly cooked and very moist turkey.

He grinned. She'd figured that he would. "Of course! That's a cause I can get into—literally."

She snorted. "And you're one to talk? You can't tell me that you always use condoms, rocker-boy."

"I certainly do," he argued.

"Every time," she challenged mildly.

"Every fucking time."

She snorted again to let him know just what she thought of his claim. He just laughed.

"Hey, V, I've been thinking . . ."

Valerie blinked and quickly shook her head. "You know, that's a terrible habit of yours," she pointed out.

"I know it," he agreed with a shrug. "Gets me into far too much trouble, right?"

"That's right," she said. "If you've noticed, a lot of your bad ideas start with, 'So, I was thinking . . .'."

He grinned. "Never thought of it that way, but I guess you're right."

"Of course, I am," she insisted. "Now, I'm sure that I'm going to regret this, but what were you thinking?"

Laughing at the foreboding in her tone, he locked his arm around her neck and pulled her over to kiss her forehead. She shoved against his chest to regain her freedom. "I was thinking that you should come home with me for Christmas."

She blinked and leaned back to stare at him. Of all of the things that she'd thought he might say, that wasn't one of them. "Home with you?"

He nodded. "Maine."

"You're going to Maine for Christmas?"

He nodded again. "Of course."

She smiled, shrugging as she tucked her hands between her knees. "As much fun as that sounds, I've got plans."

"You do?"

Making a face, she wrinkled her nose. "You make that sound like it's a miracle or something," she grumbled. "I do have a life, you know."

"I know," he argued, holding his hands out in a mock show of surrender. "So, what are your big plans?"

"I'm going skiing with Marvin," she stated.

Evan snorted. "Skiing," he repeated.

She nodded. "Yes, skiing. In Vermont."

"Oh . . ." he drawled, an enigmatic little grin surfacing on his face. "A holiday on the bunny slope. Sounds _wild_ , V."

She narrowed her gaze. "I'll have you know that Marvin is very good at skiing."

"Oh, I'm sure," he said. "So, what does he do? Get down and roll?"

"You're such a jerk, Roka," she growled, throwing a pumpkin cookie at him.

He caught it in his mouth and grinned at her as he tried to chew. "He doesn't really strike me as the 'sporty' type, V."

"Marvin's in very good shape for a guy his age," Valerie insisted, which was true enough. Granted, he wasn't anywhere near Evan's insane condition, but he was what she'd considered to be 'normal'. Besides, he was too busy trying to drum up the funding for his research to spend all of his time working out or something, and as far as she was concerned, Marvin was a very respectable-looking man.

Evan grunted, obviously not believing her in the least. "Aah! It's an avalanche! Oh, no, it's just Durwin . . ."

"You're not nearly as amusing as you think you are," she pointed out dryly, opting to ignore his irritating commentary as best as she could.

Evan chuckled. "Well, if you change your mind . . ."

"I won't," she predicted with a smile. After all, she was really looking forward to going skiing, and even though the idea of spending Christmas in Maine with Evan was compelling, she _had_ already made plans . . .

His grin widened. "I know; I know, but if you do, the offer still stands."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Home_** **_Sweet_** **_Home_** ' _originally appeared on_ _Mötley_ _Crüe's_ _1985_ _release,_ **_Theatre_** **_of_** **_Pain_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Nikki Sixx,_ _Vince_ _Neil,_ _and_ _Tommy_ _Lee_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Evan_** :  
>  _Skiing?_ _Hmm_ …


	112. 111: Laughter

' _Sometimes I cannot take this place_ …  
' _Sometimes it's my life I can't taste_ …  
' _Sometimes I cannot feel my face_ …  
' _You'll never see me fall from grace_ …'

 

-' _Freak_ _on_ _a_ _Leash'_ by KoRn.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Hey, Roka, have you seen this—oh . . . dear . . . God . . . What in the _hell_ are you supposed to be?"

Evan glanced up at Valerie, sparing a moment as he fussed with the black Speedo. "What do you mean?" he asked baldly.

"That," she said, waving a hand at him. " _That!_ "

Casting his gaze downward and back up to meet hers again, he grinned. "Oh, this? I'm Dr. Frank N. Furter."

She stood up slowly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Who?"

His grin widened. "Dr. Frank N. Furter," he repeated. "You know, from _The Rocky Horror Picture Show?_ "

"Is that a wig?" she demanded, looking entirely serious as she gawped at his hair.

"Yes," he told her, fluffing the curly, slightly frizzed black locks.

"Hmph," she grunted with a shake of her head. She didn't look like she knew what he was talking about. "Okay, so why are you wearing that?"

Heaving a sigh, rolling his eyes, he shook his head and closed the distance between them to slip an arm around her shoulders. "'Cause I'm a sweet transvestite from Tra-a-a-ansexual, Transylvania-a-a-a-ah!'" he sang, bouncing his hip in time with the song he was singing.

Snapping her mouth closed, Valerie shook her head again. "Tell me you're not wearing that," she begged dryly.

Evan laughed. "Of course I am," he insisted.

"Oh, well, in that case, then I'm not going with you."

"What do you mean?" he laughed. "You've gotta go with me! It's _The Rocky Horror Picture Show!_ "

"I'm not going anywhere with you as long as you're wearing that," she stated flatly.

Evan grinned as he glanced down at the black leather corset, the fishnet stockings, the gaudy black and white stack heels, the Speedo, the black leather gauntlets and garter, and the string of pearls . . . "What's wrong with my outfit?" he asked baldly.

"I can't believe you actually asked me that," she muttered, turning her attention back to the folder she'd been looking through.

"Hey, V?"

For a moment, he wasn't entirely sure that she was going to answer, but finally, she did. "Yes?"

"Will you help me with my makeup?"

Her entire body stilled for several seconds, and when she finally, slowly, hesitantly lifted her gaze to meet his, he very nearly laughed out loud. "Your . . . what?"

"My makeup," he repeated.

Valerie shook her head. "Not in a million years."

"I got a costume for you, too," he told her as he carefully leaned toward the mirror over the table that he'd had repaired after his outburst when he'd found out that the song he'd recorded just for Dieter had been released and picked up the white powder makeup.

"I shudder to ask," she said flatly.

"Columbia."

"Who's that?"

He paused in the middle of applying the makeup to peer over at her with a grin. "Oh, come on, V . . . She's a groupie. Sounds about right, doesn't it?"

"Are you trying to say that you think I'm nothing more than a groupie?" she demanded.

"Of course not, baby," he assured her. "I _wish_ though . . ."

She snorted but didn't respond otherwise.

"Aww, you've got to dress up," he insisted, dropping the compact on the table and turning to retrieve the costume bag from where it hung over the back of a chair. It didn't take him long to unzip it, and when he held it up for Valerie's inspection, she blinked once, twice, and shook her head again.

"There's no way I'm going to wear a gold dinner jacket over a leotard with . . . are those tap shoes?" she asked darkly.

Evan laughed. "Of course. Oh!" Dropping the costume over the chair again, he strode over and grabbed her hands to haul her to her feet.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

His cheesy grin was enough to elicit a sigh from her. "You've got to learn the Time Warp," he told her.

"The Time Warp?" she echoed with a shake of her head.

He nodded. "Yeah. It's a dance."

She heaved a sigh designed to let him know just what she thought of that idea. He laughed, turning her around, placing one hand on her waist as he hit 'play' on the remote. The television winked to life, and he scanned forward until he found the place he wanted. "Just watch. It's easy."

Valerie rolled her eyes, but did as she was told.

Ten minutes later, she'd mastered the easy dance, which wasn't at all surprising to Evan. By the time they were finished, she was laughing softly, her cheeks flushed. "See? Awesome, right?" he asked her.

"Maybe," she allowed almost grudgingly. "I'm still not wearing that."

Heaving a sigh, Evan shrugged and leaned down to kiss her cheek before heading over once more to finish applying his makeup.

"You know, you could save yourself a lot of time and money if you'd just plead guilty to the mooning charge," Valerie pointed out as she settled onto the sofa once more.

Evan snorted. "I told you, V. I was framed, remember?"

She grunted, mostly because she'd stood before the judge earlier today and had told him exactly that: that Evan had been framed by an unknown man who fled the scene before he could be caught.

To be completely honest, he wasn't sure how anyone in that court room had managed to keep straight faces during the proceedings. Even the judge—the Honorable Nicholas Gearhardt—had shifted in his seat a few times as the police reports were entered into evidence, and the assistant DA had cleared his throat several times throughout, too.

Of course, it could have been the testimony from the security guard that did it. He was hard pressed not to grin outright at the ridiculous notion that Evan had, indeed, been framed since he'd alleged that Evan was standing right beside him the entire time and still had his pants down when he was apprehended.

Evan grinned.

' _Your father wasn't nearly as amused as everyone else was_ ,' his youkai-voice pointed out.

That tempered the smile but didn't make it go away entirely. ' _Didn't figure he would be, and he might have been—if he had a sense of humor, which he doesn't._ '

' _He had a point, though. You could have just asked Valerie to stay on as your lawyer and paid her a retainer fee_.'

' _Aww, whose side are you on? Besides, it made her laugh, didn't it?_ '

Which was as good a reason as any to have done it in the first place, as far as Evan was concerned.

' _Well, okay, you've got a point_ . . .'

He chuckled and reached for the garish black and gray pallet of eye shadows.   No doubt about it. Hearing that woman laugh was worth more than anything else in the world . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Stumbling into the mansion well after midnight, Valerie wrapped an arm over her stomach as she groaned and giggled by turns as she stopped short and ran her fingers through her hair, dislodging grains of rice that had she hadn't already shaken loose. "Oh, my God!" she half-groaned. "That had to be the most messed-up thing I've ever done in my life."

"Yeah, but you had a good time; admit it," Evan countered mildly as he followed her inside and closed the door.

She laughed and let him drag her into the living room. "I had a good time," she allowed. "Of course, I felt a little stupid, considering I was the only person there who was dressed normally."

"I told you, V," he said with a mock sigh. "I tried to get you to dress up, too, but you said you didn't want to . . . and I gotta tell you, I'm damn sure that you'd have been the hottest fucking Columbia there."

She rolled her eyes but laughed as she gave Evan a playful shove. "There was no way, Roka . . . and Bone had to be the weirdest looking Rocky Horror I saw all night."

Evan chuckled since he had to agree. "A black Rocky Horror . . . That was _fantastic_."

Her lips twitched. "It was the blonde wig."

He laughed outright. "I thought he looked great!"

Shaking her head, Valerie covered her mouth as she giggled, like she was afraid of letting him see how amusing she really thought it was, but she finally wound down, slumping back against the arm of the sofa, her legs casually crossed at the ankles. "So how many people do you think were there?" she asked.

Evan shrugged and tugged the wig off his head. "I don't know," he mused slowly. "At least two, three thousand?"

She considered that then nodded. To be honest, she was amazed to have seen that many people gathered to see the spectacle and was even more flabbergasted when she realized that most all of them were dressed up as one character or another.

"Okay, Roka, the party's over. Go put on real clothes, will you? That's just disturbing as all hell," Valerie said, planting her hands on her hips as she shook her head at him though her smile didn't wane.

He laughed but headed for the stairs. "All right," he called back over his shoulder.

Okay, so she had to admit that she'd had fun—lots of fun. When she was in college, they'd showed the movie during an all-night party sponsored by the university, but she hadn't gone, opting instead to stay in her dormitory to study for an upcoming test in one of her classes, and while her friends at the time had raved about how much fun it had been, she had to admit now that she was kind of glad that she'd missed that original opportunity. Seeing the show with Evan and his friends for the first time? It was a hell of a lot of fun . . .

The sound of the front door opening interrupted Valerie's musings. A moment later, Madison, Bone, Bugs, and Bitches and her current girlfriend, Tess wandered into the room. Madison was laughing about something that Bone had said, but when she spotted Valerie, she hurried over to kiss her cheek. "What happened to your maid's uniform?" Valerie asked with a smile.

Madison winked at her. "I made a hot Magenta, right?"

Valerie laughed and hugged Madison. Bitches sashayed into the living room with a couple bottles of wine and a handful of glasses followed by Bugs who had apparently decided that champagne was in order.   "Sweetie, you should have dressed up, too!" she insisted, sparing a moment to let Valerie take a wine glass from her. "Zel said that he'd gotten you a Columbia costume, and oh! Your legs would have just looked divine in that . . . What a shame!"

"Is that right?" Tess asked dryly, but she winked at Valerie with a smile that showed off the deep dimples in each of her cheeks.

Valerie shook her head. "I really didn't know that everyone dressed up for that," she confessed. "I thought Zel was just blowing hot air."

"And when do I ever do that?" he demanded as he loped down the steps. At least he'd washed off the makeup, and he'd changed into a pair of ragged jeans, platinum blonde hair with black tipped ends and . . .

Valerie raised an eyebrow. ' _A . . . spiked dog collar . . .?_ '

Bugs squealed when he spotted Evan, sloshing champagne into a couple glasses and hurrying over to offer one to the rock star. Evan grinned and took the glass, gulping down half of its contents before slapping Bugs on the ass and winking when he caught Valerie's gaze. Then he grinned, setting the glass aside, and pulled Bugs away from the furniture to do the Time Warp.

She heaved a sigh and shook her head, enjoying Evan's outrageous behavior for once. Maybe it was just seeing him, having fun with his friends that was reassuring. True, he had been pretty upbeat since his arrest for mooning in the Statue of Liberty, but she had to admit that this was the first time that she'd seen him really cut loose since then, too, and that . . . It made her feel a lot better.

Madison laughed and wandered over to the music station, messing around for a few minutes, and it wasn't surprising when the song started up a moment later.

"C'mon, hussy!" Bugs called, fluttering a hand at Madison. She giggled, catching Valerie's hand and dragging her off with her. Valerie barely had time to set her wine glass down as she was dragged off to dance, and Madison's laughter echoed in the room as they lined up to dance with Evan and Bugs. Bitches and Tess grabbed Bone, too, and despite the big man's laughing protests, he let them pull him over.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Valerie realized just how silly the entire thing was: gathered in the middle of Evan's living room, dancing to a goofy movie's silly song, and yet, it somehow fit, didn't it? Evan and his friends . . . It was fun, and, she had to admit, she was glad that Evan had taken the time to teach her the dance before they'd gone to the open air showing in Central Park.

As the Time Warp ended, the music changed into something a lot heavier, a slow, throbbing rhythm.  Bugs' cell phone trilled, and he scooted off to answer it in the privacy of the kitchen while Bone pulled Madison over to dance with him, while Bitches and Tess began a very raunchy bump-and-grind that made Valerie wonder if the two of them remembered that they weren't alone. Evan grabbed her around the waist and pulled her over to dance with him. "Your cheeks are all flushed, V," he murmured, heavy lidded eyes burning with a lazy sort of intensity, his hips swaying against hers in a very lethargic, almost sinful kind of way.

She shook her head slightly, but she wasn't sure why. Swallowing hard at the very proximity of Evan's body and hers, the dizzy feeling that set in was heady and somehow entirely welcome . . .

 

 

" _'Misguided woman knows my name_ . . .  
" _'Ain't got nobody else to blame_ . . .  
" _'I got a girl back home_ . . .  
" _'She's waiting all alone_ . . . 

" _'Ten weeks of rock-n-roll arcade_ . . .  
" _'Seems like a year since I've been paid_ . . .  
" _'I've gotta let it go_ . . .  
" _'No one will ever know_ . . . 

" _'I got a little too loose in Oklahoma City_ . . .'"

 

 

Something about his voice, the husky quality, the brush of his breath on her skin . . . a terrible sense of déjà vu that was dulled by the fog that enveloped her brain . . . His nearness felt . . . _right_ . . . and that idea was both frightening and beautiful, all at the same time . . .

His movements were like water, flowing like the ocean, the gentle sway of his hips as he grasped her waist, as he coaxed her body to move in time with a delicate intoxication, a buffer of emotion that guided her. A voice whispered in the back of her mind, but she couldn't hear the words. Locked into a trance as she listened to him sing: low, hushed, mesmerizing . . .

Her heart hammered hard against her ribcage—a stark contrast to the pleasant sense of lassitude that seeped through her limbs, making her feel as though she would collapse against him, knowing deep down that he would catch her if she faltered. He uttered a low half-growl in her ear; a strange sound that somehow seemed right, too, though she didn't fully comprehend why that would be.

"Damn," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear, and he sounded almost like he was in pain.

Tightening her arms around his neck, she let her head fall back, gazing up at him in a complete haze, the dulled confusion rife in her stare. "Evan?"

He tried to smile at her; he really did. It looked more like a grimace as a ragged groan slipped from him. "Damn," he whispered again, a shiver rattling through his body. "Do you have any fucking idea how badly I want to—?"

"All right, Roka," Madison's voice broke in, "you've had her long enough."

Valerie blinked as Madison quickly pulled her away from Evan and smiled brightly at her. Glancing over Madison's shoulder at Evan, Valerie saw that he looked like he might be considering some kind of mayhem.

"He's always had the manners of a common mongrel," Madison remarked lightly.

Valerie forced her gaze away from the man in question and managed a weak laugh. "I know," she muttered, unable to staunch the flow of color that suffused her cheeks. "I . . . I know . . ."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"They like you."

Valerie blinked and glanced up from where she sat on the piano bench, idly touching the keys. "What's that?"

Evan grinned, pushing himself away from the doorframe and wandering over to the baby grand. "They like you," he stated again.

"Who does?"

Chuckling softly, he moved around to sit beside her, nudging her over with his hip. "My friends," he said simply, as though she ought to have known as much. "Bitches thinks you're 'hawt'."

"Well, of course she does," Valerie replied baldly. "I am 'hawt'. Besides, you already knew that Maddy likes me."

He laughed and played a few chords. "Well, yeah," he agreed easily enough. "And I meant the others."

She snorted, wrinkling her very cute nose in the process. "Bugs doesn't. In fact, Bugs doesn't even acknowledge that I'm a female."

He rolled his eyes though his smile didn't dim. "Bugs likes you just fine," he argued. "He just thinks you're competition."

She pinned him with a no-nonsense stare. "I gotta tell you, I just can't see myself in a competition with him for any man."

"Eh, you'd win, hands down," he assured her. "You won me, didn't you?"

She shot him a chagrined look but smiled. "You're the booby prize."

He grinned but didn't deny it. "I like boobies."

Heaving a sigh, Valerie tried to glower at him, but the effect was ruined when she giggled. "I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did. You really, really did."

"Hmm," she said, watching his fingers move over the keyboard. "Play for me, Roka."

"What do you want to hear?"

Shrugging offhandedly, she leaned on his shoulder. Evan wasn't entirely sure that she knew she was doing it, so he didn't remark upon it, either. "Make something up," she murmured. "You can do that, can't you?"

"Sure."

Taking a moment to flex his fingers, he took a minute to warm up before casting her a grin and starting to play. There wasn't really any structure to the song. More of a rambling effort that ebbed from slow to fast then back to a gentle melody once more, without words, without the need to change the simplistic patterns that emerged.

Beside him, Valerie sighed softly, her eyes closed, a gentle smile quirking her lips. He supposed that he'd be content to play for her forever, so long as she had that expression on her face.

And he would have; he really would have—if his cell phone didn't ring right about then. He ignored it the first time, but when it sounded again a minute later, he heaved a sigh of his own though for entirely different reasons, and got to his feet, striding over to grab the device off the coffee table where he'd left it before they'd gone to the open air show in Central Park. "Hello?" he answered without preamble.

"Roka? Where the hell have you been?" Mike demanded, sounding even grouchier than usual.

"I went out," he replied evasively. "Why?"

Mike sighed as Evan discerned the metallic creak of an office chair in the background. "I've tried to reach you all night, damn it." Letting out a deep breath, the manager seemed to be trying to get himself under control. "Sorry," he growled, sounding anything but contrite. "I just got worried; that's all."

"And here I didn't think you cared," Evan quipped. "So what's up?"

"It's about Mr. Matthis," Mike went on. "I was told by one of his nurses that he actually managed to walk a couple steps in therapy the other day."

"Yeah?" Evan said, eyebrows lifting as a slight grin broke over his features. "Is that right?"

"Yeah," Mike repeated. Even over the phone, Evan could hear the relief in Mike's tone.

"That's great," Evan insisted, pacing the floor in front of the coffee table. "That's fucking _huge!_ "

"Well, do me a favor, will you? Try to stay out of trouble for a little while? I'm getting damn sick of having to tell people who call and want to book you that I'm not sure if you're going to be in jail by then or not."

Evan grinned and rolled his eyes, not that Mike could see it. "Yeah, yeah," he agreed, mostly to placate his manager. "Thanks for the update."

Snapping the phone closed, Evan dropped it on the table before striding over to the French doors that overlooked the pool and back again. That Matthis was able to take even a few steps was one of the best things he'd heard in weeks, and he couldn't help the sense of giddiness that welled up inside him.

"Is everything okay, Evan?" Valerie asked from her place, perched on the piano bench.

"Hey, V, I know it's kind of late, but you want to go for a pizza or something?"

Valerie stared at him for a long moment, the confusion on her face growing more and more prevalent. "Pizza?"

He clapped his hands as he rounded to grin at her. "Oh, or maybe gyros . . . I love those things, right? Or hey! I could take you to this place I know? They serve the best— _best_ —oysters—big, fat, juicy oysters, fresh out of the water! Slightly briny from the ocean, soft and velvety on the tongue—kind of like eating pussy. 'Course, I have to admit, I'd rather have the pussy. Oh, damn, just thinking about it makes me horny as all—"

Evan blinked when Valerie slid her finger through the silver tag loop on the collar still fastened around his neck. Yanking his head down so that she was eye to eye with him, she shook her head and pinned him with the sternest look she could muster. "You're babbling, Roka," she pointed out.

He laughed but didn't try to get away from her. He hadn't even heard her stand up, to tell the truth, and not that it mattered. "That was Mike," he explained at last. "He heard that Matthis was able to take a couple steps in therapy."

"Yeah?" she asked, her gaze widening as she stared at him. "That _is_ great! Do you think Miss would want to know?"

"Maybe," he allowed.

That was all she waited to hear. Hurrying over to retrieve the phone he'd dropped, she didn't seem to realize that she was still leading Evan around by the throat. When she bent over to grab the device, though, she pulled the collar a little tighter, and he choked. "You know, V, you can drag me around all night if you want, but don't kill me," he teased.

Valerie blinked but didn't let go as she straightened her back and thrust his phone at him. "Suck it up, Roka," she commanded, a telling glint dancing in the depths of her gaze. "Just make the call, will you?"

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Freak_** **_on_** **_a_** **_Leash_** ' _originally appeared on KoRn's_ _1998_ _release,_ **_Follow_** **_the_** **_Leader_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Brian_ _Welch,_ _Jonathan_ _Davis,_ _David_ _Silvera,_ _Reginald_ _Arvizu,_ _and_ _James_ _Shaffer_.  
>  ' ** _Sweet_** **_Transvestite_** _' originally appeared_ _in_ _the_ _1975_ _movie_ _and_ _musical_ _of_ _the_ _same_ _name,_ **_The_** **_Rocky_** **_Horror_** **_Picture_** **_Show_** _and_ _was_ _performed_ _by_ _Tim_ _Curry_. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Brian_ _Welch,_ _Jonathan_ _Davis,_ _David_ _Silvera,_ _Reginald_ _Arvizu,_ _and_ _James_ _Shaffer_.  
>  ' ** _A_** **_Little_** **_Too_** **_Loose_** ' _originally appeared on Mr._ _Big's_ _1991_ _release,_ **_Lean_** **_into_** **_It_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Paul_ _Gilbert_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Miss_** :  
>  _That's great!_


	113. 112: Goodbyes

' _So kiss me and smile for me_ …  
' _Tell me that you'll wait for me_ …  
' _Hold me like you'll never let me go_ …  
' _Cuz I'm leaving on a jet plane_ …  
' _Don't know when I'll be back again_ …'

 

-' _Leaving on a Jet Plane'_ by John Denver.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Swear to me that you're going to behave yourself over the holiday, Roka, and I mean it."

"I swear that I'll try not to get into trouble over the holiday, V," he replied.

She wasn't impressed with his answer. "Oh, no. I want you to swear that you _will_ behave, not that you'll _try_ to behave."

"Mama always said never to make promises you're not positive you can keep," he told her with a grin.

"Your mama said that," Valerie repeated dubiously.

The grin on his face widened. "Well, no, but I never really listened to Cain too much."

Rolling her eyes, she plopped down on the side of the bed beside the suitcase that Evan was packing for his impending trip to Maine for Christmas. "Sweaters?" she queried, frowning as she leaned to the side to inspect the things that Evan was packing. "You wear sweaters?"

Evan chuckled. "Do you have any idea how frigging cold it is in Maine this time of year?"

"Yeah, but the idea of seeing you in sweaters is just too funny," she countered with an impish smile.

Evan reached out and tweaked the end of Valerie's nose. "You hate the cold, don't you? So why in the hell are you going skiing?"

"It's not that cold if you're moving," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but you could go skiing in Maine, too," he said. "There are some great areas up there, right? In fact, there's a pretty good spot on Cain's property. It's where I learned how to ski."

"Ah, but I'm not going to be in Maine. I'm going to be in Vermont," she reminded him. "Racing down the hills with the wind whipping through my hair—"

"Hard to do when you're wearing a ski cap."

"Feeling the invigoration of the snow and the crisp clean air—"

"That's just gas."

"Reveling in the awe of the breathtaking view as I ride the ski lift—"

"To the top of the bunny slope. Thirty second ride. Nice."

"Relaxing in front of a roaring fire at the end of the day with a warm blanket and—"

Evan snorted, heading for the closet to grab a few more things. "And a doofus named Dorkvin."

"That's right," she said, arching forward as she reached above her head and stretched. "Cuddling by the fire after a long day of skiing . . . maybe some wine, some soft music . . ." Heaving a very content sigh, Valerie looked like the cat that ate the canary. "Sounds very romantic, doesn't it?"

He chuckled and grabbed a few pairs of thick wool socks from the dresser in the walk-in closet. "Yeah, sure, except for one thing," he remarked as he strode back into the bedroom and tossed the socks into the suitcase.

"Hmm, what's that?"

"You'll be there with _Arwin_."

She grunted and tossed a neatly folded sock ball at him. "You're such a jerk," she pointed out. "Marvin is a very good man, and I'll have you know that he can be very romantic sometimes."

"I'm sure he can be," Evan replied.

She made a face at the sarcasm that was thick in his tone. "How can you not like him?" she demanded suddenly. "You don't really know him."

He stopped and stared at her, his expression as blank as he could manage. "Are you kidding me?" Shaking his head quickly, he held up a hand to stop her before she could get wound up. "Seriously, are you kidding me? You think I need to know him to know that he is a complete and utter douchebag? Come on, V."

The storm clouds were rolling in; Evan could see them forming behind the façade of those hazel eyes. "You don't know anything, Roka," she scoffed.

"The hell I don't," he shot back in a deceptively soft voice. "Fuck, woman. You were out, running around the United States with me for weeks, and you never called him—he never called you." Shaking his head, he leaned back on his heels, his gaze unfaltering as he watched her, as he tried to make sense of just what she was thinking. "Did you ever tell him? That you were with me?"

A fleeting flicker of something in her eyes just before she closed it away, too fast for him to discern it. "We don't have that kind of relationship, Evan," she said in a strangely weary kind of tone.

Dropping to his knees on the floor before her, Evan grasped her hands, willed her to look at him. The guarded expression in her eyes tore at him—an expression he hadn't seen in weeks, maybe months . . . That same old thing, the lingering remains of demons that haunted her: demons that were as real to her as anything he'd ever touched in his lifetime . . . "Then tell me, V," he implored quietly. "Tell me why you'd wait for him. What is he to you?"

She seemed surprised by his question. The reluctance in her gaze slowly dimmed, faded. He wasn't sure what she thought he was going to ask. As she let her eyes move over his face, as the slow realization that he really wasn't trying to antagonize her sank in, she shook her head so slightly that he had to wonder if she even knew that she'd done it. "He . . . He's what I need," she admitted quietly. The tone of her voice . . . she was trying to make him understand, wasn't she? Asking him to understand . . . "What I . . . I _need_ . . ."

"What you need," he repeated quietly. "Is that what you think? Do you think that life is about finding what you need and settling for it?"

Her frown was full of frustration, complete chagrin. "I'm not settling for anything," she said. "He's a good man—he's got integrity, honor, compassion . . ." Shaking her head, she gave him an imploring sort of look. "He allows me to be who I am, Evan, and maybe you don't understand what I see in him, but you don't have the right to judge him, either."

"There's a difference between allowing you to be who you are and only being around when it's convenient for him," Evan pointed out. "We're not talking about some business relationship here. We're talking about a man you say you're going to marry. Look, I'm not even saying that it has to be me, Valerie. Just not _him_."

Letting go of her hands, he pushed himself to his feet and turned away from her, rubbing his forehead as he fought to get a grip on his rioting emotions. If she'd just listen to him, but she wouldn't . . . Maybe she wasn't ready to hear what he had to say, and that was okay, wasn't it? He'd get to her eventually, somehow . . .

She didn't say anything while he finished packing. Lost in her own thoughts, she seemed to have forgotten that he was even there.

' _Maybe it's better that you're going home for Christmas. Maybe having some time apart will be good for both of you_ . . .'

He wasn't inclined to agree. It wasn't so much that they'd be apart as much as it bothered him that she'd be with _that_ guy. She didn't love him, and Evan knew that she didn't. Somehow, though, she'd managed to convince herself that she _needed_ him, which was entirely ridiculous. She needed Marvin Pinkle about as much as she needed a bullet in her brain.

And telling himself just why she felt that way didn't really help, either. It was one thing to be understanding about the whole thing. It was definitely another to convince himself time and again that he only had to be patient . . .

' _Yeah, but she'll be worth it_.'

Glancing at her where she still sat on the edge of the bed, Evan smiled a little sadly. ' _Yeah_ ,' he thought, forcing himself to turn away, to grab a couple pairs of shoes that he was planning on taking with him, ' _yeah, she is_ . . .'

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

" _Look, I'm not even saying that it has to be me, Valerie. Just not_ him."

Biting her lip as she stared at her hands, Valerie couldn't help but hear Evan's voice repeating itself over and over again in her head.

What was it about his words that had bothered her so profoundly? Easy to say that it was the same stuff she'd come to expect from him, but . . .

But it wasn't, was it?

The emotion that had darkened the color of his eyes? The understated feeling that had inflected his voice with a rawness, a harshness, that she couldn't quite credit? Something . . . something . . .

' _That's . . . That's crazy_ ,' she told herself, sounding a lot less sure of herself than she might have liked. It almost sounded like he . . .

Slamming the door on those thoughts before they could completely form in her mind, Valerie tried to shake off Evan's words before she could overanalyze them.

Still . . .

Shaking herself out of her musings, Valerie lifted her chin, only to stop short when she spotted Evan, leaning in the open doorway of the closet, his eyes bright, searching, as though he were trying to figure out just what she was thinking. That didn't give her pause, no. It was the other emotion there, the one that she couldn't place. He wasn't smiling, but he didn't have to. There was a certain friendly warmth there—a completely non-threatening sort of expression that still made her belly flop over on itself . . .

"W-Why are you staring at me like that?" she demanded, her eyes trained on his. Why didn't he look away? Why didn't he blink?

"Like what?" he asked, his voice soft, melodic, like he was in some sort of weird trance.

She swallowed hard, shook her head almost imperceptibly, struggling to make herself look away, only to find that she couldn't. "L-Like _that_ ," she said, her voice as listless as her body. Somehow he'd managed to completely disarm her without moving at all? But how?

Letting his arms drop, he pushed himself away from the frame with his shoulder as he turned away to grab something off the shelf beside him. "Don't know what you're talking about, woman," he told her, his voice muffled.

Even with his eyes off her, it took her a minute to get her senses back under control. Letting out a deep breath, she stood up, smoothing her blouse over her hips and clearing her throat almost nervously. "You look pretty busy, so I'll leave you to finish packing," she said, shaking her head, averting her gaze as she started toward the door.

"Uh, V, wait!" he called after her.

She didn't stop as she hurried down the hallway and toward the stairs. She wasn't entirely sure what had just passed between the two of them, but she was sure that she needed desperately to get out of there.

Grabbing her coat, attaché case, and purse that she'd carelessly dropped on a chair in the living room, she'd almost made it out the front door when Evan caught her arm and pulled her back. "Hold on; hold on," he told her with a warm chuckle. "Where are you going to be staying in Vermont?"

She opened her mouth to answer him then snapped it closed again as her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Why?"

"I need to know so I can send your presents out there," he explained with an entirely too-innocent expression on his face.

"Hmm, you look like hot butter wouldn't melt in your mouth, Roka. You think you're going to show up there and ruin my vacation, don't you?" she demanded.

Evan blinked and looked duly insulted. "Of course not, V! In fact, that idea hadn't occurred to me at all—damn it . . ."

She snorted. "Spare me."

"Honest!"

"Why don't you just give me the presents now?"

Evan rolled his eyes and shot Valerie a knowing look. "Because it's not Christmas yet, and you'd open them about the second you walked out the door."

"Oh, I will not!" she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest rather mulishly, mostly because she probably would do that . . . ' _No, I wouldn't_ ,' she argued to herself. ' _I'd wait till I was in the car at least_ . . .'

"And why would I give you your present when you don't seem to have one for me?" he demanded, cocking an eyebrow.

"Who says I didn't?" she countered. "Maybe I did. You don't know."

The other eyebrow lifted. "Did you?"

"I did," she replied.

He looked like he didn't rightfully believe her, and she rolled her eyes, digging into her attaché case for the smallish, long box that she'd painstakingly wrapped the night before. Decked out in burnished silver paper and festooned with iridescent ribbons, she was quite proud of the effect, especially since she'd never actually tried to wrap a present before. That's what customer service was for, wasn't it?

"Here," she said, extending the gift but refusing to let go when he tried to take it. "Ah-ah, Roka. Where's mine?"

He chuckled and heaved a sigh as he shook his head, but turned on his heel and marched off toward the Christmas tree that she'd helped him set up last week. Situated near the fireplace but not close enough to be a hazard, the huge evergreen still smelled of the forest, of the air. Pulling two gifts from under the tree, he stood up and turned around, only to find her standing right behind him. "Merry Christmas, V," he said, holding out the presents.

She smiled and handed him the gift she'd bought him. In truth, she wasn't entirely sure that he'd like it, but she'd really tried to find something special. He curled his fingers, ready to rip into it. Valerie's hand shot out to stop him. "You've got to wait until Christmas," she blurted, unable to staunch the flow of blood that exploded under her skin. She didn't want to see his face when he lied about liking the present she bought for him, and somehow, she just knew that he would . . .

He looked somewhat surprised at that. "You don't want me to open it in front of you?" he queried.

She shrugged. "A-Aren't you going to call me on Christmas?" she asked, hoping she sounded more convincing than she thought she did.

"But you're going on your 'romantic getaway' with Edwin," he reminded her, making air-quotes with his free hand to emphasize his point.

She rolled her eyes at the latest choice of names and waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, but it's Christmas."

For a moment, he looked a little exasperated, but the expression disappeared quickly enough that she had to wonder if she'd actually seen it at all. Then he smiled and nodded. "All right," he agreed, setting the present on the fireplace mantle, "but you'd better answer your phone."

Letting out a deep breath, she smiled brightly and nodded. "Be careful on your trip up to Maine," she admonished as she turned to go.

"You, too," he replied, following her through the house and to the front door again.

She sighed as she retrieved her things and reached for the door handle. Before she could open it, though, he reached out, pulled her against his chest, kissed her forehead as he hugged her tight. "Merry Christmas, V," he said softly, his lips still lingering on her skin.

She blinked at the sudden and close proximity—close enough to register the clean smell of him . . . Close enough to feel the beat of his heart against her cheek. "M-Merry Christmas, Evan," she replied, and before she could talk herself out of it or think about it too hard, she leaned against him, pushing herself up, kissing his cheek before she grabbed the handle of the door and pulled it open.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _Five . . . four . . . three . . . two_ . . .'

' _Oh, she's so going to kill you, dead_ . . .'

Evan crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the table across from the door in the foyer of his home and grinned. '. . . _One_.'

His smile didn't falter, but he did blink. ' _Odd_ . . .'

' _That_ is _odd_ ,' his youkai-voice agreed. ' _Maybe she didn't look_ —"

And then the door slammed open, smacking the wall so hard that it bounced back with just as much force. Valerie was saved from being struck, however, by an outstretched hand, and when she spotted Evan, she strode into the house once more. If she could have smitten him on the spot, she would have. As it was, her arm was a blur of motion as she wailed him on the chest instead. "You're _beyond_ a jerk!" she growled. "I should have known!"

"Something wrong, baby?" he deadpanned, holding up an arm to keep her from walloping him over the head and entirely unable to keep the idiotic grin off his face in the process.

"What the hell is this?" she demanded, smacking a large, fat paperback book against his chest.

He laughed. He couldn't help himself. "Hey! That's for Beetle Bailey!" he protested, turning his head and shielding his face when she decided that the book would be a much better weapon than her empty hand. "You weren't supposed to open his present!"

She snorted and smacked him a couple more times in quick succession. "I know," she told him, "which is why I opened it!"

"I was trying to do you a favor," he pointed out in a reasonable tone despite the laughter that was so difficult to restrain.

" _Oral Sex for Dummies?_ " she shot back. "You are so _not_ funny!"

Just hearing her say the title out loud was more than enough to make him howl with laughter. Big mistake, really, and she beat on him some more. "C'mon, V," he managed between guffaws, "I did it for you!"

"How—do—you—figure?" she demanded, smacking him between words to emphasize her point.

"You're the one who said that you've never had an orgasm!" he replied.

Unleashing a loud, frustrated growl, Valerie dropped the book on the table and glowered at him, hands on hips, a livid flush suffusing her cheeks, lending her eyes a heightened glow. "I will have you know that Marvin doesn't need that book," she informed him haughtily, her chin lifting a notch to give credence to her lie.

He straightened up though his grin didn't diminish. "Baby, if he ever ate you out, you'd have had a fucking orgasm," he told her smugly.

Her cheeks reddened even more, and she snorted indelicately. "You're disgusting," she pointed out.

"Because I eat pussy?" he countered.

"No, because you're a _jerk!_ " Glowering at him for a long moment, she suddenly smiled—a very calculated smile that amused him even more. "You know something, Roka?"

"What's that, baby?"

Rolling her eyes, she slowly shook her head. "I'm not your baby," she said in a deceptively pleasant tone of voice. Then she heaved a huge sigh, pacing the floor before him, rubbing her hands together in an idle kind of way that he recognized from her usual courtroom bravado. "I can't _wait_ to meet Marvin . . . Maybe we won't go skiing at all. Maybe we'll just spend the whole time making love in front of a fireplace, over and over and over again . . ."

He chuckled good naturedly at her pathetic attempt to irritate him. "Except you're talking about Chief Limp Dick," he reminded her. "If he can get it up more than . . . two—maybe three—times in a twenty-four hour period, I'll go without sex for a year."

"Oh, like you could do it that often, either," she scoffed.

"Oh, I could."

"You could not," she countered, "and even if you could, it wouldn't matter. Everyone knows that pretty boys like you are the most selfish lovers on earth."

His grin widened. "You think I'm pretty?"

Snorting at the hopeful tone in his voice, she shook her head. "You have trouble focusing, don't you, Roka?"

Reaching out, he grabbed her hand, tugged her toward him, drawing her into his arms, flush against his chest. She gasped softly, blinking as she met his gaze, as she was caught as quickly, as easily as a breath, as a gust of wind. He didn't look away as he turned her, maneuvered her, pinned her against the wall. "I'd be happy to show you how many times I can get it up in twenty-four hours," he rumbled.

"E-Evan . . ."

He wasn't sure if she was asking him to let her go or inviting him. The bemusement in her gaze was thick, her lips quivering as she drew a stuttering breath. So close that he could see the erratic pulse fluttering in her throat, it was all he could do not to kiss her. "Yes, V?"

"I-I . . ."

"Just say the word, V, and I'll be yours forever," he murmured as he leaned in, as he rubbed his cheek against hers.

"And . . . what's your idea . . . of forever . . .?" she breathed, her eyes fluttering closed, her body soft, acquiescent in his arms.

"Whatever you want it to be," he said.

Her answer was a sharp inhalation, a long, gentle sigh. Head falling to the side, she didn't fight him at all when his lips dropped to the uneven pulse in her throat. The salty balm of her skin was a jolt to his senses as the richness of her scent permeated every last corner of his mind. When he flicked out his tongue to taste her, she moaned quietly, her body shuddering against his, her hands rising to clutch his shoulders.

He was balancing on the very precipice between reason and desire, and the slightest thing might well send him careening right over that edge.

Suddenly, though, Valerie pushed at him, bracing herself against the wall, shoving at his shoulders. When he finally managed to step back, she refused to meet his gaze, her eyes carefully trained to the side on the floor. Cheeks still flushed, an air of confusion hanging around her, she wrapped her arms over her stomach in a purely protective kind of way.

A slow and steady sense of regret began to gnaw at his gut. He couldn't resist her, damn it . . . The invisible draw was just too strong. "V . . ."

Uttering a terse laugh that sounded somehow sadder than it should have, Valerie tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear and pushed herself away from the wall. "Have a nice vacation, Evan," she said, her voice huskier than normal, a little shaky. "I, uh . . . I need to get going . . ."

Words seemed to be beyond him as he watched her hurry past him, as she fumbled with the door handle, and though she seemed serene enough on the outside, he could sense the rawness of her nerves, could see the slight tremor in her hands.

Before she slipped out the door, however, she stopped, turning slightly, managing a weak smile. "I'll . . . I'll see you after the holidays," she said. "Goodbye."

Letting out a deep breath as the door clicked softly behind her, Evan slumped against the wall and closed his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Leaving_** **_on_** **_a_** **_Jet_** **_Plane_** ' _originally appeared on Peter, Paul, and Mary's_ _1967_ _release,_ **_Album_** **_1700_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _John_ _Deutschendorf,_ _Jr_ _(aka_ _John_ _Denver)_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Oral Sex for Dummies …?_


	114. 113: Broken Promises

' _You say your faith is shaken_ …  
' _You may be mistaken_ …  
' _You keep me wide awake and_ …  
' _Waiting for the sun_ …  
' _I'm desperate and confused_ …  
' _So far away from you_ …  
' _I'm getting near_ …  
' _I don't care where I have to run_ …'

 

-' _Misery'_ by Maroon 5.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Closing the front door of her apartment quietly, Valerie collapsed against it with a sigh.

She was still shaking.

The feel of Evan's lips still lingered on her skin, an inebriating feeling, the likes of which she couldn't recall having ever felt before. What was it about him . . .?

' _Don't answer that_.'

Yeah, she probably was better off not answering that question, wasn't she?

Burying her face in her hands, she heaved a stuttering, ragged breath.

It was easy to try to tell herself that it was all a game to him, but that wasn't really it. No, the longer she spent around him, the more she came to understand that he really did think that he was serious, and maybe he was. Maybe he was.

It wasn't his sincerity that she doubted. It was his idea of 'forever' that did it.

" _Whatever you want it to be_ . . ."

Okay, so there was a certain level of attraction. How could it possibly be otherwise when the man was drop-dead gorgeous? If she wanted to be completely honest with herself, she'd have to admit that she'd never, ever met any man who made her feel quite the way that Evan Zelig did. Unfortunately, she also knew that attraction alone wasn't nearly enough to base a relationship upon. Those kinds of emotions were transient, weren't they? And what would be left when that had faded?

Her hands dropped away as his words ran through her head. That was the problem, wasn't it? It shouldn't ever be what one person wanted, should it? For her to take that kind of chance, that kind of promise was just too vague. Evan . . . Even if he believed what he said right now, what would he think in six months? A year? That kind of existence, worrying day by day if she was going to wake up, only to find that she was alone again . . . She couldn't do that. She didn't want that.

No, she wanted what Marvin offered her—the security, the knowledge that she wasn't going to lose herself in him, that she could be his partner in every sense of the word. She'd never be left behind with Marvin; she'd never end up lost in a world where she couldn't compete. Evan was a great guy, maybe a little misguided at times, and even though he had a tendency to act before he thought things through, his heart was in the right place.

But that wasn't enough, was it? Good intentions always led to regrets, and the truth of it was, Valerie didn't ever want to regret her friendship with Evan, even if friendship was the best that she could offer him. She'd rather have that than to end up with nothing at all . . .

Pushing herself away from the door, she walked over to check the locks on the suitcase she'd already packed. As soon as Marvin's flight arrived, they'd be leaving straight from the airport for the lodge in Vermont that she'd already booked.

Maybe this was really what she needed. Maybe Evan was right about one thing: that Marvin's extended absences were harder on her than she'd thought. After all, it was easy to forget things when she wasn't faced with them every day. No, this getaway would be a perfect reminder, wouldn't it?

Grabbing her attaché case off the floor where she'd let it drop from her grip when she'd walked into her apartment, she strode purposefully over to the desk and set it down. The gift that Evan had given her was inside, and she pulled it out, turned it over in her hands. She hadn't opened that one. Once she had gotten into her car and looked at them, she'd realized that he'd actually bought a present for Marvin, and her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

And she sighed. _Oral Sex for Dummies_. . .?That man was as bent and twisted as they came . . .

Biting her lip, Valerie tamped down the curiosity that gnawed at her. She'd promised that she wouldn't open it until Christmas day, and she meant to keep that promise, even if it killed her, which it might.

Turning on her heel, she headed toward the suitcase near the door, grabbing it and carrying it over to the sofa. Pressing her thumbs against the identilocks that secured it, she waited for the soft beep that signaled that the locks had been released. Placing the gift atop a stack of sweaters that she'd packed for the trip, she smiled at the bright red and green ribbons, pulling one straight and letting it go, watching as it sprang back into place again. Then she carefully closed the lid again and secured the locks once more.

The phone rang just as she finished, cutting through the silence of the living room, and Valerie reached over the back of the sofa to grab the handset and click it on. "Hello?"

The sounds of general chaos in the background, and then the welcome warmth of Marvin's voice. "Hey, Val," he greeted. "I'm glad I caught you."

"You're still at the airport?" she asked, frowning as the sounds in the background registered.

Marvin sighed, all traces of his initial upbeat mood dissipating. "We're getting hit with a blizzard. It hadn't started to snow when I got here, so I was hoping that I'd beat it out of here, but it got really bad, really fast. They've grounded all flights into and out of O'Hare," he said. "It doesn't sound like they're going to allow any air traffic for a while. Projections are for the storm to last at least three or four days, and then who knows how long it'll take for them to dig out the runways . . ."

"Oh," Valerie said, struggling to keep her disappointment out of her tone. It wasn't his fault after all, and the last thing she wanted to do was to make him feel bad for something that he couldn't control.

"I've been looking into trying to rent a car. I just wanted to call you first," he went on hurriedly.

"No, Marvin, don't do that," she hurried to say. "The roads have got to be ten times worse, and if you got into an accident or something just to spend Christmas with me, I'd never forgive myself."

He sighed. "I was really looking forward to seeing you," he admitted ruefully. "I'm so sorry, Val."

"Don't be," she said sternly. "I'll be fine. Just go find a hotel and relax, okay?"

"Why don't you go on up to Vermont?" he suggested. "No reason why you can't have fun without me."

"Uh, no," she said, rubbing her forehead in a weary kind of way as she sighed. "I-It's okay. I'll just stay here and catch up on some work or something."

Marvin sighed, too. "N-No . . ." he drawled. "It's Christmas. You should be out, having fun . . . Hey!"

Blinking at his sudden exclamation, Valerie shook her head. "What's that?"

"What about Madison?" he suggested.

Valerie made a face. "She's out of town," she replied. "It's okay . . ."

Marvin didn't give up, and a minute later, he made another suggestion. "What about your friend, Evan? You said he invited you to go to Maine with him, right?"

"Uh . . . well, yeah . . . but . . ."

"Why don't you go with him? It'd make me feel a lot better if you weren't stuck there by yourself," he said.

Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Valerie frowned. "Oh . . . He might already be gone," she muttered.

"Yeah, but you could give him a call. Maybe he isn't, and it'd be fun, right?"

Wincing as the memory of Evan's lips on her throat came back to her in an entirely too vividly, and she shivered, her fingertips rubbing the spot where she could still feel the warmth of his lips . . . "We'll see," she said.

"I'm really sorry, Val," he stated once more.

She smiled a little sadly. "Don't apologize," she told him sternly. "Go get a hotel room, and have a nice dinner, okay?"

"I'll give you a call after I get to the hotel," he said. "I really wanted to go skiing with you."

"I know," she demurred, a gentle smile touching her lips. "I did, too."

The line went dead, and Valerie sighed again as she clicked off the receiver and set it on the coffee table.

Okay, so, it was quite a letdown. She'd known, of course, that she was looking forward to her vacation, and sure, she could go alone, but . . .

She wrinkled her nose. Watching a bunch of twenty-something couples, spending their holiday together on the slopes? No, she didn't think that she wanted to do that; not really.

' _Oh, stop it_ ,' she chided herself sternly as she stood up and headed down the hallway toward her bedroom to change into something more casual. ' _It's not like I've never spent the holidays alone before_.'

Her senior year of college, and the years afterward . . . Even after she'd met Marvin, there were a few years when she'd spend her holidays alone, especially after the Dennings had passed away. Marvin had set out to garner support for his research, spent all his time out of school trying to get his presentations in order, trying to set up times when he could start networking for his cause . . .

In fact, it had only been since they both finished graduate school that they were able to start spending holidays together. It hadn't bothered her before, had it? Spending her time at school with her nose buried in one report or another project . . . It had been a means to her ends: to excel, to become a damn fine attorney . . . Those things she had sacrificed hadn't seemed like such a huge deal then.

She sighed. She'd arranged to take time off from work—vacation time that she rarely used. It wouldn't be a big deal for her to just cancel it and get some stuff out of the way, she supposed. It beat the idea of sitting around alone in her apartment for the next two weeks since she wasn't supposed to return to the office until after New Year's Day. Besides, maybe Marvin and she could find another time to take a vacation later . . .

For some reason, the idea that he'd suggested—calling Evan to see if he'd already left for Maine . . .

It didn't occur to her again.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Rapping his knuckles against the door, Evan stood back to wait as he tapped Valerie's cell phone against the palm of his hand.

He'd stopped by her apartment before heading out of the city just to drop off the device, figuring that she'd already left for the airport to pick up that little dork, but the security guard had told him that Valerie hadn't actually left yet.

A minute later, Valerie opened the door, her eyes widening as she stared at him as though he was the last person she expected to find standing there. Jeans and a soft, bulky pink sweater . . . Damned if she didn't look good . . . "Evan?"

He grinned and held out her phone. "You forgot this," he told her.

"I thought you'd already left."

Shrugging offhandedly, he shot her an easy grin. "Had to drop off the dogs at the townhouse, and figured I'd bring this over before I left."

She blinked, looking sidetracked at what he'd said. "Dropped off the dogs? Why?"

Evan chuckled. "He's bringing them up in his SUV," he said simply. "Can't very well get Munchies' fat ass into the Dellavin, now can I?"

Valerie snorted and rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest, tucking the cell phone he'd handed her under her arm. "I'm surprised you can fit _your_ fat ass into the Dellavin," she scoffed. "Thanks."

"I don't have a fat ass!" he countered, mock indignation thick in his tone. "Do I?"

She stared at him with a completely blank expression for a few minutes, then suddenly, she laughed. "You're so messed up," she muttered, letting her arms drop as she turned away from the open doorway and shuffled into her apartment.

"So when you going after Dunstin?" Evan asked, following her inside and closing the door behind himself.

He blinked when she stopped abruptly, as her back stiffened, as an air of guardedness shot up around her. For a minute, he didn't think she was going to say anything, but she finally sighed, whipping around to face him, a very bright smile on her face—an unnatural smile—a smile that was hiding something. "He called," she said, her tone matching the smile on her face. "He's snowed in. They've grounded all the flights into and out of the airports in Chicago."

Squelching the instant and intense anger that flared to life, Evan shook his head, forced a smile of his own. "Damn . . . That sucks, V. You sure he can't get out of there?"

Her smile faltered slightly, only to return to the same intensity.   "It's a huge blizzard, Roka. I imagine it's all over the news."

He nodded slowly. "Actually, it's about three of them, all hitting within twelve hours of each other—if you believe the forecasts, that is," he said.

She made a face as she tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. "Even if he could get a flight out, I'd be worried the whole time," she admitted. "Anyway, what can you do, right?"

Clearing his throat, Evan shifted slightly. "You going skiing anyway?"

As though the fake smile was just too much for her to maintain, it finally died away, and she shrugged as her bravado failed her. "Uh, no . . . I figured I'd just work on some cases—that sort of thing."

Nodding slowly, Evan shuffled his feet, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops as he stared at the floor. "Or . . . you could, uh . . . You could come with me to Maine."

"Oh, I don't—"

Evan grinned almost shyly at her, grabbed her hand before she could turn away, before she could bolster her waning resolve. "Come on, V. I swear to God you'll have the time of your life . . . eggnog . . . presents . . . silly Christmas carols . . ."

She wrinkled her nose. "And your family," she added with a shake of her head. "I'll feel like a fish out of water."

"You won't," Evan insisted. "Mama's got this way of making everyone feel at home, I swear . . . Besides, you've already arranged to have the time off work, right?"

He was starting to convince her; he could see it in her eyes. Stubborn pride was the only thing standing between her and Maine, and he knew it. "And your mother wouldn't be irritated that you'd show up with someone in tow that she didn't expect?"

"Mama? Hell, no," he scoffed, casting her a winning smile. "She'll welcome you with open arms. You've met her. You know she will."

She still didn't look convinced. If anything, she looked even more dubious than she did before. Evan held up a hand when she opened her mouth to argue with him. "It'll be fun; I swear," he promised her. "We can make snowmen and have snowball fights . . . make snow angels . . . I'll take you for a sleigh ride . . . We can drink hot cocoa by the fire when you get cold and eat Christmas cookies till your tummy hurts . . ."

She finally cracked a wan little smile. It was enough to encourage him. "I'll even take you to the old lighthouse. It's on this cliff, you see—miles above the ocean." He laughed. "Okay, not _miles_ ," he relented, "but the view is spectacular. You can see so far out over the water, right? And at night, there are all these stars, close enough for you to touch them; I swear it." Casting her a sidelong glance, he blushed slightly, but his smile widened. "If you want, I'll even pluck one out of the sky for you."

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head but laughed softly. "You think you can?"

Running the back of his knuckles along her jawline, he chuckled. "For you, V? I could do anything."

She stared at him for a few seconds, blissful heartbeats full of wonder, full of breathless anticipation. "I don't know, Evan . . ."

"Come on, V. It's Christmas," he coaxed.

Biting her lip, she looked as though she were trying to make up her mind. Finally, though, she smiled. "If you're sure that I won't be a burden . . ."

"Never, V," he replied, a brilliant grin surfacing on his features as he grasped her hand and started to tug her toward the door.

"W-Wait! I need to pack! I only packed for skiing, and—"

He laughed and grabbed her suitcase with his free hand. "It's cold in Maine," he reminded her. "I'm sure that whatever you packed will be fine . . . and if it's not, then I'll buy you whatever you need."

She sighed. "You throw around money much too freely," she chided but let him tug her toward the door. "You really shouldn't do that."

He paused long enough for her to grab her purse and slip on her shoes. "It's my money, V, and I'll spend it however I want to."

She smiled rather bashfully before hurrying back toward the door again. Evan grabbed her coat and shook it open. "Thanks," she said as she shoved her arms into the sleeves.

He raised an eyebrow when she turned around to look at him. "You ready?"

She drew a deep breath and let it out in a gust of air, pinning him with a sidelong stare, a coy little smile toying with the corners of her lips. "And you're sure that I'll have fun?"

He chuckled. "I guarantee it."

Eyeing her a few more seconds, she finally nodded as she pulled the garment bag off the rack beside the door and slung it over her arm. "Okay," she agreed at length. "But I'm going to hold you to that."

Evan laughed, suddenly feeling as though he'd just won the lottery. "Absolutely, V," he promised. "Abso-fucking-lutely."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Misery_** ' _is_ _set_ _to_ _appear_ _on_ _Maroon_ _5's_ _2010_ _release,_ **_Hands_** **_All_** **_Over_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Adam_ _Levine,_ _Jesse_ _Carmichael,_ _and_ _Sam_ _Farrar_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Maine,_ _huh_ …


	115. 114: December in Maine

' _Took this love and I took it down_ …  
' _Climbed a mountain and I turned around_ …  
' _And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills_ …  
' _Till the landslide brought me down_ …'

 

-' _Landslide'_ by Fleetwood Mac.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"What about my suitcase, Roka?" Valerie asked as Evan tugged her along behind him up the neatly shoveled walkway that led to the front porch of what she could only describe as the Zelig mansion.

Evan laughed and kept moving. "I'll get it in a bit," he promised. "Stop trying to procrastinate."

"I'm not," she argued hotly. Well, she was, but he didn't need to know that. For some reason, the looming edifice was intimidating, and she'd very nearly told him to turn around and take her to a hotel when it finally came into view. Good God, this place? If Evan's house on Long Island was a mansion, then this place—the place he'd grown up in and called 'home'—it was a damned mausoleum . . .

"Okay, you're not," he agreed a little too amiably.

"This place is larger than a lot of apartment projects in the city," she complained as he marched her up the wide stone steps. "How many families live here?"

"Just one," he told her with a wink. "Oh, damn, I can smell dinner all the way out here . . ."

Valerie rolled her eyes since that was entirely impossible. "You can't be hungry, even if you could smell it," she informed him. "How much junk food did you eat on the trip here?"

"I'm a growing boy," he challenged. "Not my fault."

She snorted. "You stopped at every fast food place we passed," she pointed out.

He grinned, mostly because she wasn't too far off the mark. "Growing boy," he stated once more. "You having fun so far?"

Rolling her eyes since all they'd done was turn an eight hour trip into one that had taken about ten hours just because of his frequent stops, Valerie giggled. During the time they'd spent in the car, okay, yes, she'd had fun. It was hard not to when he'd done nothing but sing Christmas carols all the way—Christmas carols with very, very twisted lyrics, anyway . . . "I suppose," she allowed with a nonchalant little shrug.

He looked like the kid who had just won the new bike in the school raffle. "You're going to have a great time," he insisted as he tugged her over to the door. Reaching for the massive brass door handle, he stopped suddenly and glanced at her almost sheepishly. "Oh, yeah . . . Mama still thinks you're my girlfriend, so . . ."

"What?" she blurted as a wash of color slammed into her cheeks.

"My girlfriend," he reiterated.

Grabbing the front of his shirt in both hands, she yanked him around to face her. "What do you mean, she thinks I'm your girlfriend?" she demanded. "You didn't tell her that we'd broken up or something?"

His grin widened as his hands came to rest on her hips . "Well, see, she really likes you, and—"

He didn't get a chance to finish that. The door opened, and Valerie blinked when she came face to face with the very diminutive Gin Zelig. The woman laughed happily and stepped back to invite them inside. "Now, you two shouldn't be standing outside, kissing on the porch," she chided, her cheeks pinking at her perceived interruption.

Valerie gasped, yanking her hands away from Evan's shirt, her own cheeks heating almost painfully at the cinch that Gin had witnessed. "Uh . . ."

"Hey, Mama," Evan greeted warmly, stepping over to hug his mother and plant a very loud, very obnoxious kiss on her. "You remember V, right?"

"Of course I do!" Gin insisted, shooing Evan out of the way so that she could properly greet Valerie, who only blinked and stood still as the smaller woman hugged her and gave her hands a quick squeeze. "I'm so glad that Evan talked you into coming! Your trip was good, right?"

"Oh, uh, y-yes," Valerie stammered, taken aback by the warm welcome she'd received.

Gin positively beamed at her. "So, tell me! Has my baby been behaving himself?"

"Now, Mama, we just got here, and we've been traveling all day . . . Don't you have food to offer us or something?" Evan cut in before Valerie could throw him under the proverbial bus.

Valerie slipped him a sidelong look. She hadn't missed what he was doing; not at all.

Gin, however, seemed to be easily enough sidetracked. "Oh! Oh, I'm sorry!" she said, bowing low a couple of times as her cheeks reddened. "Where are my manners?"

"Evan, you aren't really picking on your mother, are you?"

Head pivoting to meet the rather bland gaze of his father who stood, lounging in a nearby doorway, Evan grinned when he spotted Cain. "Absolutely not," he drawled.

Cain eyed him for a long moment before casually shoving himself away from the frame and ambling over to his tiny wife. "Evan knows where the kitchen is, baby girl," he told her as he slipped an arm around her waist, effectively putting a stop to her show of contrition. "Miss Denning, nice to see you again."

"Thanks for having me," she said, frowning slightly at the tension that she could feel, hanging in the air between father and son.

"Oh, I'll make up plates for you two," Gin volunteered as she hurried toward the high arched doorway.

Evan spared a moment to cast Cain a very bright grin as he dug his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to his father. "You mind bringing in our luggage, Cain?"

Valerie blinked when Cain actually broke into a little smile. "Sure, Evan," he replied. "No problem . . . and it's 'Dad'."

Evan nodded and held up a hand to indicate that he'd heard his father as he escorted Valerie out of the foyer and through the living room toward the kitchen.

"I don't suppose you brought me any peanut butter cups?" Gin asked hopefully as she led the way.

Evan laughed and tugged on Valerie's hand to move her along a little faster. "I might've," Evan drawled. "I might've . . ."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie slowly looked around the room, her eyes unblinking as she took in the childish décor that surrounded her. Standing in the doorway, Evan crossed his arms over his chest and smiled to himself.

Gin had been beside herself, apologizing a number of times because she hadn't gotten a room ready for Valerie. That was his fault, and he'd told her so. He'd explained that he was so happy that Valerie had decided to come with him after all that he hadn't thought to call his mother to let her know ahead of time. Cain was the one who had solved that problem, telling Gin that he was sure that it wouldn't be an issue to let her stay in Evan's old room upstairs since she always kept her children's rooms ready, just in case they should happen to stop by, and while Evan's bedroom had been moved to the basement long ago, she had always kept his childhood room exactly as he had it when he had still lived upstairs.

That was the room that she was currently inspecting.

Valerie pulled out a pair of onesie footy-pajamas: white fleece with the Power Puppies logo all over it. Evan's grin widened. "Oh, my God," she breathed, shaking out the pajamas and holding them up for her inspection. "Did these actually fit you?"

He laughed, rubbing his chin idly as he offered a vague shrug. "Of course they did," he ventured. "Those used to be my favorite PJs. I think I was around . . . four? Five?"

She giggled, lifting the pajamas to her nose and inhaling deeply. "Smells nice," she said, a dreamy little smile lighting the depths of her eyes.

Evan chuckled. "It's called 'Downy', V," he teased.

Ignoring his rather bald commentary, Valerie closed her eyes as she smelled the sleeper again. "I can't picture you this little," she admitted, shaking her head as she continued to stare at the tiny fleece outfit.

Evan grinned, striding over to the closet. "Oh, well, if you think that's little," he remarked, pushing the closet open, looking for the small, pastel blue garment bag that he knew was hanging in the back. He found it, sparing a moment to grin at the tiny white leather soft shoes that were carefully bagged and hanging from a loop around the blue satin covered hanger. Then he tugged the zipper and pulled the tiny sailor's outfit out of the bag. "What do you think, V? Totally 'me', right?"

Valerie blinked, her expression blank as she stared at the suit on the tiny baby hanger. A wide wooden hanger with the name 'Evan' painted on in Gin's careful script in rust-colored paint in the midst of sprays of tiny blue wildflowers and scrawling vines . . . Bas had a hanger that looked like that, too, as did Jillian though her name was written in pink.

"Oh . . . my God . . ." she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "That is the cutest thing I've ever seen . . . You fit in that?"

Chuckling at the absolute incredulity in her tone, Evan shrugged and let her take the outfit, out of his hand. "Yeah, well, you've seen Mama, right? I had to be tiny to come out of her, don't you think? Anyway, this is the outfit I wore home from the hospital, she said."

Valerie shook her head without taking her eyes off the little sailor suit, holding it gently, as though she were holding something so delicate that she was afraid it might crumble to dust if she weren't careful. "So cute," she murmured, her smile widening as a soft giggle escaped her. Then she sighed and shook her head. "I still can't picture you in that," she admitted.

"Remind me tomorrow, and I'll show you the picture," he said. "It's hanging in Mama and Cain's studio."

She still looked dubious at best, but she handed over the garment bag and watched him put it away.

Running her fingertips along the shelf above the bed where all of Evan's Power Puppy figurines stood, she took her time, looking them over as she continued her perusal of the room. "Did you play with these?" she asked at length.

"Those? Yeah, all the time," he said. "I loved those things."

The look she shot him was entirely amused even though she didn't smile. "So you were just a normal kid," she concluded. "The biggest rock star on the planet played with Power Puppy figurines, just like any other child."

"I know; I know. Kind of a letdown, right?"

Crossing her arms over her chest as she gazed at the Power Puppy murals that were so carefully painted on the walls, Valerie finally grinned. "Actually, I thought it was kind of reassuring," she said with a shrug. "I didn't know they made this many different ones, though."

"Well, some of them came from Japan," he told her. "My brother-in-law sent me quite a few omake."

"Omake?"

He nodded. "Think of them like the prizes in a box of Cracker Jack . . . or a Happy Meal . . . or a box of cereal. Same idea, roughly."

She nodded slowly then shot him a quizzical glance. "Your brother-in-law?"

He couldn't help but chuckle. "You met him in Hawaii," he explained.

She still looked confused. "I did?"

"Yeah . . . Remember? Kichiro and Bella?"

"Those two? But they're not that much older than you are," she scoffed. Sure, she remembered them. She also knew damn well that there was just no way that they were that much older than Evan was. They couldn't possibly be, could they . . .?

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. Of course it was possible. Just look at the man's parents, for God's sake. Neither Cain nor Gin looked like they were old enough to have a thirty-two year old son, now did they? And she knew that Bas was older than Evan, too. ' _The beautiful people_ . . .' she thought with an inward snort. Just what was it with this family?

Then she smiled despite her strange thoughts. What did it matter, really? After all, they were good enough to allow her into their home at what should be an intensely personal family time of year, weren't they? So far, Valerie had been amazed at their warmth, the understated and unquestioning welcome that they'd extended to her. It wasn't just the fabulous decorations that seemed to drape every inch of the mansion—at least, that she'd seen so far. There was an elegance that was somehow warm and intrinsically inviting in all of the ornamentation, in all of the whimsy of the season.

The other thing that amazed Valerie? As large as the mansion was, as rich as the family was rumored to be, the Zeligs did not employ any kind of household domestic staff—no maids, no cooks, nothing.   There was a large stable off to the left of the huge mansion, but Evan said that was a recent addition, and as far as she knew, Evan had mentioned that there was a guy who came in every day to look after the horses, and he seemed to be the only actual employee on the vast estate.

In short, they were as down to earth as anyone that Valerie had ever met before, and maybe that was why Evan didn't have a legion of people to wait on him, too—because, though he'd been raised with money, he had never been spoiled by it. He didn't have a personal assistant, and he didn't have staff to cater to him, either. He had a maid that came in a couple or a few times a week to do the general cleaning, but she knew from experience that Evan did his own cooking, and gladly. He probably had someone come in to take care of the yard, but that wasn't really surprising, either, given his schedule, and that was okay. Some people were just not meant to do the yard work, and Valerie was one of those people, too . . .

"I'll take you on the full tour tomorrow," Evan promised, grinning widely when Valerie yawned.

Blinking away the residual tears, she couldn't help the glance she shot the bed that should have been a little too large for a toddler or a small child. "I'm not sleepy," she lied. For some reason, she felt like she might miss something if she went to bed, not that it made any sense to her.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock struck the hour: midnight. "Yeah, you are," he countered with a soft chuckle. "Get some sleep, okay? Unless, of course, you want to come downstairs and sleep in the big boy's bed."

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. "Don't be a jerk, Roka," she retorted, her cheeks pinking at the mere suggestion.

"You know, it's not like Mama would say anything about it," he went on, ignoring her admonishment with ease. "She let Jilli sleep with Gavin for years."

That earned him a dubious look. "No way," she argued, crossing her arms over her chest.

Evan chuckled. "Way," he insisted. "Jilli knew early that she was going to marry him one day."

Valerie snorted but smiled at the decidedly romantic idea of knowing such a thing as a child. "I'm sure you're exaggerating," she scoffed as she grasped her suitcase and hefted it onto the bed.

"Totally not," he said. "You need help changing?"

She tossed a pillow at him. "No, I don't."

"Okay, okay," he relented. "If you're sure . . ."

"Positive," she assured him, stepping behind him and bracing both hands against his back to propel him toward the door. "Goodnight, Roka."

"If you need anything, my room's the door at the bottom of the stairs."

"I'm sure I can manage just fine," she told him as she shoved him over the threshold.

He heaved a sigh designed to let her know just what he thought of the unceremonious ousting, but she heard him chuckle as she closed the door, and then she heard him shuffle off down the hallway toward the stairs.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Come in," Evan called, not looking up from unpacking the suitcase.

Very quietly, the door opened, and Evan glanced over just in time to see his mother peek around the edge and smile impishly at him. "I thought you might be sleeping," she admitted.

"Hey, Mama. How's my best girl?"

Her smile widened, and she hurried into the room, stopping next to him to hug him tight before shooing him away from the suitcase before digging out a stack of clothing and moving off to put it in the dresser. "I'm so glad you talked Valerie into coming with you!" she said, sparing a moment to smile over her shoulder at him.

"I am, too," he said, returning Gin's smile with one of his own.

"I really missed you at Thanksgiving," she went on, lifting another stack of clothes and stepping over to the dresser once more. "It just wasn't the same without you."

"Thanks for the food," he told her, plopping on the edge of the bed and leaning down to tug off his shoes. "It was fantastic."

Gin giggled and kissed his cheek before heading over to put away the last of his clothing. "It was the least I could do," she assured him. "Anyway, your brother should be here sometime tomorrow, and Jillian said that she'd be here the day after that . . . I'll have all of you home for Christmas! It's so exciting!"

Evan chuckled. He wasn't exactly inclined to agree, but seeing his mother was well worth the bother of dealing with his brother and his father, as far as he was concerned. "Anything for you, Mama."

She smiled brightly, but she went strangely quiet for several moments, and Evan had the feeling that there was something she wanted to ask. He didn't have to wait long to find out. "So, tell me, sweetie . . . Valerie . . . is she your mate?"

For some reason, that question brought a bright smile to Evan's face. "Maybe," he drawled, meeting his mother's gaze out of the corner of his eye.

"Maybe?" she repeated, her eyebrows rising.

Evan's smile widened. "I'd like for her to be," he admitted. It felt good to say it out loud, didn't it?

Gin's smile was positively brilliant. "I'm so happy for you, sweetie!" she said, clapping her hands and throwing her arms around him.

He chuckled. "It's not a done deal yet, Mama," he warned. "There're still a few things that we need to work out."

Waving a hand dismissively, Gin settled on the bed beside him, clasping his hand in hers. "Don't be silly, Evan! If she's your mate, then that's all there is too it!"

He sighed, wishing that it was as simple as she made it sound, but he didn't argue with her, either. "Absolutely."

Gin smiled, her optimism very apparent as she gazed at him. "She's really pretty," she said, leaning toward him, lowering her voice as though she were telling him a secret.

"Almost as pretty as you," he quipped.

Gin giggled but rolled her eyes, flicking her wrist to dismiss his claim. "She's much prettier than I am," Gin insisted.

"No way," he argued, kissing Gin's forehead. "You've always been the most gorgeous woman on earth to me."

She still didn't look like she believed him. "You'd better think your mate is the prettiest woman alive," she chided.

Evan laughed but didn't argue with her.

Suddenly, though, Gin's laughter died away, and she shifted slightly, almost nervously. Evan blinked at the abrupt change in mood—very unlike his mother. "Something wrong, Mama?"

Wrinkling her nose, she shot him a decidedly nervous glance. "Oh, it's nothing . . . I just . . ."

"Just?" he prompted when she trailed off.

She bit her lip, her ears flattening out to the sides for a moment. "I . . . I just wondered how that girl—Violca . . . Is she okay?"

Evan blinked. To be honest, he'd forgotten about the gypsy girl he'd sent to live with Gin and Cain months ago as well as the strange altercation that had led to Gin's moving out of the mansion for awhile . . . "Uh . . . she's fine," he assured her. "You . . . wanna tell me why you moved in with Bubby for a while?"

She shot him a distinctly nervous kind of glance. "Th-That's long past," she said in a high, twittering, nervous tone. "It wasn't important."

"Yeah, but if it wasn't important, then you wouldn't have moved out," he told her.

Gin waved a hand to brush away the conversation. "It's fine, Evan. Just fine."

He thought it over, staring at his mother with a frown on his face. Her normally happy demeanor was strained, stressed, and he grimaced. "Did Violca do something?" he asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

Gin shot him another almost nervous glance, but before she could answer, the bedroom door opened, and Cain leaned into the room. "Baby girl, are you about ready for bed?" he asked. When he saw the look on Gin's face, though, he frowned. "What's wrong?"

Evan narrowed his eyes on his father. "I don't know, Cain. You tell me."

"It's nothing; it's nothing!" Gin insisted, scrambling to her feet and hurriedly kissing Evan on the cheek. "Let's go to bed, Zelig-sensei," she said, her bright tone back in place once more. Evan blinked and stared. If he hadn't seen the change for himself, he might well have believed her, too.

Cain didn't look entirely convinced, but he let Gin tug him out of the room. "Night, Evan," he called over his shoulder.

"Night," Evan replied as the door closed behind his parents.

Well, now, that was even more bizarre, wasn't it?

Staring at the closed door for several moments, he idly scratched his chin. Judging from his mother's behavior as well as her line of questioning, there was very little doubt in his mind as to whom, exactly, had caused the altercation between his parents, and considering he was all too familiar with Violca's habits, he figured that whatever it was, it couldn't have possibly been good . . .

In any case, he had a few days to try to figure it out . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Landslide_** ' _originally appeared on Fleetwood Mac's_ _1975_ _release,_ **_Fleetwood_** **_Mac_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Stevie_ _Nicks_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _It's_ _a_ _damn_ _mausoleum_ …


	116. 115: Abominable Snow-Cain

' _Strange days have found us_ …  
' _Strange days have tracked us down_ …  
' _They're going to destroy our casual joys_ …  
' _We shall go on playing or find a new town, yeah_ …'

 

-' _Strange_ _Days'_ by The Doors.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"' _Sleigh bells ring, are you listenin'_. . .?  
' _Between her legs, her lips are glistenin'_ . . .  
' _A beautiful sight, she's pantin' tonight_ . . .  
' _Shot my load in coochie wonderla-a-and_ . . .'"

 

 

Rolling her eyes, Valerie scooped up a huge wad of snow and chucked it at Evan's head. He laughed and ducked in time to avoid the hit. "What? Didn't like my song?" he teased.

"You're so wrong," she muttered, packing more snow into a nice little snowball.

Evan stopped long enough to grin at her before resuming his task of packing snow in a huge ball. He was making a snowman, or so he said. Valerie wasn't sure if she believed him. If he really was making one, it had to be the biggest one she'd ever seen . . .

"Aww, come on, V. You like my Christmas carols."

Wrinkling her nose, she brushed her gloves together, knocking snow off her hands. "Hey, I was wondering something."

"Oh, yeah?" Evan asked, only paying half attention since he was rather busy, building his ginormous snowball. "What's that?"

"Didn't you say you owned properties up here?"

"I do," he agreed easily enough.

"Then why are we staying here?" she queried. "I mean, I think your parents are fantastic. It just seemed a little weird."

Evan paused long enough to cast her a cheesy grin. "Well, Miss is going to be using my house for the holidays to be closer to Deet's family, and my other place is way up near the Canadian border."

Nodding slowly as she pondered that, she smiled. "That makes sense then," she allowed. "Besides, your mother is a hell of a cook."

"Damn straight," Evan agreed, winking at her.

" _Who-o-oa . . .!_ What's that?" Bailey asked as he dashed over, only to skid to a stop in front of the huge snowball. Craning his neck as he gazed up at the top of it, the boy's mouth was rounded in a perfect little 'oh'.

"It's gonna be a snowman," Evan replied, grinning down at the child as he packed another huge hunk of snow onto the six-foot-ball.

"Wow! Can I help?"

Evan chuckled and paused long enough to tug on the top of Bailey's bright green sock cap playfully. "Sure! Start gathering snow up for the next one, okay?"

Bailey let out a loud yell and sped off to gather more snow.

A second later, the noisy bustle of four dogs—one of which could not be seen as it tore through the snow—erupted in the distance as Evan's dogs rounded the corner of the mansion, making a beeline straight toward their master, and Evan gave one loud, long whistle. Valerie eyed the oncoming pack and quickly stepped behind the giant snowball. Evan, however, laughed hysterically as the animals leapt at him, bearing him back into the snow in a mass of wagging tails, happy whines, and licking tongues.

"They look like they're trying to eat you," Valerie remarked warily from her spot behind the giant snowball. Peering around it cautiously, she made a face. Not only were Evan's three dogs molesting him at the moment, there was another one—a huge one, bigger than Munchies—and that one was really, really ugly. Caught somewhere between 'brown' and 'mud' with a huge white spot around one of his eyes, the beast was as big as a horse with a wide, flattish face like a bulldog with very floppy, very loose skin around his jowls, but the grossest thing about the beast was the huge trail of white, foamy drool hanging from the lowest corner of his mouth. One of his ears was shorter than the other, like he'd gotten into a fight and lost somewhere along the way. All in all, he looked rather rabid, and Valerie slowly, carefully backed away before those creatures figured that she'd be a good snack . . .

"Okay, okay," Evan said, pushing himself up into a sitting position—no small feat, considering the mauling dogs. "You guys go in the house and see if Grandma left anything out for you to eat before she left," he commanded.

The dogs actually stopped and stared at him for a moment before carting around on their heels and galloping off toward the deck on the back of the mansion.

Valerie slowly, carefully scooted back over toward Evan though she didn't take her eyes off the retreating dogs. "Tell me that fourth one isn't yours," she muttered darkly.

Evan chuckled, wiping his cheek on his snowy shoulder. "Nah, that one is Mama's—she calls him 'Lovey'."

Valerie blinked, her head snapping to the side to pin Evan with a look as she tried to decide whether or not he was being serious. "Lovey?" she repeated.

He nodded. "Yup."

She snorted since there wasn't a thing that was 'lovey' about that beast, as far as Valerie could tell.

"What the hell is that supposed to be?" Bas Zelig asked as he ambled over with Olivia nestled carefully in his arms.

"What's it look like, Bubby?" Evan shot back with a grin. "It's a snowman—or at least, it will be one."

"Snowman!" Olivia echoed happily.

Bas looked dubious at best. "Good God, they'll see that from the Mir Space Station . . ."

"V!" Olivia said, turning her body, stretching her arms out toward Valerie.

"Oh . . ." Valerie breathed, smiling as she took the child from her father. All bundled up in a white wool coat with white fur lining the hood and trimming all the edges, it made the startling brightness of her eyes stand out even more, her hair even more brilliant where it peeked out from under her hood . . . It was the first time that Valerie had seen Olivia wearing anything other than her cute little dresses, but her tiny white boots, also trimmed in the same white fur, were possibly the some of the cutest things that Valerie had ever seen . . .

"What? No love for Uncle Evan?" he complained despite the grin on his face as he stood back and smiled at Valerie and Olivia.

Olivia giggled and hid her face against Valerie's coat. "No," she said, her voice muffled.

"Well, now, doesn't that just figure," Evan grouched as his grin widened.

Bas chuckled before turning his attention to his brother. "Remind me later. I had a couple things I wanted to give you," he said. "Come on, sweetness. Want to go see Grandma?"

Olivia turned her little face to look at her father but held onto Valerie. "No!" she said, flashing her dimples at her father.

"Mama went shopping," Evan remarked.

Bas nodded and rolled his eyes. "But it's cold out here," he pointed out.

Olivia giggled and shook her head.

"Aw, she's okay, right V?" Evan drawled. "We'll keep an eye on her."

"It's fine," Valerie said, smiling at the little girl in her arms.

"If you're sure," Bas said slowly, obviously not wanting to impose upon them.

"Go on," Evan said, waving a hand dismissively. "'Sides, Cain probably wants to bark at you or something anyway."

Bas snorted but leaned in to kiss Olivia's cheek. "I'll be inside if she wants to come in," he told Valerie. "Bailey!"

"Yeah?" the boy called back where he knelt in the snow, piling together huge lumps as he tried to build a snowball.

"Come inside if you get cold, okay?"

Bailey didn't answer, but he did wave a mitten-covered hand to indicate that he'd heard his father.

Valerie nodded, and Olivia waved as her father started to walk away.

Evan laughed and turned back to examine his work in progress. Then he sighed and shot Valerie a cheesy grin. "Hey, Liv, you want to help me build a snowman?" he asked.

The tiny girl just giggled.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"So . . . How are you going to get _that_ up _there?_ " Valerie asked, her tone flat, unimpressed.

Evan stopped and straightened his back, idly scratching his chin as he gazed at the top of the first snowball then slowly looked at the second one. "Hmm . . . Well . . . I guess I didn't think about that," he admitted with a sheepish grin. Considering that the second snowball was almost as big as the first one? He chuckled. "Eh, no problem! I can do it!"

She nodded slowly, her arms crossed over her chest as she, too, stared at the monstrosity. "Do you have a board or something? You could probably roll it up a ramp . . ."

"Hey, Bailey, go get your daddy," Evan called.

Bailey glanced up from the snow fort he was building. "Okay," he hollered back, clamoring to his feet and taking off toward the mansion.

Valerie giggled as she watched the boy's retreat. "He's wearing as much snow as that snowman," she remarked.

"Hope Mama didn't mop the kitchen this morning," he chuckled.

"Evvie!"

Evan whipped around in time to see his sister as she dashed straight toward him. He caught her when she launched herself at him and swung her around in a wide circle. "Hey, Jilli. How's it going?"

Jillian laughed and kissed his cheek. "It's fine," she assured him with a bright smile. "Hello . . . Valerie, right?"

Valerie nodded, offering Jillian a rather measured little smile. "Yes, that's right," she said.

"If you break her, I'll have to hurt you," Gavin Jamison remarked as he ambled over, his hands jammed deep into the pockets of his jeans.

Jillian laughed, extricating herself from Evan's hold so that she could wrap her arms around her mate instead. "Don't be silly, Gavvie! Evvie would never, ever hurt me!"

Gavin snorted and didn't look at all convinced, but he shook his head.

"Hi," Valerie said, smiling warmly in greeting.

"Uh, hi," Gavin replied, his cheeks pinking just a little as he glanced at Jillian and then back again.

"Anyway, just the man I wanted to see," Evan said smoothly as he grinned wide like a used car salesman.

Gavin blinked. "Me? Why?"

"Because," Evan continued, waving a hand at the smaller of the two snowballs, "I've gotta get that up there."

Gavin's gaze slowly shifted from one of the snowballs to the other and back again, then finally looked at Evan. "Damn," was all he said.

Evan chuckled then stopped abruptly as he glanced back at his sister once more. "I thought Mama said you weren't going to get here until tomorrow," he said.

Jillian giggled. "Well, that was originally the plan," she admitted with a candid shrug.

"It's supposed to snow pretty good tonight," Gavin explained, walking around the base of the second snowball, inspecting it with a marked scowl of concentration. "We figured we might as well head out early."

"Makes sense to me," Evan agreed. "So you think you can help me out here?"

Heaving a sigh, Gavin slowly shook his head. "I don't know, Evan . . . I mean, maybe if we had one more—"

"Bassie!"

Evan laughed as Jillian took off once more, this time making a beeline at her other brother, who had just stepped out of the mansion with Bailey tugging insistently on his father's hand.

"That'll work," Gavin remarked, leaning back on his heels as they waited for Bas to hug Jillian before he lumbered toward them.

"Bailey said you wanted him to get me," Bas said when he finally wandered over.

Evan grinned. "Sure. Give us a hand here, will you?" he asked, jerking his head toward the second snowball.

Bas rolled his eyes but smiled good-naturedly. "Figures," he muttered, shaking his head as he stepped over to inspect it in much the same way that Gavin had.

Between the three of them, it wasn't too difficult to heft the giant ball onto the other one. Adjusting it until it was straight, however, did take a bit more concentration.

"It's off center," Jillian said, standing back with a frown on her pretty face as she watched the men's work.

"No, it's not," Bas replied, grunting as he tried to ease his arms out from under the pile of snow. It wasn't that heavy, no, but it was awkward, and that's the real reason why Evan had asked for help, in the first place.

"It is," Jillian argued. She glanced over at Valerie and shook her head. "It is, isn't it?"

Valerie paced around the snowman slowly, examining the creation from every conceivable angle. "Yeah," she agreed at length. "It needs to go that way a little—toward Evan."

"It's fine," Bas maintained, pinning his sister with a rather droll stare.

"It'll slide right off if you don't move it over," Jillian predicted.

Rolling his eyes, Bas shook his head but carefully shoved the snowball toward Evan. A little bit of snow crumbled away from the larger ball, but it held together well otherwise, and Jillian nodded happily. "Perfect!" she said, clapping her hands.

Evan stepped back to examine their handiwork and grinned at the overall effect.

"You ready for my snowball now?" Bailey asked, hopping up and down as he tried to get Evan's attention.

Grinning at the boy, Evan nodded. "Sure thing!"

With a happy yelp, Bailey carted around on his heel and ran over to heft the last snowball off the ground. He tried for a couple minutes before realizing that it was too big for him to handle, and with a little shrug, he rolled it across the ground instead.

Bas picked up the snowball and managed, just barely, to shove it up to the top of the snowman. By the time they were finished, the darn thing had to be a good eight feet tall, maybe nine . . .

"That is a hell of a snowman," Gavin remarked as he stepped away to shake his head at the immense size. "It's like . . . _Bas_ . . . only taller . . ."

Bas snorted. "Thanks, _Gavvie_ ," he muttered, his cheeks pinking as he made a face at the very idea that the snowman resembled him.

Valerie covered her mouth and coughed delicately as Evan stepped over beside her and slipped an arm around her waist. "What do you think, V?"

She eyed the snowman for several moments as though she was trying to make up her mind about something, and finally, she shrugged. "It's nice," she mused at length in a careful, deliberate tone. "I'm not entirely sure how you're going to get the face up there, but nice, all the same . . ."

Evan chuckled and stepped behind her, resting his cheek on her temple as he wrapped his arms tighter around her. "You want to go inside?" he asked when she shivered slightly.

"No way," she insisted though she snuggled closer against him. He wasn't sure if she realized what she was doing, but he wasn't going to complain . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Oh, it's _fantastic!_ " Gin breathed as she carefully leaned toward the snowman's face to place a long, knobby carrot nose. Eyes sparkling as her smile widened, she giggled as Bas tightened his grip on his mother's knees. "I never could've made one this big!"

"I don't know how the hell I got suckered into this," Bas grumbled, trying his best to keep from moving, lest his mother should fall off his broad shoulders.

"Because you're the tallest," Evan replied with a grin as he pulled Valerie against him a little more firmly.

"Maybe I should borrow your father's reading glasses," Gin mused as she leaned back just enough to examine her handiwork.

Bas heaved a sigh. "If you do, warn me before you show this to him because I want to be far, far away when he gets it into his head that he has to punish you for it."

Gin giggled more as her cheeks reddened—at least, it seemed like it to Valerie. It might have been the frigid winter air . . .

"Why would it bother your father?" Valerie asked, turning her head to murmur the question to Evan as her own cheeks reddened at the very close proximity of the man.

Evan chuckled. "We-e-e-ell," he drawled but didn't really answer.

"Wow, baby girl . . . you've . . . outdone yourself."

Gin gasped at the sound of her husband's voice as she shot him a very bright grin. "Isn't it great?"

Cain Zelig crossed his arms over his chest—he wasn't wearing a coat, but he didn't seem to be suffering for it, either—and he looked almost bored as he gazed at the hulking snowman.

Bas grasped his mother's waist and carefully pulled her off his shoulders—no small feat, really—setting her down and stepping back without taking his unsettling golden eyes off his father.

With a soft giggle, Gin darted over to Cain and threw her arms around him. "I think it's the best abominable snow-Cain, ever!"

Rolling his eyes, Cain heaved a sigh. "I was hoping that wasn't what that was," he muttered.

Valerie's mouth dropped open for a second, then she snapped it closed again. "A-Abominable Snow-Cain?" she echoed in a whisper.

Evan chuckled. "Hush, woman. This is getting good."

"Don't you think that . . . _he_ . . . is a little too fat to be me?" Cain asked baldly as he continued to stare at the snowman.

Gin blinked and stared earnestly up at him. "Well, you have to admit, Cain, you've put on a few pounds in recent years."

Cain blinked, his gaze shifting from the snowman to his diminutive wife. "You _didn't_ . . ." he said.

"It's okay, though," she went on, and if she realized that she'd hit a nerve in her husband, she didn't show it. "I still love you anyway, even if you are getting a little chubby."

Bas winced. Gavin blinked. Jillian's smile widened as she covered her mouth. Evan chuckled. Cain opened and closed his mouth a few times like a fish out of water, and Valerie? Well, she wasn't entirely sure what she ought to think of that, especially since there really wasn't anything 'chubby' at all about the man in question . . .

"Gin?"

She leaned back but didn't drop her arms away from him. "Yes, Zelig-sensei?"

Cain cocked an eyebrow as a very slow, very lazy grin surfaced on his face. "It's on, baby girl."

"What's he doing?" Valerie asked Evan when Cain bent down and started slowly, methodically scooping snow together.

Evan chuckled. "What do you think?" he replied with a wink. "He's going to build a snow-Gin now."

Valerie blinked and stared at him for a long moment then slowly shook her head. Evan's family was a strange lot, weren't they?

Strange . . . and really, really cute.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Strange Days_** ' _originally appeared on The Doors'_ _1967_ _release,_ **_Strange_** **_Days_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Robbie_ _Krieger_ , _John_ _Densmore,_ _Jim_ _Morrison_ , _and_ _Ray_ _Manzarek_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _… A snow-Gin …?_


	117. 116: Silent Night

' _So say it ain't true, the things that they've been saying_ …  
' _They say that you've found someone new_ …  
' _But don't break my heart_ …  
' _'Cause your baby never looked good in blue_ …'

 

-' _Your Baby Never Looked Good in_ _Blue_ ' by Exposé.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"So tell me again why I need this dress?" Valerie asked without glancing up as she leafed through a magazine. "Stop that, will you?"

Evan stopped jingling the little earrings hanging on the small rack next to the chairs long enough to grin at Valerie before he started flicking them again. "Because the Christmas benefit means a lot to Mama," he replied. "It's the one time a year she can actually talk everyone into attending."

"Everyone?" she repeated, dropping the magazine on the table and turning her full attention to him. "Including your father?"

Evan nodded. "Even Cain," he said, rolling his eyes.

Valerie considered that, pursing her lips, running her tongue over her teeth behind those pooched lips. "And I need a dress for this."

"Yep."

"You should've told me that before we left New York," she told him. "I have perfectly good dresses there."

He chuckled. "You make it sound like buying a new one is terrible," he pointed out. "Don't worry. I got it. I can't believe you wouldn't let me see the dress . . . It's hot, right?"

She snorted. "Your idea of 'hot' and mine are vastly different, Roka," she said. "Of course it is . . . and you can just wait till the party, can't you? And what are you going to wear?"

Evan shrugged. "A tux, of course."

Staring at him for a long moment, she nodded. "You brought one."

"I did," he agreed.

"I could have afforded my own dress," she said.

"Of course you _could_ have," he allowed in an entirely humoring tone of voice. "I told you I'd buy you whatever you needed though, and it's not a big deal."

Valerie rolled her eyes, and he figured that he'd still not heard the last of it since Valerie wasn't exactly pleased about the idea that he'd just slapped down about five hundred dollars for her dress—which was cheap, if you asked him.

"Evan?"

Evan blinked and slowly stood up when he spotted the woman who had addressed him. "Hey," he greeted as Chera Karankoa, an old high school friend, strode over. She'd been standing over by a rack of informal dresses when she'd spotted him, and as she hurried over to greet him, she squealed in delight as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. "How are you?"

Chera laughed, tucking an errant strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. She looked good—damn good—maybe better than she had in high school. Then again, she used to have braces and bright red framed glasses . . . "Good, good, and you? I hear you've been successful as a songwriter," she said, grasping his hands in hers as her smile broadened. "I always figured you would be. Of course, I always thought you'd be a rock star or something . . . Anyway, you going to be in town awhile? We could get together or something . . ."

Judging from the tone of her voice, her idea of 'getting together' was meant to be taken quite literally, and Evan gave a noncommittal shrug. "Ah, well, you know, things change. I'm only here over Christmas. You look good."

She giggled, her cheeks pinking as a hand rose to flutter at her throat when she finally stepped back. "So do you," she replied, glancing quickly up and down. He didn't miss the look.

A very curt throat-clearing sounded behind him, and Evan grimaced inwardly as he chuckled, pulling his hands away and stuffing them into his pockets. "Oh, hey, this is Valerie," he said, stepping back to gesture at the attorney who sat bolt-upright with her arms crossed over her chest looking anything but welcoming at the moment. Okay, so that might have been jaded by the idea that that's what he wanted to think. Still, she wasn't smiling, and when she met Chera's very interested gaze, Valerie only nodded. "V, this is Chera, a girl I, uh, knew in high school."

Evan blinked when Valerie's eyes flared slightly—maybe not enough for Chera to have noticed, but Evan did—and he grimaced inwardly. It didn't take a brain surgeon to know what was going through Valerie's head, now did it? She knew how badly behaved he had been in high school. He certainly hadn't made an issue of trying to hide it, and considering the very warm welcome he'd received from Chera? Yeah, it didn't look good, now did it . . .?

"Pleased to meet you," Valerie said, slowly getting to her feet, her tone of voice a lot more cordial than her body language. Extending her hand, she managed a deceptively warm smile as she shook Chera's hand. "How well did you know Evan in school?"

' _Oh, boy, here it comes_ ,' his youkai voice sighed.

' _Maybe not_ . . .'

' _You're gonna be hung by your fucking balls_.'

'. . . _Probably_.'

Chera smiled as she gave Valerie the curious once-over before glancing almost worriedly at Evan. "Oh, well, we were _casual_ friends, more or less . . ."

Valerie's smile warmed a few degrees. "Casual friends?" She shot Evan a very knowing glance. "Is that so?"

Chera looked rather nervous as she looked at Evan once more before taking a quick step back in retreat. "I-It was nice to see you again, Evan," she blurted quickly as she raised one hand to offer him a half-hearted wave. "Nice to meet you, too, Valerie. Uh, bye."

Valerie slowly sank back into the chair once more as the woman hurried away. A moment later, the distinct clang of the bell hanging over the door sounded, and Evan let out a deep breath before slowly, very slowly, turning to meet Valerie's ire.

"She seemed pleasant," Valerie remarked mildly, burying her nose in a magazine once more.

Slowly, hesitantly, Evan sat down again. Why, oh why, did he feel like he was sitting on the edge of a volcano . . .? "She's always been a nice girl," he told her.

"A pretty girl," Valerie ventured at length and without looking up from the magazine.

"I . . . I guess . . ."

She nodded and rattled the magazine. "She seemed very happy to see you."

"Did she?"

"Did you get her phone number?"

Evan made a face. "No . . ."

Glancing at her watch, Valerie still didn't look up from the magazine. "Well, if you hurry, you might be able to catch her," she replied pleasantly as she resumed perusing the pages once more.

He heaved a sigh, figuring that he deserved that well enough, given his history.

' _Of course you did, you damn dog_ ,' his youkai growled. ' _You just let Chera kiss you, didn't you?_ '

' _That wasn't my fault!_ ' he insisted. ' _You were there! You saw what happened!_ '

' _Like that matters! It's what she saw, isn't it? And you didn't do much to stop Chera, now did you?_ '

He didn't get a chance to respond, however, because Gin stepped out of the dressing area in a very long, very gorgeous floor length white velvet gown held up by spaghetti straps with an overlay of white gossamer fabric shod through with iridescent thread that caught the light and lent a very pretty shimmer to the overall effect. She spun around in front of the myriad of floor-to-ceiling mirrors before smiling rather shyly as she met Evan's gaze. "So what do you think?" she asked, sounding a little breathless. She always did whenever she was trying on formalwear.

Evan grinned. "Looks good, Mama."

Pressing her hand against her stomach, she nervously bit her lip. "You think so? I-I don't know . . ."

"Don't be ridiculous. You look good in everything."

She didn't look reassured. "But this is for the Zelig Foundation," she said, shaking her head thoughtfully as she glanced over her shoulder at her reflection in the mirrors.

"Mama, you could show up in a sackcloth dress and you'd still be gorgeous," he assured her.

That didn't do a thing to make her feel better. If anything, she seemed even more nervous.

Hauling himself out of the chair, he ambled over to Gin and slipped his arms around her. "Cut that out," he chided gently. "You look fantastic."

"But it's white," she said, eyeing herself critically. "Maybe I should look for something that's a little darker—more matronly."

"Why wear something matronly when you don't look one, in the first place?" Evan countered, kissing her cheek as he leaned down to give her a little squeeze. "You look great. Cain'll never know what hit him. What do you think, V?"

Valerie laughed and untangled herself from her chair. "I think it's very elegant," she said as she slowly wandered around Gin, giving her the critical once-over.

"You really think so?" Gin asked, glancing down as she smoothed the skirt over her hips. "You don't think that it's a little too . . .?"

"I think that it's perfect," Valerie insisted.

Gin peeked up at Evan before grasping Valerie's hands and pulling her closer. "Well, but I wanted something a little . . . you know, _sexier_ ," she whispered as though she thought that Evan wouldn't overhear her.

Chuckling as his mother's shoulders flushed, Evan let go of her long enough to pull the ruby red dress that one of the salesgirls had brought back while Gin was changing off the nearby rack. "Then try this one," he suggested.

Gin giggled as she hesitantly took the dress that he held out to her. "Red?"

"Sure," he said. "Red's sexy as hell."

She stared at it for a long moment but finally took it, her cheeks pinking a little more as she hurried off toward the dressing area once more.

Valerie waited until the door closed behind Gin before she leaned toward Evan. "Evan?"

"Hmm?" he asked without taking his eyes off the door where his mother had disappeared.

"Can, uh . . . Can your mom actually do 'sexy'?" she asked.

"Mama?" Evan echoed, pinning Valerie with a rather shocked look as he dug a pack of gum out of his pocket. Then he shifted his gaze back to the closed door once more, and he sighed. "I don't know about 'sexy', but she's got 'cute' down to a science."

Nodding slowly, Valerie reached over and plucked the gum out of his hand. "Yeah, she does," she mused as she pulled open the wrapper and bent the stick into her mouth. "She really, really does . . ."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Descending the stairs, Valerie rounded the banister and stared thoughtfully at the open door that led to the basement: Evan's room. The sound of male laughter drifted to her, and she frowned. Knocking on the wall or door wouldn't really do much to announce her intention of entering since the stereo and television seemed to be turned up way too loudly. Creeping down the stairs, she blinked when she glanced over the railing, only to look again when the basement came into view.

She didn't know what to expect. Evan had told her before that he'd been moved downstairs away from the rest of the family, but the way he'd said it had made it seem to her that maybe she'd misunderstood. Of course, in hindsight, it seemed rather stupid to have believed that the Zeligs would have put their son in a less than gorgeous room, didn't it? And it was true.

It wasn't just one room from what she could see. No, there was another one behind a sheet glass wall, complete with recording machinery though not as many or as new as what she'd seen at White Wave. Still, for a teenage kid, growing up with dreams of being the biggest star on the planet? Not bad at all, she supposed.

In fact, the basement was very tastefully decorated with cherry wood paneling—not that cheap veneer paneling, but real panels of wood, interrupted only where the hulking stone fireplace ran the length of the room across from the French doors—a private entrance that led to the back yard behind the mansion. On the far wall was a door that Valerie supposed led to his own private bathroom, and built into a small niche in the corner between the French doors and the bathroom was a desk with a very comfortable looking chair.

Evan had retired downstairs after dinner when Gavin had unceremoniously told him that he could 'kick his scrawny little ass', and for a moment, Valerie had thought that the two men were going to do something weird, like fight or something.

She should have known better.

The two of them were sitting in a couple overstuffed recliners with video game controllers in hand in front of a huge television mounted on the wall and surrounded by built-in shelving that matched the walls, and Valerie blinked at the very large stereo system beside the television—and just about every video system on the market, right there on the shelf.

"Cheater," Gavin grumbled despite the grin on his face as he reached over to smack Evan in the arm.

"The hell, Gavvie," Evan shot back with a chuckle.

"Now, now, you boys better play nicely," Jillian remarked as she strode over. Valerie glanced over in the direction that Jillian had come from. A small kitchenette? Good grief . . .

"We are," Evan replied, grinning at his sister and reaching for the beer she held out to him as she passed. "Thanks . . . Oh, hey, V!"

"Playing video games, Roka?" she asked baldly.

Evan grinned. "Yup . . . and kicking ol' Gavin's ass, too."

"In your dreams, Evan," Gavin growled without taking his eyes off the television. He even leaned to the side to keep from breaking his view of the television when Jillian settled into his lap.

Evan craned his neck to look back at Valerie as she slowly wandered forward. "What's the matter, baby? Want to go do something?"

Wrinkling her nose, Valerie rolled her eyes but smiled. "Nope, just figured I'd see what you were doing and why you were being so quiet."

He grinned and glanced back at the television long enough to adjust the car on the screen before looking back at her again. "You sure?"

"I'm sure," she replied. "Besides, you seem like you're having fun."

Jillian kissed Gavin on the cheek before hauling herself out of his lap. "You two get it all out of your systems," she said as she stretched her arms over her head and yawned. "I'm going to bed . . . Are you coming up soon, Gavvie?"

Gavin grunted, making a face when Evan bumped his car and sent it veering off the road and nearly into a ditch. "Aw, you little jerk!"

Evan laughed heartily. "Call it payback for all the times you've beaten me," he retorted. "Here! Have some more!"

"Damn it!" Gavin growled, steering his car wide to avoid another nudge before aiming his vehicle at Evan's to bump him off the track.

Valerie grinned at the silly exchange since it just didn't jive with the image of the ultra-hip rock star that Evan liked to project in public.

Jillian rolled her eyes and grabbed Valerie's hand. "Come on," she said, jerking her head at the two men who were wholly absorbed in the video game. "They'll be at this for hours."

"Where are we going?" Valerie asked as Jillian dragged her back toward the stairs.

"Let's go have some tea," she said.

Following Jillian up the steps and through the house to the kitchen, Valerie couldn't help but smile at the vivacious, talkative woman. "Hmm, do you know, you're the first woman that Evan's ever brought home for Christmas?" she asked as she reached for a small white square jar on the cupboard where Gin kept the teabags.

"Really?" Valerie couldn't help but ask as Jillian reached for the pot of hot water that was kept on the stove.

"Nope, not a one . . . Well, Madison normally comes by, but that doesn't really count. I mean, they've been friends forever . . . You've met Maddy, right?"

"Uh, of course," she replied. "She's a good friend of mine."

Jillian smiled, her sparkling blue eyes alight with a very warm, friendly glow. "Good! I mean, I've always worried that Evan's relationship with Madison would be difficult when he finally found his mate."

Valerie didn't say anything as she took her cup and followed Jillian to the table over by the windows that caught the morning sun coming up in the east. Jillian's choice of words seemed odd to Valerie, but she ignored that. No, the thing that made her the most uncomfortable was the foregone assumption—the belief—that Evan and she were boyfriend and girlfriend . . .

"You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders, too," Jillian went on, oblivious to Valerie's discomfort. "You're good for him, if you want my opinion. I mean, he's a great guy—the _best_ guy—but he has his moments, doesn't he?" She laughed and waved a hand dismissively. "I guess you know that. You're his attorney, right?"

For some reason, looking at Jillian's friendly, open face, Valerie bit her lip. She couldn't help but to feel bad for the lie, and even if Evan did maintain that it was harmless, that it would keep his mother from asking him about his love life, the guilt that nudged at her was enough to make her shift in her seat. "Uh," she said, clearing her throat to rid herself of the fist-sized lump that had somehow gotten lodged somewhere between her lips and her lungs. "About that . . . We're not . . . not really together . . ."

Jillian laughed, lifting the teabag out of her cup with a spoon and carefully letting it drip a few times before moving it off to a small plate kept on the table for the used bags. "Maybe not," she agreed easily enough, "but the two of you really are perfect for each other; that's what I think."

Valerie blinked and stared at Jillian, watching as the woman reached for a single packet of artificial sweetener. "H-How would you know that?"

Her smile was entirely reassuring, yet completely unsettling, too. There was a strange, almost spooky, sense of understanding that Valerie couldn't comprehend. No, it wasn't that she couldn't comprehend it: she didn't _want_ to, did she?

"It's all there in the way he looks at you," Jillian said as though it was the simplest thing in the world, as though she'd just told Valerie that the sky would be the steely-gray-blue of winter come morning . . .

"That . . . That can't be right," Valerie heard herself saying, her voice thin, almost transparent.

Jillian laughed like Valerie had just told her the best joke she'd heard in years. Tossing her head back, the crystalline sound of her amusement tinkled against Valerie's nerves like a million shards of glass. When she finally wound down, she reached across the table, patted Valerie's hand with hers, the warmth in her smile a palpable thing. "You'll see," she said, her tone bright, happy. "Anyway, I'm happy that he talked you into coming home with him."

"Hmm, what are you two chatting about?"

Valerie forced a weakened smile as she glanced over at the woman who had just sashayed into the kitchen. Stepping over to the counter, Sydnie Zelig filled a teacup of her own and sauntered over to join them.

Jillian giggled and scooted over to make room for her sister-in-law. "Nothing much, Sydnie. Just telling Valerie that I'm glad that Evan twisted her arm."

Sydnie smiled as she slowly stirred the liquid in the teacup. "You need to put that one on a shorter leash," she remarked. "Though he is an awful lot of fun . . ."

Valerie snorted and sipped her tea. "I don't think it's possible," she scoffed darkly. "He only has two modes: 'bad' and 'worse'."

"Chop his balls off," Sydnie said matter-of-factly. "That would teach him."

Unfortunately, Valerie had just taken a sip of tea but hadn't swallowed it yet. As it was, she coughed and sputtered, sending a spray of tea across the table before she could grab a napkin out of the rack in the middle of the table to staunch it. "Sorry," she muttered despite the bashful smile on her face.

Jillian wiped up the dribbles that had landed on the table near her and grinned. "Now, Sydnie, Valerie might want to use those balls one day," she quipped.

Luckily, Valerie wasn't holding the tea at the time or she'd likely have spilled it, too.

Sydnie laughed—Valerie might have considered it more of a giggle, but she didn't really think that the sound actually qualified as that, either. Infinitely warm, almost throaty, there was something entirely sultry about it—about her . . . Maybe that was why she had been Evan's dream woman for so long. The term 'sex kitten' came to mind, which was silly. Valerie hadn't ever really thought that anyone actually 'fit' that phrase before, yet here she was, staring at Evan's sister-in-law and thinking exactly that . . .

The two women kept talking—a conversation that Valerie wasn't really a part of. She finished her tea and murmured her excuses before slipping out of the booth and making quick work of washing out her teacup.

The lights were turned down in the living room, and the mansion was quiet. The clock on the mantle struck midnight as she headed toward the stairs.

Why was she feeling so entirely unsettled? Why did she feel so isolated, so alone . . .?

Trudging up the stairs, hearing the laughter drifting through the house from the kitchen, she sighed. She knew why, didn't she?

In her head, the image of that woman, throwing her arms around Evan's neck, kissing him like she owned him, and he . . . Well, he certainly hadn't tried to stop her, now had he?

She sighed as she stepped into the bedroom and closed the door. That was stupid, wasn't it? After all, it wasn't like he was her boyfriend or anything, so what did it matter, who he kissed?

It didn't, damn it . . .

. . . Even if he had told his mother, his family, that they were dating.

It shouldn't matter to her, should it? It shouldn't bother her, not really. After all, she was his attorney, and even if they were friends, too, she didn't really have a say over what he did or didn't do, and even then, that woman—She'd gone to school with him a long time ago, right?

Which, of course, didn't do a damn thing to make her feel any better about it all. Nope, if anything, it only served to further her irritation overall. That was how he'd lived his entire life, wasn't it? Moving from girl to girl without trying to work at something more permanent, always telling himself that they didn't want more from him, and in so doing, never bothering to make the effort to prove them wrong at all . . . It was the rock star mentality, something he'd had since well before the world had ever heard of 'Zel Roka'. A guy like that couldn't change, could he? And worse, he could be just as earnest, just as charming as anyone else, but the ugly truth of it was that it would always, always, end the same way: with regrets and broken promises and good intentions gone so wrong . . . Unfortunately, she'd started to think somewhere in the back of her mind that maybe, just _maybe_ , Evan was being sincere about his feelings. Some small part of her had started to believe that he was real, that his intentions were true, after all, and worse, if she were to be completely honest with herself, she would have to admit that that small part of her _wanted_ him to be serious, and maybe . . .

And maybe that was the hardest thing to swallow . . .

Even if she wanted to, she couldn't live her life like he did. She already had more than enough regrets, didn't she—a lifetime of them. Adding Evan Zelig to that list . . .

It wasn't something that she could do.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Your_** **_Baby_** **_Never_** **_Looked_** **_Good_** **_in_** **_Blue_** ' _originally appeared on Exposé's_ _1989_ _release,_ **_What_** **_You_** **_Don't_** **_Know_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Diane_ _Warren_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Oh,_ _Evan_ …


	118. 117: New Snow

' _Beauty queen of only eighteen_ …  
' _She had some trouble with herself_ …  
' _He was always there to help her_ …  
' _She always belonged to someone else_ …'

 

-' _She_ _Will_ _Be_ _Loved_ ' by Maroon 5.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"How much farther?"

Evan chuckled and glanced back at Valerie. She didn't look uncomfortable, and that was a good sign. She was hanging in like a real trooper, though; he had to give her credit for that. Considering they'd just spent the last four hours, riding the perimeter of the Zelig estate, she was doing a good job of either hiding her discomfort or she'd lied to him about having never been on a horse before . . .

' _Come to think of it, we're not feeling too great, either_ ,' his youkai pointed out.

Stifling a sigh, Evan had to allow that was true. The saddle he was using was slightly smaller since Cain's saddle was apparently being retooled so certain parts of him were rubbing uncomfortably against the saddle horn . . . No doubt about it, he should've taken the time to run into Bevelle to buy himself a saddle before dragging Valerie out of the mansion for the venture.

"We're almost there," Evan assured her. "You'll like it; I swear. Watch your head," he admonished as he ducked to avoid a low-hanging branch. A few steps later, he entered the clearing around the small pond—Jillian's pond—and he reined in the horse. A moment later, Valerie's horse stepped out of the foliage, and she let out a sharp breath as her eyes widened, as she stared in wonder at the quiet beauty of the surroundings. Even covered with a blanket of snow that extended up and over the frozen shoreline, the thing that saved the pond from freezing over completely was the small waterfall on the far side. "When I was young, Jilli and I went swimming here all the time," he said.

Valerie smiled as she stared at the rippling water on the unfrozen side of the pond. "It's gorgeous," she breathed, her eyes sparkling as she continued to take in her surroundings: of the new snow that had fallen last night to blanket the world in a pristine white blanket. His footprints and hers were the only ones to mar the perfection. Maybe it was fanciful to think so, but it was almost as though they were the only two people on earth . . . "I can't believe you got to grow up here, surrounded by all of this . . ."

Slipping off his horse, Evan tethered him to a nearby tree before stepping over to pull Valerie down. "Yeah, not so bad," he admitted with a shrug. She wandered toward the pond while he secured her horse to a different tree. "I told you Maine was worth seeing, didn't I?"

"You did," she agreed softly, drawing in a deep breath as she wrapped her arms around herself a little tighter.

"Cold?" he asked, slipping his arm around her waist.

She shot him a quick glance, a startled glance, but smiled. "A little," she said.

He sighed and frowned as she started to walk, and he fell into step beside her. He'd sensed it all day, hadn't he? There was something bothering her, and he knew it. In fact, if he were to be completely honest with himself, he'd have to admit that he knew what that 'something' was likely to be. Even though she'd sworn this morning over her grapefruit and coffee that she was 'fine; just fine', he'd known.

' _Well, you know, a little advice_.'

' _From you?_ '

' _Of course_.'

Evan snorted inwardly. ' _And what's that?_ '

His youkai-voice heaved a sigh. ' _The next time some woman who isn't V comes rushing up and kisses you? Step back, stupid. Just step back_.'

' _Like I knew she was going to do that_ ,' he shot back as he glanced at Valerie and grimaced. ' _All right; all right. Point taken_.'

' _Good; good . . . Now fix it, will you?_ '

Evan gave a curt nod, though he had the feeling that it would be easier said than done. "You're still pissed off about that whole thing with Chera," he mused, trying for a nonchalant tone of voice.

"Uh, no," she insisted, her smile thin, wavering. "An old friend, right?"

"Something like that," he allowed, covering his unease with a curt cough.

She digested that for a long moment then slowly nodded. "You slept with her, didn't you?"

It wasn't really a question despite the way she'd asked it. Evan stifled a sigh. "Not . . . _recently_ . . ."

Stopping short, she turned to face him. He could see the gathering clouds of impending doom blowing in behind her gaze. "How recently is _not_ recently?"

"Well . . . I might've hooked up with her once or twice since I left Maine," he admitted, "but that was years ago, V."

She nodded slowly, as though something was starting to make sense to her. "I see . . . So that's why she was comfortable enough to come up and grope you in public . . . I don't know whether to think that she's a damn skank or you're a man-whore—Oh, wait. I already _knew_ that one . . ."

Evan chuckled, relieved that she was calm enough for her acerbic sense of humor to make an appearance. "Man-whore sounds so trailer-trash," he quipped as he slipped his arm around her waist once more and started walking again. "How about . . . purveyor of the flesh?"

"Sounds like a pimp," she replied.

He laughed. "Okay, you're right. Barrister of the booty-calls?"

"N-N-No-o-o-o," she drawled.

"Professor of Puss-ology?"

"Dream on, Roka."

"Great god of the almighty orgasm?"

"Stop while you're ahead, Roka," she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest, pulling her coat a little closer at her throat. "Man-whore will have to do."

Rolling his eyes, he heaved a sigh designed to let her know what he thought of that title despite the grin on his face. "You win, V, but I swear to God, you don't have any reason to be jealous. Just say the word, and I'm all yours."

That earned him a stern look. "I'm not _jealous_ ," she scoffed, tossing her head defiantly. "Don't be ridiculous!"

Evan laughed. He couldn't help himself. She looked so indignant, so self-righteous, he just couldn't contain it. "Okay, you're not jealous," he agreed easily enough.

She jerked away from him and stomped off, which, curiously, only made him laugh harder.

There was a giddy kind of relief that washed through him—relief that she wasn't nearly as upset with him as he'd thought that she was. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. She wasn't nearly as upset with him as she had been, and that was something. She'd come around eventually. Sooner or later, she'd have to allow that he really wasn't as unreliable as she seemed to think that he was. It was just a matter of time . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Wandering through the Zelig mansion alone, Valerie frowned, rubbing her forearms under the bulky turtleneck sweater that she'd donned right after the two hour soak that she'd indulged in when she'd discovered that her morning spent on the back of a horse had left her unbelievably sore from about the middle of her back down that she'd actually thought that she just might cry as she'd trudged back to the house with Evan, who didn't look any worse for wear from their excursion, which really just figured.

But it was fun, she had to admit, even though she wasn't entirely sure that she wanted to see let alone ride another horse for at least a few days, until her body stopped screaming bloody murder . . .

At least, that's what she'd thought until she was stretched out in the steaming hot water in the huge tub—easily big enough to fit three of her, and then some—and Gin had come in with a cheesecloth sachet of some herbs that she's hung over the faucet by the white ribbon strings that held it closed. She'd said that it would help with the stiffness and soreness, and Valerie wasn't entirely sure what kind of herbs were in there. She could smell them, but they were so well mixed that they didn't have one single distinctive aroma, and though the thought had occurred to her at one point that she was simmering like a soup, she'd stayed in the tub a lot longer anyway.

Thanks to that sachet, she felt pretty good, actually. Now, if she could just find Evan . . .

She'd already been down in the living room. Gavin had said that Evan had gone to the kitchen to get a sandwich, but he'd had his eyes glued on the television screen where he was playing a video game of some sort. S,o she'd gone to the kitchen where Bas had been pouring a glass of milk. He'd said that he saw Evan upstairs earlier in the east wing of the house.

The east wing of the house, she found, was one of the largely unused areas in the mansion. Most of the bedroom doors were closed—Valerie had checked them to see if Evan was in one of the four guestrooms—and those rooms were a little more clinical, a little colder, but that was likely because of the emptiness. They weren't lived in: there were no personal touches. Oh, Gin had decorated them beautifully despite the white dust covers that were carefully laid over all the furniture—ghosts in the fading morning light—and despite the stripped beds with the carefully pressed linens in thick clear plastic bags that were stretched over the foot of the beds, waiting to be shaken out and used. They rivaled some of the most lavish suites at the best hotels in the world. In fact, most of them were laid out with a few rooms, like a small apartments, but there was a certain lived-in feel that was missing, too . . .

One of the rooms, though—actually, the only door on the right side of the corridor—had a glass door, and Valerie hadn't opened that one. She didn't have to, but looking through the pane of sheet glass, she'd seen what had to be Cain and Gin's studio. Evan had mentioned it before, and she'd smiled to herself at the sunny feel that reached her, even from the outside. Cain was standing before the huge wall of windows, his back to her while he worked on a canvas that she couldn't see. Shirtless, he was, which surprised her. She didn't know why, but it did. What also surprised her? From the back? Hair aside, Evan looked just like his father, didn't he? Maybe she simply hadn't looked for it before. After all, she'd only met Cain Zelig once before her trip to Maine. Maybe it was just because they dressed so differently that it had been easier to miss. Cain was a little broader in the shoulders, even a little bulkier, muscle-wise, but the overwhelming similarity was there. If he had that tattoo on his shoulder, and if his hair was silver instead of bronze in color . . .

She also wasn't entirely sure what Gin had been talking about when she'd accused him of getting 'chubby', either. From what she'd seen, there wasn't a thing wrong with him; not at all. Of course, Cain had turned right around and built his own snowman—or woman, as the case was. He'd even put breasts on her, which had made Gin's cheeks turn bright red, likely because the ones on the snowwoman were obscenely huge . . .

Of course, none of that solved the question of where Evan was, and Valerie bit her lip as she moved toward the door at the end of the corridor: the last room in this wing of the house.

She pushed the door open, expecting to find another guestroom: maybe a larger one than the others she'd already seen. If he wasn't in here, would he be up on the top floor? He'd said before that the fourth level wasn't actually used unless they were having a lot of guests, but it was possible, she supposed . . . Pushing open the door, she started to step inside, but with a sharply indrawn breath, she stopped. What she found, however, made her eyes widen, and without considering whether or not she really ought to go in, she wandered forward and into a seeming realm of someone else's imagination.

It was a small gallery, wasn't it? Portraits lined every wall including the moveable ones arranged throughout. Stands with gorgeous, intricate statues arranged under domes of glass, so many works of art that it was almost unreal.

She frowned as she slowly moved over to stand in front of the nearest painting: Gin, wasn't it? Wearing a gauzy white nightgown, it looked like, her hands folded atop her very large, pregnant belly as she stood in front of a window, half-hidden by billowing sheer curtains, the sunlight filtering through the windows, casting golden squares on her face. Even the diamond ring on her finger sparkled and shone, caught so intricately by the delicate hand of the artist.

But if it was Gin in the painting, then Cain had to have been the one who had to have captured that insular moment? Sure, she'd known that the family was related to Cain Zelig, the renowned artist. She just hadn't realized that Evan's father had so obviously inherited the artist's talent as well as his name.

The next painting was gorgeous, almost hauntingly so; an instant captured on canvas of a mother and her golden-bronze haired infant. ' _Bas_ . . .' she thought as she stared at the painting, and yet, it was difficult to reconcile the image with the man he had grown up to be.

Painting after painting, portraying moments that had to have been so fleeting, so poignant in the knowledge that they would never come again despite the serenity, the peace, reflected in them . . . Could a mortal eye really capture so many of them and with such clarity? And how many of them were meant to be moments that weren't shared, at all? So much intimacy there in those images, so much love . . . They were extraordinary, weren't they?

A little girl with the same golden bronze hair and the same sapphire blue eyes as Cain—as Evan—with such a brilliant smile as she posed so proudly in her beautiful dresses . . . a boy with golden-bronze hair and startling golden eyes—Bas, chronicled in time as he grew older . . . A sweet little baby with a mad tuft of flyaway silvery hair and dazzling blue eyes—his father's eyes—always grinning; always grinning . . . A little girl with hair so pale that it almost seemed to possess a bluish tint, a shy smile on her face . . .

"Ah . . . I see you found the gallery," Cain Zelig remarked quietly, a gentle smile on his lips as he leaned casually in the doorway, lost in the copious folds of the nondescript white button down shirt that he'd donned since she had spotted him in his studio earlier.

"Oh, uh, I-I-I'm sorry," she blurted, her cheeks pinking as she realized a moment too late that she really had no right to be in here . . .

Pushing himself away from the doorframe, Cain stepped forward, the smile on his face dissolving fast. "No, no, it's fine," he insisted. "I don't mind if you take a look around."

"If you're sure . . ."

He smiled again and shrugged. "I'm sure," he said.

She smiled, too, though hers was a little self-conscious. "Did you paint all of these?"

To her surprise, the man actually blushed, scratching the back of his neck in a decidedly nervous sort of way as he shuffled his feet. "Uh, not all of them," he allowed. "Gin painted some of them."

Valerie nodded as she glanced around, but she spotted a painting that drew her forward. It was a good deal darker than most of the paintings. It seemed to her that Cain's work tended to be lighter, more ethereal, but that must have been a conscious choice, because the image that she was staring at was a lot darker, a lot moodier: an image of Evan, on stage, his movement adding a hazy blur to the edges of him, his hair flying up to cover part of his face. The frenetic energy of his shows was somehow captured by the stroke of a paintbrush in grays and blues and cold, stark whites . . .

There was something heartbreaking, raw about that image, and yet the same feel of love that seemed to saturate every painting in the private gallery was there, too, and without conscious thought, she lifted her hand, brushed her fingertips over the dried paint.

"He always was brighter than anyone else," Cain murmured, coming to stand directly behind Valerie. "Bas was always quieter . . . Jilli was always sillier, but Evan . . ." Trailing off for a moment as he struggled to find the right words, Cain sighed. "Evan's always . . . kind of _glowed_ , if that makes any sense . . ." Heaving a sigh, he shook his head, as though he didn't think he'd actually been able to convey what he was thinking.

"I think it does," she said quietly, her hand falling away from it. "I guess they call that 'star quality'."

Cain shrugged, reaching out to touch the painting in much the same way that she had just done. "I think I worry about him more than I've worried about the rest of my kids, combined," he admitted quietly. Eyebrows drawing together in a thoughtful scowl, he stuffed his hands into his pockets as he turned away, as he shuffled over to the window. "He's always done whatever his heart tells him to do," he went on. Valerie had to wonder if Cain even realized that he was talking out loud or not. "It's always seems to work out for him in the end . . . I just . . . I hope it always does."

The silence that fell over the room was telling. This man . . . This was the father that Evan believed never wanted him? The man that Evan antagonized and refused to call 'dad' . . .?

Suddenly, though, Cain seemed to shake himself, seemed to remember that he wasn't alone, after all. Leaning toward the window, he blinked and uttered a half-laugh. "What the hell is he up to now . . .?" he muttered though he sounded more amused than anything else.

"Evan?" Valerie asked.

He nodded. "Yeah . . . But it's hard telling with him . . ."

She closed the distance between herself and Cain, following the direction of his gaze, only to do a double take when she spotted the man in question, hunkered down on the beach not too far from the water's edge, and he appeared to be digging. "What on earth . . .?"

"I don't know," Cain ventured, turning away from the window with a sheepish little smile on his face, "and I'm not so sure that I _want_ to know, either."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"So . . . What do you think you're doing?"

Evan glanced up from his task of arranging wood in the in the rock-lined pit he'd dug in the pebbly sand after he'd scraped the snow away from earlier, grinning broadly when he spotted Valerie. Her gorgeous blonde hair was blowing off her face as she wandered toward him, her arms were crossed over her stomach under the thick down of the ski jacket that she'd grabbed before stepping out of the mansion. "Hey, baby," he called back. "Don't suppose you're hungry, are you?"

Raising an eyebrow as she glanced at the pile of near frozen seaweed that he'd gathered—another adventure, really, but not so important at the moment—she shook her head. "What are you up to?" she asked suspiciously.

"A clam bake," he said simply, straightening his back and patting his pockets for the book of matches that he'd grabbed before leaving the mansion.

"A what?"

He chuckled as he pulled the matches out and hunkered down to light the firewood he'd stacked up. "Aww, c'mon, woman. You've been to a New England clam bake before, haven't you?"

She snorted, looking less and less enthusiastic by the second. "Not in December, not in the snow, and . . . no, I haven't."

Evan blinked, the first match he'd struck sputtering and dying since he'd stopped shielding it when she'd admitted that she'd never been to a real clam bake before. "Are you fucking _kidding_ me?"

Rolling her eyes, she made a face. "No, I'm not . . . and it's freezing out here, if you didn't notice."

"Eh, give me a minute. It won't be cold for long," he promised. "It's not freezing, anyway. It's at least a couple degrees over."

She snorted yet again. "Evan?"

"Yes, baby?"

". . . I'm not staying out here with you."

"Okay, baby."

"And I'm not your baby."

"Sure thing, baby."

She uttered a terse little growl. "Stop calling me 'baby'."

"Right, right . . ." he said as he dug into his other pocket for the wad of dryer lint he'd grabbed before heading outside. He pulled it into pieces and stuffed the pieces into a few crevices here and there. Those lit quite nicely, and, satisfied that the fire was going to take off, he sat back on his haunches and grinned at Valerie. "Hey, baby?"

She heaved a very long, very drawn out sigh. "What?"

"I stuck some beers into the snow behind that log if you want one."

She rolled her eyes again, muttering under her breath about ignorant men and stupid ideas and didn't he realize that it was _cold_ outside as she stomped over to grab one of the bottles out of the snow.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _She_** **_Will_** **_Be_** **_Loved_** _' by Maroon 5_ _first appeared on the 2002 album,_ **Songs** **about** **Jane**. _Copyrighted to Adam Levine,_ _James_ _Valentine_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _… A clam bake …?!_


	119. 118: Firedancer

' _Glory days – well, they'll pass you by_ …  
' _Glory days – in the wink of a young girl's eye_ …  
' _Glory days_ …  
' _Glory days_ …'

 

-' _Glory_ _Days'_ by Bruce Springsteen.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"This has to be one of the strangest ideas you've ever had, Evan," Bas remarked as he idly tipped a bottle of beer to his lips.

Sydnie cuddled against Bas' chest, hidden under the copious folds of the thick down blanket that Gin and Cain had brought out earlier. "I think it was fantastic," she said with a contented sigh. That wasn't surprising since Sydnie, being a cat-youkai, loved all things 'fish' in deviation, and crustacean in any form were some of her favorites. Add in a few mollusks, and she was in kitty heaven.

"Yeah, it was pretty good," Bas allowed, reaching back behind him to set the bottle down out of the way before pulling Sydnie closer and kissing her forehead.

"Do you remember the time you two decided you wanted to have a weenie roast on New Year's Eve?" Gin reminded him.

Bas chuckled. "I almost forgot about that . . . That was Evan's idea, too . . ."

"But you said it sounded good," Evan replied.

"I'm surprised you remember that . . ." Bas' grin widened. "That was because you kept pouting at me," he retorted. "You _always_ pouted at me, come to think of it . . ."

"Yeah, but it worked, didn't it?" Evan muttered despite the good-natured smile on his face.

"If I recall, it was more Dad's fault than mine," Bas grumbled, his cheeks pinking slightly. Reminders that he'd used to baby Evan a little always tended to make the big man feel uncomfortable.

"Daddy's fault?" Jillian echoed with a slight frown. "Why's that?"

Bas snorted. "Because he'd just ousted the little brat from their room at night, and Evan whined a lot at the time."

Cain rolled his eyes. "Evan was _five_ ," he maintained stubbornly. "It wasn't nearly as traumatic as you make it out to have been."

"Scarred me for life," Evan teased.

"Aww, my poor baby!" Gin crooned. She made to get up, but Cain stayed her, tightening his arm around her waist.

"He's about as scarred as I am," Cain told her.

"But—"

"He's fine," Bas insisted with a grin. "Just twisted, that's all—little monkey."

Jillian giggled. "Do you remember the time that Evan chased you and your friends all the way to Kyle's house on his tricycle?"

Bas sighed. "Yeah, I remember," he muttered. "I got in trouble for that."

"Kyle's house?" Sydnie asked, leaning away to look over her shoulder at her mate.

"Kyle was a friend," he explained. "Lived down on the corner in that big brick house."

She looked surprised. "That's pretty far, puppy. You made poor Evan ride his little tricycle that far?"

Bas snorted. "I didn't _make_ poor little Evan do a damn thing. Poor little Evan _always_ followed me around."

"Which was why you should've known that he'd follow you then," Cain pointed out mildly. "Had your mother scared silly."

"How was I supposed to know that? He was sleeping on the floor with his ass in the air when I left. I figured he'd never know," Bas retorted.

Gin frowned and shook her head. "But they had just put fresh gravel down on the road, and he fell off his tricycle, remember Cain?"

"I remember," he replied in a rather humoring tone of voice.

Gin sighed, her frown deepening as she bit her lip, and for a moment, Evan wondered if she was going to burst into tears. "He scraped his knee . . . It really bled, but he was so brave while I cleaned him up. He didn't cry, but he had these two, fat tears in his eyes . . ." She sniffled but didn't cry.

Bas rolled his eyes. "It was just a scrape, Mom," he went on.

"It was a deep scrape," Gin insisted.

"Yeah, but he seems like he's okay now," Bas pointed out. "You sure he didn't hit his head when he wrecked his trike?"

"That would explain a lot," Cain mused.

"Cain!" Gin reprimanded.

Evan grinned as he wrapped his arms tighter around Valerie. She was situated between his raised knees, leaning back against him with a sleeping Olivia resting snugly on her chest under the warmth of their down blanket. He'd spread tarps over the ground after clearing away as much snow as he could from the area, and he'd built fires in thick metal braziers between each of the four logs that he'd placed around the perimeter to keep the chill further at bay.

"Well, it might have been strange idea, but it was damn good," Gavin said with a stretch and a yawn before he folded his arms around Jillian.

"Damn good," Bailey repeated absently and without looking up from the Rhistar portable video game player in his hands. Gin huddled against Cain's shoulder and pulled their blanket up closer around them. Bailey moved his arms to keep the blanket from covering the video game screen.

"Now that's not a very nice word, sweetie," Gin chided.

Bailey glanced up at her with a puzzled frown. "What word?"

Gin opened and closed her mouth a few times. "Damn," Cain repeated with a chuckle.

"But you just said it!" Bailey pointed out.

Cain's grin widened as he smashed the boy's sock cap down on his head. "I did, didn't I?" he deadpanned. "Damn . . ."

"Zelig-sensei!" Gin said, shaking her head at his incorrigible behavior.

He laughed and pulled Gin closer against his side.

"Grandpa!" Bailey exclaimed suddenly.

Cain blinked. "Hmm?"

Bailey turned to stare at Cain. "I want a drink of that!"

Glancing at the bottle of beer in his hand, Cain did a double take with a thoughtful frown on his face. When he started to move the bottle, though, Gin gasped. "Cain! You can't give him that!"

"It's just a sip," Cain replied.

Gin shook her head, pulling Bailey closer to her despite the boy's resistance as she wrinkled her nose and frowned at Cain. "It's _beer!_ You don't know what that could do to a little boy!"

Cain shrugged offhandedly. "I figured it'd help him sleep better tonight," he quipped.

"What if he got drunk?" she hissed. The word 'drunk' had come out as a very loud whisper.

"Oh, it's just a little beer," Sydnie mused to Evan's surprise. Sydnie might not despite Cain anymore, but she certainly wasn't one to blatantly take up his cause, either. "If he wanted to get Bailey drunk, he should try something stronger . . . like whiskey. That'd knock him right out."

"Kitty, I don't think that Bailey needs to get drunk again," Bas mused, scratching his chin.

Valerie reached over her shoulder and caught the front of Evan's shirt, tugging him forward slightly as she turned her head. "Did he just say 'again'?" she murmured.

Evan chuckled. "He did."

Bas sighed. "It wasn't how it sounded," Bas said, having obviously overheard Valerie's question. "When he was a baby, Sydnie gave Bailey whiskey when he was teething."

Sydnie rolled her eyes. "You make it sound so terrible," she pouted. "All I did was put some on a cloth to numb his gums."

"To hear Bubby tell it, you soaked the thing in a fifth, pussikins," Evan pointed out with a grin.

Bas snorted, probably because of the way he'd addressed Sydnie. "She did."

Sydnie crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly and tilted her head to cast a baleful look at her mate. "I only did what the book said," she pointed out haughtily. "Anyway, he wasn't drunk; he just slept really well—and I didn't hear you complaining about that the next morning, puppy."

Bas nodded despite the heightened blush that rose to stain his cheeks. "That's beside the point, kitty. Thing was, that book was about two hundred years old, _and_ it said to dab it on with the cloth, not soak the cloth and give it to the pup to suck on."

"Incidentals, puppy," Sydnie went on with a flick of her hand despite the heightened color that had blossomed in her cheeks. "It didn't really hurt Bailey, and it's not like I intended to do that! You think I'm a bad mother, don't you, Sebastian?"

Evan grimaced inwardly. His brother was treading on dangerous ground . . .

"Of course not, Sydnie," he insisted calmly as he kissed her forehead and held her close. "You're a wonderful mother. You just shouldn't believe everything you read in that book. That's all."

To Evan's surprise, Sydnie seemed to be satisfied with Bas' answer. At least she didn't dig her claws into his arm, and that was something, wasn't it . . .?

"I thought the clam bake was a _great_ idea," Jillian said, casting Evan a very bright smile, very obviously deciding that a change in topic was in order since Bas actually seemed to be a step ahead of the game at the moment.

"Yeah, well, V said she'd never been to a real clam bake," he said with an offhanded shrug. "I thought she needed to have one."

"Hmm, don't blame me for your weird ideas, Roka," Valerie said though she sounded more amused than anything. Evan figured that had to be worth something.

"I prefer to think of them as moments of insular genius," Evan went on.

Bas snorted. Gavin rolled his eyes. Cain reached behind him for another beer but didn't bother to comment.

It was totally worth it, in his estimation. After she'd gone upstairs to take a bath while she tried to hide her discomfort from her morning spent in the saddle, he'd gotten the bizarre idea to have a clam bake, so he'd driven down to the local fish market, but he hadn't found as many clams as he'd have liked, mostly because of the time of year, so he'd supplemented his purchase with some nice crabs, and he was fortunate enough to get a huge tub of seaweed too. He'd actually had to sweet talk an old woman out of the seaweed. He wasn't sure what she was going to do with four totes of seaweed, but he'd gotten enough of it to line the pit he'd lined with rocks. Toss in a few ears of frozen corn on the cob—it would have been much better if it had been fresh—a couple cases of beer, and it was a done deal.

"You give me the best ideas," he replied, kissing the top of her head as he savored the warmth of her body, cuddled so close to his.

' _Definitely worth it_ ,' his youkai agreed

' _Hell, yes_ . . .'

"So was Evan a good kid or a brat when he was little?" Valerie asked, ignoring Evan's attention completely.

"A brat," Bas said.

"Definitely a brat," Gavin stated.

"A huge brat," Cain added.

"He was a good boy," Gin insisted, slapping Cain in the center of his chest with the back of her hand.

"A very good boy," Jillian said with a wink.

"Depends on your definition of ' _good'_ ," Sydnie quipped. "Of course, he was sixteen when I met him."

Evan chuckled. "I haven't been _little_ in decades," he leered, "and the womenfolk around here were glad of it."

"You're not _really_ going to go there, are you?" Valerie asked, craning her neck to look up at him.

"I was trying to, yes," he said.

"It's true," Gin remarked, looking completely thoughtful. "I mean, Evan outgrew me when he was . . . ten? Eleven?"

"Not that it'd be hard to accomplish that," Bas added with a grin directed at his mother.

She wrinkled her nose and tossed a marshmallow at her son. Bas caught it in his mouth easily as his grin widened unrepentantly. Leave it to his mama to bring out the things to make s'mores—and she'd packed away more than anyone else had, too, which was also not surprising in the least.

"Well, as much fun as this has been," Sydnie said as she leaned forward and pushed herself to her hands and knees, "I think we'd better get the kittens inside before it gets dark, don't you?"

Bas nodded and stood up, offering Sydnie a hand to help her to her feet. Sydnie shook out the blanket and gathered it up in her arms as he stepped over to carefully lift his sleeping daughter. She whimpered softly when Valerie pushed the blanket away to allow Bas to take her. He quickly pulled his coat around her to block her from the slowly rising wind coming off the ocean. "Thanks, Evan," Bas remarked with a grin before he turned to go. "Come on, Bailey."

"Aww, can I stay here with Grandma and Grandpa?"

"Grandma and Grandpa need to go back in, too," Cain said.

Gin stood while Cain scooped up the blanket, Bailey and all. "Come on; let's go inside before your grandma freezes out here."

"It's not that cold, Cain," Evan remarked with a shrug. "You're nice and warm, right, V?"

Valerie unconsciously leaned further into him, and he smiled to himself. "It's not bad," she allowed. "The wind is picking up though . . ."

"Come on, Gavvie," Jillian said as she got to her feet, too. She leaned down and kissed Gavin on the top of the head with a giggle.

"Don't do that," Gavin grumbled, cheeks pinking as he got up and took the blanket that Jillian had retrieved.

"You used to let me kiss the top of your head all the time," she pointed out.

He snorted. "I did not," he argued as his cheeks deepened in color. "I was just too damn short to stop you."

"You were so cute," Jillian insisted.

Gavin heave a longsuffering sigh and grabbed his mate's hand before glancing at Evan and Valerie. "You should've gotten more clams," he said.

Evan chuckled as those two made their way toward the stairway that led to the yard above.

Valerie sighed, staring at the fire that Evan and Bas had rebuilt in the empty cook pit after they'd pulled the clams and crab out of it. The empty buckets that had contained all of the food were neatly stacked with the top ones containing the shells and garbage. He'd throw it into his mother's compost heap later, but for now?

For now, sitting here, holding Valerie seemed like a much more worthwhile endeavor, now didn't it?

"So, what are you thinking about?" he asked quietly, savoring the warmth of her, the vibrancy of her, the stark contrast from the wind that was slowly growing bitterer.

Her soft exhalation was more of a feeling than a sound. "Is it normal to have a clam bake in the middle of December?" she asked.

Tightening his arms around her, he smiled. "Not really," he admitted. "Then again, I guess that hadn't really occurred to me."

"Because you wanted me to experience one," she mused.

"Something like that," he said. "You warm enough? We can go inside if you're cold."

She shook her head, drawing the blanket up closer under her chin. "You're really warm, you know," she ventured. "Really, really warm . . ."

She almost sounded like she was starting to doze off. Evan sighed. It wouldn't be terrible if she did, he supposed, but he was worried that she'd catch a chill or get sick if he kept her out too long once the sun went down. "That's good, then, isn't it? You hate the cold."

"I do," she allowed in a rather distracted kind of tone. "Your family . . . You guys seem really close."

"I don't know about that," he said. "I mean, not really."

She shifted enough to lean her head back, to stare at him in an entirely unsettling kind of way. He wasn't sure what she was thinking, but there was a gravity in her eyes, a solemn sense of questioning that he wasn't sure he wanted to question. "Are you sure about that?" she challenged quietly. "Are you really, really sure?"

Stifling a sigh, he shrugged indifferently. "Trust me, V. I've lived it all my life."

She wasn't buying it; he could see it on her face. A change in plans was in order, wasn't it? He had no desire to stay on the current course of the conversation, but if he didn't distract her fast . . .

So, to that end, he stood up, untangling his legs while trying to keep from letting too much cold air under the thick blanket. Occupying himself with gathering up the last of the wood that he'd gathered, he dropped it on the fire then moved off to fold up the tarps.

Sitting up, hunching forward, Valerie hooked her hands around her legs under the blanket. Her eyes were intense, boring into his skull even while he avoided her gaze. She didn't speak while he worked, and then she stood up, taking her time in folding the comforter that she'd just been snuggled under. The silence that grew between the two of them was as vast as the ocean, as encompassing as the sea.

"You hide things almost as well as I do," she ventured at last, "just not for the same reasons."

Dropping the last tarp on the stack of them, he shrugged. For a moment, just for a moment, he opened his mouth to change the topic, to laugh it off, to make her forget. The expression on her face stopped him, though, even as her words came back to him.

" _I've told you things, you know, because I never thought that you'd judge me: because I trust you . . . I would have thought that maybe . . . Maybe you'd trust me, too_."

She was right, wasn't she? All he ever did was hide from the things that he just didn't want to talk about, and Valerie . . . How would he convince her that he was her mate if he never talked to her, if he didn't do anything but laugh everything away?

Plopping down on the nearest log, Evan rubbed his face, closed his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling infinitely weary yet restless, all at the same time. "It's . . . It's everything, V," he said, unable to stop himself from faltering. The eternal poet, the master of the song, and yet he struggled? "And it's . . . It's _nothing_."

He wasn't sure what she'd heard in his tone, in the words that he hadn't been able to find. The log that he was sitting on moved slightly, a moment later, Valerie grasped his hand and pulled it away from his face. The emotion in her eyes, though . . .

A hint of compassion tinged by an overwhelming sense of understanding . . . A very slight, just the hint of a smile that was somehow sad . . . "You don't really understand it any better than I understand what . . . what happened with me," she said quietly, knowingly. "You spend your whole life making other people happy, don't you, Roka? But . . ." Her eyes slipped away, slipped off over the horizon, the unending expanse of the ocean . . . "But you never ask for anyone to do that for you."

"That's not—"

She stood up suddenly, grasping his free hand, tugging till he rose to his feet. Eyes lifting to meet his as her smile widened, she shook her head. "So . . . Come on."

That smile of hers . . . He'd follow her anywhere, wouldn't he, just to see that smile . . . "Where are we going?" he asked.

"Dance with me," she demanded.

He blinked and stared at her rather stupidly. "Dance with you?" he echoed.

She nodded, her arms stretching out further as she took a step back. "Yes," she stated matter-of-factly. "Dance with me."

Shifting his eyes back and forth, he finally broke into a small smile. "There's no music, V," he pointed out.

Rolling her eyes, she snorted. "Aren't you the man who always has a song to sing?" she scoffed. "Are you trying to tell me that you can't think of one now?"

"Is that right?"

Nodding again, she let him tug her closer, drawing her into his arms as he swayed her gently back and forth.

"Where's my song, Roka?"

Chuckling quietly, he let his lips linger against the softness of her hair.

 

 

"' _If I could save time in a bottle_ . . .  
' _The first thing that I'd like to do_ . . .  
' _Is to save every day_ . . .  
' _Till eternity passes away_ . . .  
' _Just to spend them with you_ . . .'"

"' _If I could make days last forever_ . . .  
' _If words could make wishes come true_ . . .  
' _I'd save every day_ . . .  
' _Like a treasure and then_ . . .  
' _Again I would spend them with you_ . . .'"

"' _But there never seems to be enough time_ . . .  
' _To do the things you want to do_ . . .

' _I've looked around enough to know_ . . .  
' _That you're the one I want to go_ . . .  
' _Through time with_ . . .'

"' _If I had a box just for wishes_ . . .  
' _And dreams that had never come true_ . . .  
' _The box would be empty_ . . .  
' _Except for the mem'ry_ . . .  
' _Of how they were answered by you_ . . .'"

 

 

And even after the song had ended, the two kept dancing in the sand on the beach surrounded by snow and flickering flames to a song that only they could hear . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Glory_** **_Days_** ' _originally appeared on Bruce Springsteen's_ _1984_ _release,_ **_Born_** **_in_** **_the_** **_USA_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Bruce_ _Springsteen_.  
>  ' ** _Time_** **_in_** **_a_** **_Bottle_** ' _originally appeared on Jim Croce's_ _1972_ _release,_ **_You_** **_Don't_** **_Mess_** **_Around_** **_with_** **_Jim_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Jim_ _Croce_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Nice_ …


	120. 119: Reversals

' _All the days gone by – Do you remember when we were the best of friends_ …?  
' _All the days gone by – You know that mem'ries never fade_ …  
' _As you're watchin' all your days go by_ …'

 

-' _Days_ _Gone_ _By'_ by Slaughter.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Stumbling down the stairs as she rubbed her face and smothered a yawn with the back of her hand, Valerie only had one thing on her mind: coffee. Evan had brought her a pot of coffee every morning, and she hadn't realized just how much she'd looked forward to that morning favor—until this morning, she supposed, since he hadn't brought her one at all.

December twenty-third.

Two days until Christmas.

The skies outside the windows on the landings of the staircase were overcast, gray—an onerous sort of gray that held no variations, no light patches or darkened clouds: a solid sheet of endless perfidy. If she were anywhere else other than inside the warmth of the Zelig mansion, she might have found the effect to be somewhat melancholy, almost bittersweet. It was nearly impossible, however, to hold that kind of mood, though: not when the absolutely charming scent of gingerbread tingled in her nostrils. Her hand on the polished wood banister slid silently, effortlessly along the smooth surface. In the distance, she could hear sounds, movements, rustling, and while she couldn't actually make out anything that she recognized, somehow she knew that they were coming from the kitchen.

Shuffling through the living room, she headed for the kitchen, noting on her way through that the piano had been shoved over closer to the fireplace and the chairs that stood near it had been pushed back the other way, leaving a very large, very open area in the middle of the floor. Evan had mentioned that the guys would be going out to chop the Christmas tree, and that made perfect sense since there was a very large tree stand sitting on the floor along with a number of large wooden crates that had 'living room tree' stenciled neatly on the sides.

"You want me to start the thumbprint cookies or do you still need the trays for those?" Evan asked Gin over his shoulder as she pulled a sheet pan out of the top oven and carefully set it on the stovetop to cool.

"I just put in the last tray of gingerbread," she told him, "so it's okay to start those now." Glancing up at Valerie when she stepped into the kitchen, Gin smiled. "Good morning, sweetie," she greeted. "We didn't wake you up, did we?"

"N-No," Valerie said, her eyes widening as she slowly shifted her gaze over the counter in mute wonder. There were cookies everywhere: cooling on wire racks, stacked in half-full containers of every conceivable shape and size, arranged on plates and platters, in plastic baggies . . . Dozens upon dozens of cookies: sugar frosted with fluffy white icing and decorated with sprinkles and silver balls and edible gold foil and festive nonpareils, piped with different colored icing; coconut cookies dipped in chocolate, drizzled with white chocolate; peanut butter cookies, chocolate chip cookies, cookies that Valerie had never seen before and had no idea exactly what they were made of . . . It looked like they had been baking all night, and when she finally locked eyes with Evan, he grinned.

"Sorry, baby," he said. "I meant to bring up your coffee, but I lost track of time."

"When did you guys start baking?" she asked, sliding onto a bar stool directly across from him and reaching for the cup that he offered her. He'd made a fresh pot, and that was good enough.

"Well, we usually get started around three in the morning," he drawled, scooping out a spoonful of dough and rolling it between his hands, "but I couldn't sleep, so I got started a little early. Made a few batches before Mama wandered in."

Gin giggled and stopped long enough to kiss Evan's cheek. "You're such a sweetie," she gushed.

Evan grinned and leaned over to kiss his mother back. Both she and Evan were wearing what looked to be plastic headbands with a wire sticking out of the top with an upside down hook that was wrapped around a sprig of mistletoe. Valerie wasn't entirely sure what to make of those, but the silly things were enough to make her smile. Well, that and the sight of his black 'V' tour shirt, covered with flour and what looked to be dribbles of icing . . .

"Hey, V, I don't suppose you noticed," he hinted, making a show of raising his eyes heavenward.

Valerie didn't answer as she drained her cup of coffee and held it out to him again. "I don't suppose I did," she agreed easily enough.

He chuckled and quickly got her a refill. "So cold," he complained.

"I found the tape," Jillian announced as she breezed into the kitchen and held up a few rolls of scotch tape for their inspection. "If Daddy asks, I didn't see the package in his top desk drawer that said 'Jilli' on the tag—and I didn't shake it, either."

"He hid presents in his desk?" Gin demanded, rounding on her daughter. "Did you see any that said 'Gin'?"

"Oh, you really shouldn't have mentioned that," Sydnie said dryly as she sashayed into the kitchen, her arms loaded with about twenty rolls of wrapping paper.

"Now, Mama, you don't want to ruin ol' Cain's Christmas surprises, now do you?" Evan teased.

"It wouldn't ruin his surprises if no one told him that I'd peeked," she maintained, lifting her chin stubbornly despite the pinkness that seeped into her cheeks.

Valerie blinked and looked down when a slight tug on the leg of her jeans drew her attention, only to find Olivia standing on the floor, smiling up at her. As soon as she met the girl's gaze, Olivia lifted her arms to be picked up.

With a soft laugh, Valerie scooped her up. She wasn't wearing any tights, but she was wearing a very pretty, very expensive looking dress of red velvet over white lace. "I can have a cookie, please, Aunt V?" she asked.

Valerie's mouth fell open as a slight blush rose to her skin. Maybe it shouldn't have surprised her, but it did. Still, there was something entirely precious about it, wasn't there? She smiled and hugged the girl a little closer. "Of course you can," she said, unsure why the simple mistake had the ability to make her feel like laughing. "What kind do you want, Olivia?"

She sat up straighter and slowly looked over the heaps of cookies laid out before her. "That one!" she said at last, pointing at a sugar cookie cut into the shape of a reindeer.

Evan was closer, and he handed it over the counter. "There you go. What kind do you want, Aunt V?"

"Did you tell her to call me that?" Valerie countered.

"I wish," he admitted with a shrug and a saucy grin. "No, I didn't. Now about that cookie . . ."

Valerie smiled but shook her head. "Grapefruit, please."

He leaned across the counter with a grin. "You're not really going to offend my mama, now are you?"

Opening her mouth and closing it again, Valerie narrowed her eyes on him. "Fine, Roka. One cookie."

He grinned, obviously thinking that he'd won as he handed over a thickly iced gingerbread woman. She nibbled at one of the hands. It was delicious, not that she'd expected anything less though the icing was a bit too thick for her.

"Hey, Liv, you want to sing the song I taught you for Aunt V?" Evan asked as he resumed rolling balls of dough and arranging them on the cookie sheet.

Olivia giggled and shook her head, peeking up bashfully at Valerie.

The look that Valerie shot Evan made him laugh. "Relax, woman. It was a clean song; I swear."

She shook her head since she wasn't entirely sure whether or not she believed him. Then again, he usually behaved himself fairly well when the children were present, so maybe he'd taught her something appropriate—something like ' _I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus_ '. . .

Brushing his hands off before reaching for a paper towel to wipe them a little better, he strode around the counter and leaned down to stare Olivia in the eyes. "Come on, Livvy. You wanna sing, right?"

She giggled again, and for a moment, Valerie thought that the girl was going to tell him 'no', but Olivia smiled and hesitated for a moment before lifting her arms.

"That's my girl," he crooned as he scooped her up and held her on his hip, "Go ahead."

Olivia shot him a quick glance then buried her face against his chest, but she started to sing though her words were muffled, and Valerie pressed her lips together to keep from laughing outright . . .

 

 

"' _Santa baby, stick a sable under the tree for me_ . . .

' _I've been an awful good girl, Santa baby_ . . .

' _So hurry down the chimney tonight_ . . .'"

 

 

Valerie clapped and laughed when the girl finished the one verse that he'd taught her, and Evan chuckled. "That was so good!" Valerie said as Olivia buried her face deeper against Evan.

"Hmm, sounds like a perfect song," Sydnie remarked with a smile as she knelt on the floor between the counter and the booth in the breakfast nook with a roll of wrapping paper and a huge stack of toys behind her. "Her daddy will love it."

Evan grinned. "I'm sure he will." He planted a loud kiss on her cheek and tossed her into the air, settling her back on Valerie's lap after he caught her again. Then he stuck his lips out in a wholly ridiculous way and leered at Valerie. She rolled her eyes and planted her hand in the middle of his face and shoved him back. "Aw, no love?"

"No way," Valerie said, nibbling on the cookie again.

He tried to make a sad face but failed miserably.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"'Silent night . . . Holy night . . . When I look at you . . . My pants get tight . . .'"

Cain strode through the living room toward the tree that the men had just set up with a long string of white lights in his hand and reached out, whacking Evan upside the head in passing.

Evan chuckled and rolled his eyes but didn't miss a beat. "'Round yon virgin . . . Mother and child . . .'"

Valerie caught his eye where she stood, helping Gin test the endless strings of lights. When he winked at her, she pursed her lips and shook her head. It was the fourth time he'd been smacked for altering the Christmas carols. Cain seemed to be winning the war this time around. He was in the lead: three to one—the one being Bas. It was a pretty common thing, and to be honest, a couple of times, he hadn't even realized that he'd changed the words until he'd gotten the smack . . .

He couldn't help it, could he? After all, it was kind of expected, right? It was an annual ritual whenever he was home for Christmas. Twisting Christmas carols was just an easy thing to do, and even then, his mother didn't always realize what he was doing, anyway . . .

Still, it was the familiarity of the situation that lent him a feeling of unquestioned comfort. Everything about the day could've happened any year at the same time. The only difference was Valerie's presence, and it struck him, didn't it? This particular scene, this particular tableau . . . he wanted to see this exact same thing every year for the rest of his life . . .

It was funny, wasn't it? It was the one time a year that it was all right for the family to stay together under the same roof, even if they had places nearby that they could call home. Sure, he'd told Valerie that he had a place nearby, and he did. Staying there hadn't actually crossed his mind, though, even if Miss wasn't using it at the moment. Bas had a house on property that was adjacent to Cain's, but there wasn't a question as to whether or not he'd be here, too. Besides, he'd mentioned that he'd given their housekeeper and live-in cook a couple weeks off, anyway. As for Jillian and Gavin? Jillian owned a house in Bevelle, too, and she could have easily stayed there if she had wanted to, but she hadn't even considered going anywhere for the holidays but home, right where she was, especially since she and Gavin had spent the year before with Gavin's family in Montana.

So there really hadn't been a question as to where Evan was going to stay while he was here. He'd be where he always wanted to be at this time of year: surrounded by family, even the parts of his family that he might rather do without.

He sighed as he ended the song and sat back to watch the rest of the family as they started to trim the huge tree that they'd lugged home earlier. Cain and Bas were arguing over whether or not Cain was wrapping the strings of lights close enough together while Jillian was sitting on the floor, stringing cranberries and popcorn on a long piece of twine. Sydnie was carefully separating out the boxes of ornaments while Valerie and Gin finished going through the assemblage of lights. Gavin sat on the floor, helping Bailey program the Junior Learning Center that he'd managed to get out of his father two days early—Evan had seen the ads for those. Basically, they were computers that were only able to access websites that were approved by the Learning Center Network for children under the age of ten and came packed with tons of software designed to teach children as they did things like play video games.

All in all, he couldn't ask for much more, could he? Somehow Valerie's presence just made everything that much better, that much more special. ' _The first of many, V,_ ' he promised himself as a secretive little smile quirked his lips. ' _You'll see_ . . .'

"Ho, ho, ho!"

"Well, if that's not a fitting way to announce your arrival, then I don't know what is," Evan quipped as he rose from the piano bench to wander over and greet his cousin-slash-niece, Isabelle and her mate, Griffin.

"Spoken like a true deviant," Isabelle shot back as she stood on tiptoe to kiss Evan's cheek. "Oh, now, isn't that cute?" she said, tweaking the mistletoe hanging over Evan's head.

He grinned. "Works like a charm," he agreed. "Hey, Griffin. How's the leg?"

There wasn't much of a change in expression on the bear-youkai's face other than the vaguest hint of a deeper scowl than normal. He was still recovering from reconstructive surgery to remove more of the scar tissue that had built up in his joints over the years, and from what Evan understood, he still had at least another couple surgeries to go. "It's all right," he muttered.

Evan grinned and clapped the man on the shoulder though not quite as hard as he normally would have. "Yeah, you were just trying to get out of the annual ritual of slaughtering a perfectly good tree," he teased.

"There's that, too," Griffin agreed easily enough. That said, he turned slowly, leaning rather heavily on the cane that he'd stumped in with and lumbered toward the sofa.

Isabelle hurried off toward the kitchen. Evan followed her. "So how's he really doing?" he asked.

She shot him a bright smile as she got a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. "Very well, actually. Papa said that he'll be in a bit more discomfort this time around because he had to go deeper to remove more of the scar tissue, but he should be back to his old self very soon."

"Good," Evan allowed, pulling the cartons of eggnog that he'd slapped together earlier and dumping them into the huge crystal punchbowl that Gin had left on the counter.

Isabelle laughed then arched an eyebrow. "So is what I hear true? Evan Zelig's found his mate?"

Pausing as he sprinkled nutmeg on the foamy surface of the eggnog, Evan glanced at Isabelle and grinned. "I . . . I think so," he said, deliberately trying to downplay the situation.

"I hear she's a hottie," Isabelle went on as she fished Griffin's meds out of her purse. "Is that right?"

"Of course!" he assured her, his grin widening. "You think she wouldn't be?"

"Well, I can't wait to meet her," she said, giving Evan a quick hug.

"Yeah, hey . . . I haven't told her anything yet," he admitted.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned back on the counter and smiled knowingly. "You're saying that you're having woman trouble? You?"

"She's coming around," he told her. "It's just . . . taking a while."

Tossing her head back, she gave a deep belly laugh that made him sigh. "Come on," she said when she finally wound down to giggles. Setting the bottle of water she'd gotten out for Griffin onto the tray beside the glass mugs that Gin had also set out. "I'll help you."

Evan chuckled and, punchbowl in hand, led the way out of the kitchen.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie laughed and slowly turned the page in the baby blue leather photo album that Jillian had plopped onto her lap when she'd sat down to watch the trimming of the tree. Gin seemed to be doing most of it with Cain's assistance for the part of the tree that Gin couldn't reach and with the others pitching in now and again, but for the most part, everyone seemed to be content to sit back and watch, drinking eggnog and eating cookies while Gin fussed with the tree.

Actually, Jillian had given Valerie three photo albums—apparently all Evan's, but she still hadn't gotten through the first one, and she had to admit, Evan was probably the cutest baby she'd ever seen. Always smiling, always laughing, she had yet to see any images of him without a huge grin on his face. Okay, that wasn't entirely true. There were a number of them where he wasn't smiling, but he was a newborn in those. Still, there was a certain happiness in even those images. Gin had told her that Evan didn't really cry as a baby, and Valerie had thought that was a bit of a silly notion. Judging from the images, though, he didn't, did he?

' _Evan and Jillian's first tub bath_ ' was written under one image. Evan was sitting in a mass of bubbles with a very tiny Jillian, and both were smiling at the photographer, but the most amusing thing about that image had to be the boy sitting in the tub with the two babies. Thanks to Gin's labels, she knew that the boy was a ten-and-a-half-year-old Bas, and while he didn't look entirely happy about sharing the tub with the babies, he was smiling, too . . .

Evan, sleeping on the floor with his rear end up in the air, his hands resting on the floor by his ankles . . . Evan, sitting on Gin's lap, being held in Gin's arms, running along the beach beside Gin, making cookies in the kitchen with Gin . . . Evan, playing with cars with Bas on the living room floor, playing catch with Bas in the back yard . . . Evan, having a tea party with Jillian in her very pink room, playing with dolls with Jillian, sitting on a carousel horse with Jillian . . . and in every one of those pictures, if Evan was awake, he was smiling . . .

"I was a devilish cute little shit, right?"

Valerie turned her head, smiled at Evan as he leaned on the back of the sofa, staring over her shoulder at the photo album. "Hmm," she drawled, unable to hide the smile on her face, "you were."

"That one, right there . . . That's the best picture of me, don't you think?" he quipped.

Valerie glanced down at the image he was pointing at and shook her head. In it, he was lying on his stomach with his feet kicked up and crossed at the ankles and his chin resting on his raised hands, watching television in the nude. Gin's neat script indicated that Evan was almost two in the picture, and it was very cute, considering the only thing that could be 'seen' was his little bare butt. Valerie sighed. "So you're saying that you got an early start in the whole naked thing."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," he agreed with a cheesy grin.

Valerie glanced up at him, only to do a classic double-take. He was leaning toward her, but he wasn't looking at her. No, he was kind of sticking his face at her in such a way that brought a chicken to mind. "What . . . are you doing?" she asked, her scowl deepening as she tried to figure out just what he was up to.

"Nothing," he assured her quickly, jutting his face sharply a few more times. "Well, I _am_ still under the mistletoe, right?"

Sucking in her cheeks before she burst out laughing, Valerie schooled her features. "Considering you've yet to take that ridiculous thing off your head? I guess you are."

"You're supposed to kiss whatever's under the mistletoe," he pointed out reasonably.

"No way."

"Why not?"

"Don't you think that it's a little pathetic to have to go around, begging for kisses like that?" she countered.

He considered that for a moment then shrugged. "It's not pathetic if it works."

She stared at him then slowly shook her head. "You're in such denial . . . How sad . . ."

"Just one," he coaxed.

Valerie heaved a sigh. "If I give you one, will you leave me alone for the rest of your natural born life?"

He snorted. "If you give me one, I'll leave you alone for the next two minutes. How's that?"

"A year?"

"Five minutes."

She rolled her eyes. "Will you leave me alone so I can finish looking through these?" she asked, waving a hand at the collection of photo albums on the coffee table.

He chuckled. "Deal."

Valerie started to lean toward him to kiss his cheek. He turned his head. Catching his chin and forcing him to look straight ahead again, she quickly kissed him before he could try to misbehave. "There," she said primly as she pushed him back and turned her attention to the album on her lap.

"I'm never going to wash this cheek again!" he teased.

Valerie shook her head and reached over her shoulder, smashing her hand into the middle of his face to shove him back when he decided to try to steal another kiss. "Good. Now, go away," she told him.

Evan chuckled and handed her a cup of eggnog. "Okay, baby," he agreed, planting a kiss on the top of her head. "Just holler if you decide you need more of The hEvan."

"Mhmm," she intoned without actually listening to him.

"I really like that girl," Cain remarked, having caught the exchange between Evan and Valerie.

Bas straightened up and glanced over at the sofa. "Me, too. 'Course, I'm not sure if she's totally sane, all things considered . . ."

Gin smacked Bas in the chest as she stopped to watch the couple in question. "I think they're perfect together," she decided.

Cain slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her over against his side, shaking his head as Evan yanked the mistletoe headband off his head and held it over his crotch. "I think 'perfect' might be a pretty strong statement," he said as Valerie leaned over the side of the sofa to try to smack Evan. He twisted away, pleading his case loudly between guffaws of laughter.

"Nope," Gin insisted, wrapping her arms around Cain's waist with a contented little smile on her face. "Absolutely _perfect_."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Days_** **_Gone_** **_By_** ' _originally appeared on Slaughter's_ _1992_ _release,_ **_The_** **_Wild_** **_Life_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Mark Slaughter and Dana Strum_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Gin_** :  
>  _They're so cute!_


	121. 120: Stillness

' _There's a hole in the world like a great black pit_ …  
' _And it's filled with people who are filled with shit_ …  
' _And the vermin of the world inhabit it_ …'

 

-' _No_ _Place_ _like_ _London'_ from **Sweeney** **Todd:** **The** **Demon** **Barber** **of** **Fleet** **Street** ( _movie_ ).

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"She is gorgeous."

Evan turned to glance at Martin Sanstrom, or more officially, the general in charge of overseeing the western part of the United States. He was gazing off at the dance floor with a wan smile on his face. "Depends on which 'she' you're talking about," he replied, straightening the sleeve of his tuxedo before jamming his hands back into his pockets once more.

Martin chuckled. "The one that came with you, of course," he replied. "Miss Denning, correct?"

Breaking into a vague smile, Evan nodded. "That woman is beyond mere 'gorgeous'," he said. "That woman is a goddess."

"Hmm, well, your goddess is absolutely stunning."

"Of course she is."

And she was; she really was. The rusty copper colored velvet dress that he'd paid for, sight unseen, for the event brought out the brilliant green flecks in her hazel eyes and hugged her frame like a second skin without looking vampy, drawing attention to the understated but luminous topaz set in platinum along with the matching drop earrings that he'd gotten on loan from one of the local jewelers. He'd tried to buy them, but Valerie had told him that she'd never speak to him again if he did, mostly, he figured, because of the mind boggling price tag on the dress. He didn't really want to return the pieces, but if it kept the peace for now, then he supposed that he could play nice. Hair swept up into a neat chignon with small tendrils framing her face, her skin still glowing with the warmth of her lingering tan . . . yeah, she was absolutely stunning, as Martin had already pointed out . . .

Now if he could just dance with the woman, it'd all be good.

' _I swear to God, they're doing it on purpose_.'

Evan nodded slightly. That actually sounded fairly feasible. After all, he hadn't actually gotten to dance with her even once, but she had danced with all of the other men already, Griffin notwithstanding. Even if they were able to talk the bear into it, which Evan doubted they could actually accomplish, the man wasn't exactly in dancing mode and had spent the majority of the evening, sitting at one of the tables with his wife.

"Do my eyes deceive me? Is she wearing your color, no less?" Martin went on, entirely oblivious to Evan's thoughts.   "Are congratulations in order?"

"Where's _your_ lovely wife this evening?" Evan asked, pointedly changing the subject.

Martin laughed. "She's here . . . Last I saw, she was off, talking to Sydnie and Madison."

Evan chuckled, mostly because he could only imagine how that particular conversation was going. Madison had just arrived in Maine in enough time to come over and see to the women's hair, and she'd come with them to save time even though she'd be over at her parents' house for the rest of the holiday. Her parents were wandering around here somewhere, too . . .

"I was," Jan Sandstrom said as she stepped up beside her husband. "Now I think I'd much rather dance with my husband."

Martin smiled and kissed her cheek, inclining his head toward Evan as he passed with his wife.

Evan sighed. Now, if he could just figure out how to get the vermin he called family away from Valerie, he'd be one step ahead of the game himself . . .

"Hey, Evan."

Blinking as he shot his brother a rather bored look, Evan opened his mouth to explain to Bas that he knew damn well that he was somehow behind this ploy to keep Valerie out of his diabolical clutches for the evening.

Bas held up a hand to forestall Evan's tirade. "Step outside with me," he said in a completely serious tone of voice.

Evan stared at him for a long moment but finally nodded. There was something unsettling about Bas' demeanor, reminiscent of the times when Bas would lecture Evan about whatever he deemed deserving at the time. Bas must've read Evan's reaction correctly because he rolled his eyes and grasped Evan's shoulder, propelling him toward the doors that led to the foyer of the Clarissa Manly Memorial Center.

"What's this about, Bubby?" Evan demanded almost mildly as the doors closed behind them. The foyer was much cooler than the ballroom where the party was being held. It was a welcome change, in Evan's estimation.

Stuffing his hands deep into his pockets, Bas took a moment to glance around, making sure that they were alone before he spoke. "Relax, Evan," he said with a scowl. "You wanted me to look into Valerie's family, remember?"

Evan blinked and nodded.   "Oh, right. You find out anything?"

"Yeah, I did," he admitted. "I've got a file back at Mom and Dad's for you."

Narrowing his eyes on his brother, Evan rolled his hand to prompt him to go on. "But . . .?"

Bas sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I don't think you're going to like what's in there."

Little alarm bells clanged in the back of Evan's head. He ignored them. "Why?"

Bas opened his mouth to reply, but the doors opened, and he waited until the guy had wandered past them and around the corner, probably looking for the bathroom. "Her father's dying."

Evan stared at him for a moment, unsure if he'd heard Bas correctly or not. "Dying?" he repeated quietly.

Bas nodded. "Yeah. He's in early stage renal failure."

"His kidneys are shutting down?"

With a shrug, Bas shook his head again. "He's got liver problems, too, but from what I gathered, that's secondary."

Evan sighed. "So if his kidneys don't kill him, his liver might."

"Something like that," Bas agreed quietly.

It took a moment for Evan to wrap his brain around it. In the end, he scowled. "What about a transplant? Is he on the waiting list?"

"He doesn't qualify."

Shaking his head, Evan shot Bas a confused look.

"He was an addict, Evan. That's why they lost custody of Valerie—well, the underlying reason, anyway."

"Like that matters," Evan scoffed. "Just because he fucked up years ago? That makes him undeserving of the basic right to live?"

Bas glared at him, though Evan figured he wasn't really glaring at _him_ , per se, but at the situation in general. "There are guidelines," he explained. "If you've done something to destroy your own body, you're not going to make the list, especially when you're talking about others who haven't done a damn thing wrong, others who were born with some kind of defect or developed problems through no fault of their own."

"Yeah, I got it," Evan muttered, waving a hand at Bas as he paced around in a small circle. "Shit . . ."

"I'm sorry," Bas mumbled.

Evan stopped, swinging his shoulders around as he pinned his brother with a probing stare. "Any idea how long he's got?"

Bas shook his head. "The guy I talked to said that a condition like that can persist for a while as long as he's on dialysis or it can deteriorate quickly. It all depends on his overall health and treatment."

"But it doesn't look good," Evan concluded. Letting out a deep breath, he gritted his teeth. "The rest of her family?"

"Her mother works two jobs since he can't. Her brother has a part time job at a local fast food restaurant, and they think he gives his parents most of his money to help pay the bills. Her sister just got a part time job at the library. Apparently her brother is pretty gifted with music—a guitarist—and her sister is ranked in the top ten of her class."

"Good," Evan mused. "Thanks."

Bas nodded slowly. "Look, I'm going to go on back in. I'll leave that file in your room when we get back to the house."

Evan turned away, lifting a couple fingers to indicate that he'd heard Bas. The sounds of the party flooded out of the ballroom when Bas opened the door, but were silenced just as quickly when they closed again, leaving Evan alone with his thoughts.

"Damn," he muttered, trying to make sense out of what Bas had told him. Her father was dying . . .?

The truth was, he wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to do with the information that Bas was collecting for him. He hadn't really thought about it too much. Then again, he hadn't imagined in a million years that Valerie's parents might not be in such great health, had he? It was too easy not to think about that, wasn't it? Considering what he was, what his family was, it wasn't really surprising. Youkai didn't usually think in terms of death or dying. It just wasn't something that normally crossed his mind.

But Valerie . . . she'd said that she didn't want anything to do with them. Why bother changing her name if she'd ever wanted to go back home again, right? Even then, she wasn't ready to face them; he knew she wasn't. She could barely admit the truth of her childhood and the pain it had caused her to herself, let alone confront the people who had inflicted that hurt on her so long ago. If she waited too long though . . .

' _You know, that's not even the half of it_ ,' his youkai-voice said quietly. ' _She's going to be pissed as all hell if she finds out that you took it upon yourself to verify her story._ '

And there was that, too. Evan sighed. ' _It wasn't so much that I was trying to verify her story. I just wanted to know what the hell kind of people would have done that to her_ . . .'

' _I know that, and you know that, but seriously, what the hell do you really think that she's going to think, rock star? Think about it, will you? She's going to be furious, and you know it_.'

Yeah, yeah, he did know it. He supposed that if he were to be completely truthful, he'd have to admit that what he'd really wanted to do was to go there himself, to beat some sense into her father, if need be. He wanted the man to understand just what he and his wife had done to Valerie: to the little girl who simply didn't have a chance in hell of ever making sense of a damn thing they'd done.

Turning around, Evan slumped against the off-white wall hard enough that the stained glass sconce beside the door shook precariously.

If what Bas said was true, and he didn't doubt that it was, the bigger question was whether or not Evan really had the right to keep the information from her. He might not have had the right to ask Bas to do it in the first place, but it'd be much worse if he tried to hide it. She had a right to know, didn't she?

All he'd wanted to do was to protect her from those things in her past that had hurt her. Telling her . . . He didn't delude himself. Telling her the truth was going to hurt her even more . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Something strange was definitely going on.

She had to admit, she'd been having a very good time. The Christmas benefit seemed to have been a huge hit with the family raising a lot of money for the Zelig Foundation, mostly through silent donations that had been collected throughout the evening, both from those in attendance as well as from people who hadn't been able to make it. Isabelle had told her earlier that it was basically just a huge Christmas party for close friends of the family as well as for some of the more steadfast supporters of the foundation, but because it was always held a day or two before Christmas, they always cut the festivities early—'early' being around eleven so that anyone who was traveling had time to get where they were going in time for Christmas Eve.

The only thing was, she hadn't gotten to dance with Evan at all, hadn't actually seen much of him all night, to be honest. A few times, she'd seen him, standing off the dance floor, talking to different people. When he caught her gaze, he'd smile at her, but he hadn't actually tried to cut in or anything, which was more than a little strange, all things considered.

Of course, she'd feel a little better about it _if_ . . . one, Chera Karankoa wasn't at the party and nowhere to be seen, and two, Evan wasn't conspicuously missing from the gathering at the moment, too.

She snorted inwardly. If that man was off _fornicating_ with that woman, she was going to murder him, no questions asked.

"Tell me, do you always accompany your clients to their hometowns for Christmas?"

Valerie blinked away the lingering thought of committing a felony and smiled up at her dance partner at the moment, Gunnar Inutaisho. "No, but he groveled a hell of a lot," she quipped, "and it was either come with him or watch a grown man cry."

Gunnar leveled a droll look at her as the barest hint of a smile touched the right corner of his full lips. His amusement was more pronounced in the heightened brightness in his golden eyes than in an actual smile, though, and Valerie was struck once more by exactly how good looking this particular cousin of Evan's was. His eyes were the same golden color as Gins, as Bas', as Isabelle's, but it was somehow starker, more startling on him, and that might have been because of the rich black hair that hung nearly to his waist. It wasn't really any wonder why Madison would have chosen to bed that one, no doubt about it, and seeing him turned out so immaculately in a perfectly tailored Lorosche tuxedo? Well, she supposed that Gunnar didn't have any trouble whatsoever in finding women who were more than a little interested in spending time with him.

Like the rest of the men, he was tall—very tall, but he was much slimmer of build than the Zelig men, even Evan, which didn't mean that he was skinny at all. He was taller than Evan and almost as tall as Bas, but his frame was much lankier than Bas': broad shoulders, narrow waist, well-muscled without being overdeveloped in the least . . . Valerie herself might have been more impressed, too, but the aloof manner of the man was just a little stifling; at least, it was to her. There was an arrogant quality about him, an easy grace that stemmed from a lifetime of privilege. He was entirely used to being the final authority, wasn't he? Somehow, Valerie had the feeling that Gunnar wasn't the kind of man who was used to hearing 'no' . . .

"You should have let him cry," Gunnar stated.

Valerie laughed. "Probably."

"No 'probably' about it."

She smiled, her gaze slipping to the side yet again, scanning the room for the only silver-haired man in attendance. He was still nowhere to be seen.

"I believe I saw him step outside with Bas," Gunnar remarked, his eyes roving over the masses in the same way that Valerie had just employed. "I'm sure he'll be back soon."

"Oh, it's fine. I'm sure that it's nothing," she blurted, her cheeks pinking hotly as she forced herself to look away.

Gunnar chuckled. "I beg your pardon."

For some reason, his apology didn't actually sound like one. She frowned. "You have a slight accent," she ventured, leaning away from him to get a better look at his face.

"I do," he stated amiably enough. "People don't often notice it."

She shook her head. "I can't place it," she said. Then she gasped and pointed her index finger at him. "Japanese?"

"Ah, you did get it," he agreed, his smile widening a few degrees.

"I thought that the Japanese accent was usually thicker."

"Usually," he admitted. "My mother is American, though, and she taught me English."

"Oh, then that makes perfect sense. Your parents live around here, too?"

"No, they live in Japan."

"And you didn't go home for Christmas?"

Gunnar shrugged. "Christmas isn't such a big deal in Japan," he replied. "Besides, I'm in the middle of a few very important things at work."

Valerie grimaced then offered him a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be nosy," she admitted. She hadn't missed the slightly clipped tone of his voice.

"On the contrary, it's fine," he assured her then nodded his head in a vague sort of direction. "The little devil's back, it seems."

Valerie glanced over in the direction that he'd indicated, spotting Evan, who had just slipped back into the hall. The song ended, and Gunnar stepped back, bowing slightly but not taking his eyes off Valerie's face. "I thank you for the dance, Ms. Denning," he said in an entirely formal kind of way.

"No, the pleasure was mine," she replied. "If you'll excuse me . . ."

That said, she turned and made her way toward Evan. The large clock on the wall above the doors read nearly eleven o'clock, and she meant to dance with Evan before the party ended . . .

As she drew nearer to him, though, she slowed, her brows furrowing as a frown grew. Something wasn't right, was it? The expression on his face, the preoccupied light in his gaze . . . "Evan?"

He seemed startled when she'd called his name. Blinking, glancing around, he stopped when his eyes locked with hers, and the smile that followed was thin, weak. "Hey, V. Having a good time?"

She nodded slowly, wondering just what had happened to put him into such a mood. Closing the last few feet between them, she frowned at him, trying to figure out what he was thinking, wishing that she could read his mind. "I am," she said, giving him a reluctant little smile that she hoped would make him feel a little better. "Is something wrong?"

He stared at her for a long moment then smiled and shook his head. "Nah, everything's fine," he said.

She didn't believe him. Unfortunately, she also knew that he wasn't going to tell her what really might be bothering him, either. Too damn stubborn, wasn't he? She sighed. "I've danced with just about every man in your family, Roka," she said instead. "At least, every one of them but you."

Very slowly, his smile widened, grew into a real one. "You . . . You want to dance with me, baby?"

"I suppose you'll do," she said, slipping her hand under his elbow and waiting for him to lead her back the way she'd come.

Pulling her close, one hand on her waist, the other clasping her fingers in a comfortable but firm grip, he smiled down at her, his sapphire blue eyes glowing with an independent kind of light.

"Did I tell you that I think you look really nice tonight?" she ventured at length.

"Nope," he said. "Did I tell you that I think you look hotter than fucking hell in that dress?"

She rolled her eyes, mostly because of the amused tone in his voice. "And here I thought you hadn't noticed," she shot back mildly. "I mean, it's not like you actually seemed to want to dance with me or anything . . ."

He snorted, unconsciously pulling her a little closer. "That was totally not my fault, woman," he told her. "I swear to God that Bubby talked everyone else into dancing with you so that I wouldn't get a turn."

"Your brother isn't nearly as underhanded as that," she chided.

Evan pinned her with a contrary look. "You just don't know, V. You just don't know."

Valerie laughed as her gaze fell on Gin and Cain, dancing nearby. Gin had chosen a very sleek, ruby red silk sheath dress instead of the white velvet. "What do you think?"

"Hmm? 'Bout what?" Evan drawled.

"Do you think your mom managed 'sexy'?"

Chuckling softly, he turned his head, looking for the woman in question and sighed when he finally spotted her. "Yeah, I think she's sexy," he finally said. "You don't agree?"

Valerie smiled and rested her temple against Evan's shoulder without taking her eyes off his mother. "Well, I wouldn't say that she's _not_ sexy," she ventured slowly, thoughtfully. "It's just that she's so damn _cute_ . . ."

"And here I thought that you said that I was the cutest thing ever while you were looking at those photo albums," he scoffed.

"You were very cute," she said. "But then you grew up."

Evan heaved a longsuffering sigh. "You're a cold, cold woman, V."

"I am," she agreed. "I really, really am . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _No_** **_Place_** **_like_** **_London_** ' _was_ _written_ _by_ _Stephen_ _Sondheim_ _for_ _the_ _1979_ _musical,_ **_Sweeney_** **_Todd:_** **_The_** **_Demon_** **_Barber_** **_of_** **_Fleet_** **_Street_**.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Well,_ _hell_ …


	122. 121: Bitter Winds

' _Carry on my wayward son_ …  
' _There'll be peace when you are done_ …  
' _Lay your weary head to rest_ …  
' _Don't you cry no more_ …'

 

-' _Carry_ _on_ _Wayward_ _Son'_ by Kansas.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

It was bitter cold.

Standing just outside the doors on the balcony, staring up at the legions of stars that twinkled so high overhead in the icy sky, she pulled the comforter closer around her shoulders, absently realizing that the thin slippers on her feet weren't really providing much of a defense against the frigid stones below her, but she couldn't stop staring long enough to go inside to change into something sturdier.

She wasn't sure what had compelled her to step outside. Having just changed out of the dress she'd worn to the party and carefully placing the jewelry that Evan had borrowed from one of the local jewelry stores back in the velvet box and into a pair of sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt, she'd been drawing the heavy curtains that covered the sliding doors when she'd first noticed the stars and wanted a better look.

No doubt about it, the view was absolutely amazing.

In fact, she had to admit that everything about her holiday was pretty damn amazing. She could understand and appreciate it now, couldn't she? The man Evan was: the mystery, the paradox . . . It had everything to do with the way he'd been raised, didn't it? Going back to the beginning, she was starting to make sense of those things that had always made her wonder. He came from money: lots of it. Having grown up surrounded by the fortune amassed by the enigmatic artist, Cain Zelig, his parents had somehow managed to raise him as both privileged yet unspoiled. Money wasn't the beginning or the end for him; it was something that he had always possessed, but it had never become something that he lived for, and while she didn't think that Evan's father was the kind to worry about finances, either, she didn't have a doubt in her mind that the true influence that had shaped Evan early on had to have been his mother.

She was just too warm, too loving: a one in a million kind of person who seemed to be untouched by the baser emotions that could have jaded her. Gin Zelig just wasn't someone who would ever have put a value on physical things. The things that she counted were the people who made up her family. It was evident in everything about her, and that woman was the one who had shaped Evan, wasn't she? The reason that Evan saw nothing odd in going out of his way for those he cared about was because it was what his mother did, too.

Cain was the real mystery. It was true that Valerie didn't know the man very well, and it was true that she hadn't really talked to him nearly as much as she'd talked to others in the family, but given the things that Evan had said, the things that he'd hinted at a few times, Valerie knew that Cain wasn't nearly the influence on his son as Gin had been . . .

Or maybe Cain had been more of an influence than anyone believed, only not in the obvious way. Maybe Evan had spent his life trying to be the opposite of the things that he perceived his father to be. The problem was, as far as Valerie could tell, Cain Zelig was every bit as decent and kind as Evan himself was.

"What are you doing out here, V?"

Valerie didn't turn as Evan stepped outside behind her. Still wearing his tux though he'd lost the bowtie and had undone the top two buttons on his shirt, he closed the door and wandered over to the heavy stone wall that surrounded the balcony.

"Just thinking," she replied. "You were right. It's beautiful out here."

"I told you," he said.

"You said you'd get me one of those," she said quietly, nodding at the stars that hung so near and yet so far away.

Evan chuckled as he brushed away a thick layer of snow and sat down, one foot dangling a few inches off the floor, the other resting flat, knee bent, his profile silhouetted in the weak light of the sliver of a moon that glowed more dimly than the stars. "Which one do you want?" he asked, his voice just as quiet as hers.

"Hmm," she said, rubbing her arms as she pulled the blanket tight once again. "Let me think about it a while, Roka. I'll get back to you."

Nodding slowly, he sighed, his breath solidifying in a thick fog the instant it left his lips.

Lowering her gaze, she stared at him, mesmerized by the sight of him, sitting on that wall. If he was feeling the chill of the night air, he didn't show it. A lifetime of images, she'd seen earlier in the day. She'd spent hours before the party, looking at those photo albums and then watching a succession of home movies. It was crazy, wasn't it? So many pictures, so many different moments, captured on film, captured in home movies . . .

"Tell me something, Roka," she said, tilting her head back, staring up at the skies.

"What's that?"

"What's it like to be you?"

Her question seemed to have caught him off-guard. He didn't answer right away, but whether he was trying to figure out exactly what she was asking him or formulating his response, she didn't know.   "What do you mean?" he finally asked.

Bobbing her shoulders in a little shrug, she shuffled over to him and let him pull her into his lap, welcoming the warmth of him as she braced herself against the air and quickly opened the blanket to wrap over him, too.   "Your family," she explained simply enough. "What's it like to be that loved?"

"Loved?" he echoed. He sounded genuinely surprised, and Valerie wasn't entirely sure why that would have been. He considered that for a long moment, and then he shook his head. "Mama, you mean?"

"No," she said, wiggling around enough so that she could get a look at his face. Half hidden in shadows, half bathed in the blue-gray darkness . . . "All of your family. They all love you."

He heaved a long sigh, closing his eyes for a moment, continuing to shake his head. "Mama and Jilli love me, I guess," he allowed. "Cain and Bubby tolerate me, at best."

"No," she countered, tucking her head under his chin. "They all love you. Anyone can see it."

He chuckled. There was a hint of sadness behind the sound, but there was no irony, no real contention. Abruptly, he lifted her, cradling her against him as he stood up and strode to the doors. The warmth of the house was welcome, and she figured that he'd set her back on her feet. He didn't. He closed the distance to the bed and deposited her there before hurrying back over to close the door.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he leaned back against the glass, his gaze far away, looking back over time, seeing a past that she couldn't. "I used to think that Bubby was the best thing on earth when I was little," he admitted. "Tried to follow him everywhere . . . never wanted him to leave me behind . . ." Suddenly, he laughed—a warm sound—a sad sound. "I just . . ." His laughter died away, and all that was left was a sense of melancholy that Valerie could feel as though it were a real thing. "I wanted to be as good as him . . . just once . . ."

"And you don't think you are?" she prompted when he trailed off.

"Not good enough for ol' Cain," he said. "I've _never_ been good enough for him."

"Aren't you over-exaggerating a little?" she asked him pointedly.

"Not really," he replied.

"But it's not a one-way street, you know . . . You could've gone with them to cut down the tree. It's not like I would've minded if you'd left me alone for a while," she pointed out.

He pivoted slowly, stared at her for a long moment. "I wasn't invited," he replied simply.

Valerie frowned, unsure what he meant by that. Shaking her head, she met his gaze, tried to discern the mysterious blankness of his features, the strangely matter-of-fact statement . . . "Invited?"

He shrugged as if he were trying to convince her that it didn't matter. "Never have been," he said. "It was always a Cain-Bubby thing."

That puzzled her even more. "But Gavin and Bailey went with them," she began slowly.

"'Course they did," he said. Why did he sound almost . . . bitter? "I'm the only one who never goes."

"Why?" she asked. There had to be more to it than what he was saying, didn't there? They couldn't deliberately leave him out; not when the other 'men' in the family all went along . . .

"Like I care," he scoffed, a sudden defiance, a certain belligerence entering his tone, his demeanor. "I enjoy making cookies with Mama. So what? It's just another example of the same shit, just like when Cain stuck me down in the basement. Out of sight, out of mind, right?"

"Are you sure about that?" she asked, unable to completely reconcile his belief with the things that she'd come to learn since being here. The look on Cain's face as he'd stared at that painting; the sadness, the worry . . . He cared a hell of a lot, didn't he? He cared far more than Evan gave him credit for . . . "I think he loves you," she ventured. "I think he loves you just as much as he loves your brother and sisters."

"V . . ." Drawing a deep breath, letting it out in a heavy sigh, Evan sounded exasperated. He sounded like he was struggling to get a grip on his emotions. "You looked at the photo albums, right? The ones from when I was a baby?"

"Yes," she replied with a frown as she tugged the slippers off her feet and dropped them beside the bed.

He nodded, using his shoulders to lever himself away from the doors. He strode over then helped her peel the blankets on the bed back so that she could slip under them. "Did you notice anything weird about the pictures?"

"No," she admitted, catching his hand and tugging gently to get him to sit down beside her. "What was I supposed to notice?"

Draping the jacket that he'd just pulled off over the back of a nearby chair, Evan took his time as he unfastened his cuffs then sat down on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes. "Lots of pictures of Mama holding me, right?"

She thought about it and nodded. "Yeah."

"Some of Bubby holding me . . .?"

"Okay."

"Other relatives, too."

She nodded again. "Yes, which just proves my point. Of course your family loves you! Why do you think—?"

"Was there even one where Cain was holding me?"

She opened her mouth to tell him that he was being ridiculous, that he was imagining things that just weren't there, but it had struck her at the time, hadn't it? Maybe she hadn't realized exactly what it was, but she'd noticed. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd wondered why something about those pictures had seemed off . . . because in those pictures that did show Cain, he was always . . . holding Jillian . . . but . . . but that couldn't be right, could it?

"Cain had his perfect son, didn't he?" Evan went on, but what bothered Valerie the most was not what he was saying. No, it was the simple tone of his voice that bothered her because Evan . . . He was _used_ to it, whatever ' _it_ ' really was . . . "I told you, didn't I? He never wanted me. Mama did."

She wanted to say something—wanted to tell him that he was being ridiculous, that of course he was wrong. She couldn't, though, could she? It didn't matter, what she knew or didn't know. It was all what Evan thought, what Evan believed, and he truly believed that his own father hadn't ever wanted him . . .

So she did the only thing she could do. Sitting up, she crawled over, slipping her arms around him, hugging his back tightly, her cheek resting on his shoulder, hoping, praying that he could understand what she was trying to tell him.

He sat still for several moments, but finally tugged her arms away from him as he turned around and stretched out on the bed beside her. She didn't fight him when he pulled her down, pulled her close to him. "Don't be sad, V," he told her quietly, pressing her head against his shoulder with one hand, his fingers buried in her hair. "I told you before, it's no big thing."

Valerie bit her lip, snuggled closer to him, realizing on some level, just how pathetic her attempts to comfort him really were. It was a big thing, wasn't it? To Evan, it was . . . As much as he might say that it didn't bother him, that he didn't care, it did, and she knew it, and even if she knew— _knew_ —that he had parts of it wrong, it wasn't her place to tell him that. She couldn't berate him or try to make him see what she saw. In many ways, he was just as hurt, just as confused, as she was, and that she could completely appreciate.

Or maybe it was worse, really. At least she'd been able to take charge of the situation, breaking all ties with a family that had never wanted her, but Evan? For all of his outrageous behavior, for all of his bravado, and for all the fronts he put up to hide his true feelings, he couldn't; not from her . . .

The only thing she really could do for him was the same thing that he'd done for her: to listen to him, to encourage him, to try to understand his point of view.

But . . .

" _I think I worry about him more than I've worried about the rest of my kids, combined . . . He's always done whatever his heart tells him to do . . . It's always seems to work out for him in the end . . . I just . . . I hope it always does_."

Cain _did_ love Evan, didn't he? He loved him just as much as he loved his other children. In that moment, seeing the emotion in the man that Evan refused to call 'Dad' . . . She'd seen it then. The problem was that the one person who needed to see it could not.   Somewhere along the line, Evan had come to the misguided understanding that he was the odd one out, that he was the one who had never really belonged, and then . . . and then he'd gone out of his way to make sure that his feelings were justified.

"V?"

"Hmm?"

She felt his lips against her forehead. "I'm glad you came with me."

"Me, too," she agreed. "You know what I like best about you?"

"My huge pecker?"

She snorted but giggled. "No," she stated flatly despite her amusement at his warped and twisted sense of humor. "Be serious."

He snorted, too. "There is nothing more serious on earth than a man's pecker," he pointed out.

"Such a jerk," she muttered. "Why are you such a jerk?"

Evan chuckled and kissed her forehead again. "I don't know, V. Why were you in my bushes?"

Pushing herself up on her elbows so that she could properly glower at him, she wrinkled her nose. "See what I mean? Jerk."

He laughed and leaned up to kiss the tip of her nose. "Sorry, baby. You just keep pitching, and I just keep smacking 'em right out of the park . . ."

She rolled her eyes but flopped back down against his chest with a longsuffering sigh. "Now, see? I was trying to be serious, and you're ruining the moment," she complained.

"Aww," Evan drawled, adjusting his hold on her. "Okay, I'll be good . . . Tell me what it is that you like best about me."

She grumbled under her breath at the indulgent tone of his voice.

"Tell me; tell me," he coaxed, twitching his arm to joggle her.

"You're warm," she replied, unconsciously snuggling closer to him with the admission. "Really warm."

"Yeah? You think so?"

She nodded, closing her eyes for a moment to savor the warmth of him. "Mhmm . . ."

"You want me to go make you some hot chocolate or something?"

Her hands closed around the fabric of his shirt—a futile effort to keep him exactly where he was, lest he should try to get up. "No," she said, much to his amusement. "Don't you _dare_."

"All right," he agreed with a chuckle. "What about Mayfair? He's not warm enough for you?"

Valerie shook her head, her death-grip on his shirt relaxing by degrees, and she giggled. "Marvin? Are you kidding? He's got the coldest feet, ever . . . and he always steals the blankets."

Evan snorted. "That's grounds for castration," he pointed out.

Valerie laughed.

"You know, I'd be happy to make sure you're warm for the rest of your life," he mused.

"I know," she replied, and this time, it was her tone of voice that was entirely indulgent.   "When I marry you, right?"

"That's right," he agreed. "By the way, was that a 'yes'?"

Heaving another sigh, Valerie shook her head. "No," she said firmly.

Evan grunted. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

Valerie reached up, grasping a handful of his hair and giving it a good, healthy tug.

"Ouch, woman!" he complained.

"Like that hurt, Roka," she shot back. A big yawn interrupted her, and she closed her eyes. "Now shut up, will you? Some of us are trying to go to sleep."

He chuckled softly and shifted just enough to pull her a little closer. "Okay, okay. Night, V."

She yawned again. "Night."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Carry_** **_on_** **_Wayward_** **_Son_** ' _originally appeared on Kansas'_ _1976_ _release,_ **_Leftoverture_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Kerry_ _Livgren_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Hmm_ … _definitely_ _better_ _than_ _an_ _electric_ _blanket_ …


	123. 122: Bloodlust

' _If everyone cared and nobody cried_ …  
' _If everyone loved and nobody lied_ …  
' _If everyone shared and swallowed their pride_ …  
' _Then we'd see the day when nobody died_ …'

 

-' _If Everyone Cared'_ by Nickelback.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

The house was strangely empty.

She wasn't entirely sure where anyone was, but the entire mansion was still, silent.

There wasn't even the sound of an errant television or radio: nothing.

It was odd and more than a little unsettling.

Wandering into the kitchen, Valerie felt somewhat better to find a full and fresh pot of coffee and a clean mug sitting on the counter in front of it, upside down, waiting for her, she didn't doubt.

Still, with everyone staying at the mansion, why wasn't someone there . . .?

Filling the mug with coffee, she started to move over to the breakfast nook, but she stopped short, her eyes flaring wide when she saw . . . it.

Outside in the sprawling yard behind the mansion, Evan and Bas were fighting, but that wasn't what alarmed her. She'd seen the two of them fight before, and that had been bad enough. This was infinitely worse. Bas was wielding a wicked-looking sword, the blade flashing and glinting in the cold morning sunlight while Evan held a pitiful wooden sword in his hands, but that wasn't what bothered her, either.

What bothered her the most? Evan, in some bout of temporary insanity, was still wearing his tuxedo slacks—and only those slacks: no shirt, no shoes, no _nothing_.

"Oh, my God, he's lost his mind," Valerie muttered, slamming the coffee cup down on the table, ignoring the burn when the liquid sloshed over the rim and down on her hand. Striding out of the kitchen and toward the back door, she paused only long enough to jam her feet into the oversized rubber boots that Gin left there for anyone who had to run outside for a moment. They were way too big for her feet, but that didn't matter. Yanking the bulky old coat off the hook on the wall that Gin left there for the same reason, Valerie jerked the door open and stomped out onto the stone patio.

"C'mon, Daddy! You can do it!" Bailey hollered from where he stood on the deck next to Sydnie. Hopping up and down, he looked entirely beside himself, he was so excited. "Swat 'im like a fly!"

"Just don't leave a mark," Cain said, arms crossed over his chest as he watched his sons. He didn't seem overly concerned. "If it shows up in the Christmas pictures, your mom'll have a fit."

"What the hell is going on?" Valerie growled, stomping over to stand beside Sydnie.

The woman giggled. "They're fighting over _me!_ "

Bailey made a face. "It's 'cause Uncle Evan kissed Mommy . . . on the _lips! Ugh!_ "

Valerie stood still, blinking at what Bailey had said. He'd kissed his brother's wife . . .? She snorted. "Kick his ass, Sebastian!"

"I really like that girl," Cain murmured.

"V!" Evan protested with a laugh and without taking his eyes off his bigger, badder, tougher brother. "Oh, shit!" he exclaimed as Bas' sword descended with so much force that the blade whistled through the air. He managed to hop back just in time to avoid having a chunk of his shoulder removed. The blade smacked down on the snow-covered ground with such force that hunks of snow and turf flew up a good fifteen feet into the air, only to rain down like hail.

"You're getting slow, Bubby," Evan goaded.

Bas swung the sword again, only to have the blow thwarted when Evan managed to raise the wooden weapon into the air in front of him, bracing one end of the blade with one hand, hanging onto the hilt with the other. "Slow, my ass," Bas shot back through gritted teeth as he bore down on his younger brother. Muscles straining, he yanked his sword away, brandishing it with a flick of his wrist to bring it around in a tight arc that he brought down on Evan's wooden sword again with a loud crack, and for a moment, Valerie winced. It sounded like the flimsy thing had broken, but it held.

With every blow in the mostly one-sided fight, Valerie could feel her nerves snapping, one by one. How Cain and Sydnie could stay calm, she wasn't sure, but she was starting to seriously wonder if what Evan had said to her held some measure of truth. Cain was _too_ unconcerned, wasn't he? After all, if Bas landed even one of the blows that he was aiming at Evan, there wasn't a chance in hell that he'd be getting up, was there? I—and it was a huge 'if'—he could get up at all . . . Evan was fast—faster than Valerie would have believed if she didn't see it with her own eyes—but Bas wasn't pulling any punches. Time and again, that huge sword of his smacked into the ground, sending up sprays of snow and earth and debris, and she gritted her teeth, trying not to think about what, exactly, would happen if one of those hits connected, and as desperately as Valerie wanted to put a stop to the nonsense, it was as if her mouth wouldn't work; that she simply couldn't say a thing to save herself. Digging her fingernails into her palms, she couldn't seem to do anything but watch, and that was more than bad enough . . .

And yet there was a poetry in Evan's every movement, wasn't there? A lightness in his step, a dexterity that seemed to surround him without any real effort on his part. He might have been fighting his brother in the middle of an arena instead of upon snow-covered grass. It had to be slippery, didn't it, and yet, Evan didn't falter, not once . . .

In fact, if she weren't about ready to scream, she might well have appreciated the beauty, the ease, of Evan's every movement. As it was, though, it was all she could do, not to charge right down there and demand that the two of them stop. The only reason she didn't? She couldn't ignore the faint voice in the back of her head that assured her that the two of them were just too good at what they were doing, that there had to have been some very real training involved . . .

"Aww, c'mon, Bubby! It was just a little smoochie," Evan goaded, an idiotic grin on his face.

That only seemed to infuriate Bas more. With a muted growl, he shot forward, swinging his sword

In fact, she was about ready to stomp down there to put a stop to the whole thing when the sliding glass doors opened behind her. "Looks like I'm late for the fun," Gunnar Inutaisho remarked as he stepped across the patio to stand beside Cain after offering Valerie a curt nod that she was able to reciprocate though it was about all she could manage. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't stand to watch, but she couldn't look away, either . . . "What did Evan do this time?"

"Caught Sydnie beneath the mistletoe," Cain replied dryly.

Gunnar nodded slowly, his eyes lit with understanding.

"He dipped Mommy backwards and kissed her on the _mouth!_ " Bailey explained, scampering over to Gunnar and staring up at him very solemnly.

Gunnar digested that and nodded again. "Nice knowing you, Evan," he called.

Evan just laughed, which only made Valerie wonder if he'd already gotten smacked upside the head once or twice. There wasn't any blood that she could see, but . . .

"He can't hit me," Evan scoffed without taking his eyes off his brother. "Don't even worry about it."

Gunnar shook his head but didn't comment.

"You'll think I can't hit you when you can't get out of bed tomorrow morning," Bas growled.

Evan chortled and spun away from the flashing blade yet again.

"Don't leave any marks," Cain called, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the debacle in the yard. "Your mother hates it when you leave marks."

Gunnar snorted derisively. "Please, Bas," he scoffed. "It's just Evan: not that much of a challenge."

"It'd have been over long ago if he'd just stay fucking still," Bas growled back, taking another swing at Evan and just barely missing.

Leaping back away from the sword, Evan grinned like an idiot and raised his left hand, palm up, curling his fingers a few times to further goad his brother. "C'mon, big man. Can't hit me?"

"If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, you little fucker, to keep your goddamn paws off my mate!" Bas rumbled back. Hefting the sword over his head, he spun around, bringing the weapon down to chest level, and in the watery sunlight, the flash of metal, the whistle as the blade cut through the air, the blur of motion that made the weapon look much thicker, much more menacing . . .

Evan jabbed the blunt end of the wooden weapon into the ground, leaning forward, bearing all of his weight against the hilt before propelling himself backward, flipping once in the air before he landed on his feet out of the range of his brother's attack. Valerie couldn't breathe: her heart felt as though it was lodged in her throat, as the rock star straightened up, hands on hips, shit eating grin still on his face. "Aw, give me a break," he complained loudly. "Give me a real challenge, why don't you?"

That only seemed to irritate Bas more, and he growled in frustration.

Cain seemed to sigh—Valerie couldn't be sure, but she thought that she heard it. "You could always fight Gunnar," he suggested mildly.

"Fight Evan? I think not," Gunnar muttered.

"Yeah, 'cause you know I'd kick your ass," Evan shot back.

Gunnar chuckled though the sound was almost nasty, in Valerie's estimation. "Keep talking, pup."

"That might be more intimidating if you actually hit harder," Evan scoffed. "Too bad you don't."

"I have better things to do with my time than to waste it on the likes of you," Gunnar insisted arrogantly.

Bailey giggled and hopped up and down. "You can beat Uncle Evan?" he asked a little breathlessly.

Gunnar snorted. "That's a stupid question, Bailey," he rumbled.

Bailey uttered a little whine, wringing his hands in a completely nervous sort of way. "But Daddy can't even hit him," he nearly whimpered. "Uncle Evan's like a jack rabbit!"

"He's not so much," Gunnar insisted, his cold gaze flicking briefly over Evan as the latter hopped away from what could have been a devastating blow from the hulking Zelig brother. "And it's not really surprising," he went on rather dryly. "Your father couldn't hit a mountain if the mountain was directly in front of him."

"You're one to talk, Gunsie," Bas growled without taking his eyes off Evan, knees bent, leaning forward as though he were about to launching himself at him. "When's the last time you actually fought anyone?"

"Yeah," Bailey added, though he didn't look entirely sure of himself. "Daddy's tougher'n anyone 'cause he's gonna be the North American tai-youkai—"

"What's that?" Valerie asked, only paying half-attention since she still couldn't quite manage to tear her eyes off the debacle unfolding before her.

"Uh, it's nothing," Cain muttered. "It's just a Japanese word that Bailey's heard a few times before . . ."

"It means that my daddy's gonna be the biggest dog in the world!" Bailey clarified in a very self-important tone of voice.

Cain coughed suddenly, reaching down and scooping up the lad. "Something like that," he said with a curt laugh. "Anyway, Evan could fight better if he actually tried . . . As for your uncle Gunnar? He's a good fighter, too," he said with a wry grin. "I mean, it's not like he _has_ to prove himself or anything."

"What's that supposed to mean, _jiji?_ " Gunnar challenged, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning at the older man.

Evan snorted. "Maybe you should fight Cain, Gunnar . . . The two of you should be pretty evenly matched, after all."

Bas snorted and suddenly straightened up, his gaze flicking over to the patio and Gunnar. "Nope," he said after a moment of contemplation. "Dad'd kill him."

"Is that right, Bas-tard?" Gunnar asked, arching a black eyebrow expressively.

Bas shrugged, adjusting his grip on the hilt of the sword. "Told me before that he always had to pull his punches whenever he trained you—unlike when he trained me."

Valerie could feel the irritation radiating off the man even if there wasn't any real change in his expression.

"Anyway, you're better off, just staying up there, Gun," Bas went on, his head turning to peer at Evan once more. "Wouldn't want to embarrass you, after all . . ."

He moved so quickly that Valerie had to blink. Nothing more than a blur, really, and suddenly, Gunnar had managed to vault over the low stone wall, striding over to Evan in an entirely no-nonsense sort of way, only to grab the wooden sword out of his hands and push him back nonchalantly. "Out of the way, Evan," he commanded, his tone terse, commanding.

"Oh, I don't think so," Evan complained, reaching for the sword but missing when Gunnar yanked it out of his grasp before he could get a hold on it. "This is my fight, Inutaisho."

"I've got a bone to pick with your brother," Gunnar argued. "Now, move."

Evan wrinkled his nose and opened his mouth to argue, but Gunnar didn't wait around to hear it. Digging in his heel, he sprang forward, lifting the wooden sword to meet Bas'. . .

Valerie bit down on her lip, but the fingernails she'd dug into the soft flesh of her palms released just a little, her nails sticking to her skin. The knot that had formed in her belly hadn't completely eased, but she was able to breathe again.

And she had to admit that there was something entirely compelling about the sword play now that Evan was no longer a part of it. The two men seemed to be participating in something more akin to an intricately choreographed scene than a real fight. While Gunnar was fast, just like Evan, he was also apparently less inclined to simply avoid contact. He wasn't nearly as flashy as Evan, either, but there was a certain beauty in his movements, a certain grace, an elegance . . . It was as though Evan viewed the fight as more of a game, while Gunnar didn't seem to entertain thoughts like that at all.

Bas swung the huge sword in a wide arc, only to be repelled by a couple rapid thrusts of Gunnar's blade, a flick of his wrist. Still, the brute force of the blow was enough to send Gunnar sliding back a foot or so before he managed to dig his heels in to stop himself. Whipping around in a tight circle, the blade of the wooden sword whistling through the air, he met Bas' next swing without flinching. Valerie did, however. Even from the distance, despite having never touched a sword in her life in a fight, she knew that the reverberations had to be painful, despite the blunting effect of the wood in Gunnar's hands.

Yet what really struck her again was the perceived calm surrounding everyone. No one seemed to think that any of it was out of the ordinary; none of them seemed to think anything of the fight that was unfolding directly in front of them. Even Evan, still shirtless, still barefoot, just stood back, arms crossed over his chest, watching with an entirely smug grin on his face, and she opened her mouth to call out to him, but was cut off short when the scrape of the door sounded behind her followed in short order by another voice—a voice of apparent reason.

"What do you think you're doing out here?" Gin Zelig demanded, stomping across the patio and down the stairs with a purpose in her stride and a formidable scowl on her face.

"Just doing a little pest control," Bas gritted out, refusing to unlock swords with his second cousin.

"You wish," Gunnar growled. Whipping his sword in a circle, he managed to knock Bas' blade away with a derisive sneer on his face.

"How dare you start fighting!" Gin insisted, pushing both of them back a step while insinuating herself between them. Taking a moment to glower at each of them in turn—rather amusing, considering she was so diminutive—but they stopped, swords lowering, albeit grudgingly. "I cannot believe you two! Of all the things for you to start—"

Bas shoved the sword into the scabbard hanging from his hip and grunted. "He started it," Bas remarked, nodding his head curtly at his brother.

Gin leaned back to peer around Gunnar. "So who won?" she demanded, tapping her foot impatiently as she eyed Bas and Gunnar in turn.

Over her head, Bas and Gunnar exchanged looks, and to Valerie's surprise, Bas even glanced over at Evan, too. "He did," all three men said, nodding their heads at . . . Cain . . .?

Cain blinked and let Bailey slip out of his arms and down his leg to the floor. "Come again?"

"Is that right?" Gin asked, a sudden and brilliant smile illuminating her golden eyes. "Of course, he did!" she gushed.

"Uh, w—I didn't—" Cain began.

"Aww, don't be so modest, Cain," Evan scoffed, apparently thinking the entire situation was amusing as all hell.

Gin giggled and wiggled her shoulders before taking off toward the patio once more. "I'll be right back!" she insisted as she sped past toward the doors.

Cain heaved a sigh and shook his head before turning a disapproving look on his sons and Gunnar. "If she's doing what I think she's doing, you three have had it," he warned.

Evan laughed as he jogged toward the patio. "It's all good, Cain," he insisted with a wink.

Cain snorted and shook his head again. "Go put some clothes on, will you?" he grouched.

Evan stopped long enough to make a mock salute to his father and to plant a loud, obnoxious kiss on Valerie's cheek before sauntering off toward the door. "Don't get started without me," he called over his shoulder.

Valerie frowned. Get started? What the hell was he talking about, anyway?

Cain let out a deep breath and headed for the door a moment later. He didn't get far. Gin stepped outside once more, smiling brightly at her husband, causing him to heave a longsuffering sigh.

Well, maybe her reappearance didn't do that quite as much as what the petite woman held in her hands did . . .

Valerie blinked, staring in mild shock at the wicked-looking scythe-like blade affixed to a leather wrapped handle. A long, thick chain hung from the end of the handle—a good ten or fifteen feet of chain at least—and on the other end of that chain was a nasty metal ball a little larger than a tennis ball, a little smaller than a softball . . . What the hell was _that_ . . .?

"Uh . . . It wasn't me," Cain said calmly and without taking his gaze off the weapon in his wife's hands.

"Come on, Zelig-sensei," she prodded with a bright smile, "It's only fair that I get to fight the winner!"

"But I didn't—" Cain began.

Bas' chuckle cut him off short. "Don't be so modest, Dad. You kicked our _asses_ , right, Gunnar?"

Gunnar snorted in contention but nodded once. "Of course."

Gin giggled. "I knew it!" she exclaimed. Grasping Cain's hand, she dragged him across the patio and down the steps, passing Bas and Gunnar in the process. Valerie didn't miss the scathing glower that the older man shot them both, either.

"Don't go anywhere, you three," Cain called over his shoulder though he made no move to get away from his wife.

"Eh, there won't be much left of him when she's finished," Gunnar predicted.

"Yeah . . . and don't think that I don't realize that you were trying to distract them before I got a chance to really kick your ass," Bas goaded.

"In your dreams, Bas," Gunnar rejoined.

"Hey, baby."

Valerie jumped when Evan slipped his arms around her. She hadn't heard him step outside once more, but at least he was dressed reasonably, having changed into a thick, bulky fisherman's sweater and a pair of faded blue jeans. He chuckled, slipping a steaming cup of coffee into her hands before wrapping his arms a little tighter around her, pulling her back against his chest.

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him exactly what she thought of his nonchalance, but the hot coffee was a mighty persuasive argument. She almost forgave him for the scare he'd dealt her—almost. Not quite, but almost . . . "Hmm," she intoned noncommittally. "Just _had_ to run downstairs to kiss your sister-in-law?"

"She was under the mistletoe," he explained calmly, reasonably. "It was perfectly innocent."

Bas snorted, having overheard his brother, even if he didn't deign to comment on it.

"Don't give me that," she scoffed, sipping the coffee as she leaned away from him far enough so that she could turn and pin him with a marked stare. "You left me sleeping upstairs—your _girlfriend_ , remember—so that you could skulk downstairs to kiss another woman."

He might have actually believed that she was angry if it hadn't been for her overly dramatic tone, her exaggerated emphasis on the word 'girlfriend'. He chuckled instead. "I don't skulk!" he insisted.

Bas snorted again. "Yeah, that sounds about right," he allowed.

"Don't worry, baby. I'm perfectly safe, see? Bubby didn't even scratch me," Evan went on.

Valerie opened her mouth to comment but snapped it closed when a sudden hiss, a very loud ripping sound, interrupted her. Her head snapped back forward, and her mouth dropped open. The first thing she noticed was the very clean tear straight down the front of Cain's shirt as Gin caught the handle of the scythe-like weapon easily.

"Baby girl, this was one of my favorite shirts," he complained but otherwise looked no worse for wear.

Gin giggled, bending her knees slightly, hunkering down in a ready stance as she idly swung the scythe over her head by the chain. "Suck it up, Zelig-sensei. I'll buy you a new one."

"Zelig-sensei," Cain repeated with a shake of his head. "You're trying to maim me, you know. The least you could do is call me by name."

With another round of giggles, the woman snapped her wrist, sending the ball and chain flying toward her husband. He didn't try to step out of the way as he stuck out his arm, letting the length of the chain wrap around it. Funny how much longer the chain seemed. Valerie could've sworn that it wasn't nearly that long before . . .

Catching the ball in his free hand, he held onto it with what could only be considered a smug sort of grin on his face. "There you go," he said with a chuckle. "I win."

Gin wrinkled her nose and gave the chain a couple terse flicks. The chain unwound from around Cain's forearm, and with another little yank, the ball flew out of his hand and right back to Gin once more, too. "You haven't won yet, Cain," Gin pointed out with a very satisfied smile. A moment later, she sent the scythe flying at him once more with a move so deft, so quick, that Valerie hadn't rightfully seen her move at all . . .

"C'mon, V," Evan suddenly said, his breath tickling her ear as he leaned down to whisper to her.

"In a minute," Valerie replied without taking her eyes off the combatants—well, one combatant. The other seemed to merely be trying to elude the attacks.

"Yeah, but you're out of coffee, and your carriage is waiting."

That got her grudging attention, and she glanced at him for a moment before turning her attention back to Cain and Gin once more. The man managed to sidestep the blade, but the tip of it caught in the breast pocket of his shirt, and it gave with a very loud rip, as well.

Evan laughed and let his arms drop, only to reach for her hand, instead. "I promise you, this is worth it," he assured her.

Valerie sighed, sparing one last glance over her shoulder as he dragged her toward the doors. "It'd better be," she warned him, unable to keep the mulish tone out of her voice as she followed him into the house. "It really had better be."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Jiji_** _: Japanese term (often used by InuYasha) meaning "grandpa" or "old man". It's considered to be pretty rude or derogatory_.
> 
> ' ** _If_** **_Everyone_** **_Cared_** ' _originally appeared on Nickelback's_ _2005_ _release,_ **_All_** **_the_** **_Right_** **_Reasons_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Chad_ _Kroeger,_ _Ryan_ _Peake,_ _Mike_ _Kroeger,_ _Daniel_ _Adair_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _'Carriage' …?_


	124. 123: A Single Light

' _All alone in the dark –no walls or windows_ …  
' _Trying hard to define – heaven from hell_ …  
' _See my life going by – each moment I am alive_ …  
' _I keep reaching out, holding on, hoping somewhere in my life_ …  
' _There's one light burning_ …'

 

-' _One_ _Light_ _Burning_ ' by Richie Sambora.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"You warm enough?"

Valerie tilted her head, sent Evan a sidelong glance as the barest hint of a smile quirked the corners of her lips. "I suppose," she drawled, snuggling a little deeper into the thick white pelt lap blanket that she'd brought with her out of the sleigh.

Evan paused as he moved to drop another log onto the fire he'd built. Long enough to grin at her in that endearingly shy sort of way—the rare smiles that never failed to make her heart do a strange little somersault in her chest that she invariably ignored. "That fur brings out the green in your eyes."

She blinked and stared at him for a long moment, unsure why his off the cuff observation was enough to bring a measure of heat to her cheeks. Maybe it was just the way that he tended to notice the small things about her, or maybe . . .

"Been dipping into the wine, have you?" she challenged dryly in a very obvious attempt to change the subject.

He laughed and sank down on his haunches beside her. "Naw, but now that you mention it . . ."

"Hmm," she murmured as he reached across her to nab the opened bottle of wine beside her. "No manners at all."

"Sorry," he replied with a broad grin that betrayed his lack of contrition in the matter. "I forgot the glasses."

She smiled and shook her head. "Well, considering you managed to pack an entire lunch and round up a sleigh just to bring me out here, I suppose I can't complain too much."

His grin widened. "Liked that, did you?" he asked, sounding inordinately pleased with himself.

"It's not every day that someone takes me for a ride on Christmas Eve in a . . . What's the phrase? Oh yes . . . a one-horse open sleigh. In fact, the only thing missing so far is the falling snow," she quipped, taking back the bottle of wine and carefully tipping it to her lips.

Which was true enough. Her first reaction to seeing the polished wooden sleigh was to clap her hands over her mouth and laugh. Of all the things she'd thought he'd produce, that simply hadn't been one of them. She really should have guessed, though. After all, Evan was very, very good at making those things that young girls always thought were romantic, even if they were somewhat cheesy, happen.

As if the sleigh hadn't been enough, it had been heaped with thick, white fur blankets to keep her warm during the ride, and then he'd handed her a thermos full of steaming hot coffee, and they'd set off through the crisp, thin winter sunlight.

Their destination had rather surprised her, though. It wasn't far from the Zelig estate—a couple of miles, at best: a lonely lighthouse situated on a cliff that looked out over the open water. Run down and neglected, there was something sad about the place. Crumbling in places, gaping wide holes in the roof over the house portion of the building, she was surprised to see that the giant stone hearth still stood strong, rising out of the darkened gloom, the dusty half-light that seemed somehow surreal, like a warped dreamscape . . . or a hazy fairy tale land . . .

As though he comprehended the direction of her thoughts, Evan's gaze lifted, scanning the ceiling high overhead—or what was left of it, anyway. Patches of brighter gray daylight skies that threatened snow that had yet to fall dappled the hazy dimness inside the decrepit old building, and Valerie had wondered more than once if it really was safe to be inside here, but Evan seemed to think that it was, and while she wasn't sure that he completely agreed with him, she couldn't deny the sense of safety that she felt whenever she was with him.

"I love this place," Evan ventured quietly, a tone of voice that she hadn't heard him use very often. There was a completely unguarded quality to it, a gentleness that he normally hid beneath layers of bravado. "Used to come out here a lot when I was younger."

"Your thinking place?" she mused, tugging the blanket closer under her chin.

He shrugged offhandedly. "Guess so," he allowed at length. Stealing a sidelong glance at her, he grinned. "You're only the second chick I've brought along, you know. You should be grateful—maybe a little kiss-kiss or something for my thoughtfulness?"

Valerie snorted and rolled her eyes, her hand shooting up to smash into his face when he tried to lean in for a smooch. "Back off, lover boy," she retorted dryly despite the hint of a smile on her face, too. "Maddy, I presume?"

"Yep," he quipped easily enough. "Sometimes she'd follow me. Most of the time, I came here alone. There's a spectacular view from the top of the lighthouse . . . You can look out over the water for miles . . ."

The smile on her face didn't fade as she scooted a little closer to him. Despite the layers of clothes and blankets, not to mention the roaring fire that Evan had built, the stone floor was cold, and Evan, she knew, was always, always warm. "I'll bet this place was beautiful back in the day," she murmured, letting him slip an arm around her to tug her a little closer against him. "It's a shame that it's so run down now."

He chuckled. "I used to think that I'd buy it one day and totally restore it, right?" Heaving a sigh, he shook his head then shrugged once more as the wistfulness in his expression dissipated. "Too busy right now, though."

She fell silent for a few minutes since there wasn't really much she could say to that. He was busy, she knew, and as much as she liked to say that all he did was play around, she knew better, and she knew it first-hand. He leaned to the side to pull the wicker basket over—the one he'd pulled the bottle of wine out of when they'd first arrived. He managed to produce a box of very thin wafer-like crackers and some cheese that he'd already sliced and packed into a plastic container for the trip.

"Here you go," he said, offering her a slice of the cheese on one of the wafers, only to pull his hand away when she started to reach for it. "Ah-ah," he chided, his smile back in place. "No need to freeze your hands, right? Just open your mouth."

It was on the tip of her tongue to argue with him, but she sighed and let him feed her. After all, her hands were nice and toasty under the fur . . .

"Did I tell you how glad I am that you decided to blow off Monkey to come with me?" Evan went on, his grin widening broadly.

"It's Marvin, Roka, and I didn't blow him off, remember?" she pointed out without the rancor that the statement should have held.

He snorted. "All right, fine, _he_ blew _you_ off. Whatever, and—"

"Unless he has control of the weather, he did no such thing," she interrupted. "Don't be mean."

Evan grunted and stuffed a cracker into his mouth, but refrained from further comment, much to her relief. He must've decided he needed a little longer, though, because he ate three more crackers before he dared to glance at her again. "I just don't fucking get him," he finally grumbled. "If you were mine, I swear to God, I'd never let you out of my sight, ever."

"Oh, and _that_ wouldn't drive me nuts," she muttered with a muted snort of her own. "You'd drive me crazy—and not in a good way."

Suddenly, he chuckled, pinning her with that blinding smile of his. "Ah, how little you know, woman. I'll drive you crazy, and you'll love it, I promise."

It took her a moment to fight down the livid blush that his words inspired in her as she stared at him, and her slight shaking of her head wasn't nearly as strong as she'd have liked for it to be. Something about the husky, almost caressing tone of his voice . . . Under the cover of the fur blanket, she rubbed her arms to chase away the goose bumps that had formed all over her skin. "Pass the crackers, Roka," she managed as she forced her gaze away. Her voice, at least, sounded stronger than she felt, and for that, she was grateful. As much as she hated to admit it, Evan Zelig could disarm her very, very easily . . .

 _Too_ easily . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Isn't your mom going to be upset that you've spent so much time out here today?" Valerie ventured as she stared into the dancing flames of the fire.

Evan let his head fall back and rolled it from side to side as his eyes closed. "Nah. The house is probably full to the gills with people. She won't even notice that we're not there."

"Ri-i-i-ight," Valerie drawled, obviously not impressed with his claim. "Her most precious baby boy? And you say she won't notice?"

His grin widened. "Eh, she's probably ass-deep in gift wrapping for the children's hospital . . . or she's still beating on Cain . . ."

His comment reminded her of the fighting she'd witnessed before he'd dragged her off, and she sat up a little straighter, her eyebrows drawing together in a thoughtful frown. "Your family isn't normal," she stated flatly, as though it was a foregone conclusion. "I can't believe your mother was actually fighting with your father like that . . ."

"Just be glad I got you out of there before she managed to strip off his clothes," Evan pointed out.

She blinked and leveled a dubious look on him. He laughed. "You think I'm kidding, but I'm totally not. You have no idea how many times I've seen Cain naked over the years. Scarred me for life; damned if it didn't. 'Course, it's not usually because of Mama sparring with him. Come to think of it, I can't remember the last time she actually got him to fight her, anyway . . . Maybe he's going to try to tell her that it was an early Christmas present or some stupid shit . . ."

Valerie rolled her eyes but giggled in spite of herself.   "As if," she scoffed.

Evan nodded. "He would, you know. For as much money as he has, he's a damn cheapskate, just so you know."

She rolled her eyes again. "Somehow, I don't really believe you."

He nodded a little more vigorously. "He is; he is! He's so damn cheap that he makes his own wrapping paper for Christmas, too! You'll see!"

She snorted in response, fluttering a hand under the blanket dismissively. "Now you're just being ridiculous."

"Okay," he relented a little too innocently. "You'll see for yourself tomorrow, won't you?"

"Hmm, and here I wanted to do some last minute shopping," Valerie mused. Judging from the sound of her voice, she was close to dozing off. Ordinarily, that'd be a fine thing, but he could feel that the air was growing a little colder, and he knew well enough that Decembers in Maine tended to be fairly unpredictable, as far as the weather was concerned, but he couldn't help the hint of reluctance that assailed him as he heaved a sigh and pushed himself to his feet. "We can do that," he allowed, extending a hand to help her to her feet.   "You should've told me a few days ago. The stores are going to be nuts today."

Valerie blinked and seemed to shake herself as though to wake up a little more. "Last minute shopping stinks, but I wanted to get a feel for your family first," she agreed, slipping a hand into his to let him pull her to her feet without losing too much of the warmth that the blanket provided. "I saw some really pretty little dresses for Olivia the other day, but she's already got so many of them."

Evan stooped down to retrieve a metal bucket sand near the hearth then slowly poured the contents over the dying fire. "Yeah, it never occurs to Bubby that she'd be warmer in pants."

"Bas is the one who buys her dresses?"

Evan shot her a grin as he straightened up once more. "Not all of them. Just the girly-girl ones."

She didn't look like she believed him, and he chuckled. "If you haven't noticed, Sydnie's not exactly a lace and frills type girl," he pointed out.

Valerie wrinkled her nose, still not looking entirely convinced. "Just because someone isn't a lace and frills type doesn't mean she wouldn't buy those kinds of dresses for her daughter, don't you think?"

Sparing a moment to scratch his chin thoughtfully, Evan chuckled. "Sure," he allowed at length, "'cept I know that it's Bubby, first hand."

"You went shopping with him, did you?"

His chuckle escalated. "Nope, but I've heard Sydnie saying that she has to buy Olivia play clothes because Bubby doesn't, and that she's glad he's got money because he spends more on dresses at one go for Livvy than she does on herself in a year."

Uttering a rather incredulous laugh, Valerie shook her head. She still didn't seem like she believed him, but that was all right. It was kind of fun to tell her things, even true things, that made her wonder if he'd lost some of his marbles.

He took her hand and helped her navigate her way across the broken floor, careful to keep her well away from the weakened edges of the few holes here and there. In the years since he'd left home, the place had gone downhill a lot faster than he'd have thought possible, if he had stopped to think about it at all. It was sad, really. He had very fond memories of the lighthouse—of sitting up below the non-functioning light high at the top of the tower, staring off into space as he dreamed of what his life was going to be . . .

When he'd told Valerie that she was only the second woman he'd brought out here, he hadn't been lying, but it might have been more interesting to her if he had added that he hadn't actually brought Madison out here, exactly. More often than not, she'd followed him, and he simply hadn't bothered to let her know that he would prefer to be alone. After all, Madison knew him better than anyone else on earth and always had. Sure, he'd brought Dieter and Bone out here a few times, but for some reason, neither of them had actually come with him more than a handful of times. It was all right with him. Didn't everyone need a place where they could be alone—really alone?

Valerie's grip on his hand tightened as she laughed quietly, lifting her face to stare up at the sky and the first light flakes of snow that had started to fall when they'd stepped outside. The happiness in her expression reminded him of a little girl on Christmas morning, and she tugged against him to stop him for a long minute while she appreciated the beauty. Golden hair unbound, tumbling down her back, whipping around in the rising wind that was oddly warm for this time of year, she seemed to glow against the grayish-white backdrop as her breath clouded the moment it left her lips, only to dissipate into nothing at all. The horse, tethered to a thicket of trees nearby that provided a very nice makeshift shelter, whinnied and ducked her head in quiet greeting.

He'd wanted to bring Valerie out here, hadn't he? He'd wanted to share this, one of the most personal places he had, with her—only with her.

And being here with her? Damned if it wasn't one of the most peaceful things he'd done in quite a while . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Hey, V, check this out!"

Glancing up from the two baby dolls she'd been comparing, she glanced at Evan, only to do a double take when she realized what he was doing. "Oh, my God, Roka. You're going to get us thrown out of here," she predicted under her breath as she stuck the dolls back on the shelf again and turned to give him her full attention. "What are you? Five?"

He grinned and held out the container of Sooper Snot day-glow green slime. "You should get this for Bailey. Swear to God, Bubby'd love that."

She crossed her arms over her chest and refused to reach for the plastic tub. "Should you really be hopping around on that pogo stick through the store?" she countered mildly.

His grin widened. "Are you kidding? How do you know if you want to buy something if you can't try it out first?"

That earned him a very pronounced rolling-of-the-eyes. "I'm pretty sure you weigh a lot more than a kid who would be getting that would weigh," she pointed out.

"Yeah, don't be jealous just because you can't do this as good as I can," he jeered.

Those eyes of hers narrowed dangerously. "Don't think that I don't know what you're doing, Roka," she replied. "I do, and it's not going to work."

"And what do you think I'm doing, pretty lady?"

She snorted indelicately. "You're trying to get me onto that so that I can prove you wrong," she stated. "I'm not falling for it, buddy."

"Ah, you think so poorly of me, woman," he complained, managing to turn the pogo stick around without dismounting. "I'm going back to the _fun_ section. See you!"

Valerie shook her head slowly as he hopped back down the busy aisle, heading for the boys' toy area, she supposed. It was only after he was out of view that she cracked a little smile. As if there were any doubt in her mind that he wasn't normal, he'd proved it tenfold during the last hour that they'd been in Walker's Toy Emporium. Bad enough that the place was absolutely packed with last minute shoppers like her, but he kept coming over to show her 'cool stuff' while riding things that he really shouldn't be on. The first time, it had been a stick pony that neighed whenever the end of the stick hit the floor. After that was the GI Joe army Jeep that looked entirely ridiculous, given that the battery-operated machine was much too small for his lanky frame—so much so that his legs were flopped over either side of the vehicle. The last time, it was a pastel pink scooter with white and pink tassels on the handlebars. She wasn't sure what he'd manage to get the next time he showed up, but she didn't put anything past him . . .

In fact, she figured it was a good thing that she was nearly finished shopping. She'd already chosen a huge, fancy fire truck for Bailey. It operated on eight D cell batteries and came complete with flashing lights, obnoxious siren, and a water reservoir hidden on the bottom that shot real jets of water out of the two-foot rubber hoses that were neatly wrapped around pegs on the side when not in use. She thought it was pretty cool, and Evan had said that Bailey would love it. Evan had stayed behind in the boys' section while she'd moved on to find something that Olivia might like.

Evan had said that Olivia loved baby dolls, which Valerie supposed wasn't really surprising. She would have loved to have gotten any of those dolls herself when she was Olivia's age.

It was fun to shop for children. That was something that Valerie hadn't realized before. She'd never actually done any such thing. To be completely honest, she didn't really remember going to the store very often, let alone during the holiday shopping season when she was young. Her parents, of course, hadn't had the time or money to bother. It never seemed to be important to them, and even after she'd been taken into protective custody, her first few homes had enough other foster children that taking one or two of them along to the store just wasn't something that seemed to cross their minds.

Sad, when she stopped to think about it. The first Christmas tree that she remembered seeing was in her classroom at school or in store display windows—always out of reach—and she'd thought for the longest time that they were something special, something that ordinary families didn't have in their homes.

A half-forgotten memory flickered to life somewhere deep inside her; the faded and hazy remnant that was more of an image than an actual progression of events. She'd made an angel at school, hadn't she? A silly angel fashioned out of a white paper cone like the kind of cheap funnels that one could pick up at a gas station for car oil, some white tissue paper cut into tiny squares and smashed over the end of a pencil, dipped into glue, and carefully affixed to the inverted funnel, paper and popsicle stick wings, a Styrofoam ball head, yellow yarn hair, a gold pipe cleaner bent around to form a halo . . .

She'd been so proud of that silly angel, and her mother had smiled when she saw it. Together they'd set it on top of the television. They'd taped one of her little socks to the stand that the television sat on, and on Christmas morning? She'd been so pleased to see the small lumps in the toe of the sock, hadn't she? Five peppermint disc candies like the kind that filled the wicker basket on the counter at the bank the one time she'd gone in there with her father to cash one of his pay checks, and a dime-store cheap plastic makeup kit adorned with butterfly stickers that contained two different flavors of lip gloss poured into the two little compartments: one shaped like a heart, the other like a diamond . . .

And how happy had she been with that? She'd spent hours putting on the garish purple lip gloss, wiping it off with a bit of tissue so that she could apply the bright orange shade instead . . . She'd done that so many times that her lips were dry, chafed from the tissue, but . . .

But she'd been so pleased when her father had smiled a little dopily—she'd realized later that he had to have been high on something—and said that she looked just as pretty as her mama . . .

"Check this out! Check this out!"

Blinking away the last of the lingering memory, Valerie shook her head when she noticed Evan had returned and was busy, shoving a big, stuffed Power Puppy in her face, but that wasn't what got her attention. No, what had done it was the huge blue rubber hopper-ball that he was currently bouncing up and down on that did it. "Oh, jeez, Roka," she muttered. "You're so infantile . . ."

He grinned. "You think so? They got a pink one over there, you know."

"Absolutely not," she insisted.

"Oh, come on, V! Live a little! When's the last time you played in a toy store?"

Wrinkling her nose, Valerie shook her head again. "Never," she admitted, "and I don't intend to start now."

"Are you afraid that you'll look stupid?" he countered.

"Not nearly as stupid as you do," she shot back smoothly.

Evan's grin widened. "How 'bout it, baby? Wanna take a ride on my ball?"

She tried not to laugh at him. She really, really did. Staring too long at the absolutely silly expression on his face, however, was too much, and she couldn't help the giggle that slipped from her. A woman with a couple kids in her cart paused long enough to cast Evan a very exasperated look, and he, in turn, pinned her with what had to be the cheesiest smile, ever, but he didn't stop bouncing, either. A second later, the once grouchy looking woman smiled, too, uttering a soft laugh that grated on Valerie's nerves. ' _Damn flirt_ ,' she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow at the man in question that he missed entirely since he wasn't even looking at her at the moment.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to get off the merchandise."

Valerie's eyes shifted to the side, only to come to rest on the small man who was hurrying down the aisle toward them with a very disapproving expression on his rather haggard face.

"I was just trying it out," Evan replied without standing up. If anything, he bounced a little faster. "I mean, it'd be bad if it busted on my nephew, wouldn't it?"

The manager scratched the back of his head in an entirely exasperated sort of way. "I'm sure that as long as your nephew fits within the size requirements, it'll be just fine without you trying it out," he insisted.

Evan rolled his eyes but relented. The manager nodded curtly and hurried away. Once he rounded the end of the aisle, however, Evan plopped back down on the hopper-ball once more.

Valerie sighed. He just never, ever learned, did he . . .?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _One_** **_Light_** **_Burning_** ' _originally appeared on Richie Sambora's 1991 release,_ **_Stranger_** **_in_** **_this_** **_Town_** _._ _Song written by and copyrighted to Richie Sambora,_ _Bruce_ _Foster_ , _and_ _Tommy_ _Marolda_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Valerie_** :  
>  _He's_ _a_ _lost_ _cause_ …


	125. 124: Poker Night

' _Games people play – you take it or you leave it_ …  
' _Things that they say – honor bright_ …  
' _If I promise you the moon and stars – would you believe it_ …?  
' _Games people play in the middle of the night_ …'

 

-' _Games_ _People_ _Play'_ by The Alan Parsons Project.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"So let me get this straight: you refused to get off the hopper-ball, so, you were kicked out of the toy store?" Bas asked dryly as he stared across the table at his ne'er-do-well brother.

Evan grinned unrepentantly. "No, I was kicked out of the store because the manager didn't possess a sense of humor to speak of," he replied.

Bas blinked a few times without any change in his expression then sighed. "Well, at least you weren't arrested," he muttered under his breath as he reached for the face-down cards before him and flicked a couple chips forward.

"For testing out something before I plunked down hard-earned money for it? I think not," Evan scoffed haughtily.

"It was a hopper-ball," Gunnar Inutaisho interjected, staring at the cards in his hand before dropping a couple chips onto the table. "Don't make it sound like you were test driving a car."

"It's the same idea," Evan insisted, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm in," he said, tossing a couple red chips into the pot.

"Only you would compare the two and come to the conclusion that they're the same," Cain remarked, adding his chips to the slowly growing pile.

"Yeah, yeah," Evan scoffed.

Gavin shook his head as he carefully arranged the cards in his hand. "Good thing Jilli didn't go with you, then," he remarked idly. "She'd have wanted to do that, too."

"Those hopper balls are fantastic," Jillian insisted where she sat on the sofa beside Sydnie, fussing with Olivia's dress. "Remember that hot pink one I had?"

Evan grinned. "Mine was, like, snot green," he mused. "Drove Cain nuts, bouncing all over the place, didn't we?"

"When _didn't_ you drive Cain nuts?" Cain countered dryly, "and it's _'Dad'_ , Evan— _'Dad'_."

"Give me two," Bas said, tossing a couple cards down on the table. Gavin nodded and doled out the cards.

"Shouldn't the girls be playing, too?" Evan asked as he chucked three cards down. Gavin dealt them without a word.

"No," about three male voices replied in unison.

Evan grinned. "You don't think so?"

Bas snorted. "Sydnie thinks it's sexist because the kings are over the queens," he grumbled. "Besides, she doesn't know how to play poker."

"And you don't feel like teaching her?" Gunnar parried mildly.

Bas didn't answer, but he didn't deny it, either.

"I know how to play poker," Valerie ventured from where she sat near the girls, still looking through the massive photo albums.

"Of course you do, V," Evan intoned.

She blinked and looked up, frowning at the overly-tolerant tone in Evan's response. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded. "You're the one who taught me—and I beat you a few times, if memory serves."

Evan chuckled and shrugged offhandedly. "It was strip poker, woman, and I didn't figure you'd like it if I had you bare-assed in a couple hands."

Valerie snorted very loudly at that. "Give it up, Roka," she shot back. "You just hate admitting that you lost, fair and square."

"Okay, baby," he replied in what could only be described as a humoring tone of voice. "C'mon, Cain. You gonna sit there all night or are you going to play?"

"' _Here we come a-waffling among the leaves so green . . . looking for the perfect tree to tap for sap within . . . to make syrup just for you and for your waffles, too . . . May God bless you and send you more waffles for New Year's, may God send you waffles for New Year's_ . . .'"

Valerie blinked and glanced at Bailey, who had wandered in from the kitchen with a huge hunk of ham in one hand and a plain waffle in the other. It was the song he was singing, however, that brought a smile to Valerie's lips. "A-waffling?" she repeated with a raised eyebrow.

Sydnie giggled. "Evan taught him that song last year or so," she explained.

Somehow, that didn't really surprise Valerie, and she figured at they should be grateful that he hadn't taught Bailey a more colorful version of it, instead. But waffles . . .? "Why waffles?"

Gin smiled and handed Olivia a sippy cup of apple juice. "Oh, Cain taught Evan that song when Evan was a baby," she said.

That wasn't what Valerie had expected to hear. "He did?"

Gin nodded. "Evan thought that the words were 'waffling', and he wanted Cain to teach him more of the words."

"You taught me that?" Evan said, casting a rather surprised glance at his father.

Cain blinked and looked rather blank. In fact, it took him a minute to figure out what, exactly, Evan was talking about. "Oh, uh, yeah," he said at length. "I guess I did."

"Yeah," Bas added without looking up from the cards he'd just gotten to replace the ones he'd discarded, "Dad used to make up a few songs, mostly when Evan asked him to."

"So you're saying that Evan takes after Cain," Gavin mused.

"What?" Evan exclaimed sharply.

"Hardly," Cain grumbled.

Gavin shot Bas a knowing glance. Bas shook his head in disgust.

"Evan's always been just like his father," Gin maintained as she wandered over with a try of chips and various dips. "Ooh, since you have three of those, then that's good, right, Gunnar?" she asked, leaning over his shoulder as she stared at his cards.

Gunnar smiled just a little at his aunt as Bas snorted and dropped his cards in the center of the table. "I'm out," he stated.

"Three of a kind? Fuck," Evan grouched, dropping his hand, too.

"Depends on what three they are," Gavin surmised, frowning at his hand.

Gin giggled, apparently not realizing that she shouldn't be telling everyone what cards Gunnar had in his hand. "They're kings," she said with an innocent blink.

"And I'm out," Gavin muttered, letting his cards drop, too.

"Baby girl, you really shouldn't be telling everyone what is in someone's hand," Cain pointed out rather philosophically.

Gin's eyes widened. "Oh, I didn't even think of that!" she blurted.

Cain chuckled as he tossed his cards down, too. "But it's all right if you just want to tell me, of course."

Gin giggled and hurried around the table to kiss his cheek.

"Hey, Mom, did you make any of those stuffed mushrooms?" Bas asked as he shuffled the cards a few times.

"Oh, yeah!" she exclaimed. "I'll be right back!"

Bas smiled as she hurried away. Gunnar rolled his eyes. "You did that on purpose," he remarked.

Taking his time as he dealt the next hand, Bas didn't confirm or deny the charge, but the smile on his face did widen just a little.

"Daddy, can I open a present now?" Bailey asked, tugging on the sleeve of Bas' dark blue flannel shirt.

Bas glanced at him and grinned. "It's not Christmas yet, Bailey," he pointed out reasonably.

Bailey frowned. "But I'm bored," he complained.

Jillian laughed. "Come here, Bailey," she called, holding out her arm toward the boy. "It's almost time for Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer."

"They still show that?" Evan asked with a grin as Jillian turned on the television.

"Of course they do! It's a classic!" Jillian insisted.

Evan chuckled. "Not as classic as A Power Puppy Christmas."

Bas snorted and rolled his eyes despite the grin on his face. "Hardly a classic," he maintained.

"Shows what you know, you uncultured swine," Evan shot back.

Valerie blinked as she stared at the television. "Speaking of uncultured," she muttered under her breath as the screen went black. ' _A public service announcement from Zel Roka_ ' appeared on the screen, and Valerie couldn't help the rise of trepidation that rippled up her spine.

True, she hadn't seen this, even though she knew that he'd been ordered to do one as per the court's dictate, but . . . But it was Evan she was talking about, and Evan . . .?

"Aww, it's my baby!" Gin gushed as she hurried into the room with a tray of finger foods. She stopped abruptly. Valerie could hear her sharply indrawn breath. "Oh! He's—"

"Oh . . . my . . ." Sydnie remarked, her tone near a purr as she stared at the television, too. Valerie smothered a low groan. Jillian giggled and covered Olivia's eyes.

"Uncle Evan's _naked!_ " Bailey announced, his little face contorting into a marked grimace as he slowly shook his head in disgust.

All talking at the table ceased as every male head in the room turned—every one except for the errant rock star, anyway—who was busy messing with his cards with a really idiotic grin on his face.

Valerie sighed and slowly shook her head, too.

He was naked, all right, but at least he'd been filmed from the side. The parts of him that were considered 'too graphic' were hidden well in shadows. The entire thing was done against a black screen, and the lighting was artfully arranged to illuminate his face, even though the rest of him could be discerned. Why, oh why, didn't it surprise her? Glancing at Evan, she made a face. He thought it was a riot, twisted little monkey that he was . . .

"English overcoats, straight jackets, hazmat suits, battle helmets, safety tools, sheaths, monster slayers, bulletproof vests, wetsuits, raincoats, Venus shirts, hoodies, cock socks, Johnny bags, love gloves, willie warmers, Jimmies, prophylactics, dragon slayers, preservatives, dingers, scumbags, the tour guide, rubbers . . . Who cares what you call 'em as long as you use 'em?" He paused in his speech long enough to grin. "Keep sex fun."

"Well, damn, they cut down my speech," Evan complained as the PSA ended. "I had about fifty more names, easy."

Valerie heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger. "What the hell is wrong with you, Roka?" she demanded, fighting to keep her cheeks from pinking.

"Never been normal," Bas muttered.

"I don't know," Sydnie chimed in. "I thought he looked rather . . . impressive."

"Wh— _Kitty!_ " Bas complained.

Sydnie blinked innocently. "Yes, puppy?"

He snorted. "Forget it."

"Well, it didn't show anything _too_ bad," Gin went on thoughtfully.

"Should've neutered that one at birth," Gunnar muttered.

Cain just sighed, looking like he wasn't entirely sure exactly what to say.

"I thought it was pretty damn wicked," Evan remarked. "Besides, one should never be afraid of one's body, right Cain?"

"There's a huge difference between being afraid of one's body and having no shame whatsoever," Cain pointed out.

Gin giggled and slipped onto Evan's lap to feed him a stuffed mushroom. "Evan's a very good-looking man, Zelig-sensei," she insisted. "Just like his father!"

That comment earned a number of snorts from all around the table.

"What? Was it something I said?" Gin asked, looking entirely perplexed.

"Damn, Bubby," Evan grumbled as he stared at the cards in his hand, "you suck at dealing; did you know?"

"But you have two of those ace cards," Gin said, poking a finger at them. "I mean, that's good, right?"

Chuckling softly, Evan gave his mother a quick squeeze. "Why don't you give me some sugar for luck?" he teased.

Gin giggled but kissed the cheek he offered her. "You'd teach me how to play cards, wouldn't you, Evan?"

"Well, sure," Evan drawled, crooking a finger at his brother. "Deal Mama in, will you?"

Bas looked like he'd rather do anything but deal Gin in, but in the end, he slipped her five cards. "She doesn't have any chips, Evan," Bas reminded him.

"That's okay," he assured his brother as he pushed half of his white chips toward his mother. "Here, Mama. I'll float you a loan."

"He gave her about fifty bucks," Gunnar pointed out, arching a black eyebrow at Cain. "Is that all right with you?"

Cain shrugged, appearing to be concentrating on his cards. "I'll take it out of her allowance," he deadpanned.

Gin giggled again. "I don't get an allowance," she said. "Maybe I should . . ."

"Pfft." Aptly put, considering Valerie had a feeling that Gin Zelig didn't exactly need an allowance. After all, Cain seemed to be perfectly content in making sure that his wife had everything she could possibly ever want.

"Oh, we're not playing for real money," Gin scoffed.

"Well, actually, we are," Gunnar added.

"Then where's the money?" she questioned, her expression rather puzzled as she stared at the poker chips.

"The white ones are worth a buck, the red ones are worth five. The green ones are worth twenty-five, and the black ones are worth a hundred," Evan explained patiently.

"A hundred? Those black ones are worth a hundred? _Dollars?_ " she echoed.

"That's right, Mama."

She blinked a few times as she slowly looked around the table. "Your father's got a few black ones," she pointed out.

"Not for long, Mom," Bas muttered.

"Evan?"

"Hmm?"

Biting her lip, Gin smiled. "Can I have one of your black chips?"

Evan grinned at his mother and gave her half of his stack of black chips—five hundred dollars' worth.

"What do I do now?" Gin whispered loudly.

Evan's grinned widened. "If you think you have a good hand, you put some of your chips into the pot," he explained.

She considered that. "Do I have a good hand?"

He peeked. "Yep, pretty good."

She looked quite pleased as she pushed her entire stack of black chips into the middle of the table.

Cain seemed vaguely amused as he discarded two cards and then matched Gin's bet. "Okay, baby girl. Let's see what you've got."

"In a second," she muttered, fiddling with her cards. "Do I add more chips now?"

Evan laughed. "Only if you've got good cards," he told her.

"Are these good cards?" she asked, leaning forward and turning enough so that she could better see Evan's face.

Evan leaned to the side to get a better look at his mother's cards. "Holy shit, Mama," he exclaimed. "Bubby dealt you all the good cards."

"Really?" she intoned as her smile widened.   "But none of them match."

Evan chuckled. "They don't have to match when you're dealt a royal straight flush."

"Damn," Bas grumbled, tossing his hand into the middle of the table.

Gunnar followed suit. Gavin slowly shook his head and dropped his hand, too. "Talk about beginner's luck," he muttered.

"Oh, dear," Jillian said despite the smile on her face.

Cain sighed. "Are you serious?"

Gin carefully laid her cards down on the table. "Did I beat you, Zelig-sensei?"

Clearing his throat, Cain folded his hand. "Yes, you did, Gin," he replied.

"I like this game!" Gin declared as she leaned forward to scoop the pile of chips toward her.

Gunnar frowned. Bas shook his head. Gavin sighed. Cain looked mildly amused. Evan laughed outright as he reached for the cards to shuffle . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Yes! A full house! I win again! In your face, Zelig-sensei!"

"Nice, Evan. You've created a monster," Bas mumbled, leaning toward Evan as the two watched their mother's rather silly 'victory dance'. Half in her seat, half out of it, her index fingers pointed toward the sky as she jabbed one into the air and lowered the other alternately, she was too busy gloating to notice as her mate heaved a longsuffering sigh.

"She's won, what? Two? Three grand off of him?" Gavin mused, leaning back in his chair and emptying the beer he'd been sipping all evening. "Damn."

"Don't think I don't know that you've been changing her cards all evening," Gunnar remarked.

"He has been?" Bas interjected, pinning his brother with a formidable scowl.

Evan grinned. "Yeah, but it's worth it. Look at ol' Cain's face, will you?"

True enough. 'Ol' Cain' looked entirely fit to be tied, and why not? Evan figured that if he'd just lost that much money to a novice player, he'd probably look rather irked, too.

"Last hand, Gin," he remarked, reaching for the cards and giving them a good shuffle.

"Last one? But this is so much fun!" she argued. "If you're running low on money, I could loan you some of my chips," she offered.

Pressing his lips together, lest he should laugh out loud, Evan wisely remained silent as Cain cocked an eyebrow at his mate. "Here," he said, setting the cards on the table in front of her. "It's your deal."

"Your father looks a little miffed," Valerie commented as she slipped into the chair beside Evan.

"Eh, it's good for him to lose every now and then," Evan maintained with a wink.

"He's not going to be mad at your mother, is he?" she asked.

"Cain? Hell, he never stays mad at Mama. Actually, I don't think he's ever really been mad at Mama before."

She didn't look entirely convinced as she leaned in closer to peek at Evan's cards. "There's a first time for everything, Evan," she pointed out.

"There is," he allowed, pulling three cards out of his hand and tossing them onto the table, "just not tonight."

Gin slid three cards across the table to Evan. "How about it, Cain? You in or out?"

Tapping the edges of his cards against the table, Cain seemed to be considering his options, Gin must've figured that he was about to fold, because she giggled. "You're not really going to chicken out, are you Zelig-sensei?" she asked innocently.

Staring at her for a long minute, Cain finally shrugged and pulled a couple cards out of his hand. "Give me two," he replied, ignoring her commentary.

Satisfied that she'd gotten him to stay in the game, Gin very happily dealt him two cards and then gave herself one.

Beside him, Valerie raised an eyebrow. "Did you just slip that card onto the top of the stack?" she whispered.

Evan shot her a grin and tossed his cards into the center of the table. "Now would I do that?" he parried.

Valerie sighed and slowly shook her head as Gunnar let his cards fall, too. "I'm out."

"Me, too," Bas stated, picking up his empty beer bottle and heading for the wet bar. "Want one, Gunnar?"

"No, thank you," Gunnar replied, crossing his arms over his chest as he settled back to watch the rest of the game.

"How about it, Cain?" Gin prodded.

Cain stared thoughtfully at his cards. "I'm out, too," he said.

"You can't quit!" Gin insisted. "Aren't you going to try to win back your money? Unless you really are chicken . . . You're not, are you?"

"Of course not," he replied with a marked scowl. "Gin—"

"My papa would never quit," she went on. "But if you really don't have the guts to stay in, then I guess you'll just have to admit defeat."

"Okay," he agreed evenly. "You've got me beat."

"Oh, come on, Zelig-sense! Double or nothing!" she goaded.

Cain heaved a sigh but picked up his cards once more. "All right, baby girl," he allowed slowly as he pushed the rest of his chips into the pot. "Don't say I didn't warn you, though."

She giggled. "Four of a kind!" she gloated, fanning her cards, face up on the table. "Read 'em and weep!"

Cain blinked and stared for a long moment, then heaved a sigh and chucked his cards into the center of the table. "Damn it."

Shooting out of her chair, Gin let out a high pitched squeal and proceeded to do a silly variation of her victory dance. "I beat you; I beat you! I won; you lost! Loser!" she crowed, making an 'L' out of her thumb and index finger and holding it up to her forehead. "Zelig-sensei is a loser!"

"Gin," Cain began in a mild tone.

"Gin is the best! Cain is a loser! I kicked your heinie!"

Evan cleared his throat but couldn't quite contain the amused smile that surfaced on his features.

"Gin," Cain said once more.

Gin ignored him. "Loser, loser, loser! Zelig-sensei is a loser!"

Cain heaved a sigh, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Gin."

She finally seemed to have heard him. Stopping mid-dance, she blinked. "Hmm?"

He stared at her for several seconds, and the smile that finally lit on his face was almost scary—almost. "Gin?"

"Y-Yes?" she said, apparently realizing that maybe she'd pushed it a little too far.

The scary smile widened by degrees. "One."

"Huh?" she said.

"Shit," Bas growled, slamming the bottle of beer he'd been drinking down on the bar and striding over to grab Bailey off the floor. "Come on, Sydnie. Time to go."

Sydnie giggled but quickly stood up, whisking Olivia off the sofa where she'd been drowsing and despite the child's protests.

"Two."

"Let's go, Jilli," Gavin barked, shooting to his feet and grabbing his mate's hand.

Gunnar didn't comment, but he did heave a sigh as he hurried after Bas out of the living room.

"Three."

"But Cain! You can't do that _now!_ " Gin insisted.

"What?" Valerie exclaimed as Evan dragged her out of the room, too. "What's going on?"

"No time to explain," Evan tossed over his shoulder without stopping. He didn't even pause by the front door that was already standing wide open since Bas and the others had already made their hasty escapes into the starry night.

"Evan, it's _cold_ out here!" she complained, wrapping her arms around herself and scrunching her shoulders up in an effort to keep warm.

"Better cold out here than warm in there," Evan insisted, but he did wrap his arms around her, too. "Damn Cain, anyway."

"How do you figure?" she shot back.

He rolled his eyes. "Remember when I told you before about how Cain 'punishes' Mama?"

Valerie blinked, still looking confused. "Yeah? So?"

He snorted. "Well, that's what he's doing now," he went on, "and there's no one alive who needs to see _that_."

"I saw it once," Bas admitted reluctantly. "Scarred for life."

"If I had a dime for every time I've seen Cain's ass, I'd be rich," Evan added, making a face to show exactly what he thought of that.

"I don't know. It's kind of cute," Jillian remarked with a little smile.

"The hell it is," Gunnar argued dryly. Suddenly, though, his eyes widened, and a moment later, he sighed. "Damn it."

"What?" Bas asked.

Gunnar shot him a glower. "I left my keys on the table," he said.

Bas's features blanked, too. "Shit," he growled, patting his pockets and coming up empty. "Mine are inside, too . . . Evan?"

"On my night stand, right where I left 'em," he remarked without bothering to check since he knew well enough that he didn't have his keys.

"So go back in and get them," Gavin suggested as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

That earned him a number of irritated scowls. "I'd rather freeze," Bas muttered.

"Maybe, but you children wouldn't," Sydnie reminded him, doing her best to hold Olivia close.

"Don't worry," Gavin said, digging his keys out of his pocket. "Thank God I went to town earlier."

"Oh, I'll have to give you extra hero-points!" Jillian insisted as Gavin loped down the steps and strode over to start his car.

Evan shook his head. "Why don't we go over to your house, Bubby? It's closest."

Bas snorted and scowled at his brother. "What part of 'I left my keys in the house' did you not get, Evan?"

"We need those keys," Gunnar finally said. "We can't all fit into Gavin's car."

Bas and Evan grimaced since neither of them actually wanted to go back inside.   Gunnar snorted and rolled his eyes, but stuck out his vertical fist. "Fine," he muttered, waiting for Evan and Bas to do the same. "Loser has to go get the keys."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Games_** **_People_** **_Play_** ' _originally appeared on The Alan Parsons Project's_ _1980_ _release,_ **_The_** **_Turn_** **_of_** **_a_** **_Friendly_** **_Card_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to Alan_ _Parsons_ _and_ _Eric_ _Woolfson_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Gin_** :  
>  _I won!_


	126. 125: Unspoken

' _I'm so caught up in you, little girl – and I never did suspect a thing_ …  
' _So caught up in you, little girl – that I never wanna get myself free_ …  
' _And, baby, it's true, you're the one who caught me_ …  
' _Baby, you taught me – how good it could be_ …'

 

-' _Caught_ _Up_ _in_ _You'_ by .38 Special.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Staring at the flames dancing merrily on the hearth as the soft chime of the clock announced in its understated way that it was an hour until Christmas officially arrived, Valerie couldn't help the little smile that quirked her lips as she savored the warmth of the red and green chenille blanket that Evan had dropped over her shoulders a few minutes before he'd strode off toward the kitchen to get her a cup of coffee.

She had to admit that she still wasn't entirely sure what to make of their unceremonious ousting from the Zelig mansion earlier in the evening. At first, she was dubious about the entire thing—at least, she had been until Sebastian, completely unnerved, had emerged from the mansion after retrieving keys. He'd lost the best of five match of rock-paper-scissors, so he'd had to go back in, and he'd wordlessly handed over Evan and Gunnar's keys and then had strode off to his SUV, and as far as she knew, he hadn't spoken again until well after he'd escorted everyone to his house nearby.

And she hadn't been sure what she'd expected when she'd first seen Bas and Sydnie's little house. It was more of a cottage, really, complete with a cute little pink—yes, pink—stable off to the right behind the place. She supposed that if she'd stopped to think about it, she'd have expected them to own a house that was on the same scale as the one where he'd grown up, but no. About half the size, maybe, of Evan's place on Long Island, but somehow, the house rather fit Bas and Sydnie. In fact, the only thing she'd noticed at all wasn't something she'd seen but something that Bas had mentioned: the housekeeper was on holiday, so the only thing he'd been able to come up with as far as snacks were a couple bags of potato chips, a case of beer, and a box of Christmas cookies from one of the local stores.

The other noteworthy thing about Bas and Sydnie's home? Well, that would have to be the dwarf Holstein milk cow that Sydnie led inside not long after they'd arrived. Bas had sighed and shook his head but he hadn't told her to take it outside again. Evan had told Valerie that Bas had to widen the back door, just to accommodate Sydnie's 'pet'. It was either that or sit inside alone while Sydnie spent hours upon hours out in the stable with the creature, anyway . . . At least the children didn't seem to think anything of sitting on the floor in the living room, leaning on the cow while they watched television.

"Ahh, Christmas at the pound," Evan remarked as he strode into the living room with two steaming mugs. "Here you go, baby. Watch out. It's hot."

She took the mug and smiled at him as he sank down on the sofa beside her. "Thank you."

He shrugged off her thanks as he sipped the hot drink. "Cocoa," he explained as he lowered his mug. "Hope you don't mind."

"Oh, this is _good_ ," she said with a little sigh. Thicker, richer than normal cocoa, it tasted like it probably contained about a gazillion calories. But it was almost Christmas, and she supposed that one mug of it wasn't going to break her diet too much . . .

"It is, right?" he agreed with a grin. "Mama's secret recipe—Okay, I did tweak it a little."

"Tweaked it?" she echoed, arching an eyebrow. "How?"

His grin turned a little evil. "Added a little Bailey's Irish Cream," he told her with a wink.

"Trying to get me drunk?" she challenged.

He chuckled and stood up to poke at the fire and add another log. "Absolutely not, woman," he assured her. "That would just be an added bonus. Besides, it's not like I added _that_ much—just enough, that's all."

Valerie laughed and sat back, staring at the fire through half-closed eyes. "Your parents are so cute," she ventured. "I mean, beyond cute, really . . ."

Evan snorted softly but didn't argue with her. "They've always been that way," he said. There was a strange note in his voice, but she couldn't see his face. Hunkered by the fire, he, too, was watching the flames. Valerie frowned. If she didn't know better, she'd swear that there was a certain wistfulness in his tone. "I never knew it wasn't normal, you know? At least, I didn't until I started noticing other couples around me . . . Kind of sad, isn't it? I thought that my parents were the rule, not the exception . . ."

Valerie considered that in silence. Knowing Evan as well as she did, she didn't doubt for a moment that he was telling her the truth. What was that like? To be surrounded by that much love—love that was so prevalent that it went without saying, that it could become an afterthought? She smiled. "Your mother was trying to pretend like nothing happened," she pointed out with a giggle.

It was true enough. When she called over to Bas' house a couple hours after their hasty departure from the mansion, she'd apparently acted like she couldn't understand why everyone had left. Bas had rolled his eyes but smiled, apparently unable to remain irritated about their ousting. When they'd gotten back to the mansion, it was to find Cain, relaxing on the sofa with his shirt buttoned only once, and Olivia hadn't had any qualms about informing her grandfather that it was misaligned, too. And Cain? Damned if he hadn't just grinned a rather self-satisfied grin and let Olivia fix his mistake . . .

"Tell me your best Christmas memory," Valerie prompted when Evan fell silent again.

He blinked and seemed to shake himself, smiling only when he slowly turned his head to meet her gaze. "My best memory, huh? What if I told you that it hasn't happened yet?"

She rolled her eyes but smiled. "Then it wouldn't be a memory, Roka," she pointed out. "Now come on. Tell me."

Letting out a deep breath, he braced himself on his knees and stood up. "I think this is probably the best Christmas yet," he told her. He even sounded sincere. "But from the ones not counting this year?" He frowned as he pondered her question. "I guess it was the year that Mama and Cain got me a Power Puppies Jeep."

She laughed. "Really? You got one of those things?"

"Hey! Don't diss the PPJ," he warned.

"Oh, wait, I think I saw pictures of that . . . Jillian had a pink one, right?"

Evan snorted and wandered back over to the sofa once more. "Hardly! Jilli got a pink Corvette. I got the _Jeep_."

"I would have thought you'd have wanted the sports car," she pointed out reasonably.

Evan raised an eyebrow. "I did mention that it was _pink_ , right?"

"Oh, please! Like you've ever been an über-macho guy!" she scoffed.

"Back then? Cain had an SUV. I wanted one like his, of course."

"That's really cute, you know. You wanted to be like your dad?"

Evan snorted and reached for his cocoa again. "I learned better, V," he insisted. "Just took a few years, is all."

She heaved a sigh, knowing well enough that it wouldn't matter if she pointed out that she believed that Cain truly loved Evan, too, just as much as he loved Bas or Jillian. Evan didn't believe it, and he didn't want to hear it, either. Still . . . "So why's that your favorite memory?"

He grinned. "Are you kidding? It was too snowy to take them outside, so Cain set up a track here in the house for Jilli and me." He chuckled softly as he plopped back against the sofa. "Drove Bubby nuts that year . . . Nearly ran him over a few times. I think Jilli did."

"Not on purpose, I'm sure," she remarked.

Evan chuckled. "Jilli? God, no . . . Me? Maybe . . ."

"That just doesn't surprise me," she said ruefully.

"Absolutely," he drawled. "What about you? You have any good Christmas memories?"

She didn't know why she was caught off-guard by his question. She ought to have realized that he was going to ask, given the current topic of conversation. "Me? Y-Yeah, I guess you could say so."

"Oh, yeah? Tell me."

She drew a deep breath, hesitant to tell him about the Christmas she remembered. It wasn't that she thought he'd laugh at her. She knew better, didn't she? It was just that the memory—all her memories, really—of that time and of that place tended to reopen wounds deep down; wounds that she'd rather leave alone . . . "There was one year," she heard herself saying, "my mother got me one of those silly little makeup kits. Probably only cost a buck or two, who knows?" She shook her head but smiled a little wanly. "Who cares? My father said that I was pretty—almost as pretty as my mother . . ."

Evan snorted. "I find it hard to believe that there's woman on earth who is prettier than you."

"You don't get hero-points," she scoffed as her cheeks pinked up. "Just so you know."

He laughed and tugged her over against him. She didn't fight him. "I'm glad you have good memories," he said in a strangely sad tone of voice. "You deserve them."

She wasn't exactly sure what to make of Evan's quiet mood. It was almost as though there was something sad below the surface of his calm façade. Maybe he was trying to make sense out of what he perceived to be his own messed-up childhood, such as it was. Again it struck her that it didn't much matter if Evan had grown up here or in some run-down trailer in the middle of the Kentucky hills. If he didn't understand things he'd seen through the skewed perception of a child, then she couldn't really explain it to him any better than he could.

But it was Christmas, wasn't it? And Christmas was simply not a time to get lost in the confusion of childish memories, was it? It was with that in mind that Valerie cleared her throat and turned to face him. "It's almost midnight, you know."

"Is it?"

She nodded. "Which means it's almost Christmas."

He smiled just a little. "Is it?"

"Mmm . . . Which means that we _could_ open presents . . . If you _wanted_ to, that is . . ."

Evan chuckled. "Ah, beautiful and materialistic . . . Two traits I absolutely love in my women," he quipped.

"Unless you'd rather wait," she challenged.

He laughed again but got up and strode over to the Christmas tree. It took him less time to locate their gifts than it should have, and when he returned to the sofa, she snorted. "You've already been at this, haven't you?" she asked in a rather accusing tone of voice.

Evan shrugged but didn't deny it. "I haven't opened it to peek, if that's what you mean."

Wrinkling her nose, Valerie made a face. "At least pretend like you like my gift," she warned him. "I know it's a little stupid . . ."

"Stupid gifts are the best kind," he told her. "Anyway, I have to confess, this isn't your real gift."

That earned him a raised eyebrow. "What? Are you telling me that you forgot my present back in the city?"

"I didn't forget it," he assured her simply. "It was just too big to haul all the way out here. That's all."

For some reason, his statement worried her. "You didn't get me another car, did you?"

He laughed. "Nope, but I would've if you'd mentioned that you wanted another one."

"I don't," she insisted, shaking her head stubbornly. "I like the one you got me just fine."

"Glad to hear it," he told her with a wink. "I mean, the next step up would be a limo or something, and, while I don't think you'd mind it so much, Bone's driving does take a little getting used to."

"All right; all right. Hand over my present," she said.

Evan laughed again but handed over the neatly wrapped package. "Such pretty paper," she commented with a smile seconds before she ripped into it unmercifully.

"It's not what's in the package, but how it's wrapped," he told her.

She giggled then rolled her eyes when she opened the box, only to find a coconut shell bikini top and grass skirt. "Oh, you've got to be kidding," she muttered.

"Hell, no!" he told her with a goofy grin. "I fully expect to see you wear that while you dance for me."

"When pigs fly, Roka," she shot back dryly. "Some present this is!"

He leaned in and kissed her cheek before she could stop him. "It's not your real present; I told you."

"Good thing," she retorted. "So what did you really get for me?"

"Can't tell you," he informed her. "Just wait till we get back to the city."

She shot him a doleful look, designed to let him know exactly what she thought of that idea. He laughed and tore the paper on his gift. His laughter died away, however, as he opened the box, and try as she might, she couldn't help the livid blush that surfaced in her cheeks as he slowly, carefully lifted out the guitar strap she'd bought for him. "Wow," he said, his voice quiet, almost awestruck. "This is for me?"

"Well, unless you know another Evan Zelig," she muttered, ducking her chin, hoping that he couldn't see the acute embarrassment on her face. She'd looked, hadn't she? She'd searched for weeks to find something to get for him for Christmas. A million things had crossed her mind, and every one of those things had seemed stupid, almost insignificant. Then she'd just happened to be passing a small leather shop just down the street from her apartment. The smell of the place that wafted out the doors when someone had stepped out of there had drawn her in, and as she'd looked around, she'd seen it: a simple fawn colored leather guitar strap with black metal tooling, and the man behind the counter had told her that he could personalize it, too. It didn't bear his name, no, but it did have his initials in fine, hand tooled script that was much prettier than the usual western block-style lettering that most places like that seemed to favor . . . "You promised you'd pretend to like it," she reminded him, fidgeting slightly in the silence that had fallen.

"It's beautiful, V," he said quietly. "Thank you."

"Let's not go overboard," she grumbled, more at his hushed tone than his words. "I couldn't think of anything else—anything that you didn't already have . . ."

"No, it's beautiful," he insisted once more. "I love it."

She sighed. "It seems really stupid," she ventured after a moment, "especially after you brought me here . . . showed me how Christmas is supposed to be . . ."

"V—"

She shook her head to stop him, her fingers reaching out, tracing his initials carved deep into the leather. "I always thought that Christmases like these were only things you saw on television. The perfect family, the happiness that seems so fake on TV . . . It's been my best Christmas, ever," she admitted simply. "If I live to be a hundred, I think I'll remember this year forever . . ."

And maybe it was the unconscious thought that nagged her in the back of her mind; the subliminal realization that the love she felt surrounding her, even if it wasn't directed at her, was something special, an elusive thing that she might never have realized existed, that brought tears to her eyes, a hitch in her breathing. Surely she'd have satisfying holidays in the years to come, so, why . . .? Why did the idea of holidays spent in the quiet solitude of the apartment she called 'home' seem so . . .?

"Aw, hey," Evan said softly, cutting through her bittersweet thoughts as he grasped her shoulder and pulled her close against his chest. "Why are you crying?"

"I . . . I don't know," she muttered, too miserable to try to explain it, too confused to try to put the feelings into words. "This Christmas has been so . . . so _perfect_. . . Nothing's supposed to be this perfect, is it?"

"Depends on whether or not you want it to be, V," he mused, that sad note back in his voice once more as he stroked her back, as he sighed so softly that it couldn't be heard; it could only be felt as she huddled against him, sniffling like a baby but unable to stop herself, either. "I tell you what: I'll make it my personal mission to make sure that every Christmas is perfect for you. How's that?"

The ridiculousness of his statement surprised her—and so did the rough little laugh that slipped from her. Such a hopeless sort of promise, but somehow, a part of her believed him, too. At least, a part of her believed his intention. He meant everything he'd ever promised her on some level. Too bad feelings changed over time, and even the best of intentions were sometimes left, stranded by the wayside. It wasn't anyone's fault, not really. It was just the way things happened to be . . .

"You laugh at me now," he went on in that easygoing way of his, "but we'll see who's laughing in fifty years when I ask you what Christmas was your favorite, and you can't decide because they've all been great."

"You're such a dreamer, Roka," she maintained with a shake of her head. "A dreamer with a beautiful soul . . ."

He sat up a little straighter, stared at her in the wan and wavering light of the fire with an intensity behind his gaze that stilled her tongue, but it was the hint of a blush that just barely kissed his skin that captivated her, that made her reach out, brushing the hair out of his eyes, only to let her fingertips linger against his cheek. So many thoughts that she didn't dare voice, so many half-formed desires . . .

Yet it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to lean up, to kiss him. The touch of his lips against hers, the warmth, the unspoken understanding touched her, made her feel bolder when she wanted to retreat. The crush of his arms around her, holding her close, as though he were afraid that she'd disappear if he let her go.

His gentleness moved her, the softness as his lips lingered, caressing hers, but there was no hesitation, no reluctance on his part. He gave her control of the kiss, didn't he? Letting her set the pace and allowing her to take whatever she wanted . . .

Her hands slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, her palms pressed against the solid muscle of his chest. He sucked in a sharp breath when her hands flattened against him but did little more than an unconscious drawing her closer, as his lips parted in silent invitation.

She could taste the beer on his breath. It was tempered by something sweeter, far headier. Leaning into him, she barely noticed when he fell back, dragging her down with him as a low moan, a shudder, rippled through him. His skin was burning under her touch. She understood that well enough. Something deep inside her felt as though it was on fire, too . . .

Hands sinking into her hair, he held her face gently as he kissed her lips, her cheek, her nose. The unyielding tenderness in his very touch was enough to bring tears to her eyes again. He kissed those away, too, mumbling things that she couldn't discern through the haze of fog that had enveloped her brain. A far away voice in the back of her mind whispered to her; a vague familiarity that felt like coming home . . .

A loud throat clearing interrupted the moment, slamming through her bemusement with all the finesse of a fire alarm. Jerking upright, she stifled a groan as her wild gaze lit on Cain, standing just inside the doorway with an inscrutable look on his face. Evan was a little slower to react, pushing himself up on his elbow and craning his neck to peer over at his father. "Ah, Cain," he muttered, looking more and more irritated by the second. "Thought you went to bed."

Cain sighed, rubbing his forehead for a moment. "Just came down to get a drink for your mother," he explained, his voice giving away nothing, as pleasant as he might have been if he were discussing the weather. "You've got a bedroom, you know—two of them, actually."

Valerie felt her cheeks explode in darker color at the implication of Cain's words. "Says the guy who corners Mama wherever and whenever he feels like it," Evan grumbled back.

Cain pretended not to have heard him as he moved away from the arch and through the living room. "If you don't get to bed, Santa won't come, and if Santa doesn't show up, I'll be sure to tell Bailey and Olivia why."

To her surprise, Evan actually broke into a grin. "All right, all right," he called after his father. "Wouldn't want that, now would we?"

Smiling weakly when Evan winked at her, Valerie didn't quite trust herself to speak, but she did let Evan take her hand and tug her out of the room and toward the stairs.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Caught_** **_Up_** **_in_** **_You_** ' _originally appeared on .38 Special's_ _1982_ _release,_ **_Special_** **_Forces_**. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _Jim_ _Peterik,_ _Jeff_ _Carlisi,_ _and_ _Don_ _Barnes_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Damn_ _that_ _Cain,_ _anyway_ …


	127. 126: Christmas

' _The angel Gabriel from heaven came_ …  
' _His wings as drifted snow, his eyes as flame_ …  
' _'All hail!' said he, 'thou lowly maiden, Mary_ …  
' _'Most highly favored lady.' Gloria_ …'

 

-' _Gabriel's_ _Message'_ by Sting.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

The strangest sensation woke Evan. It felt like . . . fingers . . .? on his knee?

"Y'know, V, if you really want to wake me up, you could head a little north . . ." he mumbled without opening his eyes.

Beside him, Valerie rolled over, dragging the blankets with her. "Sh'up, Roka," she slurred, more asleep than awake. "Sleepin'."

He chuckled. So did a very small, very girly voice. "Candy?"

Eyes flashing open, he sat straight up, blinking quickly as the little face came into focus. "Well, hey," he greeted, reaching over to pull the four-year-old onto the bed and grudgingly thanking God that he'd put on a pair of sweat pants before trying to crawl into Valerie's bed the night before. To be completely honest, he'd been half-scared that she'd lock her door and not speak to him again until well after they went back to the city. After the incident in the living room, he wasn't entirely sure what to expect. She hadn't freaked out, though, and for that, he was grateful. In fact, her lack of a real reaction kind of surprised him. He wasn't sure if it was because she was the one who had instigated the kissing or because she knew well enough that his father was in the kitchen nearby, but she'd smiled, albeit a bit stiffly, and told him that she thought she'd go on to bed.

" _Come on, Roka," she'd said as she headed for the doorway. "You can tell me some more of your stories until I fall asleep_."

And he had . . .

"Can't say that I've got any candy on me at the moment, but I'm pretty sure that Santa probably left some for you downstairs."

Unable to ignore the commotion, Valerie sat up, rubbing her eyes. "There's a little girl in my bed," she stated rather flatly. "Evan? Who does she belong to?"

Evan chuckled. "My cousin—or niece, if you'd rather. She's her little girl. Right, Tanny?"

Tanny giggled when Evan rubbed his slightly stubbly cheek against her baby smooth one. "Has Santa Claus been here yet?" he asked, arching an eyebrow as he cuddled Tanny for a minute.

Her large dark eyes widened solemnly, and she shook her head. Evan sighed, remembering a moment too late that Gin had told him that Tanny had been terrified of the Santa Claus that Kurt and Sami had taken her to see. "Why don't you run on downstairs?" he suggested, hoping that she'd forget about the disastrous meeting with the big guy before the presents started being passed out. "I'll bet you anything that my mama has candy in the kitchen for you."

Tanny giggled, Santa Claus obviously forgotten, and scooted off the bed before dashing out of the room.

Valerie watched her go as a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "She's really cute."

"Tanny? Of course she is," he scoffed, tossing the blankets back and nearly tumbling off the bed.

Valerie, however, wasn't nearly as quick to get up. "Tanny? Is that some kind of family name?" she asked with a frown.

Evan laughed. "No, actually," he said, grinning when she tugged the blankets back up over her raised knees. "That was her first word."

"Tanny?" Valerie echoed, looking adorably confused.

He shrugged, sticking his hands over his head to stretch. "Sam and Kurt adopted her, and she was a little behind for her age. Anyway, Kurt kind of found her and then bribed her into being good using candy, and, well, you get the picture, right?"

Valerie thought that over then giggled. "So she was trying to say 'candy'."

"Yeah, but 'Tanny' is cuter, don't you think?"

She opened her mouth to answer but was cut off when the door sprang open, and Bailey bounced into the room, still wearing his pajamas. Launching himself from just inside the threshold and directly into Evan's arms, the boy laughed and hopped up and down. "Come on, Evan!" he insisted. "Daddy says we can't open presents till you're downstairs, too!"

"Hey, now, don't look at me," Evan complained with a cheesy grin. "She's the one who's still in bed, isn't she? You'd better convince her to get up, don't you think?"

That was enough prompting for Bailey. He wiggled around until Evan set him down on the bed, then he crawled over to Valerie and gave her his best pleading look. "Please, Aunt V?" he asked, sticking his bottom lip out for good measure.

He was relatively certain that he was going to die just as soon as Valerie had a moment to dispose of his body without anyone being the wiser. Still, he had to hand it to her. The woman didn't bat an eyelash as she mussed Bailey's hair with a bright smile on her face and hopped out of bed. Less than five minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom in a pair of jeans and an oversized fisherman's sweater, hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, absolutely no makeup at all, and somehow managing to look entirely gorgeous, all the same. "Okay, Bailey," she said, sticking out her hand to him. "Let's go see what Santa brought you."

Bailey squealed in excitement, scooting off the bed and grabbing Valerie's hand to yank her toward the door. Evan watched her go with a smile on his face as he tugged a tee-shirt over his head and followed them out of the room.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Picking up a piece of wrapping paper that was still in pretty good shape, Valerie bit her lip as she turned it over in her hands, hating the idea of shoving the beautiful paper into the trash bag but feeling as though she was being a little too sentimental about it. After all, Cain himself had picked up a number of scraps here and there and didn't miss a beat as he stuffed the paper into the trash bag.

Still . . .

Oh, sure, Evan had told her that his father tended to make his own wrapping paper, and she'd believed him. She just hadn't expected that the designs he'd created would be so gorgeous, to the point that she hadn't wanted to open the present that Gin sat in her lap—a beautiful, old fashioned looking wooden music box that was so intricately carved that she'd been reluctant to accept it at first. But the paper? There had to have been about fifty hand-painted tiny Christmas trees adorning that paper, each one glowing with the magic of a true artist's hand. Evan had told her that it was watercolors. Valerie had carefully folded that piece of paper and stuck it inside the small drawer of the music box . . .

Everyone else was outside, helping Bailey with the small three-wheeler that Sydnie had bought for him despite the reluctant expression on Bas' face. That she'd also bought a small cart to hook to the back of it for Olivia was rather disturbing, in Valerie's estimation. Then again, what did she really know about parenting? Surely Bas and Sydnie wouldn't have given something to their children that would be considered that dangerous . . .

Gin had told Valerie not to worry about cleaning up before she'd dashed outside, too. Valerie, though, had wanted to do something useful, even if it was as silly as picking up ripped wrapping paper.

Scooping up an armload of paper off the floor, Evan seemed oblivious to Valerie's reticence. "Hold that bag open, please," he said, striding over with his burden.

Valerie blinked and quickly opened the bag for him, watching with a frown as he stuffed the discarded wrapping paper in. "Is that all right?" she finally asked.

Evan glanced at her, looking as though he had no idea what she was talking about. "Is what all right?"

She shrugged. "Throwing away all that paper. Seems like a waste, doesn't it?"

"Nah," he insisted. "We're bagging it separately from the rest of the trash. Cain'll take it up to be recycled."

"No," she said, grasping his arm to stop him from stuffing more paper into the bag. "I meant, your father put a lot of work into it, didn't he? It doesn't seem right to throw it away."

He chuckled and took the bag from her. "Cain will throw it away if we don't," he assured her. "Besides, he didn't make all the paper. Mama made some of it, and they bought the rest. Do it every year, right? Used to be just gifts from Santa were wrapped in the store-bought paper, but I guess they figure that they've got more presents than time to make it, so . . ."

Valerie sighed, wondering if he really didn't understand just how special she thought it was and feeling somewhat foolish for her reluctance to throw away the paper, in the first place.

"If we saved it all, we'd probably end up running out of room to keep it," he said in a much gentler tone.

Forcing a smile, Valerie shrugged, brushing off her misplaced feelings. "I just wasn't sure; that's all," she said.

Evan stared at her for a long moment then sighed. "You know, there was one time I saved the paper," he told her. "I think it's still upstairs in one of my drawers, come to think of it . . ."

"You did?"

He nodded. "Cain made this paper one year. Looked like a bunch of dogs ran over it, you know? Like they'd dipped their paws in paint and ran all over the place. It was cool, so I kept it."

Valerie suddenly frowned. During her stay, she'd put her clothes in a couple of the empty drawers, and she'd noticed it then, hadn't she? "Your mother used it to line your drawers, didn't she?" she asked.

Evan looked a little surprised but grinned. "Did she? I hadn't noticed."

Which made perfect sense, too, really. Evan had moved to the basement long ago, so it stood to reason that he might not have seen that paper, carefully cut to fit. "And you said it was because your father's cheap," she scoffed, retrieving the torn box from a Baby-So-Real doll off the floor. "Such a jerk . . ."

He laughed. "Aww it's just a roll of paper and a little bit of paint."

Shaking her head, she stifled a sigh. Four bags— _four_ —of wrapping paper and toy boxes, and more if the children ever got around to opening more of the boxes that were piled here and there . . . Evan had straightened them up a little, piling each child's gifts together and pushing them back toward the tree so that they weren't out in the middle of the floor.

Smiling wanly, Valerie could only sigh as she recalled the general mayhem that had broken out about the moment she and Evan had strolled into the living room. The others really must have been waiting for them because the kids tore into the nearest present before Valerie could even open her mouth to say, "Merry Christmas."

And yet there was something so warm, so happy, about the whole scene. The laughter of children, the smiles on the faces of the adults . . . Most of the time, Cain said in a chair nearby with Gin in his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck, giggling and blushing from time to time when he whispered things into her ear. Bas had made himself comfortable on the floor with Olivia while Bailey gladly opened the presents that Sydnie handed him. Gavin spent much of his time, reading through the manuals of the video games Jillian had bought for him while Samantha and her husband, Kurt had helped Tanny open box after box after box.

Evan had been content to sit at the piano, playing every Christmas song he knew, sometimes singing—and occasionally using the real words, too—while Valerie sat on the bench beside him, her eyes drinking in the scene with an almost greedy abandon so that she could remember it always, this perfect Christmas.

"Your cousin's not here?" she asked as she shoved some more things into yet another bag.

"Who? Gunnar? He'll probably be here later," he said. "He wouldn't miss Mama's Christmas dinner for the world."

"Will there be a lot of people here?" she wondered.

Evan shrugged and sighed, planting his hands on his hips as he surveyed the tidied up living room. "Eh, enough that Mama will probably have to open up the formal dining room."

Valerie stopped and shook her head. "Formal dining room?" she echoed since they'd been eating their meals in what she'd thought was the dining room around a huge oak table.

He nodded. "Yeah. She only opens it when there are too many people for the regular dining room," he explained. "She says she doesn't like it; that it's too 'formal'."

"How many people are going to be here?"

Again, he shrugged offhandedly. "Well, all of us . . . Bitty and Griffin . . . Gunnar . . . Cain's friend, Ben, and Gunnar's twin sisters, Charity and Chelsea if they made it out of the city in time . . . Maddy'll probably be here, too, but maybe not in time for dinner. She normally goes out to the children's hospital with us in the afternoon, though, and since ol' Cartham's in, her parents will probably come along, too . . ."

"In? I thought her parents were still together," Valerie ventured as she tugged a long, red ribbon out from under the sofa.

"He travels a lot on business," Evan replied. "But he always makes it home for Christmas."

"Hmm, I heard my name."

Valerie stood up and broke into a wide grin before hurrying across the living room to hug Madison. "Maddy!"

Madison laughed and hugged Valerie back. "New York City is so much grayer when you're not there," she quipped.

Valerie rolled her eyes and kissed Madison's cheek. "Oh, it feels like I haven't seen you for years! I missed you!"

"Wait!" Evan insisted, a stupid grin on his face. "Let me go get my camera! Hot damn! Merry Christmas to me!"

Valerie snorted and glanced around for something to throw at him. Madison stuck out her tongue. "Don't be jealous because V loves me more than she loves you," she shot back.

"I don't care if she does," Evan agreed, his grin widening, "as long as I can watch."

"Such a pig," Madison said, waving a hand dismissively.

"Which is why you love me," he added.

Valerie sighed, but the effect was ruined a moment later when she giggled. "Come on, Madison," Valerie said as she headed toward the archway. "I'm going to go change for dinner, and you can catch me up on all the gossip while I do."

"What about him?" Madison asked, jerking her head in Evan's direction since he'd apparently decided that he was going to follow along.

"Back off, Roka," Valerie stated dryly. "Girls only."

Evan heaved a sigh but grinned as the women disappeared through the doorway.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Merry Christmas, Zel."

Evan blinked and turned around, smiling broadly when his gaze lit on the diminutive woman who had addressed him. "Hey, Miss. How's it going?"

Miss Reichardt smiled and shrugged, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear. "Not too bad," she admitted, her smile taking on a rueful air. "Not as bad as I was afraid it was going to be, anyway."

"Yeah? And Daniel? How's he doing?"

"He's doing pretty good," she assured him, her smile brightening a few degrees. "He still asks me where Daddy is, but I think he's starting to understand the idea that Dieter's not coming home. Anyway, I've been meaning to tell you, I think that I'm going to buy a place up here . . . It's a nice area, it's close to Dieter's family, and Daniel's made a few friends at preschool."

Evan grinned. Sure, she looked a little thinner, a little paler than usual, but she didn't look bad, and that was the most important thing . . . "Good."

She smiled, but her cell phone rang, and Evan excused himself to give her privacy to field the call.

As always, the Angels' Mission Children's Hospital was completely decked out for the occasion, and in the main hall, all of the children who were well enough to venture out of their rooms were gathered, waiting for their turns to sit on Santa's lap and get their presents. This year, Isabelle had somehow managed to talk Griffin into doing the honors. Then again, it might not have been too hard for her to do, given that Griffin tended to have a soft spot for children in general, but seeing the bear-youkai decked out as Santa? Definitely worth the price of admission.

Even better, though, was one of the elves in particular. He wasn't sure who had managed to talk Valerie into it, but there she was, dressed in the silliest red and green velvet elf outfit, passing out presents to all the children and, judging from the looks of it, having a good time, too. He snapped a few pictures with his cell phone with a chuckle. Damn, he hated to admit it, but he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to go home. Well, he did, of course, since he had a number of things to do, not the least of which was getting ready for the upcoming New Year's Eve concert. Still, he couldn't help but think that the time they'd spent here in Maine had been special—really special.

She'd kissed him.

He sighed. It didn't do any good to dwell on that, as much as he'd like to. It was enough for him that the dynamics had changed.

' _Don't be too sure of that, rock star_ ,' his youkai voice chided. ' _You must remember this: a kiss is just a kiss_ . . .'

He snorted. ' _Whose side are you on, anyway?_ '

' _Aw, don't pout. You know damn well I'm on our side, of course. You're just being a little simplistic; that's all. Sure, she kissed you, but you can't really think that the war's over._ '

' _Maybe not the war, but the tide's turning. C'mon, be a little optimistic here, won't you?_ '

His youkai sighed. ' _I'm optimistic, you know. You're the one who never has had his feet on the ground—not that that's a bad thing because it isn't. It's gotten us pretty far, don't you think?_ '

Letting out a deep breath, Evan bit his lip. It was turning, wasn't it? Just a matter of time before Valerie—stubborn woman that she was—admitted that she really did care for him; that she wanted him to be in her life forever, and Marvin? He'd never know what hit him . . .

"Who are you?"

Evan blinked and glanced down then smiled. Bailey had asked that question, but it hadn't been directed at Evan, but at a little boy with long black hair and silver eyes . . . and dimples, just like his father . . .

It took a moment for Daniel to realize that Bailey had spoken to him, and when he finally did, he frowned. "Daniel," he answered simply enough.

"I'm Bailey," he replied, tilting his head to the side with a marked scowl. "Are you sick?"

"Sick?" Daniel echoed, his expression looking thoroughly befuddled. He looked just like Dieter; damned if he didn't . . . "I'm not sick."

"Then why you in the hospital?" Bailey demanded.

"I'm giving a truck to someone," he said. "Why are you here? Are you sick?"

Bailey drew back, looking somewhat offended. "I'm not sick!" he insisted. "I'm youkai!"

"I am, too," Daniel insisted then suddenly scratched his head thoughtfully. "Well, half-youkai," he amended. "I'm hanyou."

Bailey nodded, as though it made perfect sense. "My grandma's hanyou," he said proudly then pointed to the other side of the room. "That's her over there."

"She's little."

"Nuh uh!" Bailey argued then made a face. "Well, she's littler than Daddy—that's him there."

Daniel turned to look, then blinked a few times. "He's really big," he finally said, a note of awe in his voice.

"I'm gonna be big like him when I'm big!"

Daniel nodded slowly, solemnly. Evan tried not to laugh.

"Where's your Daddy?" Bailey went on.

Daniel's eyebrows drew together into a frown, and his gaze dropped to the floor. "My daddy's dead," he said simply.

Bailey frowned, too. "What's that mean?"

"It means that he can't come home anymore," he replied.

For a moment, Evan wondered if Daniel was going to cry. ' _Hell that_ ,' he thought with an inward grimace as he blinked a few times to alleviate the sudden sting behind his own eyes.

In the end, Daniel just sighed. "It's okay," he decided at length. "Daddy gave me a truck because he loves me."

Bailey didn't look like he understood that, but he nodded slowly, as if it all made sense.

"Did you bring a present, too?" Daniel finally asked, apparently deciding that he'd rather talk about something else.

Bailey grinned. "Yeah," he said, grabbing Daniel's arm to drag him away. "I brung a football!"

"A football? Wow!"

Evan watched as the boys headed over to the crowd of children around Griffin, a slight smile touching his lips as he dashed a hand over his eyes and hoped that no one noticed. What was it about children that brought everything into perspective? He might not have an answer to that, but he supposed that was all right, and for some reason, he knew, didn't he? Wherever Dieter was right now, he was smiling, too.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Gabriel's_** **_Message_** ' _is_ _a_ _Basque_ _Christmas_ _folk_ _carol_ _and_ _was,_ _in_ _this_ _instance,_ _recorded_ _by_ _Sting_ _in_ _1987_ _for_ _the_ _charity_ _release, **A**_ **_Very_** **_Special_** **_Christmas_**.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Merry Christmas!_


	128. 127: Coming Home

' _So tired that I couldn't even sleep_ …  
' _So many secrets I couldn't keep_ …  
' _Promised myself I wouldn't weep_ …  
' _One more promise I couldn't keep_ …'

 

-' _Runaway_ _Train'_ by Soul Asylum.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"So where's my _real_ present?" Valerie asked as Evan carried her bag up the steps of her apartment building.

"Patience, woman. Haven't you heard the phrase, 'Good things come to those who wait'?" he asked. "Damn . . . What the hell did you pack in here? The kitchen sink or something?"

She snorted as she leafed through the small mountain of mail she'd picked up from the security guard on duty. "Suck it up, Roka. You're the one who is always trying to tell me what a man you are, aren't you? So _be_ a man and don't complain about the weight of my suitcase."

"Stuck my mama in here, didn't you?" he teased, ignoring her warning completely. "Liked her cooking, so you decided to kidnap her, right?"

"Your mother's cooking was fantastic—and highly fattening, I suspect. I'm going to have to go back on a strict diet, starting right now . . ."

"Aw, to hell with that," Evan scoffed. "You could stand to put on a few pounds, anyway."

Stopping abruptly, Valerie whirled around to face him, narrowing her eyes when she realized that he'd also stopped—and was leaning back to get a better view of her ass. When she caught him, he grinned like a lunatic. That just figured, didn't it? "I'll have you know that I work hard to keep my body in shape," she pointed out haughtily, "and you've never said that I needed to pack on a few pounds before."

Evan chuckled and shot her that lopsided grin of his. "I never said you _needed_ to do any such thing," he replied. "I said that it would be _all right_ if you did; that's all."

"Shows what you know, Roka," she grumbled. "I happen to _like_ looking good—not for some man, but for _me_."

"Nice speech, baby," he shot back. "I almost believed you. Almost."

"You're just jealous because I'm not trying to look good for you," she replied airily.

"Of course you are, V," he insisted as he followed her down the hallway toward her apartment. "You're my rock goddess, and rock goddesses _always_ look good. It's a requirement . . . Oh, hey! You want to come with me later?"

"Where are you going?"

"Eh, I have to go down to the venue and talk to some of the techs about the New Year's Eve concert. You can hang on my arm like the eye-candy that you are while I discuss my best lighting angles and shit."

"Oh," she deadpanned, her voice completely flat. "Sounds like a blast."

"Don't be like that," he said, poking her in the side.

She jerked away and almost collided with the wall. "Quit it, you pest."

He did it again. She giggled.

"Ah, you're ticklish!" he said, launching a couple rapid-fire pokes.

"Dork! Stop it!" she growled between giggles—completely ineffective, but cute, nonetheless.

"All this from the woman who kept trying to make me wreck on the way home," he retorted, poking her yet again.

"I wasn't trying to—stop it, Roka—make you wreck," she corrected, unable to keep herself from giggling the entire time. "I was—I mean it, buddy—just reading you that stupid—I'm warning you—sign."

He laughed. She'd seen a billboard beside the highway that was touting a place called Rogers' Crab Bucket with the tag line, ' _We got crabs!_ ' that had set her off into an hour long discourse on the wrong-ness of that particular claim. He'd been laughing so hard that he'd nearly veered off the road a few times, and in the end, he'd had to pull over until the amusement of it all had run its course.

"I'm going to buy that billboard just for you," he teased as she pressed her thumb against the identilock pad. It took her a few tries since he kept poking her in the sides whenever she tried to unlock the door. She got it on the fourth try after she'd turned around and smacked him in the center of his chest as hard as she could despite the giggling.

"Abuse! Abuse! Where're the cops when you need 'em?" he complained as he clutched his chest melodramatically with his free hand.

"Oh, _please!_ " she replied with a loud snort. "As _if!_ I've seen you take harder hits from your brother, you know! Drama queen . . ."

"Hey! Watch who you're calling a queen, woman!"

"Well, if the shoe fits," she retorted sweetly.

"Valerie! Hi!"

Evan's statement died on his lips before it came out as the two of them turned around. "M-M-Marvin . . ." Valerie stammered, unable to do more than blink as her errant fiancé hurried over and grasped her hands to pull her down so that he could kiss her cheek. "What are you doing here?"

He smiled broadly at her. "Ah, well, they finally got the runways cleared enough to allow takeoff. The plans I'd made for the next week fell through, and I thought I'd fly in and surprise you. So here I am."

"Yeah," she said, hoping that the smile on her face wasn't as thin and brittle as it felt—and hoping against hope that Evan wasn't going to be completely obnoxious. "Oh, Marvin, you remember Evan, right?"

Marvin blinked and turned to face Evan, his bashful but friendly smile widening. "Zelig," he said, extending his hand. "We met at that fundraiser a few months ago. How's your mother?"

Was it just Valerie's imagination or was Evan really that good at covering his emotions? She frowned as the men shook hands since the man in question was smiling in a friendly kind of way, and if he had any less-than-upstanding thoughts running through his mind, he didn't show it in the least. "She's just fine," Evan replied. "How's your research going? Neuroblastoma, if memory serves."

"Uh, yeah," Marvin replied, his smile growing even wider as the light in his eyes brightened, and no wonder. She'd seen it herself, hadn't she? Most people who weren't in the medical field didn't often recall Marvin's area of research. That Evan did spoke volumes, didn't it? But . . .

"I certainly hope that you get the funding for it," Evan went on. "It's a very worthy cause."

Marvin couldn't have looked more pleased, could he? And Evan? He was behaving himself quite admirably—almost _too_ admirably, given how well she knew that man. So why was the knot in Valerie's stomach growing larger and larger by the second? "It is," he agreed quite happily. "It really is . . . and I wanted to thank you, too," he went on. "I felt so bad when I got stuck before Christmas, but it was such a relief to know that Val wasn't going to spend it alone."

She didn't miss the quick look that Evan shot her over Marvin's head. The smile was still on his face, sure, but there was a trace tightness at the corners of his eyes that belied his calm façade. "As long as she had a good time," he replied, his tone growing more and more polite by the second. "Hey, I've got to get going. You two . . . Well, have a nice visit."

"Oh, wait," Marvin blurted quickly, stepping forward to stop Evan. "Why don't you stay for a while? We could go get something to eat or—"

"Sorry," Evan interrupted with a rueful smile. "I had some things I had to do, but thank you for the invitation. See you, V."

"B-Bye," she murmured, biting her lip as she hurried past Marvin to close the door behind Evan. "Evan?"

He stopped on the threshold and glanced over his shoulder at her. "Yes?"

Why was it so hard to smile? She tried again and managed a little one. "I really had a great time. Thank you."

"Any time," he replied. Then he stepped out of the apartment, closing the door quietly behind himself.

"You should have warned me," Marvin remarked with a chuckle. "I almost didn't recognize him with all that hair . . ."

"Hair?" Valerie echoed a little stupidly.

"Yeah. It was short at the fundraiser, wasn't it?"

"Oh, that . . . He, um . . . He let it grow out."

Marvin thought that over and shrugged. "Well, I guess when you have as much money as the Zelig family does, it doesn't matter how you keep your hair, right?"

He'd meant it as a joke, and Valerie knew it. So why did Marvin's statement irritate her?

' _Stop it!_ ' she chided herself firmly. ' _It's Marvin—the man you're going to_ marry _, remember? Of course, that's all up in the air now, isn't it? Considering you didn't feel any qualms about kissing Evan on Christmas Eve . . ._ '

She snorted at her own thoughts. Of _course_ she was going to marry Marvin. Christmas Eve with Evan . . . That was just a slip up, nothing more. Caught up in the moment. That's all it was . . . Not a big deal, right?

' _So if it wasn't a big deal, then are you going to tell Marvin about it?_ '

Tell Marvin . . .? She sighed. Would it really do any good to tell him? After all, it'd just hurt his feelings, of course it would, and she had no intention of repeating the incident, now did she? So would there really be a point in upsetting Marvin so much?

' _That's convenient, isn't it? Trying to put a nice face on it, are you?_ '

' _That's not it, at all. It shouldn't have happened._ '

' _Should or shouldn't, what does it matter? And don't think I didn't realize it._ '

' _Realize what?_ '

The inner voice snorted indelicately. ' _That you didn't tell Evan that it was a mistake, either._ '

Still . . .

"I'm kind of jealous," Marvin went on, oblivious to Valerie's rising upset. "I mean, you got to spend Christmas with that family? Bet it was spectacular."

"It was nice," she agreed reluctantly. "His family is really nice . . ."

Marvin picked up the mail that Valerie had dropped and stacked it neatly on the edge of her desk. "I've heard rumors that they live in as close to a castle as there is in the United States," he ventured. "Ron O'Reilly's wife said that they've approached the family a few times to do an article on their home in _The Northeastern_ , but they always decline."

"I don't know if I'd compare it to a castle," Valerie murmured, rubbing her arms through the thick fabric of her sweater.

Marvin chuckled. "The whole family is practically royalty, you know. I mean, if we had royalty here, that is . . ."

"They're just people," Valerie insisted. "Very nice people."

"I bet it was pretty impressive, though," Marvin added with a grin.

"I suppose," she agreed. "Maine was nice."

He laughed and handed her a glass of wine. She hadn't realized he'd poured it. "Are you okay?" he asked. "I mean, you keep saying that everything was 'nice' . . ."

Shrugging off the coat that she'd just remembered she was wearing, Valerie forced a smile as she hung it in the closet. "Oh, I'm just a little tired, I guess," she said. "Too much excitement or something . . ."

He stared at her for a long moment, stuffing one hand in his pocket as he slowly lifted the glass of wine to his lips. "Your present!" he suddenly exclaimed as he hurried out of the living room to grab the gift out of his bag.

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie frowned.

What on earth was wrong with her? She ought to be glad, shouldn't she? That Marvin had wanted to spend New Year's was very sweet.

Pushing the closet door closed with her hip, Valerie rubbed her forehead. He just surprised her; that was all.

"I tried to call you on Christmas day," Marvin remarked as he strolled back into the living room once more. "Left a message on your voicemail. Guess you must've missed it."

Valerie grimaced. She had missed it, or maybe she was dressed up as a giant elf at the time. "Sorry," she said, striding over to retrieve the present she'd bought for Marvin. She'd taken it out of her bag before heading off to Maine with Evan . . .

"Oh, it's all right," he assured her with a good-natured smile. "Merry Christmas, even if it is a couple days late."

"Thanks," she said, extending the gift she'd bought for him. "Merry Christmas to you, too."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _Fucked up, needle dicked, pansy-assed_. . .'

' _Calling him names isn't really gonna change anything, now is it?_ '

' _But why the hell did he have to show up and ruin everything?_ '

' _He didn't . . . just a minor setback; that's all_.'

' _Yeah, whatever, and why the hell are you so calm? Right now, that little prick could be over there trying to put the moves on our woman, and you're acting like it's nothing_.'

Evan sighed and tried to ignore the rantings of his youkai voice.

"Are you listening to a thing I've said, Roka?" Mike asked, frowning at Evan's lack of attention.

"Yeah, sure," he said, reaching for his bottle of water. "Everything's ready to go, right?"

Mike didn't look entirely convinced that Evan had heard him. Heaving a sigh, he shook his head. "You're a million miles away. Something happen in Maine I should know about?"

"Nah, I'm good," he assured him with a grin. "Don't tell me you spent your entire holiday here, did you? Christmas is for family, Mikey."

"Someone had to keep the wheels turning, you know. Besides, the wife was here with me, and it was very nice."

Evan snorted. "Bet she'd have rather been back home. Hope you got her some nice jewelry or something."

Mike finally smiled. "Took her shopping on Christmas Eve and bought her everything she wanted—and then some."

"Nice," Evan said, his grin widening. No, he didn't suppose that Mrs. Mike missed a damn thing . . . "Ran into Miss and Daniel."

"Oh? How's she holding up?"

"Not bad," Evan assured him. "Said she's looking to buy a house there. Probably for the best."

Mike nodded, his gaze shifting out the darkened window of the limousine. "Probably."

He didn't sound entirely convinced. Still, Evan couldn't help but feel that Miss' choice really was the best one she could've made. After all, she'd be closer to people who could help her if worse came to worst. Bas had even invited Miss and Daniel over to visit since the boys had seemed to hit it off at the children's hospital.

Everything was fine—great, even. Maybe better than 'great' . . .

Everything except V's unexpected visitor, that was . . .

Maybe he should've stayed there, kept an eye on things so Marvin didn't get any stupid ideas. It had only taken him about ten seconds to realize his mistake after leaving Valerie's apartment. Then again, he'd been dangerously close to losing his temper as it was. It wouldn't do, would it, to beat the crap out of the guy just on principle.

And worse? If Evan were to be completely honest, he'd have to admit that Marvin really wasn't a bad sort—a little misguided, maybe, and he could use some work in setting his priorities straight, sure. Nice enough, maybe, but he just wasn't the right guy for Valerie, and Evan knew that because _he_ was, damn it.

He'd even started to think that he was making headway during Christmas. She'd had the time of her life; he knew she had. He'd taken her with him to show her what a real family Christmas was, and he'd done that. He'd hoped that she'd realize that it was something she wanted, too.

He sighed again, watching as the streets of New York City crept past. Maybe he was reading too much into it. After all, it wasn't like he'd really expected that she'd dump good ol' Marvin on sight and certainly not in front of him, now did he? Even if she had a mind to do it, she certainly wouldn't if Evan was there.

That was one of the reasons that he'd left, wasn't it? She'd break it off with Marvin because she had to know that she didn't belong with him now, right?

' _Right_ ,' he told himself, shaking himself out of the gloom he'd carried ever since he'd left Valerie's apartment. She'd call him in a day or two to tell him that she'd decided that Marvin was just not the right guy for her, and Evan? He'd try his damndest not to gloat or anything. He'd assure her that even if she hated to hurt the little twerp, it would all be for the better. She'd be free to be with him, and Marvin could spend his time, devoting himself to his research, maybe find a hopelessly boring girl—maybe a librarian—settle down in some equally boring suburb, and Evan?   He smiled to himself just a little. Then Evan would be able to tell her about his heritage—tell her why he knew damn well what 'forever' really meant. And then?

' _And then I'll spend the rest of my life making that woman smile every day_.'

It was a promise that he fully intended to keep.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Runaway_** **_Train_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _Soul_ _Asylum's_ _1992_ _release, **Grave**_ **_Dancers'_** **_Union_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _David_ _Pirner_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _What_ _a_ … _surprise_ …


	129. 128: Bad Behavior

' _Tell me what you want to hear_ …  
' _Something that were like those years_ …  
' _I'm sick of all the insincere_ …  
' _So I'm gonna give all my secrets away_ …'

 

-' _Secrets'_ by One Republic.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Evan?"

Rolling over in the huge bed, Evan groaned and buried his head under the pillow.

"There you are! Why are you still in bed, anyway?" Madison demanded, her voice muffled but audible, just the same.

"Still sleepin'," Evan grumbled, refusing to open his eyes as he burrowed deeper under the blankets.

"Yeah, well, you were supposed to be at the Cavanaugh Building an hour ago for makeup," she reminded him. "Any idea how irritated Mike is right now?"

"Like I give a fuck," Evan growled. The effect was lost to the muffling qualities of the mattress. "Leave me be."

"Wow, aren't you crabby today?" she replied, tugging the blankets away from him. "Come on, big guy," she said, playfully swatting his naked rear. "I've been sent to bring you back alive."

"Don't wanna," he pouted, rolling over and draping an arm over his eyes to blot out the brightness of his bedroom. "Tell 'em you found me dead . . . OD-ed on heroin or some such shit . . ."

"Hmm," she intoned, settling on the edge of the bed. "I get the feeling that you're having a fit because of a certain woman? Or more to the point, a certain woman's boyfriend who suddenly decided to rear his boring, Charlie Brown head?"

"Charlie Brown is cool," Evan contradicted. "He has Snoopy."

Madison laughed and lifted his arm off of his face. "Relax. He'll disappear again, just like he always does, and Valerie won't care then, either, because she never does. If you ask me, I'd say she likes her freedom a little too much from that little rat-bastard. Being engaged keeps the vermin away, or so I've been told."

He heaved a sigh and finally deigned to open one eye to cast Madison a longsuffering look. "You're assuming that I care. I don't _care_ ," he insisted. "She's a grown-ass woman. She can do whatever the fuck she wants to do."

That bit of bravado earned him a very artfully arched eyebrow. "Is that so?" she challenged mildly. "And if I were to say that she told ol' Marvin to hit the road?"

She blinked when Evan sat straight up, all traces of sleepiness, gone. "She did? Really? Hot damn!"

"No, she didn't," Madison went on. "I was just proving my point; that's all."

"Bitch," Evan muttered, dropping back onto the mattress once more.

She giggled then sighed. "Are you really going to skip out on that photo shoot?" she finally asked, careful to keep her tone neutral. "It's a big deal, you know. It's not every day that _the_ Marius Orlando wants to photograph someone like Zel Roka. After all, he makes it a point to only work with what he calls 'ze bee-yoo-tifool vemon of the vurld' . . ." Madison suddenly laughed and shook her head. "Arrogant bastard."

Rolling over and propping his head on his hand, Evan raised an eyebrow. "You sound like you know the guy or something . . . You can't tell me he didn't think you were one of those 'bee-yoo-tifool vemon' . . . If he didn't, then the little fucker needs to have his goddamn eyes checked."

She rolled her eyes, looking astonishingly irritated at Evan's remarks. ' _Ah, is that right . . .?_ ' he mused to himself.

"Self-serving ass said _he_ could make _me_ famous," Madison said. "Then he said that he'd overlook your 'tardy' arrival if I got down on my knees and asked him 'nicely'."

"Sounds like he wants a bit of a beating," Evan muttered.

Flicking her hand in blatant dismissal, Madison wrinkled her nose. "I can take care of myself, you know."

"I know," he allowed, looking less than pleased by the idea that Madison would have to take care of herself. "Where the fuck was Bone?"

"He's your bodyguard, Evan. Where do you think he was?" she shot back.

He sighed. "Yeah, well Marius can suck my left nut," he grumbled, reaching out to tug Madison down beside him. "Begged like a bitch to take my picture, and then he pulls that shit on you? Not fucking likely."

She sighed, too. "I figured you'd say something like that," she admitted. "Mike's not going to be very happy about you blowing off the shoot, though."

Evan snorted indelicately. "Mikey can suck my right nut."

"You want men sucking on your balls? Really?"

"Hell, at this point? I'd be glad to have any action at all aside from my own fucking fist," he grumbled.

"That bad?" she crooned.

Evan heaved another sigh. "Well, maybe not _that_ bad . . . Not yet, anyway . . ."

She giggled and kissed his cheek. "Poor baby . . ."

"I know; I know," he said. Suddenly, though, he sat up again. "Hey, what time is it?"

Madison blinked and pushed herself upright, too. "Time?" she echoed, shaking her head. "About nine-thirty. Why?"

Evan chuckled and reached over her to retrieve his cell phone off the night stand. "Eh, I'll give it . . . five minutes . . ."

"Give what? What did you do?" Madison couldn't help asking.

Evan grinned. "Well, I figure that V's gotta be going into her office today, right, because she hasn't been there since we got back from Maine, and you know her. She can't stand not working . . ."

"Okay," Madison said slowly, "but what are you giving five minutes?"

Right on cue, his cell phone erupted in the song, ' _V_ '—Valerie's ringtone—and he laughed. "Always punctual, isn't she?"

"Oh, good lord, what did you do?" Madison reluctantly asked.

His grin widened as he answered the call, directing it straight to speaker phone for Madison's delectation. "Hey, baby. Just the lady I was dreamin' about . . ."

"Cut the crap, Roka," she growled in her usual no-nonsense tone. "What the hell is _that?_ "

"That?" he repeated innocently yet knowing well enough exactly what she had to be looking at. "That, what?"

Complete silence. Evan figured she was counting to ten in an effort to control that glorious temper of hers. The silence stretched on longer than a ten count, however, and he almost chuckled. Her ire warranted a twenty-five count? ' _Nice_. . .'

"That . . . That-that-that . . . _monstrosity!_ " she finally blurted. A sudden rattle and strange squelching sound as she covered the phone. "Don't you have work to do?" she demanded, her voice muffled but intelligible.

"It would depend on what you're calling a monstrosity, V," he replied calmly.

She growled. She actually growled. Evan very nearly laughed outright but managed to control himself since he didn't figure she'd take his amusement very kindly. "Your _penis_ , Roka," she snarled. "What _else_ would I be talking about?"

"Yeah," he quipped, unable to ignore that one. "It is pretty damn big, isn't it? Not as big as Bubby's, but damn, I doubt anyone on earth has a pecker bigger than his."

"Oh, my God," she moaned. Evan had the distinct feeling that she was rubbing her forehead. "Get it down, get it down, _get it down!_ " she hissed.

He chuckled. "But that's your Christmas present, baby," he told her. "You should be honored, too, because there aren't many prints of it out there—at least, not with my head still showing . . ."

She heaved a long, drawn-out, exasperated sigh. "It's a four foot poster of you," she nearly whined.

"Closer to five feet, actually," he added.

"Whatever! Fine, then! It's a five foot poster of you—and your _penis!_ " The last word had come out as a very loud whisper, probably because she didn't want the entire office to hear her, and it was probably also a fair bet that more than a few of them knew about the poster and were trying to eavesdrop.

"But I even had it framed, just for you," he told her.

"Is that the underpants ad?" Madison whispered, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Evan nodded, and Madison covered her mouth.

Valerie growled again, rapidly closing in on total melt down, or so he figured. "Look, I don't know why you'd think that I'd want a picture of you—"

"And my penis," he added helpfully.

She groaned again. "Ugh, I think I'm developing an aneurism . . . Why do you _hate_ me?"

"I don't, V. I _love_ you. I _adore_ you. I'd _worship_ you if you'd let me . . ." he assured her.

"No . . . No . . . You definitely hate me," she decided. "Okay, whatever. You know, it cannot stay in my office. Do you hear me?"

He was well aware of the fact that he was currently grinning like a damned lunatic. "Aww, relax, V. you can only see, like . . . a quarter of the actual penile projectile, and—"

"You warped and twisted little monkey!" she blasted as Madison doubled over in silent laughter and very nearly toppled off the bed. "Get over here, and get rid of it!"

He heaved a rather melodramatic sigh meant to sound rueful. Somehow, he doubted that he'd actually managed that . . . "Well, see, it's like this, V . . ."

"It's like what? What, what, what, _what?_ " she hissed.

"Ah . . . The guys I hired to hang it said that since your office is on such a high floor, it should be affixed to the supports. You know, in case there's an earthquake or some other unforeseen act of God . . ."

"I'll show you an act of God if you don't get this eyesore off my wall right _now!_ " she warned.

"You know, baby, I'd love to discuss this more, but I'm running late for a photo shoot. Why don't you come on by later on, and we'll talk about it," he said.

"I _hate_ you," she grumbled. "Don't you _dare_ hang up that phone unless you're coming over here to get rid of this thing!"

"Bye, baby," he said, ending the phone call while Valerie was still mid-tirade.

It wasn't a moment too soon, either. Madison gave a hoot of laughter as she collapsed against his shoulder as tears streamed down her cheeks. "Oh, my God!" Madison wheezed between giggling fits. "V's going to kill you!"

"Nah," he drawled with a self-satisfied grin. "Deep down, she loves that poster. I mean, what's not to love? I'm wearing underpants, and you know how hard she's tried to get me to wear those . . . and so what if you can see a little bit of my wang-dang-doodle?"

Madison clutched her stomach and grimaced despite the giggles that were still ebbing out of her. "Stop it or you'll make me pee!" she howled.

"Aw, my bed's seen worse," he quipped. "I've ruined more sheets than I care to think about . . ."

She finally wound down to a few little chuckles, and she sat up, wiping the tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand. "She really _is_ going to kill you, you realize."

"She might try," he allowed since it was a safe bet that Valerie probably was dreaming up about a thousand interesting and likely painful deaths for him right about now.

"I think she wants you to take back your 'gift'," Madison said with a quirked eyebrow.

"It was a _gift_ ," Evan pointed out reasonably. "You can't return a gift."

Madison snorted and stood up, wandering over to Evan's closet. "What are you talking about?" she scoffed. "I've returned _tons_ of your gifts."

"You have?"

She grabbed a pair of worn jeans and a red tee-shirt for him. "Of course I have," she replied as though it was of no real consequence. "I take back whatever you bought for me and get whatever it was that I really wanted—usually shoes. Piece of cake."

Crossing his arms over his chest, he ignored the clothes she tossed at him. "I'm hurt, Madikins," he pouted. "I thought you loved my gifts."

"I do," she assured him, leaning down to kiss his cheek, "because you always get me just what I wanted."

He made a face. "What about that pearl necklace I bought you last year?"

She giggled. "It miraculously morphed into that fabulous pair of Stratham sling-backs."

"The massage chair?"

"That pair of cherry red, open-toed stack heels."

"The Davian mink coat?"

"Patent leather go-go boots—black, of course."

He snorted. "The vacation to Barbados?"

"Oh, I kept that one."

He snorted. "One out of four? You kept _one_ out of _four?_ "

She winked at him. "And this year, I might have to wave the magic wand and change those sapphire earrings into a pair of absolutely luscious Flairisan stilettos I saw a few weeks ago at Saks."

Chuckling, Evan rolled out of bed and tugged on the jeans. "Remind me next year just to get you a gift certificate."

"If I were V, I'd take the poster and sell it on eBay. Then she can buy whatever it is she _really_ wants."

"Don't you dare suggest that to her," Evan warned, only half-joking.

Madison grinned unrepentantly. "You know, if we hurry, you could probably still make the photo shoot."

"I've got a better idea," he said, pulling the tee-shirt over his head. "How about you and me and breakfast at Fezz's?"

Heaving a sigh, Madison shook her head. Too bad Evan knew that she had a weakness for the fresh, hot cinnamon rolls they served at the diner.

"All right," she finally agreed, "but if Mike asks, I didn't find you."

Evan grinned and grabbed her hand to drag her out of his room. "My lips are sealed, Maddy."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

' _Do you honestly think the world would miss him if he were to suddenly just disappear?_ '

Making a face as she arranged the coat rack in front of the God-awful poster, Valerie snorted as she lowered her coat to one of the lower hooks and fussed with it to hide certain parts of Evan's anatomy. ' _As if I care at the moment_.'

It wouldn't come off the wall.

More to the point, it seemed to be affixed _permanently_ to the wall.

Oh, she'd tried taping a piece of paper over it. The outline could still be seen since he was standing against a black background. She'd tried pushing a chair in front of it, but whoever had mounted the stupid thing had made sure that it was high enough off the floor that no easy fix like that would work. She'd even called maintenance and borrowed one of their flathead screwdrivers so she could try to pry it off the wall herself, which might've worked if she didn't care about destroying the wall underneath.

She should have known that she wasn't going to like what she found in her office when she'd stepped off the elevator and all the whispering in the reception area had ceased. Then the giggling had started, and yet, that hadn't given her a moment's pause, either.

It just figured. Leave it to Evan Zelig to do something so . . . so . . .

' _You have to admit, Valerie, it is a little amusing_.'

' _Oh, it_ so _isn't_ ,' she fumed.

' _Well, just a_ little . . .'

She heaved a sigh. ' _The jerk! What are my clients going to think when they come in here and see that?_ '

' _Don't worry about your clients, Valerie! Think about your boss_.'

She stopped dead and nearly whined out loud. She hadn't thought of that. "Oh . . . my _God_ . . ."

There was no help for it. Once Xavier saw that particular bit of décor, she was going to be fired; she just knew it.

"Valerie? Kevin Werner is on line three. He's wanting an update on the status of Glen Dirge's case."

"Thank you, Kim," Valerie said to the temporary secretary that she'd been assigned since her regular one was taking a well-deserved vacation. "I'll call you if I need anything," she added stiffly when the girl's eyes shifted to the poster yet again.

"Oh! Okay," she blurted, her cheeks reddening as she reluctantly closed the door once more.

"I'm going to kill him, and it won't be murder. More like 'insecticide' . . ." Valerie muttered under her breath as she stomped over to the desk to answer the call. As it was, she had to take a moment to draw a few deep breaths before she trusted herself to hit the button. After all, Glen Dirge was a third generation 'actor'—at least, that's what he said, even though he'd only actually appeared in a handful of cameo roles thus far—who was fairly notorious for his obnoxious temper and his affinity for illegal substances. He'd allegedly been caught on surveillance video breaking into a store while he was high on cocaine, and Xavier—God bless him—had decided that the case was right up Valerie's alley. At least he had decided that he couldn't be bothered with calling in personally. Kevin Werner, Dirge's personal assistant, was marginally easier to deal with than his employer. "Hello, Mr. Werner," she answered, turning her back so that she wasn't looking at that idiotic poster.

"Yes, 'ello, Ms. Denning," he replied, sounding clearly disgruntled that he was kept on hold. "I'm calling for Mr. Dirge. He'd appreciate an update on his case."

"There hasn't really been any developments since Mr. Dirge entered his plea," she said. "His next court date isn't until February."

"About that," he went on smoothly, the British accent that Valerie was certain was fake growing thicker. "It's the law that one must receive an expedient trial in the States, is it not? I'd hardly call three months 'expedient'."

"He waived his right to a speedy trial," she reminded him.

"Of course." He didn't sound like he believed Valerie. "I'll inform Mr. Dirge. Thank you for your time."

She hung up the phone and rubbed her forehead, wondering absently if her day could get any worse. Between idiot rock stars and their warped idea of Christmas gifts and spoiled wannabe-actors, she was starting to think she'd have been better off if she'd just stayed in bed all day . . .

The cell phone she'd left sitting on her desk rang, and Valerie reached for it, half afraid to see who was calling. Heaving a sigh of relief as she read the caller ID, she hit the button to connect the call and lifted the phone to her ear. "Marvin, hi," she greeted, managing a wan smile.

"Val, you'll never guess who I just talked to!" Marvin blurted, the excitement in his tone thick.

"Who?" she asked since she didn't have a clue.

He uttered an almost nervous little laugh. "Raymond Jeffries!"

Valerie frowned as she tried to place the name. She couldn't. "A friend of yours?"

Marvin laughed again. "No. Well, I hope so, eventually, but I've never met him before. He's one of the chairmen of the Wonder Wings Foundation."

"Oh," she said, recognizing that name from the list of those that Marvin was trying to convince to underwrite his research. "Good news, I hope?"

"Ah, uh, _kind_ of . . . He was telling me about this huge New Year's Eve party he hosts every year for the candidates hoping to receive grants. Kind of a way for the board to hear about the projects on the table, straight from the horses' mouths, so to speak . . . Anyway, he asked me to be there! Can you imagine? This is . . . Well, it's _huge!_ The Wonder Wings Foundation is almost as big as the Zelig Foundation! If I could convince them to underwrite part of the research . . ." He laughed again. "He said that he wanted to invite me, but he hadn't thought I'd be in the city. Can you imagine? Talk about luck, right? And you could wear that black dress if you want—or you could go get something else, if you'd rather. I mean, the party's not till tomorrow night . . ."

"New Year's Eve?" she repeated, her frown darkening as she bit her lip. Evan was expecting her to be at his concert, and even though she didn't think Marvin would be interested in going, she had to admit that she was looking forward to it. "Ev—Zel's concert's tomorrow night," she said as she rubbed her forehead.

That gave him a moment's pause. It was as though all the wind had suddenly been taken out of his sails. "Oh . . . That's right. You did mention that, didn't you? I'm sorry . . . I guess I was just excited about the party . . ."

Why did he have to sound like she'd kicked his puppy? She sighed. "It's part of his court order," she explained. "A charity concert."

He sighed softly. Valerie wasn't supposed to have heard it, but she did. "Well," he mused, sounding more disappointed that she figured he meant to, "It's okay. I mean, this _was_ kind of sudden, and you've got other obligations . . ."

"What time does the party start?" she asked. Evan's concert wasn't going to get going till nearly midnight, he'd told her, in celebration of the new year. If Marvin's party started a lot earlier, then she'd be able to do both . . .

"Eight, he said," Marvin replied. "Don't worry about it, Val.   Sounds like the concert's important, and I don't want you to break your plans for me."

"Eight's good," she hurried to say, brushing aside the feeling that she wished he'd be a little less understanding sometimes. That was stupid, wasn't it? She loved that Marvin cared about whether or not he upset her . . . "The concert starts at midnight, so there's plenty of time, right?"

"R-Really?" he asked, sounding a little breathless. "That's great! I-I-I can't wait for them to meet you! I've told them all about you, of course! If things go well tomorrow night . . ."

Pasting on a wan smile, Valerie nodded, sinking down into her chair and staring at the framed poster mounted on the far wall. "It sounds like fun," she assured him. "Listen, I have to go. You can tell me more about Wonder Wings over dinner?"

"Okay," he said with a soft chuckle. "Bye."

"Bye," she said, closing the phone with a sigh.

Why did Marvin's acquiescence bother her so much? Of course she would have gotten angry if he'd demanded that she go with him, not that he ever would have done any such thing. After all, Marvin never did that. Still, the flash of exasperation she'd felt had to come from somewhere, didn't it?

Shaking her head, Valerie heaved another sigh when her gaze lit on that stupid poster once more. If Evan were Marvin, he'd have done the same thing, wouldn't he? Ultimately, he would have told her that she should do what she had already planned to do. The difference was that Evan would've whined and pouted, but he'd still have relented in the end, but Marvin?

He was afraid, wasn't he? It was that meekness, that underlying quality that reminded her of a puppy that had been kicked one time too many, the cowering sort of humility . . . He was afraid that she'd be angry . . . ' _No_ ,' she mused absently, drumming her fingertips against the desktop. ' _No, that's not it_. . .'

' _Wow, talk about bitchy_ ,' her conscience pricked. ' _Complaining about something you always liked about him before_ . . .'

Her frown deepened as she reached for a file she needed to read through. That wasn't it; not at all. She'd always thought that his ready agreement to go along with her plans was just his efforts to be accommodating, but in reality, wasn't it just him trying to placate her? As though he were afraid, but . . .

' _That's stupid!_ ' she fumed, pushing the file away before she'd even gotten it open. ' _Afraid? Afraid of what?_ '

' _What do you think a guy like him would be afraid of?_ ' her conscience snapped back. ' _He's afraid that if he doesn't appease Queen Bitch that you'll dump him faster than he could stop to scratch his ass_.'

Thumping her elbows onto the desk, she gripped her temples and rubbed furiously. ' _Stop it_ ,' she told herself angrily. ' _I'm not even mad at Marvin. Evan's the one who needs a good foot up his rear . . . Big, fat jerk, anyway_. . .'

Heaving a sigh, Valerie peeked up at the poster once more then resumed rubbing, only this time, it was a lot fiercer. What she really needed was a sledgehammer, a bottle of Tylenol, and a certain rock star who she wanted to maim . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Secrets_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _One_ _Republic's_ _2009_ _release, **Waking**_ **_Up_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Ryan_ _Tedder_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _He_ … _He's_ _not_ _afraid_ _of_ _me_ …


	130. 129: Breaking Away

' _If you can give it, I can take it_ …  
' _'Cause if this heart is gonna break_ …  
' _It's gonna take a lot to break it_ …  
' _So if you're so tough come on and prove it_ …  
' _Your heart is down for the count, and you know you're gonna lose it_ …  
' _Tonight you're gonna go down in flames_ …  
' _Just like Jesse James_ …'

 

-' _Just Like Jesse James_ ' by Cher.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"So how was your holiday?"

Valerie sipped the glass of red wine in her hand and shrugged. "New Year's Eve, you mean?" she asked arching an eyebrow as she gazed at Madison.

"Yes," Madison said, setting her glass on the coffee table and flicking her hand to inspect her perfectly manicured fingernails.

"Before or after I spent hours, stuck in traffic in the middle of the city?" Valerie countered mildly.

A knowing look surfaced on Madison's face. "Oh, is _that_ what happened?"

Valerie shrugged. "In a word? Yes."

"Ah, I wondered . . ."

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie peeked out from under her eyelashes at Madison. Her polished and calm façade was nothing new. There were moments when Valerie had no idea just what was going on in Madison's head, and this was one of those times. She could be thinking about anything—anything at all—or nothing in particular. In this case, however, Valerie had a feeling that Madison was holding something back. "Is he mad?" she asked, figuring that, whatever was clouding the deep violet of Madison's gaze was very likely a certain rock star . . .

"Mad? Who? Evan?"

Valerie sighed. "Yes, Evan."

"Hmm, not really," Madison said with a simple shrug.   "You know him, though. Even if the sky was falling, he'd never let you know if he was upset about it."

That didn't really make Valerie feel any better, and she grimaced inwardly. "The show went well, though," she said, shrugging off the guilty feelings. After all, it wasn't her fault, was it? And it hadn't been a picnic for her, either. Spending four hours in a taxi stuck in the middle of downtown New York City roughly halfway between the Acroplex where the concert was being held and the Wingate Plaza Hotel where the party was with a cab driver who didn't know much English, aside from the prerequisite 'Where to?' wasn't exactly how she'd pictured her night going.

Madison got one of those enigmatic little grins on her face that made Valerie nervous. Normally, it usually was followed by a nonchalant, "So how about we go out for a night on the town?" or something comparable, and it usually ended with the hangover from hell and a grave promise that she was never, ever going to do that again. Somehow, though, that smile seemed a little more dubious this time around. "The concert was great," she agreed innocently—a little _too_ innocently.

Valerie blinked and set her glass aside. "Okay," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and leveling a no-nonsense look at Madison. "I'll bite. What does that mean?"

Madison heaved a sigh, her smile dissipating as she winced, just for a moment, before she pasted on another bright grin. "I . . . don't really know what happened," she admitted, staring at Valerie as though she were trying to read her mind. "Evan just said that he got a little drunk, that it was an accident . . ."

"What?" she demanded, grabbing Madison's wrist to stop her. "What _kind_ of accident?"

"He broke a window; that's all," Madison replied. "Probably tripped or something."

Valerie wasn't sure whether or not she ought to believe Madison. She was definitely nervous, wasn't she? "He's not supposed to be drinking," she muttered, hauling herself off the of sofa and stomping over to retrieve her shoes.

"Well, technically speaking, he wasn't supposed to drink while he was still facing the charges for the car accident—and he didn't then," Madison reminded her. "Besides that, drinking was kind of the lesser of the two evils."

Valerie paused long enough to pin Madison with a baleful glower. "What's that mean?"

Madison laughed and rolled her eyes. "It was a concert, V, remember? There were more than enough groupies hanging around afterward that he could've gotten into a lot of trouble if he was of a mind to—unless you don't care if he's off screwing everything that moves."

She snorted, which, in her estimation, was a good enough response.

"You're bailing on me, aren't you?" Madison asked, raising an eyebrow when Valerie grabbed her coat off the back of the chair.

"Sorry, Maddy," she said as she shrugged it on.

"What about Marvin?" Madison asked.

Valerie blinked, unsure what the correlation between checking on Evan and Marvin was. "What about him?"

Settling back with a sigh, Madison slowly shook her head. "Isn't he home alone right now?"

"No," Valerie replied, sticking her cell phone into her purse. "He went out to dinner with a guy he met last night."

Madison snorted. "But he's leaving tomorrow, isn't he? Last night in the city, and he's spending it with someone else?"

"It's not like that," she replied, unable to help the defensiveness that had crept into her tone. "Besides, if he hadn't gone to dinner, I wouldn't be over here, now would I?"

Madison giggled and reached for her glass once more. "Except you're leaving me to go see Evan," she pointed out.

Valerie sighed. "You could come with me," she suggested.

Madison fluttered a hand in blatant dismissal. "Oh, I think I'll pass."

Taking a moment to run over and give Madison a chaste hug, Valerie hurried out of the apartment as fast as she could.

Why did she have such an ominous feeling about this?

Taking the stairs two at a time, she quickened her pace, her steps echoing in the stairwell around her. "An accident, huh?" she muttered to herself. Just what in the world did he do this time . . .?

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Staring at his guitar with a scowl, Evan flexed his right hand and winced when he felt something in there pop. ' _Damn_. . .'

' _Damn? That's all you have to say? Shit, I think you broke it_. . .'

Yeah, okay, so that was entirely possible. At least the deep laceration that ran the length of his thumb to his wrist had closed up.

' _Maddy was pissed as hell at you, you know_.'

' _I didn't need to go to the fucking hospital_ ,' Evan insisted, wondering absently if he could strum with his right hand. ' _Besides, it was an accident—and Madison can mind her own damn business_.'

' _The only reason you're pissed at Madison is because she was the bearer of bad news._ '

Evan uttered a sound halfway between a snort and a growl of pure frustration but didn't deign to answer.

' _It's not her fault, you know. I told you not to get your hopes up_.'

He didn't bother to respond to that, either.

' _There's something to be said about staying optimistic, but shit . . . Just hope to hell that she's not at home, boning that little bastard_ . . .'

Wincing at that thought, Evan had to grind his teeth together to keep from bounding off the couch and heading for the door—fine thing, considering the only thing on his mind at the moment was tearing Marvin-fucking-Pinkle limb from limb . . . ' _Damn it . . . I thought I was making progress!_ ' he fumed instead, digging the claws on his left hand deep into the arm of the sofa.

His youkai heaved a sigh. ' _And you know V better than that, stupid. Progress, sure, but honestly, did you really think she was going to run back here and dump Mervykins right away? Because if you did, then you're even dumber than I thought_.'

Unfortunately, a part of Evan really _had_ thought that.

' _Anyway, I hope you got it out of your system. If you didn't, you're going to have a fit at her, aren't you, and that would be kind of bad, considering she needs a little more convinci_ ng.'

' _But she kissed_ me,' Evan rebutted, but there was more confusion than anything else in his tone. ' _Why the fuck would she do that if she really wanted to marry_ him?'

' _You know why_ ,' his youkai pointed out. ' _She wants us—damned if she don't—you know it, and I know it, and she knows it to, at least, on some level_.'

Running his hand through his hair, Evan glowered at the ceiling. ' _On some level_ ,' he repeated derisively. ' _Oh, that fucking helps . . . and I already blew off some steam, didn't I? I'm good; I swear_. . .'

' _Is that what you're calling starting that fight with that new bassist? What's his name again? Gregory? Georgio . . .? And it didn't really help, either, that you decided that the window would look better if it was as smashed as you were . . ._ '

Evan snorted. ' _It was either put my fist through that window or put it through that douche bag's face—and I wasn't_ that _smashed, damn it. I only_ wished _that I was._ '

His youkai voice sighed. ' _You were smashed enough, and so he was slightly off on a couple songs. He's new. He'll catch on soon enough_.'

Evan didn't exactly believe that either, but what was the point of arguing it? None, that was what. If the guy didn't have the chops to keep up, then he damn well shouldn't have been onstage, in the first place: end of discussion.

' _Yeah, well, you took care of that, now didn't you?_ ' his youkai went on to say. ' _You made your opinion painfully clear. A fistfight with the new guy? Jesus_ . . .'

"Well, Geoff isn't going to press charges or anything," Mike said, skipping the pleasantries as he strode into Evan's music room. "I guess that's something. Damn lucky, if you ask me."

"Like I give a great goddamn," Evan grumbled, flopping against the back of the ratty old sofa with a pronounced snort. "You said he was good, if you'll recall."

Letting out a deep breath, Mike plopped onto the sofa beside Evan. "He is," he argued with a shrug. "He was nervous. Can't really blame him for that, can you?"

"The biggest show of the year, and he fucked it up," Evan pointed out. "Nice, very nice. You read the reviews this morning?"

"No, I haven't, and you normally don't, either," Mike went on philosophically. "Give the kid a break, can't you? Biggest show of the year, just like you said, and it was the first time he'd ever performed in front of that many people, not counting the numbers that were watching on pay-per-view . . ."

"It's about balls, Mikey," Evan insisted. "If he ain't got 'em, then he doesn't belong on my stage."

"Whatever, Roka," Mike muttered, shaking his head and likely figuring that it wouldn't do him a damn bit of good to argue with Evan any further. "That aside, how's your hand?"

"It's fine," he mumbled tersely. "Never better."

Mike sighed, rubbing his forehead in a weary sort of way. "You should've gone to the hospital; I knew it . . ."

"I _did_ mention that it's fine, right?"

Leveling a dubious scowl at Evan, Mike crossed his arms over his chest. "You broke it." It wasn't a question.

"You know what 'fine' means, don't you?" Evan countered, holding up his hand and flexing his fingers to prove his point.

Mike eyed him for a minute then sighed. "Can you do that again? Don't grit your teeth this time."

"Evan?"

Hauling himself off of the sofa, Evan spared a moment to narrow his eyes on his manager. "Don't tell her," he stated tersely under his breath as he headed out of the music room to intercept the attorney. "Hey, V," he greeted, pasting on a smile that he was far from feeling.

Valerie looked visibly relieved when she spotted him. "What happened last night?" she demanded without preamble. "Maddy said you had an accident. Are you okay?"

Grimacing inwardly, he stifled a sigh and shrugged. "Everything's cool," he assured her. "Just slipped."

"Slipped?" she repeated, looking somewhat confused. "You're not hurt, right?"

"Nah," he insisted, waving off her concern with a flick of his left hand. "It's all good."

She let out a deep breath, and Evan had to wonder if she'd been holding it long. The relief that surfaced on her features was instantaneous and thorough. "She made it sound like something bad happened," she replied.

"Eh, just a broken window," he went on. "No big deal."

Valerie's gaze flashed in alarm. "Broke a window? How?"

"It was either punch out the window or the new bassist," Mike remarked mildly as he shuffled out of the music room, his hands in his pockets and projecting a nonchalant air. "Sound about right, Roka?"

"Sure," Evan drawled, narrowing his eyes almost imperceptibly at his manager. "No harm, no foul, right, Mikey?"

Mike's smile was just as tight as Evan's. "That's what they tell me." The smile widened by degrees when he turned his attention to Valerie. "Do me a favor, will you? Don't let him out of your sight for awhile."

Valerie nodded slowly, her expression turning more and more confused as she watched the man brush past her. She didn't speak again until after the door had closed behind him. "What was he talking about?" she finally asked.

Scratching the back of his neck, Evan offered her another offhanded shrug. "Made the mistake of bringing in some kid who'd never performed in front of more than fifty people, maybe, and he froze."

The expression on her face stated quite plainly that she wasn't sure she believed what he was saying. "Surely it wasn't that bad," she said.

Evan stalked over to the coffee table to retrieve the morning's copy of the _New York Times_. "If you think so, V," he replied, tossing the paper to her.

She stared at him for a long moment before shaking out the paper and pulling out the entertainment section. ' _Roka Rocks Acroplex Despite Misfiring Backup_ ', the headline read. ' _As the lights in the Acroplex died down at thirty seconds to midnight last night for the concert to benefit the Youth Coalition of New York City, one hundred twenty-four thousand fans from as far away as New Zealand, were hoping that they were in for a treat, and they were—sort of. Though the thirty-two year old rocker was in top form, the same could not be said for the rest of the backup band known as Philansoclantes. The long-time touring band for the bodacious rock star had brought in local boy, Geoff Rensford for the event to replace the late Dieter Reichardt, who died in a shooting last summer, and while it could be assumed that the apparent on-stage jitters could well be caused by stepping into such a high-profile position, Rensford's mistimed bass lines were only emphasized by badly set equipment that drowned out Roka's acid-sugar voice repeatedly_ . . .'

"Damn," she muttered, scanning the rest of the article quickly. Though Carley Fartham—resident concert reviewer—had been kind to Evan overall, the scathing commentary regarding the backup band left the reader with an overall horrible impression of the concert in general. "That's harsh."

"Just a stupid show, right?" he told her, brushing off her assessment with a shrug. "How was your party?"

He didn't miss the slight grimace that his question had inspired. "It was all right," she told him, dropping the paper onto the table beside the sofa and wandering over to run her fingertips along the sculpture in the middle of the living room. "Got stuck in traffic in the middle of the city on my way to the Acroplex, though. I didn't realize it was going to be that bad."

"It was New Year's Eve, V. Of course it was gonna be bad. You'd have been fine if you'd have let me send Bone over to pick you up," he pointed out.

He shot her a look that implied that she was being ridiculous. "Shouldn't your head of security actually be wherever you are?" she countered. It was the same argument she'd used when she'd called to tell Evan that she wasn't going to be riding over to the Acroplex with him, after all.

"Bone's job is to do whatever I pay him to do," Evan replied. "Why'd you even go to that stupid party with Milford, anyway?"

"Marvin," she corrected but without her usual rancor. "It was important to him."

Evan blinked and stared at her for a long moment. He wasn't entirely sure why it was, but for some reason, her reply had caught him off guard.

She sighed, rubbing her arms through the thin fabric of her beige cotton blouse. "I did _try_ to make it," she said, sounding disappointed and even a little apologetic. "You didn't get into a fight with him, did you? The bassist?"

"Eh, you know," he replied, hedging the question and hoping that she didn't call him on it as he headed toward the kitchen.

"You did, didn't you?" she asked, following him out of the room. "That's what Maddy was talking about, right?"

Pulling a chef's knife out of the butcher block on the counter, Evan tried to spin it, but it slipped out of his clumsy fingers and clattered on the floor, barely missing his naked foot. Considering his mood, though, he really didn't care, he thought as he swiped up the knife once more and dropped it onto the counter before stomping over to the refrigerator. "He's not suing me, if that's what you're worried about," Evan assured her.

Crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned in the doorway, Valerie bit her lip as she stared at him. "It was just one show," she finally said. "I mean, sure, it didn't go as well as it could've, but one bad show isn't going to destroy you, right?"

"Never know. It could. Hell, a rock star's only as good as his stage show, V."

"And your next one will be fantastic, just like it always is," she said.

"If they can find a bassist who's worth a damn," he scoffed, setting to work, chopping up some leftover steak that he'd cooked earlier. "Anyway, what are you doing here? Good ol' Murlock finally leave town?"

He heard her sigh but refused to look at her. "He's not leaving till tomorrow," she said in a weary kind of way, "and I was worried about you."

"Worried about me? Why?"

She pinned him with a look that proclaimed her belief that he was being dense on purpose. "Because," she said, shouldering herself away from the door frame and shuffling over to stand on the other side of the counter, "you're my friend."

"Friend," he repeated, stopping mid-chop, to stare at her. "Is that why you kissed me? Because I'm your friend?"

She had the grace to look uncomfortable at the mention of the kiss they'd shared—that she'd instigated—on Christmas Eve. Somehow, that night seemed so long ago, didn't it? Why was that?

"That," she said, shaking her head, her cheeks pinking despite her stubborn resolve not to blush. She sighed. "That . . . was a mistake. It shouldn't have happened, and I'm . . . I'm sorry if you read more into it than what it was."

"Okay," he said slowly, setting the knife aside as he leaned on the counter and scowled at her. "Then suppose you tell me what I thought it was," he quietly challenged.

Her sigh was so thorough that her shoulders sagged as she shook her head, as though she couldn't quite come up with the right words to answer him. "I-I just . . ." She swallowed hard, and she couldn't meet his gaze. "I was caught up in the moment," she explained weakly. "I wasn't . . . wasn't trying to mislead you . . ."

He stared at her, unable to wrap his brain around her words. His brain had managed to slow to a painfully slow crawl, and the throbbing in his head that had begun about the moment she'd started her explanation was rapidly growing steadily worse. It didn't help, either, that absolutely nothing about her claims surprised him. He wasn't sure if the feeling of absolute inevitability was worse or the apologetic tone that had made him feel all that much more pathetic . . . "You . . . You're still going to marry him, right?" he said. It was more of a statement than a question.

Staring at her hands, clasped tightly on the counter, Valerie's head jerked once, twice in a nod. "Sure, I am," she whispered. "Evan . . ."

And suddenly, he didn't want to hear it: whatever she was going to say. Something about her voice told him intuitively that she was about to hurt him, even if that wasn't her intention. It was that 'Dear John' hitch in her words, wasn't it? He cleared his throat to cut her off. "Aw, shit . . . V, I hate to rush you off, but I just remembered that I've got an interview I've got to get to," he lied.

She blinked, and finally, her chin rose as her gaze locked with his. "Oh . . ."

He tried to smile; he really did. It must not have worked, though, because she flinched. "Anyway, I'm going to go change.   Give Sherman my regards, will you?"

Leaving her standing in the middle of the kitchen, Evan strode out of the room, heading for the staircase, biting his tongue before he lost what was left of his control, of his composure. Halfway down the upstairs hallway, he heard the soft sound of the closing door.

He stopped and let out his breath in a gust as he slumped against the wall and closed his eyes.

What the hell was it going to take to convince her? He'd done everything he could possibly think of during that trip to Maine, and he'd thought that maybe he'd managed to get through those defenses of hers, hadn't he? It just didn't make sense; none of it. He knew that she cared about him, sure, but just friends?

' _Damn, that was cold_ ,' his youkai commiserated.

Evan let his forehead drop against his raised fist.

" _I was caught up in the moment . . . I wasn't . . . wasn't trying to mislead you_. . ."

It felt like it did whenever Bas punched him square in the guts, damned if it didn't. Why couldn't she understand? Why couldn't she see? Marry that little shit? Really?

Evan snorted, wondering absently why it was easier to be pissed off than it would be to delve deeper, to scratch at the rawness and find out exactly what he honestly thought about it all.

He was just too close, wasn't he? Too near to be objective, too obsessed with her to be able to think straight. Jumping when his cell phone rang, trying to come up with reasons why he had to seek her out, somehow Valerie Denning had become more important to him than anything else, including his music, and that was more frightening than he dared to consider. She was like a toxin: a poison that had gotten trapped in his system. Hell, he couldn't even sleep at night without dreaming about her, about them—about that damned kiss that she'd called a mistake . . .

' _You know, I don't think she really meant that_ ,' his youkai voice mused despite the resignation in its tone. ' _I don't think she even knows what she really thinks_.'

' _Yeah, well, that's all nice and shit_ ,' Evan shot back, unable to staunch the bitterness that tasted like bile on his tongue, ' _but I can't deal with this anymore. If I don't get away from her, I'm gonna go crazy . . . I can't_. . .'

' _So, you don't think she's our mate_.' It wasn't a question, and Evan winced.

' _It takes two to be mates, doesn't it?_ ' he countered despite the first twinges of melancholy that seeped into his psyche. ' _Doesn't mean shit if she doesn't want it, too_.'

His youkai was strangely silent for several minutes—minutes measured by the incessant tick of the clock hanging on the wall over his head. ' _What do you want to do, then?_ '

That was the real problem, wasn't it? What _did_ he want to do . . .?

Heaving a sigh, Evan finally opened his eyes, staring dully at the off-kilter rectangle of sunlight that spilled out of the room and onto the floor by his feet. What he wanted—what he _needed_ —was time: time by himself to figure out exactly what he was going to do, and maybe . . .

Maybe all he needed was time to get over her, too . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Just Like Jesse James_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _Cher's_ _1989_ _release, **Heart**_ **_of_** **_Stone_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Diane_ _Warren_ _and_ _Desmond_ _Child_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _A vacation, maybe …?_


	131. 130: Escape

' _Now put your flags in the air and march them up and down_ …  
' _You can live it up, live it up all over town_ …  
' _And turn to the left, turn to the right_ …  
' _I don't care as long as she comes tonight_ …'

 

-' _Wild Wild West_ ' by The Escape Club.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Okay, Roka. You do realize exactly how much trouble you're causing here, right?"

"Give it a rest, Mikey," Evan replied, only paying attention halfway as he attached the flight plan to the email and hit 'send'. Then he sent the document to the printer. "When's the last time I had an honest-to-God vacation?"

"You just had one, didn't you?" he parried, grabbing the first page and scanning over it with a marked frown.

"What? Maine? Hardly," Evan scoffed, leaning back in the office chair and thrusting his arms over his head as he stretched. "You've met my family, right?"

Mike wrinkled his nose and pulled the next page. "They're not nearly as bad as you make them out to be," he pointed out reasonably then sighed and shook his head. "I cleared your schedule for two weeks— _two weeks_. After that, you've got that show in Germany to get ready for."

"Germany," Evan repeated. "Gotcha." His grin disappeared suddenly as he stared thoughtfully at Mike. "Hey, what are the chances I can get a pair of lederhosen?"

Eyeing him to ascertain whether or not he thought Evan was being serious, Mike snorted. "Slim and none, Roka."

Evan's grin widened. "I'd totally rock 'em out, you know."

"I'd rather not see it, thanks," Mike retorted dryly. "Besides, with your luck, they'd think you were poking fun at their heritage and arrest you or chase you out of the country with pitchforks and torches."

"Nah, they love me there," Evan insisted. "All the women wanna fuck me—and most of the men do, too . . ."

Mike snorted. "God, don't say that where anyone can hear you," he said.

Evan grinned.   "The men in France want me more, though," he quipped.

Rolling his eyes, Mike chuckled despite himself. "You really _do_ need a vacation, don't you?"

"In the worst way, Mikey," Evan allowed. "Nothing but me and the beach and women—lots of women . . ."

"Speaking of women," Mike drawled, setting on the corner of the desk as he continued to look over Evan's flight plan, "you tell V that you're leaving?"

"Nope," Evan said.

Mike blinked and shifted his gaze to the side. "Nope?"

"Nope," he stated once more.

"Really."

Snorting indelicately, Evan scooted away from the desk and shot to his feet to wander over to the window. "Yeah, really. In case you forgot, I don't have to clear every little thing I do with her, and besides, if I told her that I was going down to the island to get some pussy, do you honestly think she'd just let me go?"

"Is that why you're going down there?" Mike challenged mildly.

"Damn straight," Evan insisted. "She's had me on a leash for a little too long, don't you think?"

Mike wisely held his tongue, but he did chuckle.

"I played her game, didn't I?" he muttered, more to himself than to Mike. "Didn't get me shit."

"You know, you can't really put your feelings aside that easily," Mike reminded him.

"It's not like that," Evan said, staring out the window at the blanket of snow that covered his back yard. "It's nothing . . . just a fucked up fixation or something . . ."

The silence was dubious at best, and Evan had the distinct feeling that his business manager wanted to say something. In the end, though, he sighed, dropping the printouts on the desk. "Just don't get into too much trouble, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Evan agreed.

Mike started out of the room but stopped on the threshold. "Hey, Roka?"

"Huh?"

"Have some fun, and try to take it easy. You've been a little stressed out lately."

Peering over his shoulder, Evan grinned at the obvious concern on Mike's face. "That's what I plan on doing," he assured him. "Thanks."

Mike nodded but finally smiled. Then he turned and disappeared around the corner.

"Exactly what I need," Evan murmured, ignoring the voice in the back of his head that told him over and over that it wouldn't do any good to run away from his problems. After all, that wasn't what he was doing; not in the least. He just needed some time to regain his perspective. The last year of his life had been so crazy that it wasn't any wonder that it had eventually come to this.

' _If that's how you really feel, then why not tell V your plan?_ ' his youkai interjected.

' _Ri-i-i-ight_ ,' he drawled. ' _If I were to tell her, she'd come up with one reason or another why I can't go, and if I tell her I'm going to the Caribbean? Forget about it_.'

' _But it wouldn't really be_ so _bad if she wanted to come along._ '

' _Are you kidding? That'd be even worse!   Half naked V, lying around on the beach in a string bikini and tanning oil . . . My balls, that'd be all right—and you call me 'stupid'! No, what I need is a 'V'-less vacation_. . .'

His youkai snorted. ' _And you're really going to go look for women on your acation_.'

Evan blinked and strode over to the desk, fishing a small pad of paper out of a drawer to scrawl, 'tanning lotion' on it. ' _Acation?_ ' he echoed with a chuckle. ' _What's that?_ '

Another snort. ' _It's your 'V'-less vacation—stupid_.'

' _I like that_ ,' he decided, taking the notepad as he moved off toward the stairs.

' _You would_.'

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Evan?"

Valerie frowned as her voice echoed in the quiet house. Bone hadn't mentioned that Evan was out when she'd pulled up to the gate, and that meant that he had to be in there, but he wasn't answering.

Her footsteps echoed like gunfire as she stepped around the corner to peer into the meditation room. To her surprise, he wasn't there, and she bit her lip. Surely he couldn't be sleeping. Evan never slept in late that she knew of. "Evan?" she called once more, looking up the staircase and listening for any signs of life.

She sighed. ' _Unless he's avoiding me_ ,' she thought glumly. It was entirely possible. He'd been doing it for the last two weeks, ever since the day after she'd missed the New Year's concert. If she'd thought it once, she'd thought it a thousand times. She needed to say what she'd said to him, sure, but . . .

But even if she did need to say it, she supposed in hindsight that maybe she ought to have been a bit more diplomatic about it. Still, the very last thing she wanted to do was to hurt him, and she didn't have to be brilliant to realize that she had. The trouble was, how could she possibly apologize to him when he so obviously didn't want to hear it?

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie turned to leave.

"Oh, hey, V," Evan said as he bounded up the stairs from the basement, tugging earphones out of his ears. "Didn't hear you come in."

The smile that broke over her features faltered almost instantly when she realized that he'd obviously just finished working out. Bad enough that the strange pants he wore—she'd seen them before when he was sword fighting with Bone—hung almost sinfully low on his hips, but the way his chest and arms seemed to glow with the sheen of clean sweat was almost impossible to ignore.

"V?"

"Oh, uh, huh?" she stammered, blinking rapidly as she forced her gaze away from the man's bared chest.

If he noticed her reaction, he didn't remark upon it. "So what's up?" he asked, slinging a towel around his neck as he set the earphones on the table. She could hear the music pouring out of the little devices. Aggressive and raw—completely at odds with the seeming ease in Evan's demeanor.

"Oh," she blurted, suddenly aware that she was staring at his stomach again—or more notably, his belly button and wondering whether or not he'd shudder if she were to lick it . . . "I-I had a couple things I need you to sign."

"Hmm, okay," he said, swaggering through the living room toward the kitchen. "Give me a sec, will you?"

Drawing a deep breath, Valerie scowled at her own wayward thoughts. Just what in the world had gotten into her lately? It was as if she had no control anymore, damn it. The other night, she'd even had a dream about him, not that she'd ever in a million years admit as much to him, especially considering what dream-Evan was doing to her . . .

"Hey, duckie," Bone remarked as he cut Evan off at the pass. "Bitches just dropped this off for you."

"She did?" Evan asked, taking what looked to be some kind of pamphlet from the security guard. "Why didn't she come in?"

Bone grinned. "Said she was on her way to cleanse Jay Robie's chi."

"That little actor twit? The one who thinks he's the next James Dean?" Evan asked incredulously.

"Yep, I think so."

Evan snorted. "Aw, damn! I love it when she cleanses my chi!" he complained.

Valerie snorted, crossing her arms over her chest in her typical no-nonsense fashion since she knew damn well what Bitches liked to do to cleanse one's chi. He didn't hear it, which just figured.

"She said not to miss those places she circled, ya?" Bone went on.

"She knows I've been down there before, right?" Evan asked.

Bone's grin widened. "Dunno, duckie, but I'd trust her on this one. That woman gets _around_ , if you know what I mean."

Evan chuckled. "I'll take it under advisement."

Bone laughed and nodded at Valerie before ambling out of the house once more.

"Going somewhere?" she asked, following Evan into the kitchen.

He drained two water bottles before he answered her. "Nowhere big," he admitted, tossing the bottles into the recycling bin.

Her frown deepened when he breezed past her, heading toward the stairs. "You didn't mention having to go anywhere," she pointed out as she hurried after him.

"Just came up," he told her. "Not a big deal; I swear."

"Interviews or PR or something?" she pressed as she followed him up the steps.

"Eh, not really," he admitted. Why did he sound like he was trying to avoid her line of questioning?

"Not really? Then what, _really_ , is it?"

He grinned. "Damn, you're nosy today, V," he teased.

She snorted since he still had yet to answer her question. His suitcase was lying on the bed, and he'd already packed some stuff, and, humming a familiar sounding song that she just couldn't place, he danced off toward the closet while Valerie slowly shook her head.

"Shit," he muttered when he emerged a few minutes later with a black neoprene shorty in his hand. "The zipper's fucked . . . I forgot about that . . . Ah, well. I guess I have time to get a new one before I leave . . ."

That got Valerie's attention readily enough. He was going somewhere that he'd need a wetsuit . . .? But . . . "Evan?" she said, her voice lowered, smooth as honey.

"Hmm?" he intoned, not actually paying much attention as he tugged on the zipper, only to discover that it wasn't going to budge.

"Where did you say you were going again?"

"On acation, V," he replied in the same absent tone of voice.

"Vacation," she repeated, nodding slowly. "Where are you going on vacation?"

He blinked and finally looked up at her as he dropped the ruined wetsuit on the bed and reached for the notepad on the nightstand. "Nowhere special," he insisted. "Just a little R and R; that's all."

"Is that right?" she challenged.

Evan nodded very slowly and without taking his eyes off her.

"Then why won't you tell me where you're going?"

"Because," he said quite simply, "you're not invited. That's why."

She snorted indelicately, cheeks warming at the blatant set-down. "Oh, _please!_ " she scoffed, tossing in a pronounced snort for good measure, "As if I _want_ to go along!"

"Of course not," he told her, his smile taking on a hard little edge. "We're just friends, right, and I gotta tell you, V, I don't usually have to clear my plans with my _friends_ in advance," he went on, crooking the index and middle fingers on each hand to add special emphasis to the word, 'friend'.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Valerie snorted once more, only this time, she rolled her eyes, too. "Don't you use those air-quotes on me, Roka," she shot back.

He chuckled and headed back toward the closet once more. "Then don't be so nosy, woman."

Letting out a deep breath as she narrowed her gaze on his retreating form, Valerie's scowl darkened. A wetsuit? A wetsuit . . . Where the hell was he going? California? Florida? "Big deal!" she muttered to herself.

Evan was humming—and dancing—again when he stepped out of the closet this time. A few thin cotton button down shirts and . . . shorts. Valerie ground her teeth together as he slipped the clothes into the suitcase along with the other stuff he'd packed.

"What are you humming?" she asked since she wasn't getting any answers out of him on the vacation front.

"Eh, it's an old Beach Boys song," he told her over his shoulder as he shuffled back to the closet once again.

Picking through the suitcase, Valerie's frown deepened. "You really need to tell me where you're going," she tried again. No pants, whatsoever—wait! There was one pair of jeans, way at the bottom. Not surprising, though, given that he'd been ready to pack a wetsuit . . .

With a frustrated sigh, she snatched up a black folder that sat next to the suitcase, hoping that it'd say something about his ultimate destination. It only served to deepen her confusion, though, since everything on the papers seemed to be written in some kind of coding. "What's this?" she asked when he stuffed a couple pairs of shoes into the suitcase.

He glanced over her shoulder and shrugged. "My flight plan," he said simply.

"Flight plan? You're going on a private plane?"

"Sure," he said with a wolfish grin. "Brevie X280. I haven't flown it too much yet—only a couple times, actually—but it handles a lot like the Cessna I used to have. Makes sense, I guess, given that the guy who designed the Brevie used to work for Cessna . . ."

"You—You're flying yourself?" she asked, her eyebrows lifting in surprise.

"Of course," he said with a chuckle. "Rockstars never fly commercial, V."

"MYG," she read off the document. "Is that your final destination."

"By plane, yes," he said.

"So where's MYG?"

"That's on a need to know basis," he told her with a cocky shake of his head. " _'Aruba, Jamaica, ooh, I wanna take ya_ —not you, though— _Bermuda, Bahamas, come on, pretty mama_ ,'" he sang as he grabbed a pair of jeans and a clean tee shirt and wiggled his butt off toward the bathroom. "' _Key Largo, Montego, baby, why don't we go down to Kokomo—_ without V . . .'"

"Jerk," she called after him.

His laughter was cut off when he closed the bathroom door.

"Hrumph," she snorted, setting the flight plan aside. He could tell her where he was going, after all. What if he got arrested or something? It was entirely possible. It was _Evan_ , for God's sake. Knowing him, he'd flash a group of tourists and end up stuck in jail, expecting her to drop everything and fly down to save his sorry hide, and it would serve him right if she left him there to rot . . .

Glancing down at the bed once more, she caught sight of the pamphlet that Bone had given him from Bitches, and after a quick peek over at the bathroom door, she reached for it.

It wasn't a pamphlet at all. It was a map.

Valerie's eyes widened as she stared at it a little closer. ' _Nassau and surrounding islands_ ,' she read, her brain slowing to a crawl. ' _Nassau . . .? The Bahamas_. . .'

She gasped, her mouth falling open as she re-read the paper once more. He was going to the Bahamas? Really? And that was why he hadn't wanted to tell her . . .

"Roka!" she growled as she stomped into the bathroom. "You're going to the _Bahamas?_ "

Peering over the top of the shower, Evan raised an eyebrow at her sudden intrusion. "Yes, I am," he admitted.

"The Bahamas?" she repeated, her voice rising in pitch to the point that it squeaked. "Really?"

"Yes," he stated once more.

Plopping down on the closed toilet seat, she heaved a wistful sigh. "Oh, my _God!_ I've never been anywhere like that!" she went on. "I've only seen pictures! One of the guys from the office took his wife down there for their honeymoon, but he said that it was _so-o-o-o_ beautiful . . ."

"Hmm, I don't think I like where this is headed," Evan grumbled as he shut off the shower tap and pulled a towel that he'd slung over the back of the glass wall down. "Forget it, V; you're not going on my acation."

She blinked, and sat up a little straighter. Evan sighed. "I . . . I have a passport," she ventured innocently.

"Good for you," he replied. "I hope you'll get to use it someday."

"Oh, come on, Evan! You're not taking anyone else down there with you, are you?"

"I don't think that has much to do with it," he told her, pushing open the shower door and stepping out of the enclosure with the towel slung loosely around his hips.

"But you have room on your plane, right?"

He strode past her and out of the bathroom. "See? This is why I didn't tell you, in the first place."

She got up and hurried after him. "But why? Why do you want to go down there alone? It'd be fun if we went together—like Hawaii!"

"I'm not going down there to dress like a woman," he snorted, planting his hands on his hips as he whipped around to face her, but he kept his head turned, glowering at the window instead. "I'm going down there to _un_ dress women."

His statement gave her a moment's pause, and she frowned. He didn't see it. "But I've never been out of the States before," she muttered. "And . . . And . . . And you owe me!"

"I do not!" he insisted hotly.

Somehow, the idea that he really did owe her bolstered her courage, and when she spoke again, it was in a much steadier tone of voice. "Yes, you do," she insisted.

"How do you figure?"

"You don't remember that eyesore you had installed in my office as my 'Christmas present'?" she challenged.

He snorted. "So I'll buy you tickets to Hawaii or something," he shot back. "Besides, you taped another poster over that one, or so you said. Face it, V: it's my acation, and you're not coming!"

She opened her mouth to argue with him, but closed it once more when it finally dawned on her. "Acation?" she repeated, looking a little confused. "What does _that_ mean?"

Evan sighed, tossing the towel aside and reaching for the nearest pair of jeans he could find. "It means just what I said," he informed her.

"And what's that?"

His answer, however, came as more of a grumble than anything. "It's a vacation—without the 'V'."

Valerie stared at him for several long moments, her cheeks pinking at the implications of his statement. "That's so not funny, Roka," she bit out then grimaced. "That's just mean."

"Look," he said as she followed him out of his room and down the hallway toward the stairs, "if you came with me, there'd be no point in going, in the first place."

"How do you figure that?" she demanded, running down the steps behind him.

"Because you've made it your life's mission to _keep_ me from having fun," he retorted, "and that's what I'm going down there to do—have fun."

"We have fun!" she insisted.

He snorted as he hit the landing and kept moving straight through the living room. "Not the kind of fun I want to have on my acation."

"We had fun on your mini-tour, didn't we?"

He shook his head. "I'm only going to be gone for two weeks. We can have _that_ kind of fun after I get back."

"Do you know how cold it is here?" she countered. "It's _really_ cold, and you're telling me you're going somewhere really, really warm?"

"You'd hate it, V," he told her. "There's only one bedroom—"

"So I can get a separate hotel room," she said.

He shook his head. "There're no hotels where I'm going."

"There are hotels all over down there! It's a tourist haven, you know!"

"Not on my island, there aren't," he corrected. "The only thing on my island is my house—if you can call it that—and there are only two rooms, one of which is the bathroom."

Valerie frowned. "You own an _island?_ "

"Yeah," he said with a shrug. "Won it from Chase Courtney in a poker game a couple years ago."

She rolled her eyes. Leave it to rock stars to bet something as big as an island in a stupid poker game. "He didn't try to get it back?"

Evan shrugged again. "Chase won it from Manny Felix."

She snorted. "Well, I still don't see why you won't take me with you," she pouted.

"I just told you: it's a one-room shack with a bathroom hut attached."

"So?"

He gave her a look designed to let her know just how dense he thought she was being. "And where do you think you'd sleep _if_ I agreed to take you which I'm _not_ , but _if_ I did?"

She made a face. "I can sleep on the floor," she insisted.

"Oh, right, you would," he agreed sarcastically.

"I would!" she argued. He narrowed his eyes. "No, really, I would!"

"One night on the floor, and you'll be whining at me to let you sleep on the bed; I know it," he predicted.

She wrinkled her nose. "If I promised not to?"

"Forget it, V. You're not going," he stated once more.

"How can you be so mean?" she whined, grabbing his arm to stop him. "I just wanted to lie in the warm sand, under the warm sun, looking at the blue water . . ."

He didn't respond, but he did snort very loudly.

"I've never seen _blue_ water, Evan," she went on.

That got his attention quickly enough. Pinning her with an inscrutable look, he stared at her for several seconds before grabbing a glass off the shelf and filling it with water. A couple drops of blue food coloring later, and he handed her the glass with what could only be described as a triumphant smirk on his face. "Now you have," he told her flatly.

"Please?" she begged, biting back the retort that would avail her nothing as she set the glass aside and tightened her grip on his arm. "I promise—I swear—you . . . You won't even know I'm there!"

He snorted. Loudly.

"No, I mean it! I'll—I'll even help you, if you want!"

He snorted again, just as loudly—maybe louder. "I highly doubt that."

"What? I can . . . can help you figure out which . . . girls . . . You want to . . . Well, whatever you want to do," she grumbled. She'd tried to keep the irritation out of her voice. She really had.

She'd failed, too, if the look on Evan's face meant anything at all. "You'll go to hell for lying."

"I'll go to hell if I have to stay here in the freezing cold while you're down there, lying on beaches and sucking up the sun," she mumbled. "Please?" she tried again.

This time, he sighed, a long, drawn out sigh. "No, no, no, a thousand times, no. I'd rather eat dirt than take you with me—do you hear me?"

She bit her lip. "But—"

Evan cut her off before she could argue it some more. "For the last time, no! It's _my_ acation, woman, and I'm _not_ taking you with me, and you can pout about it all night because it's just not going to change my mind—absolutely, positively, unequivocally _no_."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Wild Wild West_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _Escape_ _Club's_ _1988_ _release, **Wild**_ **_Wild_** **_West_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _the_ _Escape_ _Club_.  
>  ' ** _Kokomo_** ' _by_ _the_ _Beach_ _Boys_ _first appeared on_ _the_ _1988_ _release,_ **_Cocktail_** _(soundtrack)_. _Song written by and copyrighted to_ _John_ _Phillips,_ _Scott_ _McKenzie,_ _Mike_ _Love,_ _and_ _Terry_ _Melcher_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _But_ _it's_ _the_ Bahamas …!


	132. 131: Island Girl

' _I see your teeth flash, Jamaican honey, so sweet_ …  
' _Down where Lexington cross 47th Street_ …  
' _She's a big girl; she's standin' six foot three_ …  
' _Turnin' tricks for the dudes in the big city_ …'

 

-' _Island Girl_ ' by Elton John.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Oh, my _God!_ Look at the _water!_ "

Stifling a sigh, Evan slowly shook his head. "If you fall in, I'm not jumping in after you," he called.

Valerie giggled and hung onto the railing, tossing her head back and closing her eyes as she savored the feel of the sun on her skin.

' _Hey, rockstar_. . .'

Satisfied that she wasn't actually going to go toppling over the side of the thirty-two foot cruising yacht, Evan shifted his attention straight ahead of the watercraft once more. ' _I know_ ,' he thought in an effort to stave off whatever chiding he was about to receive.

It didn't work. ' _Seems like our acation became a vacation, after all_ ,' his youkai voice pointed out.

' _Yep_.'

' _How the hell did she do that, anyway?_ '

That was the thing, wasn't it? Even now, three days after he'd broken down and told Valerie where he was going, he still wasn't entirely sure how she'd talked him into bringing her with him. After all, he really _had_ meant it when he'd told her 'no'.

Well, he might have been able to stick to his guns had he not made the mistake of looking directly at her, but he had, hadn't he? And the disappointment on her features?

He sighed. That had to have been it, right? That had to have been the reason he'd agreed to let her come along. Still, he couldn't help but think that it was a train wreck just waiting to happen.

' _She did promise that she won't get in the way when I go looking for girls_ ,' Evan pointed out philosophically as he checked the gauges that monitored everything about the boat.

' _Of_ course _she promised that_ ,' his youkai voice scoffed. ' _She'd have agreed to just about anything to get you to let her come along._ '

Evan had his doubts about that, of course. Maybe if she hadn't gotten so excited about the trip, he might've been able to hold his own against her. She was like the proverbial kid in a candy store, wasn't she? And who was he to rain on her parade . . .?

' _You know, I was thinking_. . .'

Why did those words sound like the tolling of a funeral bell? ' _I thought we agreed before that you shouldn't ever do that_ ,' he shot back.

' _Yeah, but maybe . . . Maybe having her along is a good thing_.'

Gaze shifting out the door to his left at the woman in question, he sighed.   Given that he'd wanted some time alone to reevaluate his feelings for her? He wasn't inclined to agree.

' _No, now listen . . . I do think that we made some progress with her over Christmas_ ,' his youkai went on, gaining bravado when Evan didn't cut it off. ' _Okay, so she's not quite ready to let go of her security blanket, but we definitely, definitely moved forward. Now it's up to you to build on that foundation, you dig? If you give up on her now_. . .'

Evan's frown deepened. That was the crux of it, wasn't it? That was the reason he'd so desperately needed the time away from her. She'd said before that lust drove him to want to be with her, and while he'd like to think that it wasn't true, a part of him couldn't help but think that maybe she was right, after all . . . Was he really that shallow that he couldn't differentiate between love and lust? Still . . .

' _It has nothing at all to do with being shallow, rockstar. How the hell would we know what real love is when we've never been in love before?_ '

Maybe that was true, and maybe it wasn't. True enough, he wanted Valerie Denning more than he'd ever wanted any other woman before, so sure, that could be called lust, he supposed, but . . .

' _Don't go there, right?_ '

Evan checked the compass to make sure that he was still headed in the right direction. Even though he was pretty sure that he was, one of the first lessons he'd learned was that you could never, ever be too cautious.

" _We're just friends_. . ."

' _Damn . . . Never, ever thought I'd hate three fucking words as much as I hate those_ ,' he mused with a grimace. Close enough to be near her, to be touched by her, but not close enough to touch her in return . . . and that proximity hurt, didn't it? Ached so badly that he thought he might be going crazy . . .

"Is that your island?" Valerie asked, breaking through his reverie as she ducked into the wheelhouse with a bright grin, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Yep," he said with a little smile. ' _Well, if I had to bring someone along with me, at least it's someone hot_. . .'

Crossing her arms over her chest as she watched their approach, she sighed happily. "I can't believe you have your own island," she pointed out. "How many people can claim that? You know, if I were you, I'd say screw New York and move down here permanently . . ."

"Eh, I like the cold sometimes," he ventured.

He had a feeling that she'd rolled her eyes behind the smoky lenses of her sunglasses. "I keep reminding myself that it's January," she said with a little giggle. "Do you think we can go back to Mayaguana? I'd like to look for a bikini . . ."

' _Oh, yeah, that's just not something I need to see_ . . .' he thought with a grimace that she didn't catch. Maybe he could find her one of those old fashioned kinds: the ones that looked more like shorts than an actual swimsuit . . . "You don't have one?" he asked instead.

"Yeah," she said with a shrug, as though it were the simplest thing in the world. "I want to get a new one; that's all . . . I'll let you help me pick it out," she offered.

"You will, huh?" Evan stifled a sigh. ' _That woman is trying to kill me_. . .'

"It's the least I can do," she insisted with a very staunch nod. "After all, you did bring me along on your vacation. Thanks again!"

"You've already said that about a hundred times," he pointed out with a grin. "Don't worry about it."

"I mean it," she said, her already bright smile growing brighter by the second. "I know you didn't have to bring me along, but you did, which proves it."

He blinked. "Proves what?"

She giggled. "Proves that you really can be nice—maybe even sweet."

"I wouldn't go that far," he said with a snort. "Did I tell you that there's an ordinance on my island?"

"An ordinance?" she repeated, shaking her head in confusion.

He nodded. "Yep. No clothes on Roka Island."

He knew she rolled her eyes that time, even without being able to see it. "I washed all the color out of my hair, Chief Hot Dog. That's the only condition you gave me."

Heaving a sigh designed to let her know exactly what he thought of her non-compliance, Evan tried to look dismayed. "Don't make me build a jail on my island, V . . . and it's _Big_ Chief Hot Dog to you, and on the yacht, I fully expect you to address me as is right and proper."

"And how would that be?" she asked, sounded a little reluctant but somewhat curious, nonetheless.

"Cap'n Long Dong," he informed her.

"Hmm," she drawled, staring out the windows. "I don't think so."

"Careful, or I'll be forced to make you walk the plank, landlubber."

She wrinkled her nose in a most adorable way. "You first, Cap'n Crunch. Anyway, you weren't joking, huh? There really isn't anything else there . . . Is your house directly on the beach?"

Chuckling at the quiet sense of awe in her tone, Evan scratched his chin thoughtfully. "It's kind of _all_ beach, V."

Her smile was positively triumphant. "Which makes it absolutely perfect! But it's not. I see trees."

"Yeah, a few trees . . . There's a really great little spring in the middle of the island. You'll like it . . . I've considered building a bigger place out here, but then, I kind of think that it'd ruin the organic look of it . . ."

Nodding slowly, Valerie didn't take her eyes off the island they were approaching. "It would," she agreed softly. "But where's the house?"

Turning the yacht to slip around the island, Evan laughed. "The water's deeper on the other side of the island, so that's where the house and dock are. The yacht can navigate fairly shallow water, but it's safer that way."

"I see," she replied before grinning at him once more. "Have I told you how much I'm looking forward to this, Roka?"

Evan sighed inwardly but smiled back at her. "Only a few . . . _thousand_. . . times," he drawled.

Valerie laughed and headed for the doorway again, her bare feet whispering against the floor, probably so that she could get a better look at the island.

' _Well_ ,' he thought as his frown returned. At least one of them was looking forward to this vacation. Evan, however, just couldn't shake the feeling that he was sitting on a landmine, and the wrong move might well blow everything right up in his face . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Rolling over on the blanket she'd spread on the soft white sand, Valerie heaved a contented sigh as she savored the heat of the lazy sun.

It was heaven, pure and simple—absolute bliss. The cold she'd left behind in New York City early that morning was fast forgotten, and she had to admit that Evan's island was far better than anything she'd ever imagined. Sure, he'd told her about it. Somehow, he'd downplayed it, hadn't he? While it was true that the house only had two rooms, the main one was big and airy. Lots of windows, a huge fireplace, but no real furniture to speak of. There were lots of huge pillows arranged on the floor as well as a couple hanging seats that were secured to the rough beams overhead. Those chairs were more like huge woven discs held securely in a configuration of soft rope netting, almost like open side cages, really, and a lot more comfortable than they looked.

The kitchen, if you wanted to call it that, was little more than a rough sink and some cupboards built into the walls and hidden behind sliding doors, and she was surprised to see that there actually was a very small refrigerator, too, until Evan explained that the place had solar panels on the roof as well as what he called a Fuldam generator—a machine that was able to harvest energy generated by moving water. To Valerie, it looked like a rod that stuck up through the deck where he'd anchored the yacht. He'd said that most of the mechanism was under water and ran the length of the dock. It was more like a mesh grating that was fine enough that it didn't usually get fish trapped up in it and that the flow of the water through it was then converted to energy that was then stored in cells hidden below the porch. At least, that was the rough explanation, or so he'd said.

But the house didn't have light fixtures or anything, and as far as Valerie could tell, the only things that used the electricity were the water, the refrigerator, and the small old stove.

And he wasn't kidding about the bed, either. There was only one, and it was little more than a thick futon mattress on the floor, nearly hidden behind layers of white mosquito netting that was also suspended from the ceiling so that it tented over the mattress. In fact, she thought that the netting might be a full cocoon with the mattress inside, which would be far more effective than just having the open netting draped over it, she supposed. Old fashioned looking oil lamps affixed to the walls and suspended from the ceiling rafters . . . Evan had said that he would lower the lamps at night to light them.

As for the bathroom? Well, it was just like the rest of the house: a little rough yet still quite charming—rustic, she supposed that it could be called. Two walls of the room had a row of windows that extended from corner to corner but situated high enough and angled outward at the top, which had struck her as odd until she'd stopped to think about it. The original owner of the island was a fairly well-known actor, so it made sense . The windows were likely angled to discourage spying, should the paparazzi actually manage to make it onto the island.

Of course, the most interesting thing to Valerie was the marked lack of anything that could really connect the island to the rest of the world. No radios, no televisions, no computers, no nothing. Evan had brought in a satellite phone. Their cells would work on the bigger islands, but out here? Fat chance of that, considering there was no cell phone tower nearby . . .

No doubt about it, it was Evan's own private paradise. Maybe it should have surprised her that he'd want to get away to someplace so remote, and yet, it didn't. She'd seen glimpses of it before, hadn't she? That quiet side of him, the introspective side that he usually kept hidden from the prying eyes of the public life he led . . .

Speaking of him . . .

Pushing herself up on her elbows, Valerie scanned the beach for Evan. For a moment, she couldn't find him since he'd decided to go snorkeling first thing off the boat—well, after he'd done a quick check of the systems to make sure that everything was working correctly, anyway. He'd had to clean off the generator screen near the beach to clear some debris, but he said everything else looked good.

She finally spotted him, his head popping up above the surface of the water, and she smiled as he gave his head a good shake and waded toward the shore. Clumps of hair blew into his face but didn't seem to bother him in the least, and he looked completely natural, as if he were entirely relaxed, and she wondered if she'd ever seen him so serene while he was awake . . .

She sighed. Damned if he didn't look good in his new neoprene wetsuit, too . . . In fact, she kind of wondered how it could possibly be that it didn't matter what he wore, he always looked good, even if he'd just woken up and his hair was sticking up all over his head. It defied logic.

"How's the tan coming?" he asked as he strode up on the beach.

"Pretty good," she replied, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. "Are you done being a fish?"

"For the moment," he allowed with a grin as he dropped onto the sand beside her. "Anyway, you're good, right?"

Valerie frowned. "Yeah," she said slowly, disliking the restlessness that was suddenly emanating off him in waves. "Why? What are you doing?"

He sat up, hooking his hands around his knees. "Well, if you're all right here, I figured I'd motor back to the island and see if I can't find some fun," he replied.

"Oh, okay," she said, sitting up and reaching for her water bottle. "Just let me change . . ."

Evan grabbed her wrist as she started to rise. "I'm going alone, V," he said.

Staring at him for a long moment, she slowly sat back down. She wasn't sure why, but the idea of him taking off alone bothered her—a lot. "It's getting kind of late, isn't it?" she pointed out reasonably. "What about dinner?"

"We bought stuff before we came out here, remember?" he told her. "There's plenty of food in there."

"Yeah, but . . . You can't sail at night, can you?"

He shrugged. "You kidding? The navigation equipment on the yacht's state of the art. Just gotta know where you're going."

"But it's our first night here," she went on, giving him a bright smile. "You can't leave me here alone on the first night here."

He saw right through her ploy, didn't he? Raising an eyebrow as he leaned back on his hands, he shook his head almost imperceptibly. "V . . .?"

"Y-Yes?"

He nodded sagely. "Do you remember what I said when you asked why I wanted to come down here alone?"

She bit her lip. "Yes."

He nodded again. "Do you remember what you promised?"

Scrunching up her shoulders, she tried not to fidget. "Yes."

"You know, you're breaking your promise, right?"

Valerie made a face. "I'm not," she insisted, lifting her chin stubbornly. "I'm just saying that it's our first night here! There'll be plenty of time for you to do . . . _that_. . . later—when it _isn't_ our first night here."

He didn't look entirely convinced, and Valerie was starting to think that he was going to leave, anyway, and she sighed.

"All right," he said at length, drawing Valerie's gaze. "But no complaining tomorrow when I go, okay?"

She nodded quickly, the smile that surfaced on her face full of undisguised relief. "Okay," she agreed and she laid back down and wiggled around to get comfortable again. "So . . . What are you going to fix me for dinner?"

He snorted. "After all that, you're going to make me cook, too? I think you should do it, all things considered."

"But you love cooking," she reminded him, closing her eyes as she savored the warm rays of sunlight. "I'd hate to be the one to take away something you enjoy doing."

He snorted again, likely because she'd already talked him out of one thing that he'd enjoy, but at least he didn't remark on that. "Fine, fine, woman . . . Treat me like a slave, will you?"

"I'll expect to be fed in an hour," she replied airily, flicking a hand to indicate that he should get a move on.

"Seriously?" he countered incredulously. "An hour? Damn, you're tough."

She giggled. "I'll let you take a little longer, but the food had better be worth it."

Heaving a melodramatic sigh, she could tell he was standing up. "I don't get paid enough for this," he grumbled despite the teasing lilt in his voice. "Fantastic food in an hour? Give me a break, woman . . ."

She laughed, inordinately pleased with herself for having achieved a small victory. Sure, she knew what he thought he wanted, and maybe on some level, he did. She'd just have to go out of her way to prove to him that he could have lots of fun without running off to find some girls. After all, the world didn't really revolve around sex, no matter what Evan Zelig tried to convince himself.

' _And that's the_ only _reason you're trying to stop him?_ ' her conscience pricked.

' _Of course it is_ ,' she insisted. ' _Besides, how many times has he said that before, and he doesn't go out looking . . .?_ '

' _I don't know, Valerie. I mean, you did promise him that you wouldn't try to stop him_.'

She wrinkled her nose. ' _He'll thank me for it one day,_ ' she insisted. ' _Just wait and see_.'

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Island_** **_Girl_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _Elton_ _John's_ _1975_ _release, **Rock**_ **_of_** **_the_** **_Westies_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _the_ _Elton_ _John_ _and_ _Bernie_ _Taupin_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _An hour for a good dinner? Keh!_


	133. 132: Thwarted

' _Take me down to the paradise city_ …  
' _Where the grass is green and the girls are pretty_ …  
' _Take me home_ …  
' _(Oh, won't you please take me home_ …)'

 

-' _Paradise City_ ' by Guns n' Roses.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _You know, that was pretty low_.'

Evan didn't comment as he kept his attention trained on the direction the yacht was headed. It was a gorgeous day . . . beautiful blue skies, a few puffy, cotton candy clouds . . . calm waters . . . no V, and he was out to find some women—hell, _any_ woman would do . . .

' _Seriously, you sneak off when she's out taking a walk? Talk about a crap-tastic thing to do_.'

Evan grunted, but still refused to comment.

' _Don't you think that she's going to be a little upset when she figures out that you're gone?_ '

' _It's not like I didn't tell her that I was going to the island today_ ,' he replied tersely, about the only concession he was willing to give at the moment, all things considered. ' _Besides, she's got food, I checked all the systems yesterday, and everything out there is fine._ '

' _What if she gets lonely?_ '

And that, in Evan's estimation, didn't really deserve a response, either.

His youkai voice sighed. ' _Come on, Roka. You know damn well that you love having V around. It's okay. I do, too_.'

Evan snorted, his expression growing darker by the second. That was the crux of the problem, wasn't it? His brain had gotten the message, loud and clear, of course. Valerie really didn't want to be with him, and as much as he might have wished it were otherwise, he really couldn't do anything about that to change her mind. He'd already tried everything he could think of, hadn't he? And where had it gotten him? Nowhere. Absolutely nowhere.

Yeah, his mind knew it. The thing was, his body didn't, so when he'd woken up just before dawn with the warmth of her body wrapped around his?

He winced. Damned if he wanted to think about that, either. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He loved it, didn't he? The feel of her, the smell of her, the way her body molded against his so fucking perfectly . . .

And that was the problem—the whole problem, right there, in a nutshell. He'd caught himself about two steps from rolling over and fucking the living, breathing hell out of her, and even now, he wasn't certain how he'd actually managed to resist the desire that had slammed through him. It hadn't taken him long to realize that he had to get out of there, and more to the point, he had to do something about his body's physical needs or he'd never be able to deal with her with a level head.

So he'd waited until after she'd left to go on a short walk before scrawling a quick note on a piece of paper and taking off before he could do something stupid, like talk himself out of it.

' _So going out and fucking whatever you can get your hands on? That's your answer?_ '

' _It's the only thing I_ can _do_ ,' he muttered in an uncharacteristically defeated tone. That's all it was, right? After all, he'd given it a lot of thought, hadn't he? Valerie . . . maybe she was right. Maybe he wasn't in love with her as much as he was fixated on her. It made sense, even if he didn't really like the idea that he could possibly be so shallow. She'd started it herself by telling him that he couldn't sleep around while the case was going on, so he'd had nothing to do but to obsess over the one woman who didn't seem to want him in the least. It all made sense . . .

' _Don't you think that's a little too simple?_ '

Evan's already thoughtful scowl deepened. As far as he was concerned, there wasn't a damn thing 'simple' about any of it. There hadn't been since the day she'd walked into his life . . .

' _Maybe_. . .'

' _Maybe, what?_ ' he demanded when his youkai voice trailed off.

' _Maybe . . . Maybe if we told her, you know? Maybe if she understood who we are_ —what _we are_. . .'

His snort was loud and definite. ' _Abso-fucking-lutely not,_ ' he insisted, his temper rising at the very suggestion as he quickly set the auto-nav to keep the yacht on course and taking off to check the rigging. ' _Tell her all that? So, what? So, she can decide that it's okay to be with us then? Fuck, no! If she wanted to be with me, then that's fine, but to tell her everything without even knowing if she'd take us seriously—and I guarantee you she wouldn't? No damn way._ '

' _I'm not saying we should tell her what happens when a mate is rejected_ ,' his youkai went on a little too calmly, ' _but if we told her about how we know—if we told her what 'forever' really means to us_ . . .'

' _Just drop it_ ,' Evan growled, stomping along the way toward the rear of the vessel.

It was bad enough, wasn't it, that she already seemed to be everywhere. When he closed his eyes, he could see her smiling face, when he felt the breeze, it felt like her fingers. In his head, he could hear the sound of her laughter. He snorted. Hell, even the scent in the air reminded him of her, and . . .

And his eyes widened as he stopped short and planted his hands on his hips. "What are you doing, V?" he asked flatly.

Very, very slowly, Valerie stood up and smiled brightly, if not a little sheepishly, as she climbed the stairs from the cabin below. "H-Hi," she drawled, rubbing her hands together and forcing her smile to brighten a few degrees.

"Don't you 'hi' me, woman," he complained, cocking an eyebrow as he continued to stare at her. "What are you doing on the yacht?"

She looked distinctly nervous as she scratched the back of her neck, stalling for time while she considered her answer. "Um, well . . . You were taking a shower in the house," she began slowly, "so I figured I'd just use the one on here . . ."

"But you said you were going for a walk," he reminded her.

She shuffled her feet but stood her ground. "I was going to," she explained pleasantly, "and then I decided to take a shower—and good thing, too! You weren't going to tell me you were going to take off, were you?"

"Yeah, that was the plan," he admitted, ignoring the accusation in her petulant tone.

She blinked and actually looked rather surprised by his statement. "It was?"

Evan wasn't buying the feigned innocence. "Don't give me that, V. You knew I was."

"I didn't," she argued. "I can't believe you were going to leave me on the island alone!"

"I'm considering turning around and taking you right back," he told her. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

Wrinkling her nose, she couldn't stop the slight pinking of her cheeks. "Because," she finally said, measuring her words carefully, "I asked you yesterday to take me with you so that I could go shopping."

"Shopping?" he repeated in a caustic tone. "Is that your story?"

"It's the truth, Roka," she insisted with as much dignity as she could muster—not that much, all things considered. She _was_ hiding when he'd called her out, after all . . . "And you'd better not try anything funny while I'm trying on bathing suits."

"Don't worry," he assured her with a rather sardonic grin, "I won't. In fact, I won't be anywhere near you."

She blinked, apparently not expecting to hear him say that. "You won't? Then where will you be?"

"Hopefully," he replied, his grin widening almost nastily, "I'll be off somewhere, getting my brains screwed out."

She'd opened her mouth to say something to him. When he spoke, however, it snapped closed as a bold suffusion of color exploded under her skin. "Fine, then," she replied in a very prim, very clipped tone of voice. "It's not like I need your approval or anything."

Narrowing his eyes, Evan leaned back. She'd agreed to that way too easily, hadn't she? It wasn't like her at all to give in without a fight, especially when it involved something that she found distasteful—like Evan's desire to go find women. "Give me your phone," he stated flatly, holding out his hand to take the device.

"I'm not giving you my phone," Valerie snapped. "Why in the world would I do that?"

He didn't give up. "Because you'll call me every ten minutes to try to stop me," he predicted.

She snorted. "Like I care!" she scoffed. "Just remember that if you're not careful, you're going to end up with some disease or something." She perked up suddenly, a rather malicious grin breaking over her face. "Maybe you'll get some incurable disease that'll make your penis fall off."

"No need to be jealous, V," he shot back. "If you want it, all you have to do is say so."

"Dream on, rocker-boy . . . and I'm not giving you my phone."

Stifling a sigh, Evan slowly shook his head. Despite her reassurances that she wouldn't do any such thing, he wasn't entirely convinced, and leaving her with her phone just seemed like a disaster, waiting to happen . . .

"Okay," he allowed after considering his options. "Let's make a deal, shall we?"

She seemed surprised by his sudden change in tactics, and the suspicious expression on her face spoke volumes. "What kind of deal?"

He almost grinned. Sometimes, her curiosity worked against her, didn't it? "I'll pay for whatever it is you want to buy as long as you promise not to call me—not even once. What do you say?"

"I have my own money, Roka," she pointed out haughtily.

"Of course you do," he agreed, "but you love my bank accounts."

She didn't deny that, but she did snort indelicately. "What if I need to get a hold of you? What if there's a good reason for it?"

"You mean like an emergency?" he offered helpfully.

She nodded. "Yes! Like an emergency!"

He considered that, then shook his head. "Nope. No calls at all," he told her.

"Not even for an emergency?" she clarified with a shake of her head. "That's ridiculous!"

"Yeah, well, we can't have you thinking that, 'I can't decide if I should get the pink one or the blue one,' is an acceptable 'emergency'."

Her lips twitched at the high-pitched tone he'd used despite the irritation on her features. "I wouldn't," she insisted.

He shrugged. "It's that, you hand over your cell, or I turn the yacht around and drop you off back at the island," he stated.

Heaving a sigh and rolling her eyes to let him know exactly what she thought of those options, Valerie uttered a terse sound. "Fine," she agreed huffily then smiled. "Let's hope your bank accounts can handle my shopping, then—what if they won't let me use this?" she asked, frowning at the platinum card he slapped into her hand.

"Tell them you're my new wife," he replied carelessly, and he didn't take the bait in her not-so-subtle threat, either. "I've got more money than God, remember? I seriously doubt you can do that much damage, even if you tried, so knock yourself out, V."

She didn't look at all satisfied, but she did lift her chin a notch. "Okay, then, Roka," she ground out. "I think I will."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"So where are you from?"

Evan smiled and shifted in his chair, savoring the feel of the warm breeze blowing off the water through the open air bar and grill. "New York City," he replied.

"Oh, I love that city!" Kishia exclaimed, laying her hand on Evan's forearm as she turned toward him a little more. "I was there a couple years ago for a friend's wedding, but I only got to stay a couple days, unfortunately. But it snowed while I was there, so that was a definite plus!"

"It's a great place to live," he allowed.

Kishia giggled prettily, gazing at him as she sipped a glass of mineral water. Even if he weren't able to smell the fact that the woman was more than willing to accommodate him—which he could—the way she was staring at him spoke volumes. "If I'm ever up that way again, maybe I should give you a call," she said with a wink.

"Sure," Evan replied, knowing damn well that she wouldn't be doing any such thing. Hell, they never did—not that it mattered to him. It didn't. He wasn't really looking for anything more than she was, anyway.

The soft beep of his cell phone drew his attention, but he tried to ignore it. After all, he had a pretty good guess as to whom it was, and, more to the point, he had a pretty good idea what she was doing, too, considering she'd been doing it for the last three hours . . .

"Is everything okay?" Kishia asked, nodding at the phone he'd left sitting on the bar in front of him.

He opened his mouth to assure her that everything was just fine when the phone chimed again. "It's fine," he said as he picked up the phone and quickly hit the button to check his messages. The first one was a picture of Valerie, trying on a white sundress. The second one was of her in the same sundress but with a ridiculously wide brimmed white hat covering her golden tresses. "Just a friend of mine doing some shopping."

"She's pretty," Kishia ventured carefully, almost _too_ carefully, leaning forward to see the screen on Evan's phone. "Just a friend?"

Stifling a sigh at the hint of suspicion that had entered Kishia's gaze as well as the slightly dubious quality that had crept into her voice, Evan nodded and stuck his phone into the breast pocket of the plain blue plaid shirt he'd grabbed this morning.

"Yep, just friends," he repeated, wondering absently whether or not Kishia could hear the irritation in his tone that he hadn't been able to repress. ' _That's right_ ,' he reminded himself for the millionth time since he'd set off on his ill-fated vacation, ' _just_ friends.' He was really starting to hate that word, no doubt about it . . .

Kishia didn't look like she believed him, exactly, but she did look like she wanted to, and Evan figured that was good enough. Motioning for the bartender to bring another drink, Evan stifled a sigh. He ought to have known that Valerie would take him literally, and it was his own fault, he supposed, for having told her not to call him. She hadn't done that, no, but the pictures were infinitely worse . . .

"So what do you do in New York City?" Kishia asked, drawing Evan back out of his reverie.

"Ah, you know . . . A little bit of this and a little bit of that," he said with a shrug. "Nothing of interest."

She giggled and accepted the fresh drink that the bartender set down in front of her. "Sounds mysterious," she teased.

"Not really," he insisted.

She started to answer, but blinked when Evan's phone chimed again. He opted to ignore it, but Kishia didn't, raising her eyebrows as she reached forward and plucked Evan's phone from his pocket.

It was a video this time, and when Valerie told the sales girl that she was 'Mrs. Evan Zelig'—likely so that she could use the credit card he'd handed her on the yacht—he could only sigh even as he tried to remind himself that it was his suggestion, after all . . ..

"She's your _wife?_ " Kishia said, her voice taking on an accusing tone.

"Uh, no!" Evan replied, rising to his feet to try to stop Kishia when she got up to leave. "She's not," he stated once more.

"Look, I'm not interested in . . . Well, I'm just not," Kishia insisted as she stepped back away from Evan.

He heaved a sigh as he sank back onto the barstool once more.

It just figured, didn't it? That was the fourth girl that he'd struck out with, and all because of Valerie and her damned pictures. She was doing it on purpose, and he knew it.

' _Or maybe you're just hoping that she is_.'

'. . . _Shut up_.'

The trill of his phone interrupted his thoughts, and he frowned. Why was Madison calling him . . .? "Hello?"

"Evan? Oh, thank _God!_ "

He chuckled when Madison's voice greeted him as he dropped some money onto the counter and headed for the door. "Hey, Maddy. What's up?"

She heaved a melodramatic sigh. "I've been trying to reach you since last night," she pointed out. "I need a favor from you."

"I was on the island last night," he told her, stepping out onto the sidewalk and pausing long enough to draw a deep breath and look up and down the street. "There's no cell reception out there, but the satellite phone works fine."

Madison snorted. "Why don't you get one of those receptor-thingies? Never mind; I'll buy you one."

He chuckled. "Don't worry about it, Maddy. I'll get one if it'll make you feel better. I just haven't had time to do that yet. So what's your favor?"

She sighed again, only this one was much longer and much more of a hopeless sort of sound. "I don't suppose you could unlock my car for me?"

"Locked your keys in there again? You know, you can unlock the doors from your own phone," he reminded her.

She laughed somewhat nervously. "Umm . . . Did I mention that I lost my other phone and got a new one today?"

He shook his head. Somehow, that didn't really surprise him, either . . . "Okay," he told her as he wandered down the street. "Give me a sec."

"Thanks, Evan. You're a lifesaver . . . How's your vacation going?"

Her question put a slight damper on Evan's good mood. "Eh, you know. It's going."

"Hmm, that doesn't sound very positive," she mused. "Not having a good time . . . You're not having problems with V, are you?"

"That woman's out to get me," he replied with a rueful sigh.

Madison giggled. "Aren't they all out to get you, sweetie?"

Evan grunted, dragging a hand through his hair before pulling out his sunglasses and jamming them onto his face. "Yeah, well, V wants to see me dead."

"Oh, I'm sure she doesn't," Madison reassured him despite the obvious amusement in her tone. A moment later, she sighed, and Evan figured that she was about to say something that he wasn't necessarily going to welcome. "Evan . . .?"

"Hmm?" he drawled, deciding not to make it easier for her to question him.

"You're not really going to go looking for girls, are you?" she asked in a decidedly blunt way.

"Yes, Maddy, I am," he replied.

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

She'd asked that neutrally enough. He knew better. "Maddy, drop it," he ordered.

"Fine," she agreed. "So you're saying she's not the one for you?"

Rolling his eyes at her dubious tone, Evan snorted. "It's not up to me," he grumbled. "Just don't worry about it."

"But—"

"I mean it," he warned.

Letting out a deep breath, she was silent for a moment. "All right," she finally relented despite the concern in her tone. "So . . . I guess I should stop forwarding you the pictures that V keeps sending to me then?"

Stopping short, Evan grimaced. He'd been so sure that Valerie had sent him those pictures that he hadn't even bothered to check to see whose number was coming up on his caller ID . . . "You were sending those?"

"Hmm, yeah . . . I figured you should see what she was thinking about buying with your money."

He grunted something completely unintelligible and started walking again.

"Just promise you won't do anything stupid, okay?"

"When do I do stupid stuff?" he countered.

"Hmm, do you really want me to answer that?"

Evan shook his head. "Bye, Maddy."

"Bye."

He hung up the phone and let out a deep breath of his own as he opened the application to remotely unlock Madison's car. For good measure, he flipped the locks a few times before figuring that she'd gotten the point.

Okay, so he could appreciate Madison's concern; of course he could. That didn't mean that he was going to give up. Far from it, actually. Maybe he just needed to prove something to himself. Maybe he was just blindly grasping at straws, but he had to know, didn't he? One way or another, something had to give. If he could just get the rampant lust that was consuming him out of his system, maybe he'd be able to think about things with a clearer head.

His cell phone beeped again, and he glanced at it without missing a step. She was in a different store this time, and the deep red bikini she wore was enough to make him sigh. The high, pert breasts . . . the trim stomach . . . the toned thighs . . . and visions of doing things to her that he really had no business thinking about at all . . . And Madison's message below the image. " _That's what you get for flipping the locks._ "

' _Holy damn, that woman looks good_. . .'

His youkai sighed in response.

Just what the hell did she think she was doing? Was she really so naïve that she didn't realize just how these pictures were going to affect him? Of course she knew that. Madison always knew what the sight of something like that could do. How the hell else had he gotten himself into this mess, to start with . . .?

There was no other explanation for it, was there? Madison actually was trying to kill him, too.

No doubt about it, he needed to find a woman, and he needed to do it fast. If he didn't, then he wouldn't be held responsible for what happened, and if she wanted to be angry at him, then so be it because as far as he was concerned, she had no one to blame but herself, all things considered.

As soon as that thought occurred to him, however, he dismissed it, too. No, that was the trouble, wasn't it? Sure, he wanted Valerie—maybe more than he'd ever wanted any other woman before, but . . .

 

 

 

 

 

But he wanted her to want him, too, and that was the crux of the problem, wasn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Paradise_** **_City_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _Guns_ _n'_ _Roses_ ' _1987_ _release, **Appetite**_ **_for_** **_Destruction_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _the_ _Axl_ _Rose_ , _Duff_ _McKagan_ , _Izzy_ _Stradlin_ , _Slash_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _They're all trying to kill me!_


	134. 133: As She Will

' _I'm gettin' bugged driving up and down the same old strip_ …  
' _I gotta find a new place where the kids are hip_ …  
' _My buddies and me are getting real well known_ …  
' _Yeah, the bad guys know us and they leave us alone …_ '

 

-' _I Get Around_ ' by the Beach Boys

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Tugging the earphones out of her ears, Valerie sat up when Evan strode past, whistling a song under his breath and heading in the direction of the dock.

"Where are you going?" she called after him when it became apparent that he had no intention of saying anything to her at all.

"Where do you think?" he tossed back over his shoulder without stopping. "I'm going back to Mayaguana, grabbing the first woman I see, and then I'm gonna spend the rest of the day fucking the hell out of her."

She made a face as she scampered to her feet and took off after him. It wasn't exactly surprising. He'd been threatening to do that since they'd arrived. "But you promised to take me on a tour of your island," she pointed out a little breathlessly when she caught up to him on the edge of the dock.

He still didn't stop, but he did peer over his shoulder at her. "No, I didn't," he contradicted. "I offered to do that last night, but you didn't want to, if I recall."

Shrugging in what she hoped was an offhanded way, Valerie crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at him. "I was tired last night," she pointed out. "I'm not tired today."

"Glad to hear it," he said as he hopped off the dock and onto the yacht.

"But what am I supposed to do all day out here alone?" she continued, following him onto the yacht to continue her argument.

"Lay out in the sun. Read a book. Go for a walk. Go swimming or something."

Biting her lip, she scowled at him. He didn't notice since he was too busy checking the yacht. "Okay, fine, then. Just give me a couple minutes to get dressed, and I'll come with you."

That got his attention quickly enough. "Oh . . . no," he stated flatly. "Yeah, you can forget about that."

She wrinkled her nose but stubbornly held her ground. "Don't be stupid, Roka! You won't even know I'm there!"

Crossing his arms over his chest, he cocked an eyebrow at her. "Like yesterday, you mean?"

She rolled her eyes. "That wasn't my fault. How was I supposed to know that Madison would send you those pictures?" she rebutted.

Evan snorted. "Keh! Yeah, well, that's why you're not coming with me today."

"Oh, come on," she argued when he stepped forward to usher her back onto the dock. "I'll . . . I'll even help you!" she blurted, struck by sudden inspiration.

"Help me?" he echoed dubiously. "Help me, how?"

"I'll help you pick out your . . . your women," she decided. "I'll . . . I'll be your wingman."

He blinked slowly a few times. "I don't need a wingman," he told her, "and I _definitely_ don't need a _female_ wingman."

"Sure you do!" she insisted, grasping his wrist before he could scoop her up to hop back off the yacht. "I can help you! I mean, who would know a woman better than another woman, right?"

He was hard pressed not to roll his eyes. She could see it in his face as he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. "And why would you want to do that, V?" he asked in a deceptively quiet tone.

"Well," she drawled, twining her fingers together in a decidedly nervous kind of way, "we're friends, and . . . and that's the kind of thing a friend does . . ."

Why did he suddenly look so ticked off? Maybe not completely ticked off, but not happy, by any stretch of the imagination . . . "Is that what they do?" he parried. "Lucky me."

Heaving a sigh at the caustic hitch in his voice, Valerie couldn't help it when her shoulders slumped, and she slowly shook her head. "Why do you think you need to do this?" she heard herself asking despite her resolve not to ask him any such thing.

"Why?" he repeated, his voice taking on a mildly incredulous tone. "You're seriously asking me why?"

She nodded once.

He snorted and barked out a terse laugh that was about as dry as it could be. "Were you not there this morning, V? Or yesterday morning, for that matter . . ."

Frowning slightly since she wasn't entirely sure what he was talking about, she shook her head. "What does that have to do with anything?" she countered. "Of course I was there."

The look he pinned her with stated quite plainly that he believed that she was being dense on purpose. "Never mind," he bit out. "Just do me a favor tonight and stay on the floor."

"That's not my fault," Valerie contended. "I've stayed on the floor at night! I don't have any idea how I keep ending up on your bed!"

For a moment, she thought he might actually lose his temper. As it was, though, he just rubbed his face in a weary sort of way and drew a deep breath as he planted his hands on his hips. "Whatever, V. Look, I'm going alone, okay? And you're going to stay here. Don't call me—I mean it."

She made a face and opened her mouth to argue with him. He was faster. "You promised, remember?"

She sighed. Okay, so she did promise him that she wouldn't interfere if he decided to take off to do something like this. The thing was, she hadn't actually thought he'd want to, had she? She hadn't thought that he was serious . . .

"What if there's a storm?" she blurted before he could escort her off the yacht. "Tropical storms can be bad, you know."

He scooped her up and hopped back onto the deck then set her on her feet again. "There's nothing but sunshine in the forecast," he assured her dryly.

"But what if one _does_ blow up?" she persisted.

"Then you can hide in the cellar," he said.

She didn't look impressed with that idea, but she had to admit grudgingly that it was sound advice. "What if I cut myself on a shell or something?"

"Watch where you walk," he replied.

"Or if I get hungry?"

"There's food in the fridge."

She wrinkled her nose. "Not those bananas," she pointed out.

"Then climb a tree and hack some down."

"What if I fall out of the tree?"

He rolled his eyes. "You'll land on sand. I highly doubt you'd hurt yourself if you landed on the sand."

"It's possible," she shot back.

"Okay, okay, it's possible," he allowed curtly. "Then don't climb any of the trees. You can do without bananas for one day."

"Fine, but what if some . . . Some prison escapee or someone else shows up? You'd feel bad if some deranged sociopath kidnapped me."

He blinked and stared, nonplussed, at her. "Prison escapee, V?"

"It _could_ happen!" she insisted hotly.

"You'll be fine," he told her, raking his hands through his hair and looking completely and totally exasperated. "It's only for one day," he finally said, his voice, quiet, almost pleading.   "I'll be your . . . your _friend_. . . tomorrow, all right? Just . . . Just leave me alone today—just for one day; that's all I ask. Can you do that?"

She wanted to stop him. She wanted to try harder to get him to stay. Something, though . . . Something just below the irritation . . . an emotion that she couldn't quite define . . .

But it was that emotion, wasn't it? That was what stilled her tongue, what made her take a step back, watching in silence as he ducked inside the wheelhouse, as he started the engine and maneuvered away from the dock . . .

The strange brightness that illuminated his gaze, what was it?

Staring after the yacht as it grew smaller and smaller on the horizon, Valerie sighed.

' _Maybe_. . .' she thought as she lifted a hand to shield the sun from her eyes. Maybe she didn't really want to know . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

The soft wind blowing off the ocean carried the salty tang that was only present in the late afternoon: the kind of smell that took an entire day's worth of sunshine to create: the briny undertones punctuated by the aroma of warmed fruit trees. It was a wholly lazy kind of scent in Evan's estimation, perfect for a beer, the strum of a street musician that had taken up in the open air pub, and the welcome attention of an absolutely gorgeous native island girl named Maya.

"You are staying on Mayaguana?" she asked, casting Evan a sultry smile that was as exotic as the slight tilt of her smoky gaze.

"No," he replied, pinning on a lazy grin as he tried not to wonder if Valerie really was all right. "Just here for the day."

"Oh, that's a shame," she said, leaning in close enough that Evan could feel the warmth of her radiating off her skin. "I'd love to, as you say, show you around."

Brushing aside the feeling that maybe he ought to at least call to check on Valerie, Evan willed his grin to brighten a few degrees as he let his gaze roam up and down Maya's curvaceous frame. "Depends on what you want to show me," he replied.

She giggled almost shyly despite the knowing lilt in her smile. "Would you like a personal tour?" she asked coyly.

Evan chuckled, but the sound died away when his cell phone rang.

He already knew who it was before he ever pulled it out of his pocket. Glancing at the caller ID, only to see the number of the satellite phone, he sent the call to voicemail before he could talk himself out of it. "Sorry about that," he apologized as he stood up and reached out a hand. "About that private tour . . .?"

She took his hand and let him help her to her feet, her hips swaying very nicely under the vibrant orangey-red cotton wrap she wore over the yellow bikini that set off her caramel complexion very, very nicely. Slipping an arm around her as he led her out of the pub, Evan ignored the twinge of guilt that he hadn't answered the call.

And yet, he wasn't entirely surprised, either, when his cell chimed a moment later, announcing the arrival of a text message. For a moment, he considered ignoring it, too, but in the end, he sighed and pulled the device out of his pocket. "Just a minute," he said in an apologetic tone.

Maya smiled at him but stopped while he opened the message.

"Shit!" he exploded, eyes widening in shock as he stared at the image that opened. Without a second thought, he turned to go as he pulled up the number of the satellite phone.

"Uh, wait!" Maya called, chasing after him.

Evan blinked and glanced at the girl. It took him a moment to remember who she was and what she was doing there. "Sorry," he said without breaking his stride. "I gotta go."

"O-Oh," she said, stopping hesitantly. "Will I see you later?"

"I don't know," Evan called back, hitting the button to connect the call.

She said something else. He didn't pay any attention to her. She was forgotten as quickly as she'd ever occurred to him as he hurried down the street in the direction of the docks where he'd anchored the yacht.

"Evan? Do you have a first aid kit out here?"

"V," Evan said, closing his eyes for a moment as relief washed over him at the sound of her voice. "What the fuck happened?"

She sighed. "What do you _think_ happened?" she snapped. "I cut my damn foot open; that's what."

"I realize that," he replied. "What did you cut your foot on?"

"A shell—I think."

"A shell?" he repeated, scowling at the picture. The cut on the arch of her foot looked deep, damn it, and hell if there wasn't a shitload of blood there, too . . . He swallowed hard, biting back the bile that rose in the back of his throat, fighting back the surges of panic as he broke into a near-sprint, weaving in and out of the wandering pedestrians thick on the sidewalk. "What'd you do? Fall out of the banana tree onto the damn thing?"

"No, you ass," she shot back. The irritation of her tone didn't cover up the little groan that slipped out after her words. "I was taking a walk."

"Weren't you wearing shoes?" he demanded.

She snorted. "Who goes for a walk along the beach wearing shoes?"

"People who don't have the common sense to watch where they're going," he growled.

"I _was_ watching where I was going," she insisted, her pitch rising with her temper. "It was buried. I didn't see it."

"You might have if you'd been looking _down_ ," he retorted.

"Did you _not_ just hear me say that it was buried?" she demanded.

Evan stopped outside a doctor's office near the docks. "Is your foot elevated?" he asked, willing himself to calm down.

"I just got back up here," she said. Her voice sounded tired, and he grimaced. Insane visions of Valerie, lying on the beach while her blood drained out of her gouged foot assailed him, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from freaking out completely. "All right, baby, listen," he said, hoping that his voice was calmer than it sounded in his own ears. "I'm going to get a doctor, and then I'll be right there, okay? I want you to sit down, put some pressure on your foot, and get it elevated."

"How am I supposed to put pressure on it while I'm elevating it?" she demanded.

"Has it stopped bleeding?"

She heaved a sigh. "I don't know. If I look, then I won't be applying pressure."

"Okay," he said, figuring that it was more important at the moment to make sure that she had pressure on the wound. "The first aid kit should be in the bathroom—"

"The one with the big, red cross on it, right?"

For a moment, Evan wondered if she was being obtuse on purpose. "Yes, V."

"Yeah, that's empty," she informed him.

Evan sighed, too. "All right. I'll call you back in a few minutes."

Valerie muttered something that Evan couldn't quite hear.

"Answer the phone when I call back," he told her.

"Evan?"

He brought the phone back up to his ear. "Yeah?"

". . . I'm sorry for interrupting you."

For some reason, he was surprised by her apology. "Don't worry about it," he told her. "I'll call you back."

"Okay," she said. Something about her voice . . . She was near tears, wasn't she?

"It'll be all right," he told her gently. "I'll be there as fast as I can."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"How you feeling?"

Shifting her gaze to the side without turning her head, she shot Evan as close to a doleful scowl as she could manage. "I'd be better if I hadn't gotten that shot," she told him. "It was a shell. Why did I need a tetanus shot, anyway?"

He chuckled. "You couldn't remember the last time you had one," he reminded her. "At least you won't need another one for awhile."

She snorted and leaned back in the sand to gaze up at the stars.

Evan smiled wanly, and with a sigh, he sank down beside her, extending a bottle of water to her. "You need another pain killer?"

Shaking her head, Valerie carefully shifted so that she could stick her bandaged foot up on Evan's lap.

"Leave it to you to find the one and only shell on the entire beach," he teased her, rubbing her ankle above the white gauze.

"Shut up, Roka," she pouted. "The doctor didn't mind making a house call, did he?"

Evan shrugged. "Nah, and besides, he got paid pretty damn well for it."

"Sorry you had to make another trip, just to take him back."

"Don't worry about it," he told her. "I got your prescriptions filled, too, so it's all good."

"Guess I ruined your plans," she ventured sheepishly.

"Eh, there's always tomorrow."

She could hear the teasing note in his tone, but his words still drew a frown from her. "Evan," she began, only to trail off when he pulled a joint out of his pocket and lit it. "What are you doing?" she demanded instead.

"Relax, V," he said, blowing out a puff of smoke. "It's legal here."

Biting her lip, she sighed. "Just because something's legal doesn't mean you ought to do it," she replied though her tone lacked any real censure. Too tired to put up much of a fight about it, she supposed. After all, the pain killer that Evan had given her shortly after he'd returned to the island after taking Dr. Hrnagani back to Mayaguana was starting to kick in, leaving her feeling exhausted, if not a little spacey.

"Maybe you should go lie down," Evan ventured at length.

She could feel him watching her. "In a bit," she said, staring up at the night sky. Amazing how clear it was. Amazing how many stars could be seen—more than she'd ever seen before in one place . . . bright and beautiful and somehow majestic . . . "Hey, Roka? How many stars do you think there are in the skies?"

Evan stared at her for a moment before following the direction of her gaze. "No idea," he admitted simply. "Doesn't really matter, does it? They're beautiful, just the way they are."

"I remember one time," she went on as though she hadn't heard him speak. "Marvin was walking me back to my dorm after one of our first dates, and I told him that I thought stars were pretty. You know what he said?"

Sighing softly, Evan shook his head, and when she glanced at him, she frowned when she saw the irritated expression on his face—at least, she thought it was irritation.   Half-hidden in the stark shadows of the night, it was hard to tell. "No," he replied, his voice taking on an oddly stiff kind of tone. "What did he say?"

"He said he'd never really noticed," she replied with a wan little smile. She wasn't sure why, but the idea that Marvin hadn't noticed something as basic as the beauty of the stars . . . It made her sad, didn't it?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _I_** **_Get_** **_Around_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _The_ _Beach_ _Boys_ ' _1964_ _release, **All**_ **_Summer_** **_Long_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Brian_ _Wilson_ _and_ _Mike_ _Love_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :
> 
>  _A_ _seashell_ …


	135. 134: Just Friends

' _I'm the one who wants to be with you_ …  
' _Deep inside I hope you feel it, too_ …  
' _Waited on a line of greens and blues_ …  
' _Just to be the next to be with you …_ '

 

-' _To Be With You'_ by Mr. Big

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"What are you doing?"

Evan didn't look up from his task as he sharpened the stick in his hands. "Making a spear," he said simply, testing the point before shaving off some more pieces to hone it.

"A spear?" Valerie repeated, completely nonplussed. "Okay, I'll bite. Why are you making a spear?"

Sparing a moment to grin over his shoulder at her, he winked quickly before resuming his task once more. "I'm going fishing," he told her simply.

"Then why don't you use a pole?"

Sitting back on his heels, he scratched his chin idly. "It's more manly to use a spear," he told her. "Besides, I didn't get a pole, so if I wanted to do that, I'd have to make a trip in to Mayaguana. Actually, to get a decent one, I'd probably have to go to Nassau, and since I can't trust you not to go looking for more seashells to step on . . ."

"Jerk," she said, whipping an empty water bottle at his head. He ducked to avoid it and shot her another grin. "It was buried, you know."

Chuckling softly, Evan jammed the blunt end of the spear into the sand and hauled himself to his feet. "I hear you, V," he teased. "You need anything before I go hunt down some dinner?"

The expression on her face stated quite plainly that she didn't think he was going to catch a damn thing. "I'm good, thanks," she assured him, making herself a little more comfortable in the shade of the makeshift umbrella he'd fashioned out of a couple tree branches and a spare tarp.

"Okay," he said, pausing long enough to give a good stretch. "Holler if you need anything."

Waving a hand to indicate that she'd heard him, she turned her attention back to her file once more, and Evan chuckled again, grabbing the spear and a second milk crate and striding off toward the edge of the water.

She'd wanted to lay in the sun, but had thought better of it when she realized that she'd end up with a pretty silly looking tan, given that her foot was still completely covered up by bandages. Instead, she'd opted to sit in a chair with her foot up on a makeshift table Evan had made out of a plastic milk crate he'd found behind the house with a few pairs of old sandals in it, reading through some of the case files she'd brought with her. She'd tried to leave the wrap off earlier when he'd helped her change them. He'd insisted that she wear them, at least for the next day or so.

The doctor had assured him that the cut wasn't really that bad. The large amount of blood was magnified by the piece of shell that was stuck in her foot and made worse because she'd had to get back to the house on it. After he'd removed the shard with a pair of tweezers, it had stopped bleeding pretty quickly. A couple stitches later, and she was as good as new—or would be soon enough.

' _If you hadn't decided to take off yesterday, none of this would've happened_.'

' _Oh? So you're finally talking to me again?_ ' Evan couldn't help scoffing when his youkai-voice spoke.

' _What was the point?_ ' it shot back. ' _You'd already decided what you wanted to do. Didn't need me for that, now did you?_ '

He dropped the milk crate near the shore and waded out into the crystal clear water with a sigh. It had occurred to him more than once that his entire plan to go find a willing woman was more than a little on the selfish side, and it had also occurred to him that the idea really bothered Valerie. Still, he reasoned, she'd known from the start, and she'd still wanted to come along with him. She'd known, and, more to the point, she'd agreed to let him do what he wanted.

' _But is that really what we want?_ '

Snorting loudly as he tried to spear a fish and missed, Evan figured that didn't really deserve a response.

Of course it was what he wanted. More importantly, it was what he _needed_. He was strung so tightly that something had to give, didn't it? Being around her while denying his body's needs had taken a huge toll on him, and spending hours in the shower, jacking off time after time was doing absolutely nothing to quell the rising need.

Even this morning, he'd awoken to the heat of her body huddled against his, her hand resting on his chest, her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder. It was a beautiful feeling of well-being, tinged with the worst ache that he'd ever known—an ache that culminated somewhere deep down, as if he were looking at the most breathtaking vision on earth while knowing that it would never, ever be close enough for him to keep.

If she had opened her eyes and told him that she wanted him, he wouldn't have thought twice about it. It was always like that with her, wasn't it? Anything she wanted—whatever she wanted—he'd give it to her.

But all she wanted was to be 'just friends'.

' _Maybe she doesn't really know what she wants_ ,' his youkai voice remarked thoughtfully. ' _She's confused, just like you are, and with her past? It's hard—damn hard for her to trust anyone. You know that. That's why you've given her so much. It's just a matter of time_. . .'

Sure, he knew that, and he knew, too, that on some level, Valerie trusted him more than she trusted anyone else, and that really did speak volumes. Still . . . Just a matter of time? Why couldn't he believe that? Why did his youkai's statements make him want to laugh—or cry?

' _Because_ ,' he realized suddenly, his gaze unconsciously shifting to the woman sitting alone on the beach, ' _she's always said the same thing. She's always said it, and she's never changed her mind_. . . _She's never once misled me, not really, because she's never, ever claimed to care more than she . . . than she does_. . .'

' _But_ —'

' _No_ ,' he interrupted, unable to tolerate another of his youkai's pep talks. ' _She's said it over and over. It's about damn time I started listening_.'

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Heaving a sigh, Valerie set the file she'd been reading aside and reached for the eBook reader to catch up on the latest issue of _Cosmopolitan_ since she hadn't gotten a chance to read it before they'd left the city. It was a little hard to focus, given that the pain medication was pretty strong and made her feel a little out of it. As a rule, she wasn't keen on taking meds like that, but her foot had swelled so much that it felt like she was walking on a baseball when she'd gotten up this morning that she'd agreed to take the pill without much cajoling from Evan.

Biting her lip, she tried to focus on the magazine, but the words seemed to blur together in her head, tumbling around until they made no sense at all.

" _That . . . was a mistake. It shouldn't have happened, and I'm . . . I'm sorry if you read more into it than what it was . . . I-I just . . . I wasn't . . . wasn't trying to mislead you_ . . ."

She frowned as those words echoed through her head even as she lifted her gaze to find Evan. Standing in the water up to his waist with the spear poised and ready, he wasn't facing her as he waited for a hapless fish to swim past.

Why was it so easy to forget everything whenever she was near him? What was it about him that could do that to her?

Just another question that she couldn't answer, wasn't it? Just another mystery that she didn't understand . . .

In a blur of motion, he brought the makeshift spear down, and to Valerie's surprise, he actually had managed to catch a fish. Yanking it free, he tossed it into the plastic milk carton he'd left in the shallow water before resuming his stance once more.

He was good at everything he tried to do, wasn't he? And yet, he wasn't the kind of guy who bragged about those things, either. Maybe it was that innate sense of understated sweetness that disarmed her so easily.

She sighed. Did it matter? As wonderful as he could be, it didn't change the facts, did it? Everything about him was light years away from her and always would be, and even if she wanted it to be otherwise, the reality of the situation was that what she needed was stability—the kind of stability that she'd never find with a guy like him. Friendship was the only thing that she could afford to offer him, and one day, he'd be glad enough of that, she was sure. After all, unlike him, she couldn't just let go and live her life as a free spirit like he could. The differences between them were too numerous and too vast. He was too much of a dreamer, and she . . . She was too pragmatic to waste her time, dreaming about things that just weren't meant to be.

As if he sensed her attention, he suddenly turned and smiled at her, lifting a hand to give her a wave before turning his attention to the water once more.

Fishing without a pole . . . Things that would never have occurred to her . . . Evan made everything seem so easy, and a part of her had to admit that the same part of her wished that she could let go; that she could stop worrying about the future, but she couldn't. It was ingrained in her so deeply that it had become second nature over the years: the need to protect herself; the overwhelming sense that if she didn't, no one else would. Whether it was her compulsive habit of squirreling away every spare dime she had into her various low-risk investments that would build over time or the carefully constructed façade that she hid behind, using it like a shield against everyone in order to maintain her distance.

It had worked, hadn't it? At least, it worked against everyone but Evan . . .

He really was her best friend, wasn't he? The one person who knew all the ugly things about her and didn't mind at all; the one person she knew she could count on, no matter what—even when she wasn't entirely sure that she could count on herself . . .

A huge yawn interrupted her musings, and Valerie shifted slightly, sinking down a little more in the nest of carefully arranged pillows. The warmth of the afternoon sun, the gentle breeze blowing off the water . . . Even the throbbing in her foot seemed to have dulled down to a monotonous cadence that didn't really hurt too badly seemed to converge upon her all at once as the eBook reader in her hands dropped against her chest, as her eyes drifted closed of their own accord . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Setting the makeshift basket on the sand, Evan frowned as he gazed at Valerie's sleeping form. She was sheltered enough from the sun, and her color was better than it had been for most of the day. ' _Stubborn girl_ ,' he thought with a shake of his head and the smallest of smiles on his face as he reached for the eBook reader and carefully extricated it from her grasp.

She'd insisted that she was fine this morning as she'd tried to hobble from the bed to the bathroom—and nearly fell flat on her face. In his opinion, she'd been a bit pale since last night, and when she'd insisted that she didn't need to take one of the painkillers the doctor had prescribed, he'd talked her into it, anyway.

Letting out a deep breath, he strode into the house to wash his hands and retrieve the salve he'd mixed up last night. It was his grandmother's recipe, one she'd learned form old Kaede back in the days when she and InuYasha were traveling all over Sengoku Jidai, and while Evan knew that it would help the injury heal faster, he also knew that Valerie wasn't going to be enjoying the rest of her vacation nearly as much as she would have otherwise.

The ring of the satellite phone interrupted him, and with a sigh, he grabbed it. "Hello?"

"Hi, sweetie. How's the vacation?"

"Eh, it's going," he said with a rueful smile at the sound of his mother's voice. "What's up?"

'Now, does something really have to be up for me to call my baby?" Gin demanded. "I was just thinking about you, and thought I'd call to tell you that I love you!"

His smile widened as he rapped his knuckles on the counter. "I love you, too, Mama," he replied. Funny, wasn't it? How was it that Gin always seemed to know just when he really needed to hear something like that?

"Hmm," she drawled, a hint of concern entering her tone. "You sound a little down . . . Is something wrong?"

"Uh, no," he assured her. "Right as rain."

She wasn't convinced. "Are you sure? I'm a good listener if you need to talk about it."

"I'm sure," he maintained, stifling the urge to sigh. "But thanks."

"Okay," she relented though she didn't sound completely convinced. "Oh, you know, I saw the cutest little dress at the store the other day, and I couldn't help but think that it would've looked so good on your Valerie!"

' _My Valerie_ ,' he repeated in his head as his smile faltered then disappeared completely. "Did you?" he asked, more to humor Gin than anything else.

"I thought about buying it, but I wasn't sure what her size was. I mean, she's not very big, but she's so tall—"

Evan sighed. "Mama, about V . . ."

"—But she looked so pretty in that dress she wore to the Christmas party that it was natural, wasn't it? I mean, the one I was looking at wasn't formal or anything, but it was really sweet, and—"

"Mama," he said once more, this time louder and a bit more forcefully.

Gin cut herself off abruptly. "Yes, sweetie?"

Licking his lips as he ran a hand through his hair, Evan had to tamp down the surge of irritation that was misdirected at his mother for having brought up Valerie. "Sorry," he said with another sigh. "I, uh . . . I should tell you. V and I . . . We broke up."

Dead silence met his ears for several seconds. "Oh," she said at length, her tone subdued, "I'm sorry to hear that . . . But the two of you were so close! Did you have a disagreement?"

Rubbing his forehead, wishing that she'd let it go, Evan grimaced. "Uh, no, not really. Mama, listen, it's no big deal. I promise."

Gin wasn't ready to let it drop, though. "Was it some kind of misunderstanding?"

"Um, yeah . . . I guess you could call it that," he hedged.

"Well . . . Maybe if I talked to her . . .?"

"Absolutely not," he insisted firmly. "Please, Mama. It's fine, okay? I just . . . I don't want to talk about it anymore."

Gin heaved a sigh, clearly unhappy with having been asked not to interfere, but at least Evan was reasonably sure that she would leave it alone. "I'm sorry, sweetie . . . You really liked her, didn't you?"

"Ah, you win some, you lose some. It's okay," he assured her, hoping that he sounded more upbeat than he felt.

"If you're sure . . ."

He heaved an inward sigh of relief. The worst was over, or so it would seem. "I'm sure," he said yet again. "Hey, I gotta get going. I had some stuff lined up. Love you, Mama."

"I love you, too," she said once more. "You call me if you need me."

"Will do," he said. Clicking off the phone, Evan let out a deep breath.

' _Damn, that was brutal_ ,' his youkai voice sighed.

Yeah, it was. It was a lot more difficult than he'd ever thought possible. It was so . . . so _final_ , wasn't it? ' _Knock it off, moron_ ,' he told himself sternly. ' _She never was mine, to begin with_. . .'

Which was absolutely true. Unfortunately, knowing that and accepting it were two wholly different things.

Picking up the jar of salve and the clean bandages, Evan shuffled toward the door, pausing on the threshold, staring sadly at the sleeping woman, half hidden from view beneath the cover of the tarp.

The hell of it all was that he couldn't even muster up the bravado to be pissed off at her, could he? How often had she told him that there was no hope? How many times had she insisted that she didn't want him? He was the one who had made the assumptions. He was the one who had summarily ignored her. At the time, he'd been convinced that she was lying, but she really hadn't been. Telling himself that he could make her happy, insisting that he knew better than she, what it was she really wanted . . . How stupid was he, really?

In a very real way, he'd done exactly the same thing to her that everyone else in her life had done over the years: ignored her wishes, her dreams, her feelings, relegating her to a role that was barely human, treating her as though she was little more than a doll, incapable of making her own choices, laughing at her when she said things that didn't jive with the things that he wanted her to believe . . .

And maybe in that sense, he was worse than all the guys she'd ever dated. After all, at least they'd been up front with her from the start. They were all too stupid not to let her know that they were just using her, but Evan? Nope, he was her friend, just like she'd said, but he'd used that friendship to try to manipulate her time and time again . . .

' _Is that really what you think?_ '

Bracing his shoulder against the door frame to push himself up straight, he shrugged. ' _Yeah_ ,' he thought with a grimace. ' _Yeah, I do_. . .'

' _I don't know, Roka . . . Maybe you're reading it all wrong_. . .'

He didn't miss the dubious tone in his youkai's voice. ' _No_.'

' _Then why does she keep trying to stop you? Why does she keep interfering whenever you say you're going to go find a woman?_ '

Evan's scowl deepened as he hunkered down in the sand by her foot. ' _She's my attorney_ ,' he pointed out as he started to carefully unwind the bandages. ' _As if my public image isn't tarnished enough, right?_ '

' _But that can't be it_ ,' his youkai persisted.

' _And why's that? Because she makes me horny as fucking hell? See, that's the bullshit that got me here, in the first place_ ,' he scoffed. ' _I played along with her to start with because Maddy asked me to. That's it, and that's all_.'

' _Oh, yeah? Well, if that's all there is to it, then maybe you need to ask yourself why: why does she keep stopping you now when Zel Roka isn't the one on vacation here—Evan Zelig is—and Evan Zelig isn't her damn client, so what does it matter who the hell he fucks?_ '

Valerie didn't stir as he dropped the bandage and ripped open an antibacterial wipe to clean her wound—not at all surprising since she'd been prescribed some fairly heavy pain killers . . .

' _Leave it the hell alone! Just what am I supposed to do here? I tried everything_ —everything— _to change her mind, and she_ —' Cutting himself off abruptly, he drew a few deep breaths to calm his rampant temper. ' _She just wants to be friends, and I can do that,_ ' he reasoned. ' _I'd rather . . . Rather have that than_. . .'

'. . . _Than nothing at all_. . .'

The words that lingered but wouldn't form tore at him somewhere deep down, opening up a pain so raw, so bitter that for a moment, he had to close his eyes, had to fight against it before it overwhelmed him completely.

'. . . _Just friends, eh?_ '

Steeling himself against the ache those words inspired, Evan bit down hard on his cheek. ' _Yeah. Yeah_. . .'

His youkai sighed, a long, sad sound. ' _If that's what you want—if that's_ all _you want—then tell me something?_ '

' _What?_ '

The voice uttered a noise that might have been a laugh though it sounded infinitely sad. ' _Why?_ ' it asked at length. ' _Why did you lick her wound . . .?_ '

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _To_** **_Be_** **_With_** **_You_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _Mr._ _Big_ 's _1991_ _release, **Lean**_ **_Into_** **_It_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _David_ _Grahame_ _and_ _Eric_ _Martin_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Damn_ …


	136. 135: Carnival

' _You pack your bag; you take control_ …  
' _You're moving into my heart and into my soul_ …  
' _Get out of my way; get out of my sight_ …  
' _I won't be walking on thin ice to get through the night …_ '

 

-' _Dangerous_ ' by Roxette

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

The insanely loud bang awoke Valerie from a sound sleep, and she sat up straight, eyes flashing open wide as her heart lodged itself in her throat, a terrified scream tumbling from her before she could stop it.

"Sorry, baby," Evan remarked, sounding anything but contrite as he sat just outside of the mosquito netting, doubled over with laughter.

Smashing her hands against her chest to still her rampantly beating heart, she breathed hard, her wild-eyed gaze shifting to stare at the man in question. "What was that?" she finally managed to rasp out.

He chuckled for another minute and held up a deflated plastic bag—the one he'd blown up and popped to wake her up. "Sorry," he said again despite the huge grin on his face.

Understanding slowly dawned on her, and Valerie narrowed her eyes on the rock star. "Such a jerk," she muttered, flopping over and dragging a fluffy white pillow over her head.

His chuckling escalated by degrees as he reached in through the curtain to tug the pillow off her head. "How's your foot this morning?"

"Not talking to you right now," she informed him sulkily.

"I've got a cup of coffee here with your name on it," he told her.

For a moment, she considered ignoring him. Then the aroma of the drink hit her nose, and she grudgingly sat up. "Give it," she demanded, holding out her hand and wiggling her fingers impatiently. "Don't you think there was a nicer way to wake me up?"

His grin widened. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he told her.

She snorted, draining the coffee in one long gulp then holding out the empty mug with a very pointed look. He chuckled and took it then sauntered over to refill it for her. "Anyway," he said as he handed the cup back to her, "I'm leaving in ten minutes, and if you want to go, you'd better be ready."

"Ten minutes?" she echoed, arching an eyebrow over the rim of the coffee mug. "Why? Where are you going this time?"

He shrugged. "They're having a carnival on Mayaguana," he told her. "Just come on. You can take a shower on the yacht."

Handing back the cup once more, Valerie flopped back down and rolled over. "You go on," she told him, her voice muffled by the pillow. "I'm going to sleep in—and then I'm going to lie out."

"No way, woman! You can't say no to a carnival!" he scoffed.

"I just did," she muttered. "Besides, I thought you were dying to go _fornicate_ with some island girl."

Damned if he didn't chuckle again. "Jealous, V?" he teased.

She snorted, which was more than enough answer, as far as she was concerned.

"I'll get to that," he assured her, poking her with his toe on her rear end and shaking her back and forth. "Come on . . . You know you wanna."

"Carnivals are for children," she stated, trying her best to ignore his efforts to get her out of bed.

"Keh! They're not just for kids! When's the last time you went to one?" he challenged. "Rides, junk food, silly games . . ."

She turned her head far enough to give him a look designed to let him know what she thought of his description. "And those things aren't for children?"

"Good for the young and the young at heart," he quipped. "And here I could have sworn that you said you were fun."

"I never said that I was fun," she corrected as she sat up with a sigh. "I said that we had fun together."

"And I'm saying I want to go to the carnival and have fun with you."

She sighed again. She did say that, didn't she? "All right," she allowed, tossing aside the sheet and taking his hands so that he could help her stand up. "You want fun, Roka? I'll be fun."

His grin widened. "That's my girl," he replied, his approval quite apparent.

Stepping over to the wooden rack mounted on the wall, Valerie pulled down a couple dresses and held them up. "What do you think?"

"About what?"

She rolled her eyes. "The dresses," she told him, giving them both a little shake to emphasize her point.

"They're both pretty," he told her. "Just grab one, and let's go."

"You're going to pass up a chance to play 'Dress the V'?" she asked. "Don't think I'll offer to let you choose again . . ."

He laughed, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he sipped coffee from her cup since he hadn't bothered to get a clean one out for himself and had just refilled hers, instead. "Well, in that case . . . hold 'em up in front of you."

She did, alternating between the airy white cotton and the floral print sundresses. "Well?" she asked, frowning thoughtfully at Evan as she switched the dresses in front of her.

Curling a finger over his lips, Evan nodded slowly. "I don't know," he drawled slowly. "Maybe it'd help if you got naked. You know, so I don't see your nightshirt."

Rolling her eyes, Valerie snorted indelicately despite the barest hint of a smile on her face. "You're such a pig," she muttered, holding out both dresses so she could look at them again. "Flowers, then."

He laughed. "I prefer 'dog' . . . and the white one."

She rolled her eyes again, but she hung the floral dress back on the hook and carefully pulled the white dress off the hanger before taking the coffee from him and downing it, too. "Okay," she said, reaching for the small bag she kept her cosmetics in as she slipped on a pair of white sandals. "Let's go to your carnival."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

" _U-u-u-u-u-urp_."

"That was sexy."

"I know, right?"

"Totally hot, V," Evan remarked with a chuckle as Valerie tossed the empty beer bottle into the nearest trash can.   "Damnation, every man on the island is gonna want you if you keep that up."

"Only if I belch?" she deadpanned, pinning Evan with a owlish look from beneath the thick, dark fringe of her eyelashes.

"It's their mating call."

"Oh, well, that's even sexier," she replied, rolling her eyes with a giggle. "I can't help it; beer makes me do that."

He laughed and tried to shove a chili-cheese fry into her mouth. She pushed his hand away. "Hell, woman! You don't eat anything good, do you?"

"What's so good about soggy fries, covered in greasy chili sauce and processed cheese food product?" she shot back, adjusting the wide-brimmed white hat that Evan had bought her so that she'd take off her sunglasses. After all, he liked to see her eyes . . .

"Hey, hold on," he said as they passed a slushy stand. "I'm going to get one of those. You want one?"

It took a moment for her to follow the direction of his gaze, and when she finally did spot the stand, she wrinkled her nose. "No, thanks," she replied. "You know, if you don't stop eating all that junk, you're going to end up with indigestion later."

"I'll take my chances," he replied with a grin, dropping the empty fry container into the garbage. "Be right back."

It didn't take long for him to buy the drink. The girl working the booth smiled rather bashfully and blushed when he smiled at her.

He had to admit, he was having a lot of fun, and Valerie? Well, her foot didn't seem to be bothering her in the least, and since she hadn't really remarked upon it, he hadn't, either. All in all, he'd figured that she wasn't having the best of vacations, and he couldn't help but to feel a little bad about that, considering. Besides, he'd realized something else this morning as he'd watched her sleeping. It'd been a little too long since he'd heard her laughter, and that was something he'd planned on rectifying today, and so far? Well, so far, he'd done a pretty good job of it . . .

Turning away from the booth, Evan wasn't entirely surprised to see that some guy standing near Valerie, obviously trying to hit on her. ' _Poor bastard_ ,' he thought, his grin widening slightly. ' _Doesn't stand a snowball's chance in hell_ . . .' Chuckling softly to himself, he wandered over to her once more.

"So how long are you here for?" the guy asked without taking his eyes off Valerie.

She smiled, but it was a very controlled sort of smile—the one that Valerie tended to use when she didn't know someone at all. Wide enough to be a smile; not nearly friendly enough to offer any kind of encouragement . . . "I'm not," she replied simply enough. "We're just here for the carnival."

Evan slipped an arm loosely around her waist and tipped the cup toward her.

"No, thanks," she replied.

He gave a little shrug and casually sipped the drink without a word.

The guy took a step back, his smile taking on a rather apologetic air when he glanced at Evan. "Ah, well it was nice to meet you," he said, nodding at Valerie in a friendly sort of way.

She smiled tightly once more and nodded as the man wandered away. "You know, that's going to turn your mouth blue," she pointed out, dismissing the stranger as easily as she would if he were nothing more than a fly, buzzing around her head.

"Blue mouths are sexy, too," he told her before sucking in a huge gulp of it.

Her smile widened, taking on a much more natural kind of air. "If you don't slow down, you're going to get—"

" _Ugh!_ " he exclaimed, letting go of her as he furiously rubbed his forehead and squeezed his eyes closed. "Brain freeze!"

"Yeah, that," she said in an 'I-Told-You-So' kind of way.

He opened one eye and groaned. "I think I just killed off a few brain cells."

"Oh, so that's why you are the way you are. Too many slushies," she replied.

Evan laughed and started walking again. Suddenly, though, he stopped short. " _Du-u-ude!_ Let's go ride the Ferris wheel!"

She laughed softly. "You're such a kid, Roka," she pointed out. "It doesn't really look safe . . ."

"Aww, what do you mean?" he argued, grasping her hand to drag her away. "It's a Ferris wheel! _Everyone_ loves the Ferris wheel!"

She still looked dubious, at best, and he grinned. Who'd have thought that Valerie Denning, fearless attorney who relished devouring her peers in the confines of the courtroom, would have a bit of a phobia when it came to carnival rides . . .? Even stranger was that the ones she seemed to dislike the most were the ones that tended to move the slowest . . .

"I'm not _scared_ of the rides," she scoffed, apparently reading his bemused silence accurately. "I just don't think they look safe; that's all. What if that thing breaks down while I'm on it? I've heard stories about that happening. One lady on _Farron_ —you know, that talk show?—said that she was stuck on one for sixteen hours— _sixteen hours_ —before they managed to get her down."

Evan snorted as he hustled her toward the Ferris wheel, anyway. "If we get stuck up there, I'll distract you—and if we're stuck up there for sixteen hours, I'll distract you even more . . ."

"Distract me?" she repeated with a shake of her head. "How?"

He gave her a sidelong look then wiggled his eyebrows at her.

She snorted, pulling her arm away in favor of slapping him in the middle of the chest with the back of her hand. "I'll pass," she retorted dryly.

"Don't knock it till you've tried it, V."

She snorted, following him up onto the platform to wait for the attendant to seat them. "I've ridden a Ferris wheel before."

"I mean the sex, baby," he corrected.

She giggled suddenly and shot him a wicked, wicked smile. "I've ridden one of those before, too."

Evan groaned. "You're a cruel woman, V."

"You walked right into that one."

He sighed and slowly shook his head. "Yeah, I did."

The attendant glanced over at them and gestured.

Valerie heaved a sigh but let Evan drag her forward.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie smiled as Evan swaggered back to her with a cotton candy cone in one hand and a very red slushy drink in the other. She'd have thought that he'd learned with the blue slush brain freeze earlier, but he hadn't. "Wan' bigh?" he burbled through a mouthful of the fluffy stuff.

She wrinkled her nose but smiled. "No, thanks," she said. "I haven't digested the pretzel yet."

He grinned. "Nothing better than carnival food, right?"

She didn't completely agree with that since carnival food in general was some of the fattiest stuff she could think of, but she didn't argue with Evan, either.

"So admit it, V. Isn't this better than sitting on the beach, doing nothing?" he asked at length as he carefully rubbed some cotton candy off his chin while trying not to spill the drink in his hand.

She had to smile. Something about his tone was so hopeful, so child-like, that she couldn't help herself. "It's been pretty fun so far," she admitted with a shake of her head. "Even though you didn't win me that stuffed bear that you were trying to get."

Wrinkling his nose, he rolled his eyes but grinned. "The games are fixed, I tell you," he insisted with a shrug. "Those rings kept popping off the pegs."

She laughed but waved a hand when he extended the cotton candy to her again. The rings really had popped back off a few times. "Excuses, Roka. I want to see results!"

"I'll give you resu—Oh . . . Oh, those are just _awesome_."

Stopping short and turning to look to see what Evan was looking at, Valerie blinked as she stared at a small shop window. "What are?" she asked, frowning in confusion.

Evan chuckled and grabbed her hand after dumping the rest of his food into a trash can. The bell hanging above the door jingled rather anemically when they stepped into the small shoe store. The older woman behind the counter looked up and smiled. "Ah, Americans," she greeted, pushing herself to her feet and hurrying around it. "You are looking for shoes?"

"The pair on the right in the window," Evan said. "Do you have those in a US size nine and a half?"

The woman glanced over at the display and considered that. "Forty or forty-one European, yes?"

"Sounds about right," Evan agreed.

She nodded quickly then hurried away to look for the shoes in question.

Valerie blinked and stared at the ones in the window. "Evan?" she asked quizzically, not completely understanding since the shoes in question were, well, awful. Hideously bright orange with equally bright yellow, five inch wedge heels, she could feel a headache coming on, just from looking at those eyesores. "Not on your life, Roka."

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Not for you, V. Maddy'll love those."

"They're awful," she pointed out in case he hadn't realized that himself.

"I know," he told her with a wink. "That's why she'll love them."

Valerie opened her mouth to argue that, but snapped it closed once more. Knowing Madison, she really would love the hideous things—and she'd wear them, too, at least once. "How many pairs of shoes does she have now?" she asked as Evan picked up a pair of black pumps off the rack and gave them a critical look.

"Hmm, I don't know," he said absently. "I mean, she said something about having bought her four hundredth pair, but that was a couple months ago, at least . . ."

Shaking her head, Valerie giggled. "I think she wants to have a different pair for every day of the year," she mused.

"Well, she's never met a pair of shoes she didn't like," Evan remarked with a grin. "Gotta love a woman with a definite shoe fetish."

"She told me once that she's holding out for Ray Shauzanne," she said, her smile widening as she remembered that particular conversation. It was the first time that Valerie had really talked to Madison. It was the first time that Marvin had delayed the wedding, and Valerie had been angry enough that she'd decided to pamper herself by booking herself an appointment at the ultra-exclusive hairdresser and day spa that Madison had opened up near her apartment. She'd been there a few times for a trim and hair treatments, but she'd never really spoken to Madison before that, other than a perfunctory 'hello' and the like. That day, though . . . something about Madison had put Valerie at ease almost immediately . . .

"Shauzanne? The shoe guy?" Evan asked with a frown.

Valerie nodded. "Don't say that to Maddy. He's not _just_ the shoe guy; he's the shoe master, the guru, the Shakespeare of Shoes . . ."

"Good God, did you just say Shakespeare?" he asked, turning to face her as he set the shoe back on the shelf. "That's damn serious."

Valerie shrugged. "Madison takes her shoes damn seriously."

He considered that then nodded sagely. "She does," he allowed. "She totally does."

"I have in the forty," the shop lady said as she bustled back over to them with the equally gaudy box in hand. "You will try them on?"

"Oh, they're not for me," Valerie hurried to say, taking an unconscious step away from the woman.

Evan laughed. "It's fine," he told her, taking the box and peeking inside to make sure that both shoes were there. "I'll take 'em."

"Good, good!" the woman said, clapping her hands happily as she led the way to the counter.

Valerie browsed around while Evan paid for the God-awful shoes. It seemed to her that the shop specialized in shoes for the color blind. Most of them were perfectly terrible colors and equally appalling styles. Psychedelic chic, she supposed, some might call them. She would have used the term 'hideous' . . .

"Did you want something, baby?" Evan asked, the shoe bag dangling from his slack hand.

"Oh, no," she said, smiling politely since the woman was still watching the two of them with avid interest.

He chuckled, his gaze knowing as he escorted her out of the shop. It took a moment for her eyes to readjust to the dazzling afternoon sunlight. The breeze that blew in off the ocean was crisp, just a little moist, but not nearly enough to be humid. All in all, the perfect day, she decided, and Evan? She smiled to herself. He seemed to be more like his usual, silly, goofy self than he had in a while, and for that, Valerie was thankful.

"I would've been surprised if you had actually wanted anything in there," he remarked at length as they wandered down the street through the milling crowd of merrymakers attending the carnival.

A group of children ran past them in the midst of a heated game of follow the leader, laughing and babbling and without a care in the world. Something about them made Valerie's smile falter, but it wasn't exactly a sad feeling, no. It was more of a bittersweet emotion, witnessing a moment so sweet, so idyllic, that the understanding that it would be gone in an instant was difficult to embrace.

"You really don't want to have children one day?" Evan asked softly, his gaze on the kids as the ran off down the street.

She didn't know why his question caught her off guard. She blinked and glanced at him but looked away, unable to look at him and unsure as to why that was. "Not very fair, is it?" she countered simply, hoping she sounded more blasé than she felt. "My work is too demanding, and Marvin's research is going to keep him busy, too."

"And that's all right with you?"

There was nothing contentious in his tone. He wasn't trying to bait her or start a fight, and she knew it. Still, she couldn't help the rise of her inner defensiveness. "It's not just that," she said, hoping that he'd drop the subject but knowing that he wasn't going to. "It's a huge deal, and if you can't devote yourself to taking care of your children completely, then what right do you have to bring them into this world?"

He considered that then nodded slowly, but his smile was a little strained, a little sad. "Guess that's true," he allowed. "Still seems kind of lonely, if you ask me."

She couldn't even summon the will to smile, and she sighed, instead. "It's too easy to screw up a kid," she muttered more to herself than to him. "Besides, even if I wanted to, I wouldn't know the first thing about being a mother."

"I don't know about that," he contradicted gently. "Seems to me that you'd be that much better at it than most. After all, you know firsthand what not to do. You'd be more careful not to make the same mistakes, right?"

"Maybe," she replied, her tone indicating that she didn't really believe him.

With a sigh, he smiled and took her hand. "Come on," he coaxed, tugging to get her to follow. "Let's go find a restaurant or something where you can sit down and get something that's not fried to eat."

"Actually, I'm okay," she said, frowning slightly since her foot really wasn't bothering her at all. In fact, it hadn't hurt all day, now that she thought about it, and that was strange, wasn't it? After all, the cut needed stitches, so it wasn't a measly injury, by any means . . .

"Glad to hear it," he said with a grin. "Just let me know if you want to rest for bit, okay?"

"Okay," she said, rolling her eyes despite the smile on her face. "Why don't they have any real coffee shops down here?"

He laughed. "You want me to find you some?"

"Ah, no, you don't have to," she said. "Besides, it's probably too warm for that now, anyway."

"Nah, it's okay," he said, steering her toward a small bench beneath a bright blue and white awning. "Sit down and rest a minute, and I'll be right back."

He set the bag beside her and hurried off before she could protest, and she shook her head. He always did that, didn't he? He went out of his way to get things for her that he thought she wanted . . .

It was just another of those things that she liked about him. As much as he hated to hear it, he really was sweet sometimes, even if he normally did tend to ruin those moments with his outrageous antics, too. She used to think that he did it on purpose. She'd come to realize that he simply couldn't help himself.

"Hey, honey. You know, you might not believe me, but you look just like this girl I used to know."

Valerie blinked when the stranger sat down and grinned at her, and she scooted over a few more inches, uncomfortable with his sudden imposed proximity. She didn't know who he was—she'd never seen him before in her life—and she wasn't really impressed with the salt-and-pepper haired, middle aged man, complete with a predominantly red Hawaiian print shirt that matched the man's ruddy complexion and was stretched near to busting over a paunchy middle aged spread "Excuse me?" she asked, unsure what to make of the whole situation.

The man's grin widened as he slipped his arm around her, resting it on the back of the bench. "Now don't be shy," he coaxed. "Let's be friends, right?"

She scooted a little farther away but was stopped by the metal arm of the bench. "I like to know people for more than ten seconds before I call them my friends," she replied brusquely as she tried not to breathe in the stench of alcohol on the man's breath.

"Well, then, what say me and you go get to know each other better?" he leered, leaning in closer to her as he reached out with his free hand to grasp her leg just below the hem of the sundress.

"I don't think so," she replied, brushing his hand off and quickly getting to her feet, tamping down the spark of ire that the man would dare to touch her in such a familiar way. When she reached for the bag, however, he managed to grab it first, and the grin on his face stated quite plainly that he thought he'd won. "May I have my bag?" she asked after counting to ten.

He stood up rather unsteadily and grinned at her again. "I don't know, honey. You gonna ask me nicely?"

"I thought that was nicely," she replied with a very tight smile. "I have to go, so if you'd be kind enough to hand over my bag—"

"Okay," he agreed suddenly, holding up the bag as he swayed slightly on his feet. She hesitated for a moment, and when she did reach for it, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer to him. Swallowing hard as she fought to contain the rising surge of panic that she couldn't help, but loathed just the same, she bit down hard to keep from letting him see any of her emotions. "There now, see? Isn't it better to be nice?" he drawled.

She opened her mouth to demand that he let go of her then yelped when she was yanked away from him and shoved back a few steps. In a blur of movement, Evan shoved the man down on the bench and stood over him, fists clenched at his sides as he glowered at the stranger. A huge wave of instantaneous relief washed over her, and her knees very nearly buckled. In that moment, the sight of Evan was more than enough to reassure her that everything would be all right . . . "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't break your goddamn hands," he growled low, menacingly.

"H-Hey, relax, buddy," the man said, looking a little stunned at Evan's sudden appearance. "I was just trying to get to know the lady."

"Yeah, well, the lady doesn't seem to be interested in a fat fuck like you, now does she?" he demanded, his already low voice growing lower, more gravelly.

The man's already ruddy face darkened a few shades, and he hauled himself to his feet to glower at Evan. "Just who the hell do you think you are, pretty boy?" he demanded.

He swung his fist at Evan. Valerie almost screamed, but Evan was too fast, neatly ducking out of the way as his arm shot out, catching the man in the center of the chest with the heel of his hand. "I'm a helluva lot faster than you are," he taunted.

The man gasped for breath, rubbing his chest furiously.

"Evan," Valerie blurted, grabbing his arm and tugging him back a step. "It's fine. I'm okay. It's okay."

He shook his arm out of her grasp, turning his head to glower at her, and for a moment, she thought that he wasn't going to listen to her. Jaw clenching so tightly that his cheeks bulged slightly, he looked like he was ready to snap. Frightening, wasn't it? The absolute change in the demeanor of the man she knew so well . . . She'd only seen him this angry a handful of times, hadn't she? Or maybe he was angrier now than she'd ever seen him before . . . That rage of his was destructive, malignant and ugly and seething, and as much as the change in him scared her, the worry that he might do some serious damage was far, far more imperative in her mind.

"I'm all right," she said once more, the tremor in her voice betraying her claims as she grabbed his arm again. "Come on. Let's go."

He stared at her for another long moment then turned his glare on the man. "Touch her again, and I'll break your fucking arms," he warned in a deathly quiet voice that scared her more than any amount of yelling ever could. He was dangerously close to losing control, wasn't he? Dangerously close to something that she didn't fully comprehend but knew instinctively that she didn't want to see, either.

But to her relief, he let Valerie drag him away. The silence that fell between them was tense, grating on Valerie's already frazzled nerves. "Evan?" she finally said, glancing at him, wincing inwardly when she saw the absolute irritation still very strong in every movement, every line of his features. His temper was still a terrible thing. "Evan . . ."

"Don't," he snapped, unconsciously quickening his pace. "I know damn well what you're going to say, and I'm not fucking sorry! So help me fucking God, V, if that son of a bitch had so much as breathed on you again, I would have—"

"Thank you," she said quietly, interrupting him before he could go on with his defensive tirade.

Evan blinked and stopped short, looking startled, looking suspicious. "You're not pissed off?"

Letting out a deep breath, she managed a weak smile. "N-No," she replied. She couldn't growl at him, could she? Not when her entire body felt wobbly and weak as the anxiety that had nearly choked her loosened its grasp; not when he's showed up in time to save her from an otherwise volatile situation . . . Even now, the unbidden thoughts of what might have happened if Evan hadn't showed up when he did were enough to make her look over her shoulder, to make sure that they weren't being followed. That reaction, however, was enough to irritate her. She'd rather bite off her own tongue than to admit that she was intimidated by anyone at any time, and even though she couldn't help the complete relief that had shot through her when he'd showed up, she also couldn't help but be a little frightened of Evan's temper, even if it hadn't been directed at her . . . "I don't really like it when you get into fights," she said with another deep sigh, "but I'm glad you came back when you did."

Rubbing his hands over his face, Evan still looked peeved but didn't look like he was ready to attack the next person he saw, either. After a moment, he shook his head. "Sorry . . . I, uh . . . I dropped your coffee when I saw that guy manhandling you."

Forcing a wan smile, Valerie shrugged. "It's okay," she said, reaching for Evan's hand. "We can go get more."

Evan stared at her, then he finally managed a weak smile, too, though his gaze was still clouded with emotion. "All right," he said as he fell into step beside her once more. "But you're buying this time."

She laughed softly as the remaining tension seemed to drain away from her. "I can do that, Roka," she said.

"Yeah?" he asked half-heartedly.

She nodded, hoping that she could coax him out of his current mood. "Yeah."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Wandering into the living room from the bathroom in the shorts that he hated but wore to accommodate Valerie, Evan yawned as he scratched his chest, only to grind to an abrupt halt when he spotted Valerie, leaning on the kitchen counter with one hand with her foot pulled up behind her as she twisted her body in an attempt to look at the bottom of said-foot with a frown on her face.

"What are you doing?" he asked her as he leaned against the corner, a lazy grin on his face.

Letting go of her foot, she straightened her back and blew the hair that had escaped the otherwise neat twist she'd piled her hair into. "It's just weird, don't you think?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as she crossed her arms over her chest and slowly shook her head. "It was a pretty deep cut, wasn't it?"

"A fair one," he agreed. "Are you complaining?"

She wrinkled her nose and pushed away from the counter, grabbing the two glasses of wine she'd poured. "No," she assured him simply enough. "It's just _weird_."

"So you said," he replied, taking the glass she offered him.

"Maybe it's the fresh air out here—or all the fresh fruit," she continued as though she hadn't heard him at all. "I mean, it healed almost completely in, what? A couple days?"

"Fresh air's good," he said a little noncommittally.

His youkai grunted. ' _There's something wrong with you if you're scared to tell her that you licked her foot just to make sure she healed faster._ '

' _Shut the hell up. You make it sound like a bad thing. It wasn't. You saw for yourself. She's fine now_.'

' _Sink or swim, Roka. Sink or swim_.'

That was all there was to it, wasn't it? He'd just wanted to make certain that she was all right—nothing more than a gesture that he would do for any of his friends if the need arose. Sure it was. Of course it was. He just didn't want to see anyone he cared about hurting, right? Licking her foot to accelerate her healing was simply a means to an end . . . right . . .?

' _Except that's the kind of thing that one mate does for another_ ,' his youkai pointed out. ' _Are you sure you're not just lying to yourself? There's nothing wrong with what you did._ '

He didn't answer that. To be honest, he wasn't sure how. To respond to that would only bring him a little too close, flirting with the edges of truths that he wasn't sure he could deal with. Questions that pertained to Valerie Denning just didn't have any simple answers—if they held any answers at all.

"They should market the air down here as a miracle cure or something," she concluded with a smile. "Thanks for taking me to the carnival. I'll admit it. I had more fun than I thought I would."

"Good," he replied with a soft chuckle. "You never told me that you were that good at Whack-a-Mole."

Arching an eyebrow, Valerie giggled. "Why? Does it bother you that I won you a prize?" she teased.

He laughed and sipped the wine. True enough, he'd sucked at the game though it hadn't helped that he was still ticked off about the bastard who had tried to manhandle Valerie, and to his surprise, she had been damn good at it—good enough to get enough prize tickets to win a ridiculously goofy-looking stuffed mole, anyway. "Nope," he assured her with a wink. "But I'm warning you, you're gonna have to buy me more shit before I put out for you, V."

"What? I win you a prize with my own skill and that's not good enough for you?" she shot back with a saucy grin.

"I'm not that kind of guy," he assured her.

She rolled her eyes and stepped around him to get to the bureau and the oversized black tee shirt she'd been using as a nightie. "You're done in there?"

"Yeah," he replied.

Taking a moment to smile at him, to gently squeeze his forearm, Valerie nodded then slipped into the bathroom.

He sighed, draining the glass of wine in one fluid gulp. Spending the day with Valerie had been nice. It was obvious to see that she was more relaxed than he'd seen her in a while, and that, alone, was well worth the effort. Seeing her smile, hearing her laugh . . . It was good for him, wasn't it?

But . . .

But his reaction when the old drunk had dared to touch her? He flinched. There hadn't been much thought to it, had there? Just reaction—absolute rage that he would dare lay a finger on Valerie . . .

And it was frightening, wasn't it? For a man who was determined not to care, just what had he been thinking, anyway? Or had he really been thinking at all . . .?

He'd wanted to kill the guy, plain and simple. He'd wanted to break his arms, break his face, break everything about him for what he'd done. Maybe Valerie had needed Evan's help. Maybe she hadn't. He didn't know, and, more importantly, he didn't care.

She was too damn close, wasn't she? Too near for him to even try to distance himself. Somehow in the course of the last couple days, he'd managed to forget his resolve, hadn't he? She tied him in knots, turned him inside out, and the hell of it was, she didn't really try to do any such thing. It made no sense, did it? And yet, somehow, somewhere in the back of his mind, maybe it made just a little too _much_ sense, after all . . .

He was in serious danger of losing himself. The emotions that he couldn't hide, the weakness that he couldn't fight . . . The consuming rage that had seized him when he'd seen the drunken bastard with his hands on her . . . It was all too dark, too savage. How the hell was he supposed to regain a semblance of his reason when he was caught up so deeply in her?

The bathroom door opened quietly, and Valerie emerged, shaking out the dress and giving it a critical once-over before folding it up and sticking it into her suitcase. "So what are you planning for tomorrow?" she asked, picking up the blankets and spreading them out on the floor.

After rinsing the wine glass in the sink, Evan turned it upside down on a dish towel. "Don't know," he replied, scratching his chest idly as he shuffled over to the bed. "What are you doing?"

She spared him a glance before reaching for a pillow. "Making my bed, Roka," she said.

He rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand. "Like you'll stay there all night," he scoffed.

"I'm telling you, I haven't been getting into your bed this week," she protested but let him pull her through the mosquito netting.

"Sure, sure," he teased. "Just admit that you want me, will you?"

She snorted but stretched out, pulling the sheet up over herself as she curled up on her side. "When pigs fly."

He chuckled and laid down beside her, feeling a good kind of lethargy seeping into his body.

' _You know, you really are a jackass, rockstar_.'

' _Who asked you?_ ' Evan countered with a yawn.

' _Yeah, whatever, but you know, you're the one who puts her in bed every night. Coward that you are, waiting until she's asleep before you do it_.'

For once, he didn't deny it, and he didn't try to make excuses for it, either. ' _Listen, pal, you don't mind her being in here, either._ '

' _Maybe, but I'm not the one who's pretending not to know a damn thing about it in the morning_.'

He reached over and pulled Valerie against him, ignoring his youkai blood's commentary. She didn't protest. "Night, V," he said, closing his eyes, a little smile tugging at the corners of his lips—a sad little smile that contained more regret, more wishful thinking, and very little humor at all. It felt like the end of a sad love song, the pathetic lament for a destiny that wasn't ever meant to be.

"Night, Roka," she replied, her voice already a little thick with sleepiness. The silence that followed . . . It wasn't kind.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Dangerous_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _Roxette_ 's _1988_ _release, **Looksharp!**_. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Per Gessle_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Carnivals … nice_ …


	137. 136: The Morning's Light

' _And I sat there in the corner_ …  
' _Working back my memories_ …  
' _And I wondered if the time would come_ …  
' _You'd get around to me…_ '

 

-' _Sweetest_ _Lie_ ' by the Goo Goo Dolls

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

The ardent crush of lips against hers cut through the veil of sleep, searching, demanding, gentle yet tinged by a deeper resolve, a need so encompassing that it engulfed her before she could stop to think. The haze of sleep worked against her, slowing her already crawling brain, making it impossible to process anything at all other than the welcome pressure of the body so close to hers, the whispering touch of hands that drew a groan from somewhere deep inside her . . .

No thoughts at all; just the wealth of tactile feel—smooth skin under her hands, flesh that burned with an urgency that couldn't be comprehended, but that made perfect sense in her addled mind . . . The flick of a tongue against her lips—It felt so natural as the kiss deepened, lengthened, widened to engulf her. Fists closing around handfuls of silken hair, holding him close as he crashed right through the imaginary resistance that didn't exist at all . . .

The grind of his hips against hers wrung a soft gasp from her. The sound of it was lost beneath the unrelenting touch of his lips. The hand that shoved the shirt up as it traversed her skin seemed to sear her flesh as it rose higher, trailing over the hollows of her body, closing over her breast as she shuddered. The mouth relinquished control over hers, balmy kisses trailing lower, lower, and she cried out, harsh, raw, when it closed over her nipple, drawing her in deep, shattering her completely while lifting her higher and higher . . .

He nipped at her, sending a shockwave of pleasure jolting through her, and with a ragged cry, her body seemed to convulse, rising up off the mattress as her eyes flashed open wide. The reality of the situation crashed down on her with a bitter, almost sickening force, snapping her back to her senses with a vindictiveness that dulled the rioting of her senses. "Evan, no," she murmured, turning her head to the side, trying to pull away from him as her body protested with a violent shudder of misfiring nerves. "Stop it . . . _Stop it!_ "

The last of her words were punctuated by a hard shove—as hard as she could muster. Evan sat up suddenly, his breathing harsh, strained, and he blinked in confusion. Valerie couldn't speak, could barely remember that she had to breathe, could hardly contain the sudden wash of misplaced desolation that bore down on her, as confusion roiled up fast, frothing, ugly, somewhere deep down. "Wh-What do you think you were doing?" she demanded, her tone harsher than she meant for it to be, her inner turmoil lending a very real confusion to her as she sat up, too—as she tugged her shirt back down. Whether she was talking to Evan or to herself, she didn't know. Nothing made sense, did it? Nothing, nothing, nothing . . .

" _Fuck!_ " Evan rasped out, raking his hands through his hair as he slumped forward, elbows on his knees. Gripping his head, he hunched forward a little more. "Damn it! Damn, damn, damn, damn, _damn_. . ."

Valerie opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn't. The suspect lump that threatened to choke her precluded her ability to do so. She didn't even know what she wanted to say, or maybe . . .

"Son of a . . ." Evan growled, shoving the curtains aside as he stumbled off of the mattress and to his feet. " _Damn it!_ "

It still took her brain a little longer to completely comprehend just what had happened—what had _almost_ happened, and as that realization dawned on her, she winced. As much as she'd rather crawl under the covers and hide for the rest of her life, she couldn't. Too many conflicting emotions were rising up inside her. Confusion, anger, frustration, embarrassment, disappointment . . . and yet she wasn't sure which ones were directed at herself, which ones were directed at Evan, which ones might be directed at God or whatever entity had orchestrated the entire situation . . .

Crawling out of the bed as she winced and tugged her shirt down even more, she pushed herself to her feet, noting in the back of her mind that she didn't feel at all steady as she crossed her arms over her chest in a wholly protective kind of way, and she had to clear her throat a few times before she trusted her voice to work. "Evan?'

"What?" he snarled, pausing in his search for clothes long enough to glower at her before returning to his task once more.

Recoiling slightly at the vehemence in his tone, Valerie swallowed hard but stood her ground. "Wh . . .? Why did you do that?" she finally demanded, a bitter edge entering her voice whether she intended for it to be there or not.

It was the wrong thing to have asked. Snapping upright, Evan shot her an incredulous look, as though he couldn't quite wrap his head around her question. "Why?" he repeated, the look on his face echoing in his voice, his face contorting in an exaggerated mask of unbridled rage. "Are you fucking _serious?_ "

"It's not like I did a thing to encourage you," she told him, wrapping her arms more securely around herself, her voice escalating to match his own. Something in his tone—something ugly and vengeful bit at her as the need to defend herself rose fast.

She could feel his gaze on her even if she adamantly refused to meet it. "You _what?_ " he demanded at last. "Is that what you honestly think? Are you _stupid_ , woman? Really?" As though he couldn't continue speaking, he uttered a fierce kind of growl. "You wrap that fucking body of yours around me every goddamn night, and you try to tell me you're not encouraging me? Are you fucking serious?"

" _I_ didn't go crawling into your bed, damn it! _You_ yanked me in there!" she protested, somehow needing to shield herself from his anger, from his wrath. "I was going to sleep on the floor like I try to do _every_ night! It's not my fault that you have absolutely no self control!"

"Of course I don't have self control!" he bellowed, rounding on her as he yanked a shirt over his head. "You shake your shit at me every fucking day, then you crawl all over me every fucking night! Smashing your titties against me, wiggling your hips, telling me that I'm fucking warm! How much self fucking control do you think I should have, V? _How much?_ "

"I do not!" she shot back, reacting to the accusation rife in his voice as she forced back the initial desire to shy away from him. "I was sleeping— _sleeping!_ I didn't do _anything_ to make you think that it'd be okay for you to—to—"

"To _what_ , V?" he interrupted, his voice lowering, his tone much more controlled than it ought to have been. She didn't take note of that, however. His anger grew larger and larger like a storm cloud ready to burst, and she had nothing at all to protect herself against him, leaving her feeling as vulnerable as she would if she were standing before him, naked and shivering and lost.

"To do what you were doing!" she snapped back, her own irritation rising fast—angry that she should feel so intimidated by him—by anyone. "I'm not one of your damn whores, Roka! How _dare_ you—"

"Oh, my fucking God, don't I know it?" he growled, raising his voice to cut her off as he prowled the length of the room and back again. "No, V, you're not one of my whores, are you? If you were, I'd have fucked the living, breathing shit out of you already, not just once but _every_ fucking night . . . but you hate it with a passion if I want to go find one of them, now don't you?" Raking his hands through his hair, Evan's head snapped to the side, pinning her with a ferocious glower as though he were daring her to gainsay him. "Why is that, V?" he suddenly demanded, moving toward her in a slow, predatorial kind of way.

"Why is what?" she snapped back, irritation rising in direct proportion to the imaginary sound of alarm bells, ringing in her head.

Blue eyes narrowing, snapping with in icy kind of fire, he snatched a coffee mug off the counter, and when he discovered it was empty, he tossed it away. It shattered with the kind of sound that grated against Valerie's already raw nerves, and she had to grit her teeth hard to keep from screaming out loud. "Why the fuck does it bother you, who the hell I sleep with? Why the fuck do you care, as long as I'm not bugging you?"

"I care because you're not doing it for the right reasons," she insisted. "Is it really all you want? A good fuck tonight with a woman who will forget about you tomorrow? Those women don't care about you, Evan! Can't you see—?"

"Can't I see what?" he bellowed, casting her a withering glance but looking away just as quickly, as though he couldn't stand the sight of her. "Do you think I give a shit if they love me or not? Do you honestly think that's what I'm looking for? All I want is a woman who is willing to do the things that you aren't—a woman who knows how to suck and fuck and come on my face, goddamnit!"

"And nothing else matters to you?"

"Why should it?" he demanded angrily. "Why the fuck should it? It's none of your damn business! Do you get that, V? None!"

"It is!" she insisted, her throat raw, her words harsh, her eyes shining with a sheen of tears that she stubbornly refused to let fall.

"No, it's not!" he growled.

"Of course it is! I'm your friend, remember? And that's what friends do!" she shot back. "Stop their friends from doing stupid things!"

" _Friends?_ " he echoed, eyes widening in feigned surprise. "I've got news for you, woman! I've never wanted to _be_ your goddamned friend! That was your invention, not mine!"

"Fine, then! Whatever! I _don't_ care," she blurted, cheeks reddening as the words poured out, as anger and hurt collided, as they snaked together in the pit of her stomach. She felt as though he'd just sucker punched her, right in the gut, and she snorted loudly to cover up the pain before it shot to the surface, before he could see how badly his words had hurt. "I don't care in the _least_ , Roka! I'm just your attorney, right? You only hired me to protect your damn image!"

"No!" he blasted, sweeping his arm over the top of the bureau, sending everything that was on it flying across the room. That wasn't enough for him, and Valerie couldn't help the strangled yelp that escaped her when his fist smashed into the full length mirror outside the bathroom door, shattering it into a million pieces that rained down onto the floor. "Zel Roka's image, maybe. Mine? _Fuck!_ You don't give a great goddamn about my image, and you know it!"

"The hell I don't!" she snapped back, his anger fueling her own, the rise of her temper in direct proportion to the rising need to vindicate herself. The ugliness in his every movement made her feel sick, made her want to cry. And yet, she stood her ground, as though she believed that she'd crumble if she didn't, knowing somewhere deep down that everything was deteriorating while she was powerless to stop it. "All you do is get in trouble, and then you think everyone else is going to bail you out! You laugh it all off like it's no big deal when it is, and you know it is! But you don't care, do you? To hell with everyone else! To hell with everyone _but_ you—including your family, right? You break their hearts all the time, and then you turn around and try to put the blame on them when you're the one who isn't interested in listening to them any more than you listen to me!"

"And they don't have a damn thing to do with this, Valerie! As for listening? You're no better, are you? Oh, maybe you are. After all, you listen when you want to, right? When you're not busy, running away from anything and everything that you don't want to hear before it's even been said! That way you can't say that you don't listen because you've never had to! Maybe I'm not the best listener in the fucking world, but at least I try! At least I listen better than you do!" he snarled.

"And when have you _ever_ listened to me?" she countered. "When have you listened to me when I've told you anything?"

He snorted, shaking his head to refute her claims, hands opening and closing as though he needed to destroy something else. It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough . . . "I listen to you all the damn time, V! I listen to that mouth of yours tell me one thing while your body tells me something else! You say you don't want me, that you think I have no right, but you don't mind fucking sleeping with me, now do you? And just how the hell do you justify that in your head? Because I'm fucking warm? Because you hate to sleep alone? What the fuck ever, woman! You don't even know what the hell you want, do you? So how the fuck do you expect me to be able to figure it out?"

"Don't give me that, Roka," Valerie shot back, stepping forward, poking a finger in the center of his chest. "The only thing you care about is yourself! You and your women and to hell with the rest of the world!"

Knocking her hand away, he stomped over to the counter as though he had to put some distance between them, and maybe he did. "Well, if you really want to point fingers, _Val_ , then how's this one? At least I'm not afraid to take chances! At least I'm not the one who hides behind excuses, settling for something that you call safe when all it means is that you don't have to bother trusting a damn soul because, God forbid, they might not live up to your sky-fucking-high expectations!"

"This isn't about me," she informed him, her anger rising so high, so fast, that she could feel her body shaking. "It's about you and your uncanny inability to remember that I'm engaged!"

"You think I don't fucking know that? You throw it into my face every time I turn around, don't you? Your fucking _fiancé!_ Your fucking _joke_ , you mean!"

"Like you know anything about it," she snapped.

"Yeah, and about that," he went on, grabbing his keys off the counter and stuffing them into his pocket. "You're a damn hypocrite!"

"Oh, I'm a hypocrite," she countered. "Why? Because I don't let you do whatever you want to me? Because I don't just bow to your every whim?"

"No, V," he shot back. "You're a damn hypocrite because you don't even bat an eye when you go running off without your fiancé! He doesn't know where you are, who you're with, what you're doing, and that's fine with you, isn't it? How the hell else can you string everyone along, right? Marlin . . . Me . . . and whoever else you've got hidden in the fucking closet! Works out well, doesn't it? Everything you want— _everything_ you want—you take it all, and you don't look back."

" _Marvin_ ," she corrected through clenched teeth, ignoring the horrible, awful feelings that shot through her, "and you're so wrong, it's laughable. You're the one who thinks it's all right to say whatever you think I want to hear because you think I'm fool enough to believe you! It's what you always do, isn't it? Say the right things, whatever gets you into someone's bed? And you hate it, don't you? You hate that it doesn't work on me!"

"Is that what you think, Valerie? Is that _really_ what you think?" he growled. His voice was lower, the look in his eyes almost frightening. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that he was dangerously close to snapping. Stalking toward her, grabbing her arms, he gave her a good shake but didn't let go. "You crawl into my bed in nothing but your fucking tee-shirt and panties, you wrap your damn legs around me every fucking night, you don't give a shit what you're doing to me all the damn time, and you honestly think that everything I've said to you was some sick attempt to get you into bed? That's what you think of me?"

He shook her again for emphasis, his hands digging into her arms as he refused to let go. "Rattle my teeth again, Roka, and I swear to God, I'll make you sing soprano for a year," she warned. It was pure stubbornness that made her straighten her back, pure bravado that kept her from backing down. "Why else would you say all that crap about wanting to be with me 'forever', then you turn around and tell me that you want to go find a woman— _any_ woman—to fuck—your words, Roka. Not mine."

"If all I wanted from you was sex," he ground out, his voice growing quieter by the second even as the fire banked in the depths of his gaze brightened by degrees, "I could've done that—a few times. Should I name them for you?"

"Go to hell," she snarled, yanking her arms free of his grasp and turning her back on him.

"You're the one who got fucking naked on my tour bus, weren't you?" he blasted. "Every time— _every time_ —I tried to get away from you, you followed me, didn't you? You followed me, and your curiosity . . . You had to touch, you had to feel, and you had to have your way, right? Do you have any fucking idea just how badly you wanted me that night? Bad enough that you didn't give a great goddamn who or where your fucking fiancé was!"

"I was drunk, wasn't I? So all you'd have accomplished would have been getting the fuck you were after."

She heard his frustrated growl. She heard him move, too, but she gasped when he grabbed her once more, uttering a harsh little yelp when he spun her around and slammed her hard against the wall. "All I want is a fuck?" he demanded, pinning her in place with his body, his hips pressing against hers in a wholly inflammatory way. Even now, even in the heat of his rage, he was two steps from coming completely undone, wasn't he? "Yeah, you're right. That's all I want. That kiss at Christmas that meant nothing at all to you—it didn't mean shit to me, either, did it? Why the hell do you think I wanted to come down here? To play your games some more? I'm sick of your games, Valerie. Do you hear me?"

"I don't play games," she retorted, shoving against his hold. It didn't do any good. He was entirely too strong to be moved. "Get off me."

Evan went on as though he hadn't heard her at all. "Kiss me because it's convenient, right? You were caught up in the moment; it didn't mean anything—it was an accident! You can explain away everything, can't you? Justifying everything you possibly can in your own head because you'd rather put it away than look at it! Every morning, every night, and I've done _everything_ I could think of to show you that all you have to do is take that chance, but you can't, can you? And God forbid you give up your toy, right?"

"What toy?" she demanded, struggling against him and getting nowhere. "I don't know what you're—"

"Me, damn it! That's all I am to you, aren't I? Keep me on a fucking leash, tease me twenty-four-seven until I can't even fucking see straight because I want you so bad I think I might die! Turn to me when you think no one else is looking? Drive me to the absolute brink of my sanity, and it's all right, isn't it? Because I'm nothing but a buffer for you! I keep the rest of the world away because I'm idiot enough to let you do it! You don't want me, but you don't want anyone else to have me either. Those are your rules, right? _Right?_ "

She snorted, balancing on the precarious edge, the invisible boundary between what she thought and what she truly believed. "Because you want to go whoring yourself around, convincing yourself that it's what you want then trying to say that it's because no one has ever really wanted to be with you? If you think I'm so awful, then why the hell did you bring me with you?"

The look in his eyes was icy cold, hard and brittle, just like his voice. "I tried not to, if you'll recall. I told you that I wanted to go alone, didn't I?"

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Then maybe you should've acted like you were serious for once!" she snapped back.

"I said 'no', V! That should have been clear enough!"

"And I tell you 'no' all the time, but you don't take me seriously, either, do you?"

"Again, if I didn't take you seriously, then we wouldn't really be here now, would we? No, because if I didn't take you seriously, we'd have already done the fucking, and you'd be at home, hating me right now because I'd be the dickhead who used you then tossed you away!"

"You're being stupid," she insisted, shoving at his shoulders. "You've had ample chances to go do whatever you wanted to do!"

"Have I?" he growled, his irritation reaching an apex. "Every time I try, you do something to stop me, don't you? Sending me pictures or calling or cutting your damn foot open!"

"You can't blame that one me!" she insisted. "You think I did that on purpose?"

"No, you didn't," he shot back, "but the end result was the same, now wasn't it? You got me to come running back, damn everything else to hell! And you knew I would, didn't you? Because it's what I _always_ do!"

"I thought—"

"You thought _nothing!_ " he cut her off, gaze boring into hers with a raw intensity that dared her to gainsay him. "You thought that I'd admit that you were right, that I was wrong? Don't you get it? You want me to be able to deal with you? Then stop playing with my fucking head, V! I'm not a saint! I'm about as far from one as you can possibly get!"

"Why do you even think you need to do that?" she demanded. "The world doesn't revolve around sex! You're not going to die if you don't do it!"

"Aren't I?" he yelled as his fist slammed into the wall beside her. Valerie gasped and shied away as the plaster groaned and crumbled. "Because of you, I wake up every morning, aching so bad that I think I'm going to explode, but all you care about is your damn coffee! Because of you, I lie awake every night, thinking about what your body would feel like under mine when you say you don't fucking want me but your body doesn't quite get the message! Because of you, all I can think about every minute of every fucking day is whether or not you'd scream my name when you come! Something's gotta give, woman, so either you lay the fuck down and spread your legs for me, or let me go find someone who will!"

"That's—"

"What? Did you change your mind?" he demanded in a no-nonsense, deceptively quiet tone. "Do you want to fuck to me?" he went on, his voice dropping to a deceptively low growl as he smashed his hips against hers again, a shocking reminder that his passion could easily be redirected. It was enough to stun her into silence as a violent shiver ran up her spine. He must have felt her reaction, though, because his eyes narrowed as the expression on his face hardened a little more. "Save me from my _sins_ , _Val_. After all, isn't that what _friends_ do?"

"Of course not," she scoffed though the color that suffused her cheeks couldn't be hidden. His accusations felt like a slap in the face, the harshness of the very air around him seemed to claw at her, to dig at her, to tear her apart, bit by agonizing bit . . . The mocking in his voice cut her deep, left her bleeding where he couldn't see, pushing a rise in her last defense, the anger that she could hide behind. "Don't be stupid!"

Taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly, Evan's head drooped to the side. "Yeah," he finally said, shoving himself away from the wall. "Stupid. That's me."

She watched him stalk across the room to reach for his cell phone before heading for the door, and she drew a deep, stuttering breath as her misfiring nerves threatened to revolt. "W-wait . . ."

"I'm done waiting, V," he growled without turning to face her. "I've done nothing but wait for you. If you want to lean on someone so damn bad, then lean on your perfect fiancé."

"Wh-Where are you going?" she asked, taking a step forward, unsure if she was trying to stop him or if she wanted to push him out the door. The strangest sense that if he walked out now, she'd never see him again slammed through her, and it carried her forward, quickening her pace, unsure as to why she wanted to stop him but knowing deep down that she had to.

He stopped in the doorway and whipped around to face her. "Where do you think?" he demanded, arching an eyebrow as he glowered at her. "I'm going to find the first woman who'll have me, and I'm going to fuck the living, breathing shit out of her. I'm going to go grab one of my whores and shove my dick so far down her throat that she chokes on it. I'm going to tap her so goddamn hard that the entire island is going to hear her come, and you know what?"

Valerie stopped and swallowed hard, shaking her head without speaking.

The smile that surfaced on his face was nasty, horrible, and scary as hell. "I'm going to imagine your head on every last one of them, V, as I push them onto their knees and come all over their damn faces." Her gasp was audible in the strained silence, and then Evan laughed—a cutting, derisive sound—without any actual humor in it at all . . . "And _don't_ call me. In fact . . ."

She stopped in her tracks as he strode back over to the counter once more, digging the phone out of his pocket and slapping it down. "Now you can't."

"Evan," she rasped out, unsure what she wanted as she ran after him, as she grabbed his arm, trying to get him to stay. That feeling was back in spades, wasn't it? All she knew was that if he walked out that door—if he really did, then . . . "Evan—"

"Don't cry, Valerie. Don't you fucking _dare_ ," he warned, shaking her hands off as she blinked furiously. "That _is_ what you wanted, right? You want me to be exactly what you always thought I was, don't you? The asshole rockstar? The womanizing bastard? Well, there you go. That's what I am. That's all I'll _ever_ be. Congratulations." Turning on his heel, he stomped out of the house, slamming the door closed behind him and leaving a stunned Valerie in his wake.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Sweetest_** **_Lie_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _The_ _Goo_ _Goo_ _Dolls_ ' _2010_ _release, **Something**_ **_for_** **_the_** **_Rest_** **_of_** **_Us_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _John_ _Rzeznik_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _What … was that …?_


	138. 137: Ugliness

' _I'm so tired of being here_ …  
' _Suppressed by all my childish fears_ …  
' _And if you have to leave_ …  
' _I wish that you would just leave_ …  
' _'Cause your presence still lingers here_ …  
' _And it won't leave me alone …_ '

 

-' _My Immortal_ ' by Evanescence

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Staring at the closed door in a stunned silence, Valerie blinked, dashing a hand across her eyes as she scowled angrily and told herself to stop tearing up. It wasn't crying. God, no. Why the hell would she cry over a jerk like Evan Zelig or anything that he had to say?

" _That_ is _what you wanted, right? You want me to be exactly what you always thought I was, don't you? The asshole rockstar? The womanizing bastard? Well, there you go. That's what I am. That's all I'll ever be. Congratulations_."

"Jerk!" she hissed, stomping over to the kitchenette, yanking the empty coffee pot out of the machine and filling it with water from the tap without thinking about what she was really doing at all. Stupid, right? That's what he was. Stupid and shallow and thoughtless . . .

Who the hell cared what he went off and did or who he chose to do it with? She certainly didn't; of course she didn't. He could go screw the entire northern hemisphere, and she didn't care! Why should she, she'd like to know. Why in the world should she? If he wanted to think with his penis, then that was fine—just fine. He never had cared who he hurt in the process, now did he? He certainly didn't care if she—

Cutting that thought off abruptly, she dumped the water into the coffee maker and slammed the carafe back into place.

No, she didn't care. If anything she was glad— _overjoyed_ —that he'd taken off. If he went and did what he'd threatened to do? Well, then at least there wouldn't be a repeat of this morning, now would there?

But that thought evoked too many memories, didn't it? Things she hadn't wanted to understand, things that she didn't want to feel . . .

Better not to think about him, wasn't it? Better to push him out of her mind, to forget that he even existed.

"Yeah, and maybe I'll forget to breathe while I'm at it," she muttered to herself, dumping a generous amount of coffee grounds into the filter and snapping it shut before hitting the power button and leaning back against the counter to wait.

He didn't have the right to have done what he was doing to her this morning. That was the long and short of it, wasn't it? He didn't have the right to foist himself upon her, especially while she was sleeping. And it really was his fault that she was in his bed, to start with. She hadn't gone crawling in there. He'd insisted, hadn't he? If he didn't like to be subjected to her presence, he damn well should have let her alone. She would have been more than happy to stay on the floor, wouldn't she? Or did he think that she was just making up that bed on purpose last night— _every_ night, for that matter?

A quiet voice in the back of her mind told her that she was being unfair. At the moment, however, she didn't care. His words, no matter how he'd said them . . .

' _Stop it!_ ' she told herself sternly, glancing at the coffee maker to see if there was enough for a full cup yet. ' _He's nothing but a rockstar jerk! He had a fit because he can't have his way; that's all. That's all_. . .'

He was wrong, wasn't he? Wrong about everything he'd said. She hadn't done a thing to provoke him. She hadn't done a thing to make him think that she'd welcome his advances. She'd always told him that she wasn't interested. It wasn't her fault that he never wanted to listen. He was wrong, wrong, wrong—dead wrong.

It was exactly as she'd always thought, and yes, always feared on some level. Evan might put on a good face. He might act like he understood her, but he didn't, did he? How could he? How could he possibly begin to comprehend her and then turn around and say things so ugly, so hurtful, so . . .?

' _So accurate_ ,' that voice whispered.

She snorted, grabbing a cup off the dishtowel on the side of the sink and dumping all the coffee into it. Accurate? Hell, no! There was no truth in any of it! If there were . . .

He accused her of playing games? That was laughable, wasn't it? And she'd laugh, sure she would have, if the things he'd said hadn't been so cruel. What did he think he was doing if not playing games? He was enabling himself, that's what. By putting all the blame on her, he was convincing himself that it was all her fault, that she'd somehow driven him to do what he wanted to do all along so that he would be able to point fingers later, so he could say that he'd only done what she'd made him do.

Slugging back the coffee, ignoring the harsh burn of the scalding liquid as it coursed down her throat, Valerie scowled. That's what he was doing, wasn't it?

The glimmer of something caught her eye. Setting the empty coffee mug aside, she narrowed her eyes. Catching the brilliant sunlight cascading through the windows, the shards of the mirror that he'd destroyed during his tirade seemed to mock her. There was something entirely ghastly about the tableau, wasn't there? A shattered mirror on the floor, and a million pieces of something broken deep inside her . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

The call of birds punctuated the dull rumble of the ever-changing ocean as Valerie wandered along the shore. The gentle ebb of the water ran after her, rolling over her toes, only to run away again as her feet sank into the wet sand.

It was a warm day with a gorgeous breeze blowing in to keep the heat from becoming stifling. The same breeze lifted her hair, tossed it gently, only to let go, to let the strands drift back down before lifting them again in an intricate kind of dance.

She sighed but kept walking. She figured she'd made it about halfway around the island since she'd left the house hours ago. She just needed to clear her head, didn't she? She needed to stop thinking . . .

The anger that had lingered after Evan had left hadn't lasted nearly long enough. Anger, she'd found, was easier to deal with, holding the pressing questions at bay, affording her the ability to discount everything that had been said. The anger had prevented her from admitting that what he'd said held some measure of truth—truth that she didn't want to think about. Truth that she hated almost as much as the lies she tried to believe . . .

What did it matter, really? That she'd been ready to bed down on the floor or not, it didn't matter in the end, not when she knew deep down that he wouldn't ask her to do any such thing. She told herself that she wouldn't mind, and all the while, she'd known, and maybe she'd counted on it, too . . . Oh, maybe it wasn't a conscious thought. Maybe she hadn't even realized that it was there, at all. Still, it didn't take away her part in all of it. If she had insisted that she stay on the floor, then this morning never would have happened . . .

And the hell of it was that, if she were to be completely honest with herself, she wasn't even angry at him for that, either. How could she be when he was half asleep, just like she was? She was angry at the situation, maybe, but Evan?

Biting her lip, she lifted her chin, shifted her gaze over the horizon. Maybe he had been wrong to have said a lot of the things that he had said, but she had to admit that she was wrong, too. Reacting before she could completely assess the moment, letting her temper get the better of her . . . No wonder he'd reacted so badly. She hadn't given him much of a choice, had she?

But where was she supposed to go from here? What was he going to say when he came back? Was he going to still be angry with her? Or was he going to do what he usually did: joke and smile and brush it all off as nothing . . .? And if he did that, was she supposed to do it, too? To rewind time and pretend as though nothing at all had been said? And if that was what he wanted to do, could she really go along with that?

No, she needed to apologize, and she knew it. No matter what he'd said, no matter how hurtful his words had been, she hadn't had the right to take her frustrations out of him to start with. No doubt about it, something about Evan inspired the most extreme reactions in her, whether it was anger or frustration or even amusement. Still, the most important thing was that she try to explain it to him, explain herself better than she had before. Saying that kissing him at Christmas had been an accident wasn't what she'd meant, exactly. The trouble was that she hadn't really explained it the way she'd wanted to, and she needed to figure out just how she was going to tell him what she thought. After all, she really did owe him that much. Maybe she owed him a lot more than that . . .

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie rubbed away the goosebumps that rose to the surface of her skin. There was something different in the air, wasn't there?

It felt like a storm was coming.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Leaning forward as she hugged her knees, Valerie's gaze scanned the horizon, watching in vain for the sight of the yacht rounding the island through the steady sheet of rain that fell from the moonless sky. Through the drops, she could see the distant lights lining the dock. They seemed to flicker as the rain continued to fall. Off to the east, a flash of lightning illuminated the sky, and Valerie sighed. When she was a child, she'd wondered more than once, what it'd be like to be struck by that lightning. She'd wondered if she would have died, and if she had, would anyone really have cared . . .?

She hadn't had that thought in years, but staring at the sky, the familiar and unwelcome idea came back along with the loneliness, the melancholy that hadn't ever gone away. Maybe she'd buried it somewhere deep down, that feeling that she was nothing, that she didn't matter to anyone, and even if her logical mind told her that she was being foolish, it was still there, ugly, lurking just out of sight . . .

The rain had started around six, just before she'd made it back from her walk around the island, just after the sun had set. Beside her on the porch sat the forgotten plate of food that she'd fixed for herself after drying off. She didn't know what time it was now, but it had been dark for a while. Pulling the blanket she'd brought outside with her a little closer around her shoulders, Valerie sighed.

She wasn't sure when she'd finally started to realize that Evan was right. All those things he'd said to her, as ugly and painful as they were for her to hear, he'd been right, and as much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, she knew, didn't she? She knew . . .

It didn't matter that he was angry or that he was lashing out at her just as much as she'd lashed out at him. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that her misplaced anger had fed his which had done the same to her, resulting in an irreversible cycle as everything had spiraled out of control. The thing was, he couldn't take back the things he'd said, and she . . . Well, she didn't really want him to try to. They said that sometimes people could say things in anger that they didn't mean, but she didn't think that it was true. After all, the thoughts had to come from somewhere, didn't they? So there had to be some measure of truth in there.

And it didn't matter, anyway. The anger of this morning had given way to a sense of self-pity by early afternoon, but Valerie never had been good at being a victim. So, she'd brushed that off quickly enough, and now? Now . . .

But it was harder to take a look at herself—an objective look at the things that she hadn't wanted to see. She was the poster girl for the 'love yourself' movement, wasn't she? Love yourself because no one else ever will; love yourself and you don't need anyone else to do it for you. The things that she prized the most were the things that she could control. Who she was, what she was . . . Those were the things that she could dictate, and as much as she prided herself on the efforts she'd put in over the years—efforts to create the Valerie Denning that she was now, just what had she ultimately given up?

Somewhere along the way, she'd forgotten a few things. It was true, wasn't it? At some point, she'd forgotten that it was entirely inappropriate for her to crawl into bed with anyone else, especially when she was only wearing a tee-shirt and panties. Maybe it was because Evan was so comfortable with himself that it hadn't seemed like such a big deal, and worse, she knew, was that she really didn't mind Evan's attention, either. She liked that he made her feel beautiful. She liked that he very obviously approved of her looks, and even if she hadn't intentionally led him on, it didn't matter, either; not if the end result had made him think that she was.

And maybe deep down, she had realized that, too.

She grimaced and bit her lip as her gaze shifted over the horizon once more. The emptiness that greeted her eyes somehow seemed apropos.

She really hadn't ever taken Evan seriously, had she?   He was right about that. The trouble was that it was hard to tell with him sometimes. He joked about things so frequently that it was hard to tell when he was just trying to cover up something else. In a very real sense, he used joking to mask things in much the same way that Valerie used her own defense mechanisms, she supposed. How often had she accused him of not taking anything seriously? But she'd never stopped to think that maybe—maybe his joking about those same things might well have been his effort to downplay them so that she didn't know just how much thinking he really was doing?

But she couldn't always tell with him, either, and maybe that was her own fault. Maybe she hadn't given it enough thought to try to figure him out, to see the signs that she might have missed. She didn't know how much of his feelings were real, how many of them weren't, or how serious the real ones were, for that matter. All of the things he'd said to her, whether he was joking or not . . .

She did understand that he cared about her. She knew that he really would go out of his way for her. She just wasn't sure how deep those feelings really were, how reliable they were.

". . . _You don't want me, but you don't want anyone else to have me either_. . ."

Was that true? Was she really as bad as all that? Was she really so blind that she would demand that of him?

Dropping her forehead against her knees, Valerie scrunched up her shoulders as though she were trying to make herself as small as possible, as unnoticeable as she could possibly be. That wasn't it; not at all. Sure, his desire to go find a willing woman bothered her. As much as he hated it, he really was her friend, and no matter what else was or wasn't between them, if there wasn't a foundation in friendship, there wasn't anything at all. The idea that he thought that his value as a person was based upon whether or not he slept with women? It horrified her—and it made her angry. Not angry at him, no. After all, it's what he'd been conditioned to believe over a lifetime of being treated like that's all he was worth. No, her anger was directed at those women who had done this to him, time and again, to the point that he honestly thought that it was something that he needed. She only wanted him to see—to realize—that it wasn't true. Yes, there had to be a certain level of attraction. She'd be stupid to try to convince herself that there wasn't, but if there was no emotion, no _feeling_ behind the physical act, was there really anything to it other than a moment of gratification and a gnawing emptiness when that moment was over?

And Valerie knew that emptiness well enough. She'd spent her teenage years feeling it over and over again. Drifting from one bad relationship to another, believing that if she slept with the guys that they'd love her, the emptiness that was always there was painful, so painful. Didn't he know that? Didn't he have that feeling, too? Or had he really been able to convince himself that there was more to it than what was really there?

" _Again, if I didn't take you seriously, then we wouldn't really be here now, would we? No, because if I didn't take you seriously, we'd have already done the fucking, and you'd be at home, hating me right now because I'd be the dickhead who used you then tossed you away!_ "

The memory of those words made her flinch, the harshness that emphasized the truth in his statement. It really would be so simple for him, wouldn't it? So easy for him to get her to go along with whatever he wanted, screw the consequences in the end. This morning had only served to punctuate that, hadn't it? If he wanted to—If he really, honestly wanted to . . .

But he hadn't, had he? He never had, and that, in her estimation, spoke volumes. If she were to believe that he wanted her so desperately, then why hadn't he just barreled right through her reticence and taken what he wanted?

And she knew the answer to that, too, didn't she? Evan, she knew, didn't want her like that.   She wasn't sure how she knew that. She didn't know whether or not it was just wishful thinking on her part. Evan would never really manipulate her into doing something that she'd ultimately regret, would he? Even if his body hated him for it . . .

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie lifted her chin, wondered what he was doing right now. Did he find the women he was looking for? And if he had, would that really make him happy?

' _But isn't there more to it? The sadness that you feel . . . Is it masking something else? Something deeper than the idea that he's willing to accept whatever those women afford him . . .? Isn't there another reason why you hate the idea of him sleeping with someone else—_ anyone _else?_ '

She didn't know. The idea that there was something more to it, something more to her feelings, was frightening. Too many things kept twisting around in her head, one into another as she struggled to make sense of them. Just how was she supposed to deal with anything at all when the accusations still resounded in her ears?

The truth of it was that Valerie never had liked looking at herself, never could stand to try to analyze her own feelings. Asking herself why had availed her nothing over the years, and even now, there was the ugly knowledge that the kind of introspection that she was doing wouldn't really bring her any real answers. When she was a child and wondered why she'd been taken away from her parents . . . When she was a teenager and wondered why they'd missed another visit . . . When she was a young woman and wondered why she didn't see them in the stands at her college graduation . . . A myriad of questions that she'd never, ever been able to answer . . .

Evan had been right about a lot of things, hadn't he? All the things he'd said, no matter how cruel or hurtful they'd been, had held some truth.   Maybe he saw her better than she saw herself. It wouldn't be surprising. After all, one way or another, wasn't it always harder to take a good, objective look at yourself?

It seemed to her that she and he had hurt each other a lot over the past few months, and yet for all the hurt feelings, there was also a sense of understanding, too. Maybe the argument had been inevitable, and as much as she hated the things that she'd said to him, the things that he'd said to her, maybe all of it had ultimately needed to be said.

The thing was, she had never meant to discount his feelings at all, any more than he'd meant to discount hers. She hadn't realized that he was as upset as he was, had she? He was just as good at hiding things as she was, maybe better.

Sighing quietly, Valerie tightened her grip on her legs, wondering absently if the rain would stop before Evan made it back to the island, and when he did, how would she tell him? How could she possibly make him understand just how sorry she really was? She'd never meant to lead him on. She hadn't wanted to make him think that he was just some kind of easy distraction. He'd given her emotional support during those times that she'd desperately needed it, and she'd repaid him with pain. It did no good to tell herself that she hadn't meant to do any such thing, that he was the last person she'd ever wanted to hurt. That would just be making excuses, and doing that wouldn't serve any purpose at all. That was the kind of thinking that led to the accusations and confrontation.

Still, she wanted to try to make him understand that she hadn't meant to hurt him. Deep down, Evan was a good person, and she knew that, too. The first to defend her, the last to abandon her, smiling at her when she felt like screaming . . . Evan often seemed to understand just what she needed, even if she didn't really know. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that he cared about her. She cared about him, too, didn't she? No, what she didn't know was how deep those feelings really were—how deep they could possibly be, and even then, she really was the first woman who treated Evan as a person, wasn't she? Not just some guy who was entirely too hot for his own good, but as a person, capable of emotions and thoughts of his own . . .

She scowled at the night and the inky blackness that surrounded the house on the beach. Evan deserved so much more, didn't he? More than any of those women who didn't know him but thought they wanted him—more than she could offer him. He deserved to be with someone who wasn't already bogged down with emotional baggage from a lifetime of disappointment and, yes, fear.

He was infuriating at times. He made her laugh when she wanted to be stern. He showed her things that she didn't know existed or had somehow managed to forget over time. Maybe he was better for her than she'd ever be for him, and as much as she loved being around him, maybe . . .

Pushing herself to her feet and retrieving the forgotten plate of food, Valerie went back into the house with a sigh.

" _I tried not to, if you'll recall. I told you that I wanted to go alone, didn't I?_ "

He had, hadn't he? He'd told her from the start that he didn't want her there, and she hadn't listened to him. She'd convinced herself that he was joking, just like he always did, but maybe that was just convenient. She hadn't thought twice about it, had she? All she'd seen was that he was going to the Bahamas, and she'd wanted to go, come hell or high water . . .

Setting the plate on the counter—she just wasn't very hungry, she supposed—she stared at Evan's cell phone with a frown. Reaching for it, flipping it open, she ignored the beeping that told her she was out of range and pushed the button, looking at his speed dial, and wasn't at all surprised to see that her number was listed in the first position. Something about that brought tears to her eyes, tears that she blinked back quickly as she closed the phone and set it down once more. If she looked at her own phone, she knew what she'd see. The first position was her office. The second one was her apartment building's superintendent. The third one? That was where Evan's number was . . .

Picking up the satellite phone, she tapped it against the palm of her hand. She had to show him, didn't she? She had to show him that she did care about him, about his feelings. She owed him that much, at the very least. In truth, she owed him a hell of a lot more . . . and even if it was the very last thing she wanted to do, maybe it was time. Maybe it was time she listened to him— _heard_ him— _really_ heard him—even if the idea of it hurt her somewhere deep down. She'd done nothing but demand things of him from the start, and even if her intentions were good, she couldn't help but feel as though there was some measure of selfishness to it all, too. It was convenient to wrap her concerns into a neat package and to say that she worried that he was going to tarnish Zel Roka's image even more, but . . . But even if she wanted to say that, and maybe it was true to some extent, Zel Roka was light years away at the moment, wasn't he? Evan Zelig was the one here with her, and no one in the world would care what he was out doing or with whom he was doing it. No one in the world but her, anyway . . .

The toy on the shelf, the one she was too afraid to play with so she left it there, near enough to look at, far enough away that it couldn't touch her . . . Evan was the one hurting, probably more than she was, and the idea that it was her fault, even if she hadn't intended to hurt him in the least . . . It was time, wasn't it? After all was said and done, she needed to do what she should have done in the beginning . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _My Immortal_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _Evanescence's_ _2003_ _release, **Fallen**_. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Ben Moody and Amy Lee_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Damn_ …


	139. 138: Emptiness

' _Now that she's back in the atmosphere_ …  
' _With drops of Jupiter in her hair, hey_ …  
' _She acts like summer and walks like rain_ …  
' _Reminds me that there's a time to change, hey_ …  
' _Since the return from her stay on the moon_ …  
' _She listens like spring and she talks like June, hey, hey …_ '

 

-' _Drops of Jupiter_ ' by Train

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Groaning loudly as his body shivered, he closed his eyes, his head falling back as he deliberately concentrated on the feel of her mouth, wrapped around his cock. The hands massaging his balls, the velvet smoothness of her lips, of her tongue as she pumped him hard, almost violently, shaking his dick as it rattled against her teeth . . .

He'd lost track of how long he'd been there. One of the girls had slipped a few pills into her mouth, had fed them to him in a long, deep kiss. He didn't know what they were, and he didn't care. Then she'd handed him a joint and a glass of cheap whiskey, and he'd already downed a few of those at the bar where he'd found the blonde . . . Senses clouded by the thick smoke that hung in the air, a mix of incense and dope that dulled but didn't cover the baser smells of sweat and sex. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd already fucked them all. One of them—the brunette—was passed out in the corner, her body streaked with sweat, and dried come. The blonde was working him over now, apparently believing that she had to suck him dry when the hard-on he'd came in with still had yet to go away. Crouching on the floor between his legs, she groaned and whimpered and whined as the third girl—an over the top stacked redhead—devoured her pussy with vicious abandon.

He didn't know any of their names, and they didn't know his. Damned if he gave a shit, either. Sitting in a chair, smoking a joint and downing glasses of whiskey, one right after another, he hadn't done a damn thing as the girls had taken turns, pumping their bodies up and down on him while he sat back, watching them as though he wasn't really there at all, pushing them aside now and again just to rip off a spent condom before reaching for another one. Those condoms littered the floor—He supposed he could count them if he really wanted to. Somehow, the entire situation held a strange and macabre sort of amusement, didn't it? Why did he suddenly want to laugh? Only the laughter that would come out of him wouldn't be good at all, would it? Why did he feel like there would be a bitter edge to it?

The flash of hazel eyes, bright with the tears that she refused to let fall, flashed through his head, and he groaned.

' _Don't think_ ,' he told himself, lifting a joint to his lips and inhaling deep. ' _Don't think; don't think; don't think_ . . .'

The blonde must have gotten tired of sucking on his dick. Opening his eyes halfway, he watched in horrified fascination as she bit down on the corner of a condom wrapper and yanked. The redhead moved up to suck on his balls as the blonde rolled the rubber into place. In one fluid motion, she slammed her body down on his. He grunted, head rolling back again as the redhead straddled his waist in front of the blonde, her mouth crushing his as she sucked the smoke out of him, drawing it in as she rubbed her tits against his chest, her pussy leaving a sticky, hot trail on his skin.

"More whiskey," he said between sloppy kisses. The redhead whined her protest at his seeming callousness, but she stood up and moved away.

"Your cock's so big, so big," the blonde moaned as she pumped him hard, as she rose up above him, only to slam back down as fast as she could. "Oooh . . ."

The girl sounded like a goddamn puppy, yelping and yapping as she rode him. For some reason, that idea amused him in much the same way as the condoms that littered the floor did. It sounded unnatural, didn't it? Like everything was one big fucking show . . .

The redhead strolled back into the room, a petulant little pout that she probably thought was pretty twisting her swollen lips. He took the bottle that she held without comment, twisting the cap in a vicious yank and tossing it onto the floor with the rest of the trash.

He slugged back a healthy swallow before opening his eyes again. The blonde's tits were bouncing so hard that he had to wonder if she wasn't going to hurt herself. But there was something else that occurred to him—another thought that made him grimace. Blonde hair—hazel-ish eyes—long, long legs—but the face was wrong, wasn't it? And something about the unknown woman before him made his stomach lurch. "Enough," he growled, shoving the blonde aside. She stumbled but caught herself before casting him an irritated sort of pout that he forgot before he even noticed it. "You," he said, gesturing at the redhead. "Make me come."

Her pout disappeared as she shot the blonde a wicked and triumphant sort of grin, as she positioned herself over his dick and sank down slowly.

" _I care because you're not doing it for the right reasons! Is it really all you want? A good fuck tonight with a woman who will forget about you tomorrow? Those women don't care about you, Evan! Can't you see—?_ "

Gritting his teeth, trying to focus on the woman fucking the hell out of him, Evan shoved the voice away, the echo of the words that he didn't want to hear. _She_ was wrong, wasn't she? And who the hell cared? Why in the world would it bother her? She'd made it crystal clear that she didn't want him, now didn't she . . .?

' _Get the fuck outta my head, V_ ,' he thought wildly, crazily as the bottle of whiskey dropped from his hand and spilled all over. Grasping the redhead's hips, he held onto her as he rose out of the chair, bearing her forward with his weight until she caught herself with her hands on the floor. The girl's screams shifted from cutesy little whimpers to all out screams as he dug his fingers into her skin, as he drove into her as hard and fast as he could. Somewhere deep down, he heard the quiet questions, the accusations that he couldn't ignore. Was he trying to get away from _her?_ Did he really think that all he had to do was fuck a little harder, subdue this girl a little more to escape from the voice in his head that sounded entirely too much like Valerie's? Driving his cock into the nameless woman as though his life depended upon it, he didn't think, didn't care.

Shoving the girl forward, away from him, he yanked the condom off and tossed it aside. It only took a couple pumps of his hand, and he grunted as a painful orgasm racked through his body, arcing through the air, landing in dull droplets on the girl in the corner, on the hardwood, on the area rug where he stood. The redhead moaned, her breathing harsh and labored, huddled on the floor where he'd pushed her, the drops of come on her ass somehow horrifying in the dying light of the room.

And as he stood there, it seemed like he was seeing the carnage for the first time. The ugliness of it all converged on him—ugliness that he'd thought he wanted . . . Three girls he didn't know, one of them passed out from the dope and the pills and the booze . . . she'd kept it together long enough to give him a good titty-fuck and pussy slam before she'd passed out in the middle of tongue-fucking the blonde. The redhead was still groaning, reeling from the pounding she'd just received, and the blonde . . .?

" _Do you think I give a shit if they love me or not? Do you honestly think that's what I'm looking for? All I want is a woman who is willing to do the things that you aren't—a woman who knows how to suck and fuck and come on my face, goddamnit!_ "

The low groan that rose up inside him was lost in the shuffle of movement. The blonde crawled toward him, the coy smile on her face telling him what, exactly, she was thinking. He stumbled back, groping blindly for his jeans, for his shirt. When she stood up, wrapped her arms around his waist, he shrugged her off.

He had to get the hell out of there, didn't he?

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Pomegranates! Pomegranates for sale!"

"Mangoes!"

Wandering through the open air market, ignoring the strange looks he was garnering from the people—locals and tourists alike—he moved without seeing, without having a real destination. His mind was strangely empty, as though it took every last ounce of his concentration just to put one foot in front of the other . . .

Scratching his temple, he blinked when his fingers came away with blood. He'd forgotten to tuck his claws in, didn't he? Funny. He hadn't felt it at all, had he . . .?

' _You've got to be careful, sweetie. You'll hurt yourself if you don't_ . . .'

What was he doing? Why was he even here? Why had things changed so much?

Nothing made sense at all. He could feel himself staggering, and he nearly tripped over his own feet, but still he plodded forward.

Ugly words swirled around his head, imaginary voices, raised in anger. Fragments of a conversation, dulled by the din of the milling crowd echoed so loudly and yet made no sense at all. If he thought about it too long, too hard, it would hurt, wouldn't it? And that kind of pain . . .

"You okay, mister? You okay?"

Evan blinked, trying to focus on the person who stood before him. A little boy, was it? Seven? Eight years old?

The child's caramel tan seemed to glow in the late afternoon daylight, dark eyes bright, brilliant, sparkling in a way that only a child could manage, but as he stared at Evan, he frowned. "You're bleeding, mister," he said.

"Uh, yeah, I guess I am," Evan mumbled, rubbing his temple, smearing blood into his hair.

"Do you need a doctor, mister?" he asked. "I know where one is . . ."

"N-no," Evan replied, shaking his head as though he were trying to shake off the unnatural sense of nothing that had settled over him. "No, thanks."

The boy looked dubious at best, but he gave a little shrug instead. "Okay," he said, his concern apparently forgotten as he carted around on his heel. "Bye bye!"

He watched the child speed off and disappear into the crowd once more. Why did watching the little one's retreat make him feel sad?

"V . . ." he whispered suddenly, lifting his chin, scanning the crowd. But no . . . he'd left her, hadn't he? He'd left her out on the island . . .

Wincing as the numbness around his brain started to thaw, he kept moving. Maybe he didn't know where he was going . . .

Or maybe his destination had been inevitable from the start.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

The silence was eerie, wasn't it? He could still see the lights of Mayaguana in the distance, over the expanse of water. Sitting on the top of the wheelhouse and drenched to the bone in the rain he hadn't bothered trying to avoid, staring at the starless sky so high above, the inky blackness was the color of his soul, the color of the darkness that he'd somehow fallen into . . . the color of Valerie's tears . . .

What had he done?

' _So . . . did you get it all out of your system, rockstar?_ '

Evan blinked as the voice of his youkai-blood finally spoke. Silent the entire day, it hadn't bothered to speak to him at all, had it? From the time he'd woke up, two steps from fucking Valerie until now, it hadn't spoken—until now.

Flopping onto his back, ignoring the squelch of his wet shirt hitting the fiberglass roof, he grunted. ' _I don't know . . . what happened_ ,' he replied, referring to the day as a whole and not just the girls he'd left behind.

' _You did what you always do_ ,' his youkai remarked simply. ' _You got pissed off, and you got stupid. Hell-bent on self-destruction, just like usual_.'

Sighing heavily into the darkness, he draped a forearm over his eyes. ' _Bound to happen sooner or later, right?_ '

' _What? You pitching a bitch fit?_ '

' _Me doing my damndest to push V away_.'

' _Because you fucked those girls? I'd say that's the least of your concerns. What the hell's wrong with you? You know, don't you? You made her cry . . . When you left, she was crying_.'

He grimaced at that reminder. Did it matter if he really hadn't meant for that to happen . . .?

' _Of course it doesn't matter, rockstar. Even if you meant the things you said to her—even if you did—the way you said it all_ . . .'

' _But I didn't_ ,' he argued, sitting up, hooking his arms around his knees. ' _I didn't mean . . . any of it . . . not like that, anyway_ . . .'

He sighed. Like it mattered now. Once Valerie found out what he'd done, he'd be lucky if she ever spoke to him again, and . . .

Oh, he'd tried to tell himself that he didn't care. He'd tried to convince himself that he was just being stupid. Somehow, he'd managed to think that maybe he was just fixated on her, didn't he? Or maybe he had just desperately wanted to believe it . . .

What kind of person was he, anyway? During that fight, he'd _wanted_ to lash out, _wanted_ to hurt her, and he had. He really had. The look on her face when he'd said that he'd never wanted to be her friend . . . In that moment, before she'd managed to cover it up, he'd seen, hadn't he? The raw pain that his words had inspired in her, the absolute betrayal that he'd say something so heartless, especially after she'd told him so much—more than she'd ever told another living soul . . .

And the anger that had carried him across the water to the sticky little dive bar where the blonde was just getting off work . . . God, he'd held onto that anger as selfishly as he could. Driven to do what he'd ultimately done by his pride, by his arrogance, by some pathetic measure of desperation . . .

Was it really her fault at all? He'd known at the start that it wasn't going to be easy. He'd seen it from the get go, hadn't he? The carefully constructed façade, the cautious air around her . . . He hadn't had to know her story back then to know that she clung to the things she believed to be safe and the need to protect herself, and he . . .

' _So you're starting to get it? Good_ ,' his youkai remarked at length. ' _Just hope to God you haven't ruined everything_.'

But he had, hadn't he, and he knew it. The fragile trust that Valerie had allotted him . . . He'd thrown that all away when he'd opened his mouth to yell at her, never mind what he'd done afterward. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that he'd ruined it, and to be honest, he had no idea if he'd ever be able to repair the damage he'd wrought.

' _You have to try_ ,' his youkai went on reasonably, logically, in the same tone of voice that Cain used to use whenever a childish Evan had asked his father 'why' once too often.

Evan grimaced. ' _I don't . . . I don't deserve to be near her_. . .'

' _Don't do that, rockstar. Don't go there. What's the point?_ '

Barking out a terse laugh that lacked any humor, Evan shivered slightly. ' _But it's true, isn't it? All I've done is hurt her, all because I thought_ —'

' _Yeah, I know damn well what you thought_ ,' his youkai shot back. ' _And you've seen it before, haven't you?   You've heard the stories about your mom and dad—about how your father thought that he didn't deserve to tell your mother that she was his mate. You know what that almost cost him. Look at the pain that others have gone through, all because someone thought that they didn't deserve someone else. Kurt and Sami . . . Sydnie and your brother . . . Gavin and Jilli . . . Even Griffin and Isabelle, right? You say that Valerie puts you on a shelf and keeps you there, but you're no better than she is, are you? You've put her up in this untouchable place—a place where she's perfect, but you're forgetting one thing: she isn't. She's human. She's no more perfect than you are. She's not supposed to be_.'

Evan scowled, unsure whether he believed that or not. ' _Maybe she's not, but she's a helluva lot closer to it than I'll ever be_ ,' he retorted.

' _And I'm telling you, it's not about being perfect! It never was! It's about being man enough to own up to your shortcomings, and it's about forgiving her for hers, too_.'

Something about that made sense to him, even if he didn't want to admit it. Had he done that all along? Had he somehow managed to place Valerie so high above everyone else in his mind that he'd forgotten that she could make mistakes, too? And ultimately, was that the real reason that his frustrations had gotten the better of him? It sounded so shallow, didn't it? Like a teenage girl with posters of her favorite stars taped all over the walls. In her eyes, they could do no wrong, could they? Maybe Evan really had done that: made Valerie his starlet, the untouchable one . . .

Still, the odds that she'd forgive him for the fight? For what he'd done afterward? How in the hell was he going to be able to face her? No matter what his youkai might say, how much damage could he possibly do to her and still believe that she'd forgive him? The words he'd said at the end came back to him—words designed to hurt her—words meant to cause her harm . . .

" _That_ is _what you wanted, right? You want me to be exactly what you always thought I was, don't you? The asshole rockstar? The womanizing bastard? Well, there you go. That's what I am. That's all I'll ever be. Congratulations_."

But . . .

But that's not who he wanted to be, was it? What he wanted . . . and even if he could convince her to forgive him, to give him another chance . . .

How in the hell could he make her want it, too . . .?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Drops_** **_of_** **_Jupiter_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _Train's_ _2001_ _release, **Drops**_ **_of_** **_Jupiter_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Robert_ _S_. _Hotchkiss_ , _Pat_ _Monahan_ , _James_ _W._ _Stafford_ , _Scott_ _Michael_ _Underwood_ , _and_ _Charlie_ _Colin_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _With_ _her_...


	140. 139: Broken Hearted

' _Yesterday all my troubles seemed so far away_ …  
' _Now it looks as though they're here to stay_ …  
' _Oh, I believe in yesterday_ …'

 

-' _Yesterday_ ' by The Beatles

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

It was a strange thing, the calm that came just before dawn. As though the entire earth knew that it only had a moment left of the night, the quiet was a melancholy sort of thing. The night creatures were bedding down while the day creatures had yet to stir, and the stillness seemed to permeate everything, even the water—everything but the turmoil in his soul, the ever-spinning machinations of his mind.

The dock still glowed in the meager light of the lamps that Valerie had left on for him. That simple gesture that he'd seen when he'd docked the yacht somewhere around four in the morning had cut him to the quick. As much as he'd hurt her with his words and his actions, she'd still think to do something like that . . .? Somehow the sight of the lamps was enough to cut him deeper, to twist the invisible knife in his gut just a little more.

Then he'd gone inside, figuring that he needed to deal with it, needed to listen to her, no matter what she had to say to him. If she hated him, it was no more than he deserved, certainly. But he'd found her, huddled in the hanging chair, the satellite phone in her lap, looking so small, so vulnerable, that something deep within him felt as though it had broken, and all he could do was to cover her with a blanket, to whisper he was sorry, even if she didn't hear him.

So, he'd gone back outside, and he'd been sitting alone on the dock ever since.

He wished that he was as close to having answers as was the approaching dawn. No matter how he looked at it, he knew, didn't he? Knew when he told her what he'd done, he'd see on her face. Her anger, he could deal with. Whatever she chose to say to him was fine, too. It was the idea of seeing the pain in her eyes that was killing him. It didn't matter what she'd said. He knew her better than that. Maybe she didn't even realize it herself yet, but he'd seen it, hadn't he? During that fight, he'd seen the emotions that she'd fought to hide. Anger, yes, of course that had been there, but under that, he'd seen it all: the hurt, the confusion, the pain. Her tears hadn't been contrived to guilt him. No, she'd tried so hard to hide them, too. How was he supposed to look her in the eye when he'd seen all that? When he'd _caused_ all that . . .?

" _I care because you're not doing it for the right reasons! Is it really all you want? A good fuck tonight with a woman who will forget about you tomorrow? Those women don't care about you, Evan! Can't you see . . .?_

He sighed, rubbing his eyes, clenching his jaw as her words echoed through his head so many times in the last few hours that he'd lost count of them all. She was right. He'd known it at the time. He'd just wanted to ignore it, so, he had . . . And in the end . . .

It hadn't felt right from the time he'd stormed onto the yacht from the house. So much anger, and yet that anger was hiding something far deeper. Somewhere deep down, he'd known it. It was just a buffer to conceal the darker emotions. Still Valerie's words had stung him. He hadn't wanted to deal with the truth behind it all.

But anger, he'd discovered over the years of his lifetime, had a horrid habit of festering, too. He'd let it do that to him, hadn't he? Instead of trying to take the time to stop, to consider what he was doing, he'd just gone with it, letting that anger carry him forward, letting his upset dictate his actions. The first thing he'd thought when he'd run into the blonde as she stepped out of the bar where she worked was that she looked a little like Valerie—blonde hair and hazel-ish eyes, and somehow he'd convinced himself that it was some sort of sign. ' _A little like her? Not hardly_ ,' he thought with an inward grimace. ' _Not even_ remotely . . .'

Stupid, right? He'd thought that a million times or more since he'd left those girls in their apartment. The blonde had said that she had a couple girlfriends who liked to party. Did he like to do that, too? Yeah, they'd both known from the outset just what was going to happen behind those closed doors. He'd honestly thought that he wanted that. He'd convinced himself that he had wanted that. He'd convinced himself of a lot of things . . . So it would seem that his anger had gotten the better of him again . . .

He wasn't entirely sure when he'd finally let go of it all; when the anger had finally waned. The empty feeling that engulfed him, though, was a hurtful, bitter thing. It was only then that he was able to think about think about the things he'd said, the things she'd said, and the truth behind it all. Most of what he'd said to her was the voice of sheer frustration. It was the same frustration that had shaped most of his thoughts since that day in his kitchen—the day she'd tried to explain herself. He'd raised his expectations too high over Christmas, and when she'd settled back into the world where she was comfortable, he was the one thrown for a loop. But he shouldn't have been. He knew better than that. It was his fault, not hers, and he was the one who had decided to give up instead of digging in his heels and trying that much harder.

She was dead-on, wasn't she? When she'd accused him of never acting serious about anything, she was right. It had become second nature to him over the years. It was simpler than trying to deal with something up front. Maybe she had a habit of putting up walls to shield herself, but then, he did it, too. They just did it in different ways, and he could understand that better than just about anyone.

He'd given up without much of a battle, hadn't he, and that was the worst part of it all. After everything was said and done, he'd ultimately done the same damn thing to her that everyone in her life had. All the people she'd ever loved had abandoned her in one way or another. Every single person she'd ever trusted had failed her. The ones who should have protected her—himself included—had hurt her so callously, so thoroughly, was it really a wonder as to why she'd be scared to take any kind of chance at all? He'd told himself before that he'd never do that to her, but he had. Walking out on her, no matter what the reason . . . Wasn't it the same thing?

Only it was worse in his case, wasn't it? He _knew_ the story—she'd trusted him enough to tell him. He knew it, but he'd disregarded it. He was angry, right? Hurt by the fact that she'd pushed him away, confused by the emotions that she inspired in him, and he'd lashed out . . . Was it any wonder she didn't trust him? Was it any wonder that she was scared to believe in him? Hell, he wasn't entirely sure that he believed in himself . . . and even then . . . Even if he said that he wanted her to trust him, how could he possibly convince her now? Everything she feared . . . Hadn't what he'd done just driven that idea home?

Slumping forward, resting his elbows on his legs as his hands dangled limply between his knees, Evan stared off into the distance, waiting in silence for the sun to rise.

The first weak rays of light seemed to waver on the horizon, wan at first, but growing steadily brighter in the seconds that followed. A strange gray light that was more like a moving shadow settled over everything for a breath of moment, and then the hazy sheen seemed to brighten, bringing with it a flood of pastel colors against the fiery disc of white gold. It was somehow poetic, wasn't it? As the daylight grew steadier, so would those same colors, and then the same thing would happen in reverse as evening faded into night . . .

' _Maybe we should go back inside. Maybe she's awake now_.'

' _Maybe_ ,' he reluctantly allowed without moving. He'd spent so long thinking about everything, yet he was no closer to figuring out just what he could possibly say to her. Sorry seemed too trite, didn't it? Too easy to say, too hard to believe . . . Unfortunately, nothing that he'd thought of actually seemed to be right. Even if there were some mysterious, magical phrase, how could he even bring himself to say it, anyway? After he'd gone out and found those girls? If he'd ever had a chance to earn her trust, he'd ruined it, hadn't he? She was too cautious, too careful, to buy his excuses, and that's all he really had, wasn't it? A shitload of excuses to match the mountain of regrets . . .

She'd never understand. How could he expect her to when he didn't really? He'd convinced himself that if he could just be with another woman, he'd get her out of his system, but he had to have realized that it simply wasn't true. Call it stupidity. Call it wishful thinking. Call it anything in the world, and it wouldn't make a difference. It wouldn't make a difference at all . . .

It was true, of course. When his youkai-voice had pointed out that convincing himself that he didn't deserve a woman like Valerie wouldn't really make sense. He'd seen too many people who were set on believing that, and it hadn't changed a thing. It had just made it harder than it had to be, and while Evan didn't even try to delude himself into thinking that he was any better than anyone else, if he opted to take that route, what good would it do for anyone? The alternative was far worse, as far as he was concerned. If he stepped back, if he decided that he just didn't deserve to be with her . . .

If he did that then Valerie would end up married to Marvin Pinkle—and she'd live the rest of her life having settled for safety, and while Evan could understand that, he also knew that she would miss out on so very much more. Sure, Evan didn't deserve her, especially after his grand display of ass-itude the day before. That much was true. But . . . But Valerie did deserve it, didn't she? So maybe he'd shot himself in the foot, so to speak, and made everything that much harder. It didn't change the fact that he owed it to her. He had to prove to her that sometimes life meant reaching out, trusting others, even if she was scared to death to do it. Maybe in the end, she'd find someone better for her than he was. That still had to be better than sitting back, watching her marry a man she didn't love, all because she was too damn scared to take a chance . . .

Letting out a deep breath, he frowned. It was one thing to realize all of that. It was another thing altogether to figure out a way to convince her, wasn't it?

A gentle shift in the air, the soft scrape of bare feet on the weathered wooden planks announced her presence before she spoke. Evan felt his mouth go dry, could hear the rise of his pulse as his blood pounded through his veins, and still he was afraid to look at her—afraid of what he'd see in the depths of her eyes . . . The silence that fell between them felt as wide and as deep as the ocean.

"Hi," she said at last.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"H-Hi," Evan murmured without turning to look at her. His tone was subdued, almost reluctant. Valerie winced and bit her lip, crossing her arms over her chest against the chilly morning air brought in by the storm the night before. He sat, slumped forward, staring off across the water though she had to wonder if he was really seeing anything at all. She had no idea what he was thinking, and that, more than anything, made her want to turn around and run.

' _Stop beating around the bush with it, Valerie!_ ' her conscience goaded. ' _Just tell him what you wanted to tell him and be done with it._ '

Sound advice, sure. Too bad it was a lot more difficult than it should have been.

"Mind if I sit down?" she forced herself to ask when it became apparent that he wasn't going to say anything else.

He didn't answer, but he did scoot over, and still he refused to look at her.

She sat down on the edge of the pier, rubbing away the goosebumps that rose on her bare legs. She didn't bring any pants, and the shorts she'd put on yesterday didn't do much to cover her up. "I was . . . was worried when you didn't come back last night," she went on, her voice barely above a whisper as she, too, stared out over the water. "I waited up for you, but I must've fallen asleep . . ."

She really couldn't tell if he was listening to her at all. Gathering her courage, she glanced at him, and the darkened circles under his eyes, the listless expression on his face . . . It made her sad, so sad . . .

Drawing a deep breath, Valerie hooked one foot behind her other ankle and idly kicked her legs. "About yesterday," she heard herself saying. "You . . . You were right, and I'm . . . I'm sorry."

That got his attention quickly enough. She could feel him turn his head, could feel his gaze light on her face. Try as she might, however, she couldn't make herself look back at him. She could feel her cheeks heating under his stare, and she sighed. "About everything," she went on quietly. "E-Everything . . ."

"V—" he said, his voice no louder than hers.

She shook her head stubbornly, her blush deepening, and she still couldn't look him in the eye. "Please, let me finish . . . I . . . I guess I just never really stopped to think about . . . about anything. I never stopped to consider your feelings. That was . . ." She barked out a terse laugh, stubbornly telling herself that she was not— _was not_ —going to cry. "It was stupid, right? I mean, I kept telling you that I wanted to be your friend . . . Of course you didn't believe me. Why would you when I never really acted like much of one . . .?"

"Valerie—" he tried again.

"No, you were right," she blurted, hurrying to speak before he broke in, before he said something to interrupt her before she could get it all out. All of the things she'd realized yesterday; all the things she needed to tell him before she lost her nerve . . . "I just assumed . . . But . . . But you know, I never meant to lead you on. I really didn't. When I kissed you at Christmas, I . . ." she swallowed hard, forced back the tears that were already standing in her eyes despite her best resolve to the contrary. "I . . ."

"You were confused," Evan said quietly, nodding as though it made sense despite the sadness that seemed to emanate from him in waves. "I know. About yesterday—"

"Please don't apologize," she hurried on to say. "You can't take back what you said, and I can't take back what I said, either . . . But I was angry, and . . . and hurt . . . and I shouldn't have been so cruel . . ."

"And what I did—what I said—that was okay?" he challenged quietly though there was no real rancor in his tone, just a sense of melancholy way too deep.

"You didn't say anything that wasn't true," she whispered, not trusting her voice to remain steady. Clearing her throat, she dashed a hand across her eyes and hoped that he hadn't seen it. "What I said about your girls—"

Evan stiffened beside her. "I did it," he said a little loudly, very bluntly. "I . . . I went to Mayaguana, and I . . ." He sighed suddenly, let out a sound that might've been a laugh if it didn't sound so sad. "I . . . I don't even know their names . . ."

Valerie flinched involuntarily, and it took her a moment to process what he'd said. She had no right to judge him, no. She just wanted him to understand . . . "What you do is your choice," she said, carefully choosing her words, hoping he didn't see through them—hoping that he couldn't see the fresh wash of pain that was digging at her. "It's just . . . These women that you're looking for . . . They don't know you, nothing about you. They don't know that you . . . that you look at stars or . . . or how much you love your mama. They don't know that you'd protect your friends, even if it meant that you'd spend years in jail for it. They don't know that you love to cook or that you can play every instrument under the sun. They don't know how . . ." she cut herself off for a moment, swallowed hard as a single tear dripped off her face, landing on her thigh in a jagged splatter. "They don't know how you hold your niece in your arms like she's the most precious thing on earth. They don't know how truly beautiful you are on the inside, and . . . and I just wish that they did. I . . . just wish that _you_ did."

He didn't say anything for a long moment. Sniffling quietly, Valerie wished she'd thought to grab a tissue before she'd come outside, but when she'd looked out the window, only to see the yacht at the dock, she hadn't stopped to think about anything else. She'd only wanted to say what she needed to say—and to hope that Evan didn't completely hate her . . .

"Do you know why I left them?" he finally asked, turning his face heavenward, as though he was searching the sky for answers. "Do you?"

She shook her head, unable to speak, unable to completely swallow her tears.

He sighed. "Do you remember what you said to me?"

Again she shook her head, wiping her cheeks and trying to breathe in a steady way.

"You said you cared because I wasn't . . . wasn't doing it for the right reasons," he reminded her gently. "And . . . And you were right. It wasn't for the right reasons. It wasn't even for a _good_ one."

For some reason, his statement bothered her even more. Maybe it was the hopeless tone in his voice, like he wasn't even sure if he deserved anyone for those reasons, in the first place. "Evan . . ."

"It wasn't what I wanted," he concluded. " _They_ weren't what I wanted."

Drawing a deep breath, she sniffled again and tried to gather what was left of her composure.   "Anyway, I wondered . . . Can I . . . Can I ask you for one last favor?"

His gaze flashed to her face, an expression of pure trepidation lingering in the depths of his eyes.

Forcing a little smile, she finally looked at him and shrugged simply. "I know you're tired," she began apologetically, "but if it's all right . . . Could you give me a ride back to Mayaguana?"

"Why?" he asked, the dubiousness in his face coming through in his voice.

Her smile brightened despite the slight twitching she could feel at the corners of her lips. "I'm going to go home," she said. "I already called and booked my flights. You did tell me that you wanted to go alone, and I didn't really listen. I want you to enjoy the rest of your vacation— _acation_. Thanks for bringing me down here."

Evan watched her wordlessly as she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. Then she smiled again and got up to retrieve the suitcase she'd left on the other end of the dock. "V?" he called after her.

She stopped and turned to look at him, her suitcase in hand, her purse hanging from her shoulder.

Pushing himself to his feet, he strode over to her and held out a hand for her luggage.

It was better this way, after all. Evan . . . He didn't need her constantly peeking over his shoulder, did he? She never should have come along with him, to start with.

She let him take the suitcase. While he was good at getting on and off the yacht, she still needed a hand to hang onto things, but when he started back toward the beach house with her luggage in his hand, she frowned. "Evan?" she said, hurrying after him. "What are you doing?"

He didn't break his stride, but he did look down at her, a sad yet almost hopeful little smile on his face. "We still have another week, V," he told her with a simplistic shrug. "Wanna see how much trouble we can get into? 'Sides, I hear that they're getting a hell of a blizzard in the city right about now."

She blinked, shaking her head, unsure what to make of his sudden change in mood. Well, not entirely, she supposed. He looked . . . anxious, didn't he? Letting out a deep breath, she caught his wrist and tugged to stop him. "Are you sure?" she asked, trying for her best no-bullshit tone of voice. "I mean it, Evan. If you want me to go back, I will. It's no big deal."

Sapphire eyes wide, serious, Evan's gaze was steady. "I want you to stay, V, I swear I do . . . but only if you want to."

"I-if you're sure," she agreed reluctantly.

A wide yawn interrupted him before he could speak again, and he rubbed his eyes. "Tell you what," he said after the yawn had abated. "Let me get some sleep, and then we can go rent some scuba gear."

She considered that then offered him a hesitant little smile. "I've never been scuba diving before," she ventured rather neutrally.

"You'll love it," he assured her, pushing inside the house and striding across the floor where he set the suitcase down and turned to flop onto the bed. "And you'd better be here when I wake up, okay?"

Leaning in the doorway, Valerie crossed her arms over her chest and smiled just a little. "Okay," she replied as she stared at him.

He didn't hear her. He was already fast asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Yesterday_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _The Beatles'_ _1965_ _release, **Help!**_. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _John_ _Lennon_ , _Paul_ _McCartney_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _She's going home …?_


	141. 140: One Fine Day

' _When I get high_ …  
' _I get high on speed_ …  
' _Top fuel funny car's_ …  
' _A drug for me_ …'

 

-' _Kickstart My Heart_ ' by Mötley Crüe

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Marching back into the house, Valerie wasn't surprised to find that Evan was still fast asleep, sprawled out on the bed. She considered letting him continue to sleep for about a minute while she filled two coffee cups and started over to wake him up. When she spotted the empty plastic bag on the counter, however, she set the mugs down and reached for that instead before crossing the space as she cupped the opening and methodically blew up the bag. ' _What's good for the goose, right?_ ' she thought without an ounce of reticence as she squeezed the opening shut and spared a moment to cock her head to the side, staring at the blissfully sleeping man. "Hmm, how sweet," she mused seconds before she smashed her hands together, only to be rewarded by a thunderous 'pop'—and a man who nearly jumped out of his skin.

"What the—? Where? _Fuck!_ " Evan exclaimed, blinking fast as he stumbled through the mosquito netting.

Valerie giggled and held up the bag for his inspection. "Look familiar, Roka?" she asked dryly.

It took a moment for Evan to reconcile the noise that had roused him with the bag in Valerie's slack hand, and when he finally did, he snorted and dove through the netting once more. "Christ, woman," he grumbled. "Give me a heart attack, will you?"

Rolling her eyes, Valerie dropped the bag into the garbage can and retrieved the mugs of coffee before stepping over to the bed. "What? It was funny when you did it to me, right? Suck it up," she told him brusquely. "Are you going to stay in bed all day?"

"Not talking to you now," he muttered, affecting a high-pitched voice that made her giggle.

"Whatever," she retorted, lifting one of the mugs of coffee to her lips. "Then I'll just drink this myself."

He turned his head just far enough to glance at her out of the corner of his eye. "You made me coffee?" he asked warily.

"Don't get used to it," she told him, sticking a mug through the mosquito netting. "It's just because you decided to sleep the whole day away."

Lifting his head far enough to peer at the clock, he snorted as he plopped back down again. "It's ten, V—not _even_ ten," he informed her. "The whole day, my butt."

"Yes, well, time's a-wastin'," she replied, jiggling the mattress with her foot until he sat up and reached for the coffee. "We've got things to do, places to be."

Evan shifted his gaze to the side and blinked at her over the rim of the cup. "Okay, who are you, and what did you do with V?" he demanded.

"Hmm, it might interest you to know that I got a surprise for you," she told him with a flutter of the hand before she lifted the cup of coffee to her lips once more. "But if you don't want it, then that's fine, too."

Intrigue. Definite intrigue. Evan blinked and gulped down the rest of his drink then stood up. "You got something for me?" he repeated as though he didn't believe her.

She nodded as she wandered back over to refill her cup once more. "Yep, but if you don't want it, then it's _fine_."

"I want it; I want it!" he insisted, not unlike a very young child. "Where is it?"

"It's outside, but— _ack!_ " Valerie squeaked when Evan grabbed her hand and started to drag her off. She barely had time to set the cup down before she spilled it all over herself as he headed toward the door. "Let go so I can finish my coffee," she demanded, to no avail.

"In a minute— _du-u-u-u-ude!_ " he breathed as they stepped outside. Valerie pulled away but didn't go back inside for her drink right away. "Dune buggies? _Wicked!_ " He started to dart down the steps to inspect the machines but stopped short and swung around to look at her. "Where did these come from?"

"I bought them yesterday while you were picking out the scuba gear," she told him. "Don't touch the pink one. It's mine."

He laughed and ran over to inspect the larger black dune buggy. "I thought about getting one of these before," he told her as he leaned into it to get a better look at the controls. "Holy crap! These must've cost you a pretty penny."

"Don't remind me, Roka," she replied a little dryly.

"I can pay for them," he said, sparing a moment to cast her a grin.

Valerie waved a hand in what she hoped was a nonchalant sort of way. "Forget it, rocker boy. Those are on me."

She rolled her eyes but smiled as she padded back into the house to grab her cup of coffee. Returning to the porch, she watched from the doorway as Evan continued to check it out, ignoring the little voice in the back of her mind that was bemoaning the cost of the ATVs. Impulse buying was really not her thing, especially when they were close to fifteen thousand dollars apiece, and that was before the cost of the extra fuel pods, helmets, and delivery charges were added on. The delivery charge was something she really didn't want to think about at the moment. Considering the store had to bring them over by boat, well . . .

But she was looking around the sporting goods store, and when she'd seen them, she just knew that he'd have a blast, motoring all over the island on one, and she'd just wanted to get something fun. Besides, the cost would be worth it, wouldn't it, as long as Evan had a good time. It was a vacation, after all. The least she could do was to make sure that he enjoyed himself as much as she was . . .

Besides, after last night, the break in the tension was a welcome change. The afternoon had gone well. Evan hadn't lied when he'd predicted that she'd love scuba diving. Seeing the beauty of the world under the water was something she'd never, ever forget, and the only way he'd actually convinced her to stop was to promise her that he'd bring her out again before their vacation was over.

In fact, they'd gotten along strangely well despite Evan's marked quietness as the evening wore on. He'd cooked dinner, and he'd sat on the beach with her as they watched the sunset, but all the while, she'd felt the invisible space between them like a wall that hadn't been there before. They were both being a little too cautious, a little reluctant to upset one another, and while she didn't exactly like the divide, she wasn't entirely sure what to do about it, either.

She'd spent the evening, reading through the files she'd brought with her as she sat in one of the hanging chairs. The nap Evan had taken just after they'd talked that morning must not have been enough, though. He'd fallen asleep around ten o'clock, and Valerie had quietly made up a pallet on the floor . . .

The sound of an engine drew her out of her reverie, and Valerie blinked. Evan had climbed into his dune buggy and was revving it unmercifully. "C'mon, V!" he hollered, raising his voice to be heard over the din. "Last one to the south end's a Pinkle eater!"

"Ah!" she grunted, setting the coffee mug on the bench next to the door. "You're cheating!" she yelled at him. "Where's your helmet?"

His laughter carried back to her as he took off, leaving behind a squall of sand. "Oh, that jerk!" she muttered as she ran over to the pink ATV. Her stern tone was completely undermined by the little laugh that slipped from her as she tried to figure out the best way to get into the buggy. It took her longer to get into it, and even longer when she had to pause long enough to fasten her helmet. "Wants to play like that, does he? All right, Roka. It's on."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"There you go. Should be good now."

Valerie frowned as she eyed the connections for the energy pod. "Thanks," she replied, satisfied that it was fully engaged. "How's yours?"

Evan grinned at her. "I've still got about a quarter left in mine," he told her. "I'm all right for a while."

"Why am I burning through fuel faster than you are?" she asked, standing up and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Dunno, V," he said with a shrug. "Maybe you've got a lead foot."

She wrinkled her nose but didn't gainsay him. Considering she'd beaten him in four of the five circuits around the island so far, she must have secretly agreed with him. "It's not my fault that you don't know how to handle these babies," she informed him with a haughty flick of her wrist. "And you call yourself a rock star."

He snorted but chuckled at her blatant taunt. "You know, I'd say something, but I'll be nice. Let me point out, though, that you're the one who keeps issuing the challenges _after_ you've already gotten a head start."

She grinned, apparently seeing nothing at all wrong with that. "Don't be a sore loser, Roka," she purred, patting his cheek as she strolled past him, heading toward the porch. "I'm going to go grab something to eat. You want anything?"

"I don't know," he called after her, leaning back on his heels, scratching his chin in an idle sort of way. "You're not going to try to give me a bowl of fruit salad and tell me that it's lunch, are you?"

"There's nothing wrong with having a light lunch," she informed him, raising her voice to be heard from inside the house. "In fact, it's good for you."

He snorted but smiled just a little. "Sure, it's good," he agreed. "Especially if you want to have the runs for the next week."

"If you'd eat more healthfully to start with, you wouldn't have that problem," she pointed out. "Your body's all screwed up from the way you eat now. It'd do you some good to purge all the toxins, anyway."

"Toxins?" he repeated, following her into the house and slipping past her to get into the refrigerator. "You're starting to sound like the Bitches of food."

Wrinkling her nose as she popped a hunk of papaya into her mouth, she shook her head. "Don't think I'll suggest getting naked to cleanse your colon, Roka."

"Hmm, that wouldn't be such a great thing, now would it?" he countered, sparing a moment to cast her a goofy grin before reaching for the plastic container that held a boiled conch left over from dinner last night.

She watched as he made quick work of opening the shell and extracting the meat. "So what are you making this time?" she finally asked as he gave the meat a rough chop and reached for a small onion. "Something that'll clog your arteries, I don't doubt?"

He scooped the meat into a bowl then added a glob of mayonnaise before tearing up some herbs and tossing them in, too. "Conch salad, baby," he told her with a wink as he squeezed half a lime into the mix. "Now that's what I'm talking about!"

Shaking her head despite the slight smile on her face as she picked at her fruit bowl, Valerie leaned away when he offered her a forkful of the conch salad. "You eat your salad; I'll eat mine," she said as he hacked into a crusty roll to split it open.

"Suit yourself, V," he agreed, scooping all the conch onto the roll and carefully cutting it in half before taking a huge bite out of one as he opened the cupboard to grab a plate. "Damn, this is _good_."

She smiled as he slapped the sandwich onto the plate then put the mayonnaise back into the refrigerator and nabbed two bottles of beer. Then he picked up his plate, balancing everything in one hand as he gestured for her to follow.

It was too nice a day to stay cooped up inside, even if they were just eating. She sat next to him in the sand, her expression completely serene as she scanned the horizon in a lazy sort of way. "I think I'll lay out for a while after lunch," she mused quietly. "What are you going to do?"

He shrugged and handed her a beer. "Was thinking about going scuba diving again," he replied, sliding his hand up the bottle so that he could twist the cap off for her. "What do you think? You up for it?"

"It was fun," she allowed with a hesitant smile.

"We could go a little deeper today. What do you think?" he cajoled, taking a healthy swig of beer before turning to the second half of his conch roll.

"Hmm, I could," she allowed as she leaned toward him to get a better look at his sandwich. "That doesn't actually look too bad."

"Here," he said, holding it out to let her take a bite. "You don't have to eat it all. Just try it."

She stared at it for another moment then leaned forward and bit down.

"So?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he watched her chew thoughtfully.

She swallowed and let out a deep breath. "It's good," she admitted. "It's _really_ good."

"You want this half?" he asked, offering it to her with a smile.

Valerie looked mightily tempted. "N-No. It's yours," she told him despite the fact that she was staring rather longingly at it.

He chuckled and stuck the sandwich into her hand. "I tell you what," he said, reaching across her for the fruit salad. "You eat what you want of it, and I'll eat some fruit, too."

"Is this what you'd call 'compromise'?" she asked moments before biting into the sandwich.

"Yep," he told her, popping a piece of mango into his mouth.

She laughed but kept eating. Evan figured she'd probably eat about half of it before she decided that she was full. That was all right.

Stealing a glance at her, he took another bite of her salad. It had surprised him, hadn't it? That she'd actually bought dune buggies didn't just surprise him, it flabbergasted him to be honest. Still some small part of him could understand it. She really did want to show him that she cared, and it wasn't the cost of the items that was enough to make him wonder, but they were things that she thought he'd really like. Just to cut loose and to have fun . . . It was nice, and yet . . .

And yet he still couldn't quite shake the nagging idea that he really didn't deserve her efforts. To say that her reaction to his confession about the women had surprised him would be a gross understatement. He supposed that he'd expected her to be angry, to rant and rave at him. He supposed that he'd ultimately figured that she'd withdraw, pull herself away, and she hadn't. While he had to admit that it was a relief, it also bothered him, didn't it? There wasn't doubt in his mind that her reaction had everything to do with the things he'd said to her. She seemed almost subdued, didn't she? It wasn't at all what he'd come to expect from the gorgeous attorney, and, well, he didn't like it in the least.

" _What you do is your choice. It's just . . . These women that you're looking for . . . They don't know you, nothing about you. They don't know that you . . . that you look at stars or . . . or how much you love your mama. They don't know that you'd protect your friends, even if it meant that you'd spend years in jail for it. They don't know that you love to cook or that you can play every instrument under the sun. They don't know how . . . They don't know how you hold your niece in your arms like she's the most precious thing on earth. They don't know how truly beautiful you are on the inside, and . . . and I just wish that they did. I . . . just wish that_ you _did_."

Evan sighed. Just how much had it cost her to say all that to him? It wasn't the kind of thing that she normally said to anyone. It caught him off guard at the time. He supposed that he had never thought that she'd put that much consideration into it, and even if she wasn't ready to admit that her feelings might run deeper, that was all right, too. Any concession was better than none, as far as he was concerned. She really didn't like to look deep into herself, did she? Not that he could fault her for that. He wasn't too keen on doing that, either.

' _Face it, rockstar. What bothers you the most is that you think she doesn't care as much as you want her to,_ ' his youkai-voice stated.

Evan made a face. ' _It's not that_ ,' he insisted. ' _She was crying. You know she was. If she'd yelled at me_ . . .'

' _If she'd yelled at you, then it would have let you off the hook, right? It's easier to deal with that, isn't it? Either you get mad right back or you can make a big, fucking joke out of it. You know what I think?_ '

' _Do I want to?_ '

' _Don't be a bitch. If you ask me, it's better this way_.'

' _Better? Why? Because I don't have to feel bad about being an asshole?_ ' Evan shot back.

' _No, stupid. Think about it. She didn't get angry because she cares. She didn't get angry because getting mad at someone is what you do when you're pissed off at a friend. You hurt her, and that's not good, but it shows that she really does care—she cares a hell of a lot more than she's willing to admit_.'

' _Well, that's wonderful_ ,' Evan thought with an inward grimace. ' _Thanks for making me feel worse about it all_.'

' _Don't feel worse_ ,' his youkai advised in a pragmatic sort of way. ' _Just keep that in mind the next time you try to tell yourself that she doesn't care because we both know that it isn't true—and maybe it'll keep you from going off, half-cocked the next time_.'

Letting out a deep breath, Evan slowly shook his head. No, it really didn't make him feel better; not at all. If anything, it made him feel just a little worse. Not for the first time, he had to wonder just how hard everything would be if she hadn't been so damaged early on in life. That thought, however, only served to heighten his irritation. For ten cents and a bus ticket, he'd go to Kentucky, find her 'parents' and let them know exactly what he thought of their brand of nurturing . . .

' _And that's another thing_ ,' his youkai went on. Evan frowned. ' _Are you ever going to tell her what you know?_ '

That was enough to give him pause. He hadn't really considered that since they'd returned from Christmas in Maine. He hadn't wanted to ruin her holiday, so he hadn't told her then, and he'd intended to tell her about it when they got home. Too bad Madwin's sudden appearance had gotten in the way. That—and everything that had come after that—had pushed it all out of his mind, too . . .

Shifting his gaze to peek at her out of the corners of his eyes, Evan frowned. She was concentrating on that sandwich with a very pleased look on her face, and maybe the memory of her stricken expression was just still too fresh in his mind. Here they were, surrounded by the beauty of the tropics, and with just a few more days left for him to make it up to her for having pretty well ruined the first half of their vacation, how in the world was he supposed to tell her any such thing?

As though she sensed the darkness of his thoughts, she turned toward him, the sandwich in her hands lowering a little. "What's the matter?" she asked quietly.

He could have kicked himself when he saw the flash of anxiety that crossed her features for a moment before she managed to conceal it. "Uh, nothing," he assured her quickly, pasting on a smile just for her. "I was thinking that maybe we should make a trip to Mayaguana tomorrow. You know, buy something to cover those up so they don't get ruined if it rains."

She didn't look like she really believed him. "Evan," she said slowly, carefully, her tone a little too neutral, he suspected. "Are you still . . .? I mean, if this is about that . . . that fight . . ."

"No," he told her, and this time, his smile was real. "It's not; I swear."

Biting her lip, she frowned for a moment before opening her mouth to speak.

He was quicker as he reached over and pressed his index finger to her lips. "Don't you dare apologize again, V." With a sigh, he let his hand fall away and drained the rest of his beer. "Neither of us is perfect, right? Maybe it's time we stopped pretending to be."

She nodded slowly though the expression on her face was dubious at best.

"Anyway, just so you know, I'm still glad you came with me," he went on.

She stared at him for several seconds, but she finally smiled, too. "You know," she said with a gentle laugh. "I am, too, Roka. I am, too . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Kickstart My Heart_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _Mötley_ _Crüe's 1989_ _release,_ **_Dr. Feelgood_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Nikki_ _Sixx_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Something's_ _bothering_ _him_ _still_...


	142. 141: Distraction

' _I'm a real smooth dancer; I'm a fantasy man_ …  
' _Master of Illusion; magic touch in my hand_ …  
' _All the stages are empty when I steal the scenes_ …  
' _A beggar of love; second hand hero; king of dreams_ …'

 

-' _King of Dreams_ ' by Deep Purple

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Four of the pomegranates, please," Evan leaned in to order from the young girl tending the booth in the noisy open-air market. "Oh, and a grapefruit," he added, pausing long enough to wink at Valerie as she lifted one of the citrus fruits to her nose.

She smiled, unable to help herself. He was being a little incorrigible this morning. "You're the only person I know who actually likes to shop for groceries," she remarked after he'd thanked the girl and stuck the fruit into the basket he was carrying.

"Yeah, not something I get to do too often, you know?" he said. "Too much going on usually." There was no regret in his tone, merely a simple matter-of-factness. She supposed that she could understand his sentiments.

"So who usually does your grocery shopping then?"

He shrugged. "Depends. Usually, it's the maid, but a lot of stuff is just delivered anyway, like the meat I feed the dogs."

She rolled her eyes, mostly because, Evan's family aside, she'd never actually met anyone who cooked meals for their pets. She'd seen firsthand what he fed his dogs. They usually got better cuts of meat and fresher vegetables than most other people served their families on a regular basis. "You know, you could always get them canned food or something," she pointed out, tugging the sunglasses off her head and slipping them onto her face.

"Yeah, I could," he agreed easily enough. "I don't mind cooking for them, though."

"Speaking of your dogs," she went on, wrinkling her nose since she was still convinced that those little beasts were still just waiting for their chance to eat her, "where are they now?"

"Uh, Bubby's got 'em," he said. "He'll bring them back after I get home from the show in Germany." He stopped suddenly and shot her a sly glance. "You should come with me, V. Ever been to Europe?"

For the briefest of moments, Valerie's heart soared. Go with him to Europe? Was he kidding? She'd always wanted to go there . . . Then reality rudely intruded, and she sighed. "Isn't that coming up really soon?"

He nodded. "Yep."

"I can't," she said with a deflated air. "I've got court appointments."

He shrugged. "So petition for a continuance."

She snorted loudly and leveled a look at him. "And you think that the judges would think that was all right? That I want to postpone the cases just so I can go running off to Europe with Zel Roka?"

He pondered that for a moment then sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right," he allowed though he sounded pretty disappointed. "Eh, I guess it won't matter, anyway. I probably won't have enough time to do much sightseeing, anyway."

Valerie frowned but didn't say anything. He'd said that before, hadn't he? How many times had he toured around the world, and really, how much of the world had he actually gotten to see? Even during his mini-tour, he hadn't gotten to do much. It seemed pretty unfair, actually. She wasn't sure if it was worse to have never traveled to any place exotic or to have been there but not been able to go see it . . .

Evan stopped at another stand. This one offered a collection of different nuts and berries. As he looked over the produce, Valerie blinked and looked down when a beat up looking soccer ball bumped into her foot.

"Is this yours?" she asked, nudging the ball toward the little boys who were standing nearby looking rather bashful.

The largest of them nodded, and she smiled as she tapped it back with her toe.

The children giggled and ran away without a word. She shook her head as her smile widened.

"There you go again. Flirting with all the boys," Evan teased.

Valerie turned and giggled. "Is that what I was doing?"

"Of course you were," he replied lightly, leading the way back onto the wide path. "Don't worry about it. You can't help it. You're just one of those girls who was born to flirt."

She rolled her eyes but laughed, mostly because she really wasn't. In fact, she had to admit that she'd never been particularly good with that skill at all . . .

But it didn't really matter. What did, in her opinion, was that Evan seemed to be very relaxed—more relaxed than he had been since they'd returned from Maine. It was nice to see him that way—and she had to admit that it was a huge relief, too. That's what she'd feared, wasn't it? She'd worried that he wouldn't be able to loosen up and really enjoy the rest of his vacation if she stayed, even after he'd asked her to do so.

' _Strange really_ ,' she thought as she watched him haggle with a chubby man over the price of some vegetables. Why did it seem like she was seeing him in a wholly different kind of light the last few days? She'd known it before, but maybe she'd taken it for granted, how easily he smiled, how it never seemed feigned or forced. As quick to start a conversation with a vendor in the open-air market as he was to talk to a perfect stranger at an expensive restaurant, he just had a way with people, didn't he?

"Check this out," he said as he strode back over to her once more. "I got a great deal on these!"

She laughed at the complete excitement in his expression. "They're vegetables, Roka," she reminded him.

"I know, but you love veggies, right? You'll see."

"Yeah, but aren't you buying a little too much? We've only got a couple more days here," she pointed out.

"All the more reason to cook up a feast," he informed her with a grin. "Damn, I wish we could hang out here longer."

"I wish we could stay here until winter's over," she remarked. "I'm so not looking forward to going back home . . ."

Evan chuckled and led the way toward the dock where he could buy the freshest seafood on the island. "It's kind of stinky over this way," he mused as they walked. "If you want to go have a drink or something, I'll come find you when I'm done."

"If you can take it, I can, too, Roka," she assured him. "Just bring it."

He laughed and shook his head but didn't say anything else as they stepped onto the long dock where the fishermen had anchored their boats with the morning's catch.

Okay, so he was right. There was a very prevalent smell of fish. Some of the boats held fish that they were busy cleaning and packing down in ice, and the entrails that they were dropping into buckets were likely the cause of the foul stench. Glancing at Evan, she was a little surprised to see him covering his nose and mouth, and while he kept his gaze straight ahead, he'd also quickened his pace quite a bit.

The first boat he stopped at was upwind of the majority of the smell. "Hey! If it isn't baby Zelig!"

Evan grinned and waved at the weather-worn man who hopped up onto the rigging and shot Evan a cheeky smile. "Fancy seeing you down here," Evan greeted. "How've you been, you old coot?"

The man laughed and shook his head. "Ah, you know. Got too cold up north for the missus."

"She's still putting up with you?" Evan asked. "Figured she'd have tossed you out by now. Does she still make those oatmeal cookies?"

Grabbing a waterproof canvas bag, he tossed it to Evan with a chuckle. "Don't eat 'em all like you did when you were a little shit. You always ate 'em all and never would share with Maddy," he warned, shaking a finger sternly. His gaze shifted to Valerie, though, and his already broad grin widened. "Who's the pretty lady? Don't tell me she's running around with a tramp like you."

Evan laughed and grabbed Valerie's hand to pull her forward a step. "This is my attorney, Valerie Denning. V, this wily bastard is an old family friend, Duncan Hoss. Ol' Hoss usually fishes off the coast of Maine—one of the best boatmen on the water. Taught me everything I know—about sailing, anyway."

"Pleased to meet you," Valerie said, leaning forward far enough to shake the man's hand.

Hoss rolled his eyes. "Which ain't much, I'm sure. That boy's been full of piss and vinegar since the first day I chased him out of my yard." Pushing his hat back, he scratched his head thoughtfully. "Couldn't have been more 'n, what? Three? Four? Damned little shit . . ."

Evan grinned unrepentantly. "He lived on the hill near Cain's place. Had this great old oak tree that hung over the short cliff? All the kids used to love to swing off this rope that hung from the branches, out over the water . . ."

"It sounds dangerous," she pointed out with a raised eyebrow. Evan's grin widened.

Hoss chuckled. "Always was fearless—or stupid. Maybe both, come to think on it . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever," Evan grumbled, cheeks pinking slightly despite the grin on his face. "So what'd you bring in today? Anything edible?"

"Had a good haul today," he told Evan proudly. "Lobster—not as nice as the ones up home, but pretty damn decent."

"How about a couple of those?" Evan asked.

Hoss hollered over for one of his crewmen to bring a couple lobsters over for them. The man packed them into a beat up old Styrofoam cooler and handed it over.

"How much?" Evan asked as he took the cooler.

Hoss snorted indelicately and waved a hand. "Your money ain't no good to me, brat. Make sure you cook those right, now."

Evan laughed. "Yeah, I know. Salt water only," he replied. "Tell Ma I'm sorry I missed her."

"Yep," he called back, giving a wide wave as he turned to lumber back over toward the far side of the boat.

Evan chuckled as he turned away from the boat. "Can't believe he was down here," he remarked. "Small world I guess . . ."

She smiled as they made their way back down the dock. "So you've always been a hellion."

"Naw . . . Well, maybe a little . . ."

She shook her head and reached over to take the basket since he was carrying the cooler, too. The thought of Evan sneaking into a neighbor's yard, just to jump out of the tree? Stealing a glance at the man beside her, she let out a deep breath and smiled. Somehow, that didn't surprise her in the least.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"I'm _starving_."

Glancing up from her bowl of fruit salad, Valerie didn't look impressed by Evan's claim. "You're not starving," she informed him, "and if you are, I did offer to share this with you."

He heaved a long-suffering sigh that should have made her feel bad as he flopped back against the pillows piled on the mattress and reached for his eBook reader. "To think, I could have had _lobster_ tonight . . . Hey, V?"

"Hmm?" she intoned, burying her nose in the slim-file in her lap as she stuck another bite of fruit into her mouth.

Evan peered over the eBook reader at her. "Tell me again _why_ I'm not eating lobster right now?"

"Because you wanted to return them to their little lobster-y family." She didn't even bat an eyelash. ' _Damn, she's_ goo-o-o-ood . . .'

He snorted loudly. "Keh! You're the one who wanted to return them to their lobster-y family," he pointed out. "If you hadn't gotten all weepy—"

"I didn't do anything of the sort," she stated quite haughtily.

"'Ooh, but what if they have little lobster-y babies, Evan? What if they're waiting for these lobsters to come ho-o-ome?'" he said in a high falsetto meant to imitate Valerie's voice.

She threw a pencil at him. He ducked to avoid it. "Jerk! I didn't say that!"

He grinned and tossed the pencil back at her. "Right, V, right . . ."

"I didn't," she stated once more. "Don't throw pencils. You'll put someone's eye out—like mine."

"You threw it first," he pointed out reasonably.

She rolled her eyes. "If it hit you, you'd have had to move in front of it. Anyway, I didn't say that," she went on. "Ms. Lobster did."

He laughed. He couldn't help it. He supposed it might have been because she'd gotten bored during the ride back to the island, but she'd walked into the wheelhouse with the bigger of the two lobsters held up in front of her face—and then she'd made the lobster _talk_ . . .

" _You can't eat me," it said in a very girly tone. Apparently Valerie had decided that it was a girl . . . "If you eat me, who'll take care of my twenty lobster-y babies?_ "

 _He snorted. "Twenty? Try more like twenty_ thousand _for a lobster that size—if you're even a girl, that is_."

" _Hmph! I kind of look like a girl, don't you think? And that's beside the point! Who'll take care of my babies if you eat me?" she demanded, waving a claw accusingly at him_.

" _But you'll taste so good with butter and maybe a sprinkling of chives_ . . ."

" _It's entirely inhumane to cook me while I'm still alive," she pointed out_.

" _Eh, you won't feel a thing_."

" _I can't believe you're so cold," the lobster-V accused. "I'll come back from my lobster-y grave and haunt you_."

 _He chuckled. "I love dreaming about my food. Make sure you bring your lobster-y babies when you haunt me. Midnight snack, you know_."

Heaving a sigh, Evan slowly shook his head. She'd finally talked him into setting the lobsters free about halfway home. Considering it wasn't the first time she'd wanted to do that kind of thing, he figured he might as well consider the tasty crustaceans off the table indefinitely. Of course, the first time she was very, very 'mellow', as she'd put it. He would have said that she was mildly drunk. She hadn't had a thing to drink this time, though, which meant that he'd likely never get to eat another lobster in her presence ever, ever again . . .

' _That's all well and good, you know, but just remember, will you? She wasn't impressed with your comment about making the babies your midnight snacks_.'

' _Aww, that wasn't V. That was Ms. Lobster._ '

His youkai snorted then sighed. ' _I don't think that was a girl lobster, you know._ '

' _Yeah, but V thought it was, so whatcha gonna do?_ '

' _I know; I know, but Zel?_ '

' _Huh?_ '

' _We really are hungry as hell_. . .'

That was true. Unfortunately, there wasn't really anything substantial to eat, and even if he did eat some of Valerie's fruit salad or cooked up some of the vegetables, it wouldn't keep his belly full for long. He blinked when Valerie set a bowl on his stomach. He hadn't noticed when she'd gone over to get him some fruit. "Thanks," he said, figuring that it was better than nothing.

She nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Sorry about the lobsters," she remarked despite the fact that she sounded anything but contrite.

Evan didn't comment on that as he dug into the food.

"It's just that they were looking at me," she went on. "It's like they were begging me not to let you eat them with their beady little buggy eyes . . ."

"It's all right," he told her between bites. "Just remind me the next time I think to get lobster to go ahead and get another form of protein."

She shook her head but didn't remark on that as she picked up the eBook reader that he'd set aside. "So what are you—? Oh, my God! What the hell is that?" she demanded, waving the reader in his general direction.

He almost laughed—almost. Given that she looked completely disgusted at his choice of reading material, he figured that laughing in her face would be in poor taste, all things considered . . . "What? That? It's the latest issue of _Fetish_ ," he told her.

She made a face and started to set it down but must've thought better of it, because she lifted it closer and narrowed her eyes instead. "That isn't even possible," she scoffed, turning the reader around to get a different perspective. The page switched orientation, though, so she tilted her head to the side to compensate.

Evan reached over and pulled on her wrist so that he could see what she was looking at. The picture made him grin since he'd been in the middle of a pictorial layout on contortionists. The two in the image were caught in a pose that resembled a really raunchy version of naked Twister . . . "Nah, it's one hundred percent real. It said that the girl's double jointed."

Valerie snorted and flipped the page. Apparently she thought it was worse, if the expression on her face meant anything at all. "Photoshopped," she stated flatly, sticking the reader under his nose.

He laughed at her no-nonsense statement. "Nah. I mean, everything that shows up in _Fetish_ has to be completely real." He took the reader and glanced at the picture with a grin. "Oh, damn . . . Don't suppose you could do that, could you?"

"Don't sound so hopeful, Roka," she shot back dryly. "Besides, you'll never know, will you?"

He sighed. "Why you gotta do me like that, V?" he complained.

She rolled her eyes. "Why do you even have a subscription to a magazine like that? _Penthouse_ or _Playboy_ , I could see, but that—"

"I get it for the articles," he deadpanned, blinking innocently at her.

She made a face. "Like hell," she scoffed.

"No, really, they have some pretty good stories," he told her with a grin. "With pictures, of course."

"Oh, now that explains a lot," she said.

His grin widened as he flicked through the pages to the start of the month's featured fiction. "Here," he said, handing the reader back. "This month's story's pretty good. It's a love story."

She looked completely dubious. "A love story?" she echoed.

"Yep," he told her with a grin. "Just read it. You'll see."

Valerie heaved a sigh but reluctantly took the reader from him. Stretching out across the foot of the bed on her stomach with her heels kicked up and crossed at the ankles, she shot him another glance. "This is going to scar me for life, isn't it?" she predicted.

Evan laughed. "Nah," he assured her then shrugged. "Well, maybe."

She still didn't look convinced, but she turned her attention to the eBook reader once more, and Evan stifled a sigh.

' _You know, I blame you for that_ ,' his youkai-voice grouched.

' _For what?_ ' he countered.

The voice snorted indelicately. ' _Keh! For ensuring that we're never going to get to see her cute little panties ever, ever again—or at least, not for a good, long while_.'

Heaving a sigh as he sat back, Evan nodded slowly. ' _Aww . . . I miss the panties_.'

' _I hate you_ ,' his youkai concluded with a sigh of its own. ' _I really, really hate you_.'

' _Yeah_ ,' Evan allowed, staring at the cute little shorts covering the attorney's backside. ' _I think I might, too_. . .'

Valerie made a face but turned the page on the reader. It was almost enough to make Evan laugh, and if he didn't already regret the argument, he would have started, if only because one of the things that Valerie had apparently decided that he was right about was the tee-shirt and panties she normally wore to bed, and didn't that just figure? As if it wasn't bad enough that she'd also decided that she needed to hide as much of her body from his as she possibly could, she'd also decided that she needed to sleep on the floor, too, and Evan just didn't know how to convince her that it'd be okay if she shared the bed with him. Damn his temper, anyway . . .

No doubt about it; she was a tough nut to crack. But that was all right, too, wasn't it? After all, he knew deep down that being with Valerie Denning really would be worth the wait in the end.

The silence in the room was comfortable, a completely welcome change from the tenseness that had grown between them directly after the fight. As though neither of them was entirely sure just how to deal with the other, they had spent a day or so being overly polite, a little too accommodating. That hadn't sat well with him in the least, but yesterday and today were much better in that respect.

' _So when are you going to do it?_ ' his youkai spoke up at length.

' _Do what?_ ' Evan asked with a confused little shake of his head since he wasn't entirely sure what the voice was talking about.

' _Damn, you're stupid. How the hell did I get stuck with an idiot like you, anyway?_ '

Snorting inwardly since he was pretty sure that his youkai was still grumbling about the idea that Valerie had decided to wear shorts, Evan reached for Valerie's eBook reader to see if she had anything interesting hidden on there. ' _Just lucky, I guess_.'

' _Luck had nothing to do with it. Now stop avoiding my question, will you?_ '

' _I might if you'd tell me what you're talking about_.'

His youkai sighed. ' _About her father, moron. When are you going to tell her about that?_ '

Evan grimaced. It wasn't that he'd forgotten about that by any means, but if he told her now, all he'd succeed in doing would be to ruin what was left of their vacation. Sure, she'd said that she'd broken all ties with her parents, going so far as to change her name and everything, and he knew that she generally tried not to think about them. The trouble was, no matter what she'd said, he knew that she still loved them on some level. Maybe it wasn't something she'd admit, and maybe she'd done a good job of convincing herself otherwise, but there was a part of her, no matter how badly she might want to deny it that was still the little girl who understood nothing as she'd watched her parents being arrested—the little girl who'd spent a more than a few Saturdays, standing at the door with her hands against the glass, watching and waiting for those parents to show up for visitation—waiting for the parents who never showed up.

And he had to admit that some small part of him had considered tossing the file that Bas had given him into the trash and burying the information that it contained. Hadn't he already caused her enough pain, and even if that weren't an issue, did those people even deserve to occupy her mind for even a moment? After everything they'd done to her, what right did they have to hurt her again? Just how many times should they be given any chances to make things right with her?

He sighed. If he really wanted to think that way, then how many chances should he get? No, if anything, he couldn't help but feel a little ashamed of himself for even considering the idea of not telling her the truth. If she wanted to confront them, then that was her choice. If she didn't, he could understand that, too. The thing was, it was ultimately her decision, wasn't it, and he really didn't have the right to keep it from her.

It went against everything he felt, though. Knowing that it was going to cause her pain just went against the things that he was brought up to believe. The youkai part of him wanted to shelter her, to protect her from anything that could harm her. Or maybe that wasn't the youkai part at all. Maybe it was the part of him that loved her . . .

"Evan? Are you okay?"

Evan blinked and glanced at Valerie, who was staring at him with a thoughtful frown. "Uh, fine," he told her quickly. "You done reading?"

She didn't look like she believed him entirely, but she slowly nodded, apparently deciding that she wasn't going to get a different answer out of him, even if she pressed the issue—or maybe she wasn't quite ready to press anything with him just yet. That thought made him grimace inwardly. "You know, Roka, I thought you were twisted before," Valerie stated as she sat up and pinned him with a droll stare. "Now I'm sure of it. You call that a love story?"

Forcing back the bleak thoughts that had been running through his head, Evan smiled halfheartedly. "It was," he insisted. "I mean, the guy loved her all his life, but he never had the courage to tell her."

She snorted indelicately. "So he steals her body from the morgue and then . . . then fornicates with her corpse?"

"It was really well written," he told her.

She rolled her eyes, looking entirely unimpressed. "Okay," she admitted after a moment. "It was well written—even if it was the most demented thing I think I've ever read."

"The same guy wrote a story a few issues ago that was really good, too. It was about this guy who was living this double life: safe, happy, regular sex Monday through Friday, and then on the weekends, he'd go to this ranch where he got to act out his dreams with this goat named Nanna."

Valerie blinked as she continued to stare at him. He had a feeling that she was trying to decide whether or not he was being serious. "Why do you have a subscription to that magazine, anyway?" she finally demanded.

Evan chuckled. "Deet used to get it, and I'd read it some, so he got me my own subscription for Christmas a few years ago."

She made a face. "Oh, great. Dieter got it for you. Now you'll get that demented magazine for life, won't you?"

He didn't answer, but he did shrug and smile. "The pictures were hot, right? I mean, her skin was peeling off in the later ones."

She sighed—and looked vastly disturbed, probably because the pictures were all of the fictional man performing sexual acts with the corpse of his beloved. "I'm going to have nightmares," she predicted. "I just _know_ it . . . Now I feel . . . _dirty_ . . . and not in a good way, either."

He chuckled as she pushed herself off the bed and strode off toward the bathroom. "Where you going, V?" he called after her.

"I feel the need to scrub myself from head to foot with a Brillo pad," she tossed back over her shoulder. "Then maybe I'll purge my brain, too."

He couldn't help the grin that surfaced at her statements as she closed the bathroom behind herself. Then he sighed. Okay, so things weren't completely normal between them, was it? But it wasn't as bad as it could have been, considering his colossal stupidity. He'd get everything back on track. It might just take a while . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _King_** **_of_** **_Dreams_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _Deep_ _Purple's_ _1990_ _release,_ **_Slaves_** **_and_** **_Masters_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Joe_ _Lynn_ _Turner_ , _Roger_ _Glover,_ _and_ _Ritchie_ _Blackmore_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _What_ _a_ _monkey_...


	143. 142: The Last Day

' _Let it rain_ …  
' _Oh, let it rain down on me_ …  
' _To hide the tears I'm cryin'_ …  
' _So no one can see_ …'

 

-' _Let it Rain_ ' by Warrant.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Hmm, it seems like a bad omen."

Evan blinked and glanced down from the ceiling he was checking over for any signs of damage. "What does?"

Sitting in the open doorway, Valerie nodded at the sky. "That," she replied simply. "I think it's the island's way of saying that it'll miss us."

He smiled and flipped himself over the beam, holding on with his hands until his body stopped swaying then dropped to the floor. "Think so?" he asked, dusting the leather work gloves together and tugging them off before sinking down beside her. He leaned forward to survey the steely skies and the rain falling in great gray sheets. "Damn . . . Doesn't look like it's going to let up, does it?"

She turned her head to look at him and smiled ruefully. "Guess going scuba diving today is out," she replied ruefully. "I was looking forward to it, too."

Evan let out a deep breath and sank back on his haunches. "Sorry about that," he mumbled, looking as though he was taking the weather as a personal affront. "Some last day, huh?"

"Oh, I don't know," Valerie drawled, blowing a lock of hair out of her eyes. It had escaped from the loose knot she'd twisted her hair up into when the air had turned muggy about an hour before the rain had started. "It's nice and quiet, isn't it?"

He stared at her for a moment. Then he reached out and gently tucked the hair behind her ear. She could see the change in his expression almost instantly, too. The darkening in his gaze, the sadness that rose up inside him . . . She'd seen that a few times in the last week, and she hated it—hated that he was still beating himself up over their fight. The thing was, he never wanted to talk about it, either, and the times she'd asked him, albeit reluctantly, he'd just given her a wan little smile and said that he wasn't quite ready to talk about it yet . . .

She caught his wrist when his hand started to fall away and held on. "Tell me what's bothering you?" she asked quietly, gently, struggling to attain a more neutral tone of voice in the hopes that it would encourage him to speak. "Is . . . Is it about the . . . the fight . . .?"

He blinked and glanced at her quickly, almost guiltily. "N-No . . . It's nothing," he replied, much to her dismay. She'd figured he'd say that. She was just hoping that he wouldn't . . .

Heaving a sigh, she let go of his hand and pushed herself to her feet, shuffling outside onto the porch to stare at the falling rain. "You're still mad at me, aren't you?" she asked softly, quietly. No, it was more of a statement than a question.

She heard him move, the shuffle of his jeans on the floor, the slight creak as he stood up. She didn't hear him come up behind her, but she sucked in a sharp breath when his arms closed in around her waist, pulled her gently back against his chest. "I'm not," he told her. "I swear, I'm not. If . . . If anyone should still be mad about all that, it's you."

"Don't be ridiculous," she mumbled, leaning against him for a moment—only a moment . . . Even as a gulf as wide as the ocean opened up between them. She sighed. "Then what's bothering you? Can't you tell me?" She heard him draw in a deep breath, and she knew what was going to come out of his mouth before he could say it. "And don't tell me it's nothing," she cut in before he could utter the words. There was only one thing she could think of, and as much as she hated to bring it up, if it would help him . . . If it _could_ help him . . . "It's about . . ." she trailed off for a moment and swallowed hard as she steeled her resolve and stepped away so that she could turn and look him in the eye, so she could silently dare him to lie to her now. "It's about those . . . those girls you were with, isn't it? You don't really think I'm upset about that, do you?"

She was a little relieved, though, that he didn't look at her right then. The truth of it was that the idea of Evan with those girls _did_ still bother her despite her best efforts not to let it. But it wouldn't do to let him see it, and she . . . Well, she didn't really have a right to be upset over that, anyway . . . Now if she could just convince herself of that, she'd be one step ahead of the game . . .

He looked genuinely surprised for a moment, and then he quickly shook his head. "No," he told her, turning to lean back against the railing as he uttered a little laugh. It wasn't exactly an amused sound. If anything, it sounded a little sad. "No," he stated once more. His voice was stronger this time. "It doesn't have anything to do with them." Lifting his gaze to meet hers, he must've seen the uncertainty in her expression, and he shook his head. "Honest. It doesn't."

"If you want to talk about it, I . . . I'll listen," she told him. Did she really want to hear it? Probably not. Would she be able to listen to him if he did choose to talk? She'd find a way to do it.

"V," he said, casting her a no-nonsense look. "Seriously, it has nothing to do with that."

Biting her lip, she nodded slowly. Whatever it was, he really didn't want to tell her about it, and while part of her could understand that, she had to admit that it bothered her. She'd thought—she'd _hoped_ —that he'd feel comfortable enough to tell her things. Maybe he would have before that fight, but now . . .?

' _Do you really have the right to ask him anything, anyway?_ ' the voice in the back of her head whispered.

No, maybe she didn't, but . . . but she _wanted_ to.

He sighed and leaned back, holding onto the railing as he turned his gaze to the sky once more. "Let me ask you something."

She blinked and glanced at him. "Okay."

For a moment, she thought that he might have changed his mind. As the silence stretched out into a minute, Valerie rubbed her forearms in an idle sort of way. "If you found out something that might hurt someone, but it was important— _really_ important . . . would you tell that person? Or would you keep it to yourself so that it didn't hurt them?"

Eyebrows drawing together in a marked frown, Valerie wasn't entirely sure what he was talking about. "I don't know. I guess it would depend upon how important it is," she finally said. "I mean, if it's something that would do a lot of harm and very little good, then maybe not, but if it was bigger than that . . ."

He heaved a sigh, his expression looking sad, lost, almost defeated, and he nodded. "Yeah. That's kind of what I figured, too."

Wandering over to sit beside him, Valerie held onto the railing and kicked her feet. "So you really aren't going to tell me what's bothering you," she said quietly, carefully, hating to see that kind of expression on his face; hating it more than she cared to dwell upon. "You don't have to; I know," she went on. "Will you promise me one thing though?"

Evan pulled himself upright again. She could feel the intensity of his stare even though she didn't look to confirm it.

Drawing a deep breath—maybe she needed it to garner her courage; she didn't know—she studied the weathered boards of the porch instead. "When we get back, will you at least talk to someone? Maddy or Bone or . . . or your mother . . . just someone? It's not healthy, right? That's what they say. If you keep things all bottled up inside you . . ." Trailing off, she gave a short, sad little laugh. "Listen to me, right? Like I'm any better about that than you are . . ."

He didn't reply right away. They sat in silence, listening to the sound of the rain splattering down on the roof. It was a comforting sound, wasn't it? A dull sort of noise that felt somehow clean and somehow steady . . .

Letting out a deep breath, Evan pushed himself off the railing and grabbed her hand. "Come on, V," he said suddenly, sounding more animated than he had all day.

"Wh-What are you doing?" she asked but let him tug her into the house.

Once inside, he let go of her hand and strode over to the suitcase he'd packed earlier. It only took him a minute to retrieve a sweatshirt, and he tossed it to her with a grin. "When I was little and Gavin wasn't around, Jilli used to make me go walking with her in the rain," he said as he motioned at her to put on the sweatshirt. "It's been a while, but I remember it was kind of nice . . ."

Valerie blinked and stared at him, unsure where the sudden change in his mood had come from. But she tugged the garment over her head and slowly started to roll up the sleeves a couple times. It was huge—really huge—on her. Not surprising since it was a little baggy on Evan, too . . .

He strode back over to her again with a smile. "Who cares if it's raining, right? Might as well enjoy ourselves anyway."

She found herself smiling back at him, even as she slowly shook her head. "It's a good way to get sick, isn't it?"

He chuckled. "Come on. I'll make you a pot of coffee when we get back."

"Oh, well in _that_ case," she quipped, letting him take her hand again and pull her toward the door, "how can I say no to that?"

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"That one's Orion," Evan said, pointing up at the stars and moving his hand to trace the constellation. "There's his belt—see?"

Narrowing her eyes, Valerie adjusted her head on her arm. "How do they figure that it looks like a man?" she challenged mildly.

Evan chuckled. "What? You telling me that you can't see him?"

"Hmm, well, kind of," she allowed slowly. "Okay, not really."

"Ah, V, you're breaking my heart," he teased. "You really can't see him? He's the great hunter! I mean, how many people do you suppose were actually made into constellations when they kicked the bucket?"

She snorted and rolled her eyes but laughed as she sat up and hooked her arms around her knees. "I can't believe the sky is so clear when it was so overcast earlier."

Evan sat up, too, then crawled over to throw a few more pieces of driftwood onto the fire. "Yeah, I'm just glad the storm passed. Flying in the rain kind of sucks."

Valerie groaned and buried her face against her knees. "Oo-Ooh, I'm not ready to go back," she moaned, her voice muffled by her legs. "It said in the _Times_ that they're in the middle of a cold snap up there."

Evan laughed. Valerie would hate going back, any way he looked at it. After all, it was still January, and January in New York City wasn't always pleasant . . .

"You know, I always wondered about that," he said, peering over his shoulder at her. "Why did you move to New York City? I mean, you knew it had to be cold up there in the winter, right?"

Lifting her face enough to drop her chin on her knees instead, Valerie sighed. "Xavier offered me a good job," she said simply. "I didn't really think about how much I hate the cold."

For some reason, that sounded about right to him. After all, Valerie did tend to be pragmatic to a fault. "Well, I guess I should just be glad that you did," he allowed. "If you were further south, it'd have been hard for me to hire you, right?"

"Hmm, I'm still trying to decide whether that was a blessing or a curse," she said dryly, stretching out her legs as she buried her toes in the slightly damp sand.

"One of these days, woman, you're going to admit that you love me," he said, careful to keep his tone light and teasing as he scooted over beside her once more.

"Oh, will I?" she countered with a laugh. "I'd love it if you could stay out of trouble for, say, a week . . ."

"I don't get into that much trouble," he grumbled, pushing her hands aside and laying down so that his head was on her lap. "Besides, if I don't get into some, then you won't make any money off me, now will you?"

"That's a pretty poor reason, if you ask me," she retorted, jiggling her legs to try to shove him off of her. It didn't work. "You're going to put my legs to sleep, Roka."

He grinned. "If you wanted to play with my hair, I'd totally let you," he informed her.

"You've got to be the most high-maintenance man I've ever met in my life," she complained, leaning back on her hands.

"Not true," he argued. "I mean, you _did_ meet my cousin, Gunnar."

She appeared to be considering that for a moment, then she grinned. "He does seem like he'd be a little high-maintenance, doesn't he?"

"Kind of an understatement," Evan remarked. "He's not here. It's not like you have to be nice or anything."

She rolled her eyes but her smile widened. "He seemed nice enough," she replied. "Just kind of . . ."

"Ass-tastic?"

Valerie leaned to one side and brought a hand around to tug on a fistful of hair. "No, and don't you dare tell him I said that. I was going to say 'aloof'."

Evan snorted. "Which is just a nicer way to say 'ass-tastic'."

"It is not!" she countered with a helpless little laugh. "You're such a jerk. Why are you such a jerk?"

His grin really should have warned her as to what he was about to say, but it didn't. "I don't know, baby. Why were you in my bushes?"

That put an end to her laughter, and she snorted loudly as she tugged on his hair again. "Now who's being ass-tastic?"

"Yeah, but I never said I wasn't," he replied.

Leaning her head back, she looked around. The nearly full moon bathed everything in a very gentle half-light. It was a night perfect for magic, if he were inclined to believe in such things.

"Ah—Hey!" Valerie exclaimed suddenly, lowering her chin to pin Evan with a disbelieving look. "Lost your helmet, did you?" she said.

Evan chuckled. "Finally saw it?"

She snorted then rolled her eyes. You were supposed to wear it," she informed him brusquely, "not hang it from a tree!"

"Did you see the coconut in it?"

Valerie stared at him for a moment then looked back at the helmet in the tree once more. "You drew a face on it?" she asked, sounding completely unimpressed with his decorating skills.

"He's protecting his nuts," he told her.

Valerie heaved a sigh. "Figures."

He laughed again. "I just thought it'd never get lost up there."

"Only you would come up with reasoning like that," she muttered.

"Maybe," he agreed noncommittally.

The breeze off the ocean picked up a little. The sound of the ever-moving sea was punctuated by the hiss and crackle of the fire. The rain had stopped shortly after they'd left to go on their walk. His first instinct had been to rush her back to the house to get her into something dry. She was so quiet, though, so lost in thought that he hadn't.

They barely talked, really, as they wandered around the island, but the silence was comfortable, and that was good enough. Maybe things weren't perfect, and maybe they'd both taken a step or two back. The problem was, he couldn't quite bring himself to ask her just how upset she was over his confession, either. It wasn't so much that he felt as though he didn't deserve to hear her honest opinion. What bothered him the most was the way that she'd just quietly accepted everything, the disturbing feeling that she was trying to walk on eggshells around him even now. Valerie was too fiery, too passionate to have been reduced to all that, as though she felt like everything that had happened was entirely her fault. It wasn't, and he knew that. He just wasn't entirely sure what to do about it . . .

' _I don't think that it's exactly what you're thinking_ ,' his youkai-voice remarked. ' _She's been doing as much thinking as you have—about different things, sure, but it's still the same thing_.'

' _No . . . She's being entirely too understanding, don't you think? She shouldn't have to be_. . .'

' _Then tell her_ ,' the voice replied. ' _You listened to her when you came back. Maybe it's her turn to hear you out._ '

He hadn't thought of that, had he? Maybe he'd believed that anything he said would sound like he was making excuses, but wasn't that kind of like taking the easy way out? She wasn't the only one who needed to apologize, and while he could understand that she'd wanted to get everything out, he hadn't had the same opportunity, had he? "Hey, V?"

"Hmm?"

Pushing himself up, he turned to face her more fully. He owed her, right? More importantly, he wanted her to believe him—to believe _in_ him, and maybe they couldn't move forward until he said what he needed to say, too. "You remember the other day when you came to me on the dock?"

He could see her body visibly tense at the reminder of that morning. "Uh, Evan—"

He shook his head. "I listened to you then. I want you to listen to me now."

She looked like she wanted to argue with him, but she must've realized that he was serious, and she finally nodded once. "O-Okay," she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Letting out a deep breath, Evan took a moment to figure out exactly where he wanted to start. "When I woke up that morning, you have no idea . . . I mean, you were so close, and I . . . I wanted you so badly." Watching her closely, he wasn't surprised to see the flicker of confusion that crossed her features—confusion tinged with regret . . . "You were right about me when you said that I . . . that I hide behind the jokes and shit. I've done it for a long time, and you didn't know. I don't think anyone ever knows when I'm being serious. Sometimes I . . ." He managed a sad little smile. "Sometimes I don't think I even know, so how could I expect you to?"

"Evan—"

"But I want you to," he went on then sighed. "You've told me things about yourself, things you've never told anyone else, and that . . . that means a lot to me, and I know you have trouble trusting people. For that matter, you have trouble trusting yourself, don't you? It's not a bad thing, V, and it's nothing you should ever be ashamed of because all it means is that when you do trust someone, you know better than anyone that they'll never let you down, right?"

She looked somewhat surprised by his observation, and the startled look she shot him spoke volumes, as far as he was concerned.

"But I did, didn't I? I lost my . . . my temper, and I took off, thinking that if I could just . . . just get it out of my system, everything would be fine again . . ."

"Evan, you don't have to—"

"I do," he interrupted calmly but firmly. "Maddy told me once that I have a habit of self-destructing, and she's right. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that finding those girls—that fucking those girls—was going to change things, and it did, didn't it? Only it didn't change things in the way that I thought it would." Drawing a deep breath, he couldn't hide the grimace when he saw her, shoulders slumped, her gaze trained on her hands in her lap. "I hurt you. It doesn't matter what your reasons were—if you just thought that I deserved better or whatever, it doesn't matter. I still hurt you, and . . . and I'm sorry." He laughed suddenly, shaking his head. "God, that sounds stupid, right? Just saying that I'm sorry . . . Does it really mean anything? It's like saying that if I could go back in time and change things, I would or that I'll never hurt you again and just blindly expecting you to believe me without giving you any reason to." He sighed. "That's not what I'm trying to do. I really _am_ sorry. You're the last person in the world that I wanted to hurt, and I . . . I forgot that."

"I think it does," she said softly, quietly.

He frowned and shook his head. "What does?"

She didn't lift her chin, but she did slowly raise her eyes. "Saying you're sorry," she replied. "I think it means something if the person you're saying it to _wants_ to . . . to believe you."

Why did her statement give him pause? Why did it make the heaviness that had settled over him in the days since the fight lessen? The cautious sense of optimism that had been sorely lacking flickered to life, and while he didn't think that it'd be easy by any means, for the first time since that God-awful day, it didn't feel entirely hopeless, either . . . "Do . . . Do you?"

She stared at him for a few very long seconds, her eyes dark, inscrutable, her eyelashes fanning down over her cheeks as she slowly blinked. "I already knew you were sorry," she finally said. "But you don't have to be."

"Don't do that, V," he said gently. "Don't make it okay for me to run over you."

"It's not that," she insisted. "It's just . . ."

"Just what?" he prompted when she trailed off.

Valerie shot him a somewhat nervous glance and shrugged as though she couldn't quite reconcile whatever was in her head and get it into words. "You're the only person," she said slowly, whispering, as though the words could hurt her if she raised her voice. "The only one in the world who can . . . can hurt me."

He could hear it in her voice, couldn't he? As true as it was to her, she really didn't understand why it was so, but it was enough, wasn't it? She didn't want him to give up on her, and that was enough for Evan—at least, for now . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Let it Rain_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _Warrant's_ _1992_ _release,_ **_Dog Eat Dog_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Jani Lane_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Was that what was bothering him?_


	144. 143: Shades of Gray

' _I don't wanna love you now_ …  
' _If you'll just leave someday_ …  
' _I don't wanna turn around_ …  
' _If you'll just walk away_ …'

 

-' _Mockingbird_ ' by Rob Thomas

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

The sound of the cell phone woke Evan from a fitful sleep, and it took a minute for the ringtone to register in his sleep-foggy mind as he groped for the device on the nightstand. "'Lo?" he asked, mid-yawn and without opening his eyes. He could tell it was still dark outside, and if it were anyone other than a certain attorney, he'd have let the call go to voicemail . . .

"Twenty-two degrees," Valerie stated without preamble. "Ten with windchill."

He chuckled and cracked an eye open to look at the clock. Six-fifteen in the morning. At least it was later than yesterday . . . "What? Not even a 'good morning' or anything?" he teased.

She grunted. "Sometimes," she said, her voice strangely muffled, probably by a coffee mug, "I hate this city."

"Sorry, V," he said, pushing himself into a sitting position before raking a hand through his hair. "You want me to come over and warm you up?"

"Be serious, Roka," she grumbled. "How am I supposed to go jogging when it's that cold outside?"

"Put on a few layers of clothing," he told her, "and I _was_ being serious."

"Of course you were," she replied dryly. "Oh, my whole day's going to be messed up if I don't go for my morning jog."

"I can go with you if you want," he offered after yawning again. "You know, since I'm already awake."

She snorted. "I thought you said you had a bunch of stuff to do today."

"Yeah, well, nothing until, like, noon."

"Ah, the life of a rockstar," she replied. "So when are you leaving for Germany?"

Rolling out of bed, Evan shuffled out of the bedroom and down the hallway. "Thursday morning . . . Like eight in the morning or some such shit," he told her, scratching the center of his chest with his knuckles. "You sure you don't want to come along?"

This time, she sighed. "I wish," she said, a hint of longing entering her voice. "Is it warmer there than it is here?"

"Eh, it's roughly the same. Maybe _slightly_ warmer there."

"Maybe I should move to Florida."

"They have hurricanes."

"Louisiana?"

"Also hurricanes—and summer is humid as hell there."

"Hmm, Oklahoma then."

"Tornadoes—and hilljacks."

"California."

"Earthquakes . . . and entertainers."

She heaved a sigh. "Kill all my best ideas, why don't you?" she grumbled.

"Sorry, baby," he replied, sounding anything but contrite as he stepped into the kitchen and headed for the coffee maker. "I'm going to set my alarm for four a.m. tomorrow so I can call you and wake you up for once," he warned.

"Possibly," she mused. "I'll just shut off my ringer before bed."

He chuckled, mostly because he figured that she really would. "Yeah, yeah," he replied, dumping coffee into a mug. Since Valerie had started coming around, he'd gotten into the habit of setting the machine to brew automatically. "So what's on the docket today, counselor?"

"Ugh, I have a meeting with Glen Dirge and his overblown ego," she said with a groan.

"Yeah, I met him once," Evan replied, lifting the cup to his lips. "Biggest dickless pecker I've ever met . . ."

"He's something, all right," she muttered darkly. "Are you drinking coffee?"

He grinned. "Yep," he told her, taking another healthy swallow to emphasize it. " _A-A-A-A-Ah_. . ."

She gasped softly. "That Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee?"

The grin turned into a chuckle. "Yep."

"Oh, that's so unfair!" she insisted.

"I'll buy you some," he promised.

She sighed. "No, you don't have to."

"I know," he said simply. "I'll get you some, anyway."

"Absolutely not," she stated flatly. "I'll just come over and have a cup of yours."

Evan laughed as he jotted down 'coffee' on the pad of paper he kept on the counter. She could afford the coffee, sure, but he knew damn well that Valerie wouldn't actually spend seventy-five dollars for a twelve-ounce bag of beans. There were times when she was far too frugal for her own good, but now wasn't exactly a good time to point that out, he supposed . . .

"So, how long is it going to take you to get over here to go jogging with me?"

Evan blinked but smiled as he glanced at the clock. "Uh, give me . . . half an hour?"

"Okay," she said. "See you then."

Hanging up the phone, he dropped it on the counter and wandered over to retrieve a thermos out of the cupboard . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"I'm a busy man, Valerie—you don't mind if I call you Valerie, do you—so how about we cut to the chase, hmm? Is the DA ready to drop the charges?" Glen Dirge asked as he breezed into her office with the kind of privileged air that only the children of ultra-rich people could attain.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Dirge," she said, standing up and leaning forward to shake his hand. He did—sort of. He grasped her hand and squeezed slightly then let go and flopped into the nearest chair. ' _Biggest dickless pecker that Evan had ever met? Sounds about right_. . .' she allowed. Sitting back down, she regarded him coolly for a moment before pasting on a business smile and folding her hands together atop the desk. "I don't think that the DA has any intention of dropping the case," she informed him. "Given the evidence they have against you, my suggestion is to allow me to go talk to them about a plea bargain."

Glen looked like she'd just suggested that he lop off his hand and donate it to someone who might actually need one. "Plea bargain?" he repeated incredulously, flipping his shoulder-length black hair out of his face impatiently. "I didn't hire you to get me a plea bargain. You got Zel Roka off, didn't you?"

She frowned. "His case has no bearing on yours," she informed him, "and even if it did, I'm not at liberty to discuss it with you. You understand."

"Of course, of course," he said, offering her one of his broadcast grins, the kind that was honed to present to a camera: not broad enough to made him look squinty, wide enough to seem genuine, even if she knew damn well that it wasn't. Shifting in the chair, he leaned forward slightly. "I tell you what, Valerie. Why don't I take you to dinner so I can explain my side of the story a little better? I'll send my driver, say around five-ish?"

"I don't think that's necessary," Valerie said, her smile tepid, at best. "I'll be frank with you. Your case is not good. The store has you on surveillance video, breaking in with a crowbar—a crowbar that you allegedly left at the scene, and they were able to lift your prints off of it. You have no real alibi to substantiate your claim that you were . . ." Trailing off for a moment while she flipped through the file, she pushed her glasses up her nose before continuing. ". . . At home, asleep. The police found some of the stolen goods in your apartment along with enough cocaine to get you a minimum of at least five to ten since it's your third drug charge—and that's _if_ the judge is feeling benevolent that day. Asking for a plea bargain really is in your best interest."

His lazy grin chafed at her. "So you think they'll throw the book at me, is that it?"

"No," she replied, "I think you should try to be a little more realistic. That's all. If you don't want me to approach the DA regarding a plea bargain, then that's your choice. As your attorney, however, it's my responsibility to council you in what I believe would be the best for you in the long run."

"Yeah, I get it," he said in a tone that stated that he was just humoring her. Grasping the arms of the chair, he pushed himself to his feet and stretched. Standing up, she strode around the desk to shake his hand again. "Thanks for your time, Val," he went on with another of those grins she hated as his gaze slowly moved up and down her frame. "You sure you don't want to hook up for dinner?"

"I'll have to pass," she replied, her tight little business smile back in place once more.

He chuckled in what she figured he thought was a sexy kind of way. To her, it seemed overdone and entirely for show. A few— _very_ few—men, she had found, especially after meeting and getting to know Evan, were born with the innate ability to make every single thing they did seem easy, effortless. The rest of them? They might be able to fake it sometimes, but, more often than not, they just came off as silly and shallow and ridiculous . . .

"Hmm, why don't you give me a call when you change your mind, Val?" he said, voice lowering into what might have been an attempt at a sexy drawl. It wasn't.

"Bye now," she said, escorting him to the door and breathing a quiet sigh of relief when he sashayed out of her office at last.

"Why?" she muttered to herself as she strode back over to her desk and snapped the slim-file closed. Why did she put up with men like that?

' _Because_ ,' she thought rather cynically as she grabbed her cell phone and flipped it over in her hands, ' _he pays me a lot of money; that's why—check that. His_ father _pays me a lot of money_. . .'

A knock on the door made her blink, and she let the phone drop from her fingers as she glanced at her appointment book with a frown. She didn't have any meetings scheduled. She knew she didn't. "Come in," she called, reaching across the desk for another file—this one on Helga Weimar, a Broadway starlet who had been arrested after a domestic he-said-she-said episode with her on-again-off-again boyfriend, who, coincidentally, was the producer of the show she was currently starring in.

Anne stuck her head into the office and stepped inside when Valerie waved a hand at her. "This was just delivered for you," she said, hurrying over to the desk with a very large basket wrapped in pastel pink cellophane.

Valerie rose to her feet and shook her head, reaching for the card as Anne deposited the basket on her desk and turned to go. "Thank you," she said a little absently as she pulled out the note.

"No problem," Anne replied, lingering in the doorway. "I'm going to run down and get a soda. Do you want anything?"

"No, thanks," she replied. A moment later, the door closed, leaving Valerie alone once more.

' _Here's your coffee, V. Told them to deliver four bags to your apartment per week, too. E,_ ' the note said.

She smiled. Sure enough, there were four bags of Blue Mountain coffee in the basket along with a couple boxes of orange almond biscotti and a large, black mug that proclaimed, ' _I did V with Zel Roka_ ' on it. Then she sighed. ' _Twisted little monkey_ . . .' That coffee was insanely expensive, and as much as she might like to accept it, she was going to tell him to cancel the deliveries, and if he just laughed her off? She made a face. She'd figure out a way to make sure he didn't . . .

The problem was that Evan was so used to having money that it just didn't bother him to spend it without batting an eyelash. It wasn't bad. In a way, he tended to be one of the most generous people she knew. Still, it just didn't seem right to her, did it? After all, she was his friend because she wanted to be; not because he liked to spend money on her.

But it was awfully sweet of him, she had to admit.

The trill of her cell phone cut through her thoughts, and she reached for it with one hand, sticking the card back into the basket with the other. "Hey, Roka. What's this basket?" she asked without preamble.

"It's your coffee," he replied.

"Thank you," she said, staring at the basket with a slight frown. "It's very nice, but I want you to cancel the deliveries."

"Yeah, I figured you'd say that," he admitted. "Too bad I can't."

"What do you mean you can't? Just call them and tell them that you changed your mind."

"Absolutely not," he informed her, sounded a little offended though Valerie had very little doubt that it was for her benefit. "I prepaid, so you'll just have to deal with it."

"No, Evan, really—"

"Stop arguing with me," he interrupted. "You've got no say in what I spend my money on. Think of it as my way of telling you how sorry I am that you can't come out to Germany with me."

She still wasn't quite ready to let go of the fight. "At least let me pay you back."

"Nope," he said. "Don't worry about it. Didn't you just buy me that dune buggy? And I know damn well that it wasn't cheap."

"I told you that I wanted to buy that," she pointed out reasonably—maybe too reasonably.

He chuckled. "And I wanted to buy you the coffee, okay?"

She heaved a sigh. "Evan . . ."

"Seriously, V. How about you just say, 'thank you'; I say, 'you're welcome', and we call it good?"

She was beaten, and she knew it. He was too damn stubborn for his own good sometimes . . . "Thank you," she finally said.

Evan chuckled again. "You're welcome."

Valerie snorted. She didn't really want to give up, but she couldn't think of a good way to get him to cancel the order, either. She'd just call the company later and see what she could do about it, she supposed. "Oh, yeah, and in case you were thinking of calling and cancelling the order yourself? I told them that only I could authorize changes in it, so you might as well give up.

She snorted again and heaved another sigh designed to let him know just what she thought of that bit of high-handedness. In the background, she could hear muffled voices, but she couldn't make out words. "Where are you?" she asked, figuring that she'd just think about a way to get him to stop the shipments later.

"They're auditioning a few bassists," he replied. "Just taking a break for a few."

She winced. "How's that going?"

She didn't miss his sigh, either. "Not too bad," he said. "A couple of these guys aren't too awful, anyway."

Glancing at the clock, Valerie sucked in her cheek. It was a couple hours earlier than she'd intended to leave, but . . . "Do you want me to come meet you?" she asked.

"It's okay, V," he assured her, but he sounded a little happier than he had, or maybe that was just her imagination. "After this, I've got a photo shoot for some promo crap, a spot to do on Music HD, a radio spot for WRCK, and maybe— _maybe_ —I'll make it home before the sun rises."

He didn't sound tired, but he did sound a bit wry. She smiled. "All right, but I'll be home later if you need to get a hold of me."

"Okay," he said then chuckled. "I'll check in before you go to bed."

"Take it easy on the new bassists," she warned.

He snorted. "Keh! As if I wouldn't."

She rolled her eyes and ended the call, staring at the coffee basket thoughtfully. She'd like to think that he'd be all right, but she knew all too well how much trouble he'd had before when faced with finding a bass player for the backup band. It was hard for him. In his mind, telling someone that they could have the gig permanently was akin to letting go of Dieter forever, wasn't it?

Pushing the basket off to the side, she sank back down at her desk with a frown. She had a few appointments to keep tomorrow morning, but maybe Evan would have time in the afternoon so she could swing by and check up on him . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Rubbing his face as he stumbled into the house, Evan let out a deep breath and leaned back against the closed door. Head throbbing to a beat that only existed inside his skull, he savored the silence that cosseted him for a long minute.

After sitting through hours of listening to different bassists, Mike had gotten a call from a friend of his who just happened to manage a relatively new band called Body Talk. Their debut album had just been certified gold, and Rick Falkner had suggested that Philansoclantes talk to Body Talk's bassist, Dane Ardberry. He apparently didn't have anything scheduled during the time that they'd be in Germany, and more importantly, he'd filled in for Dieter while he was in the can before. Dane wasn't interested in leaving his current band, which was fine, but he said that filling in for the Germany show wouldn't be a problem at all.

It was a huge relief, but it didn't really solve the problem of finding a permanent replacement for Dieter, either.

That thought made him grimace. It always did. It wasn't so much that he felt as though it was somehow a slight to Dieter's memory, but when he remembered all the things that the two of them had done over the years . . . Yeah, he had to admit, it was hard—damn hard. Eventually, however, something did have to be done about the vacancy, but there was a lot more to it than just picking someone based on skill. If the person in question didn't gel with the other members of the band, the trouble that could arise would far outweigh the benefits of having a permanent member.

Pushing himself away from the door, Evan shuffled out of the foyer and into the living room. His headache had already begun to diminish. All he really needed was a little bit of silence. Noise didn't often bother him often, no, but occasionally it did. He figured it might have something to do with the idea that the island had been so quiet that he'd gotten kind of used to it during his vacation. Give him a few more days, and he'd be right as rain again . . .

The clock on the mantle chimed the hour. Two a.m.—much earlier than he had figured he'd be done for the night. For a second, he considered calling Valerie, but she'd sounded sleepy when he had talked to her around nine, so he discarded that idea, veering off into the kitchen to grab a beer before striding over to his desk and turning on the computer. He hadn't really bothered to check his email while he was on vacation. He could've done it when he was in Mayaguana, but it hadn't really crossed his mind at the time. Besides, he didn't actually get much in the way of email usually. The people he cared to hear from usually just called him instead.

Not surprisingly, there wasn't much to check. A few emails that Bugs had thought would amuse him, a couple from a guy he'd talked to before about collaborating with to write a few songs as Evan Zelig . . . a few more emails that weren't really noteworthy, and it only took him a few minutes to go through those.

Still, he felt more restless than sleepy. His logical mind told him to go on to bed since Valerie seemed to like to wake him up early. Too bad he knew well enough that he'd never get to sleep even if he did lie down . . .

His eyes fell on the folder on his desk, and he frowned. It was the file that Bas had given him over Christmas—the one with the information that he'd gathered. Evan hadn't bothered to look at it yet. He already knew the important stuff.

Leaning forward, extending his hand, he stopped suddenly, pulled his hand back. Even if he knew what was in there, did he really have the right to read it? After all, it was information for her, for Valerie, and the information that Bas had gotten didn't really concern him, even though he wanted it to.

Staring at the file for several minutes, he couldn't make up his mind. On the one hand, whatever those reports contained was intensely personal. On the other? If he really wanted to help her, didn't he need to know what she was going to be facing?

In the end, he reached out again and pulled the file across the desk, drawing a deep breath before he could open it.

Stacks of papers in no real order . . . Bas had just given Evan everything instead of trying to put it in order in a slim-file, and that was fine. Doubtless he'd figured that Evan wouldn't want to wait any longer than he had to. Handwritten copies of police reports—damn, there were a lot of those. Reports from social services, mental evaluations . . . ' _Valene Duyer is a very serious, introverted child. Doesn't like to be too close to other children of her age group. Will answer questions in very concise terms, usually simple yes or no. Recommendation: one on one therapy_ ' . . .

That report was dated December 2052. She had just turned seven years old. According to what she'd told him, that had to have been shortly after she'd been taken away from her parents. He snorted as a flash of anger erupted deep inside him. Her entire world had been turned upside down, hadn't it? Introverted? Was that really surprising? Really?

Pushing himself to his feet, he paced the floor as he leafed through the stack of papers. Her father had been arrested a number of times, had spent a few weeks in jail here and there. Valerie didn't remember those, did she? Or were they just not important enough for her to have mentioned at the time . . .? Some of the reports were dated after Valerie was likely taken from them. No wonder they hadn't always made it for visitations. Hard to go anywhere when you were locked up in the can . . .

Tamping down the raw edges of frustration, Evan pulled a paper from underneath some other reports. It was the one he'd been looking for, wasn't it?

Police report dated November 13, 2052 . . . ' _Male identified as Jack T. Duyer, 23, 12 Paradise Palms, Lot C, Durkes. Charged with resisting arrest, domestic violence threats against minor child (daughter), possession of drug paraphernalia, possession of crack . . . Female identified as Rhonda C. Duyer, 22, 12 Paradise Palms, Lot C, Durkes. Charged with obstruction of justice, possession of drug paraphernalia, threatening officers on the scene . . . Minor child: female identified as Valene Duyer, 7, 12 Paradise Palms, Lot C, Durkes, remanded into the care of CPS_ . . .'

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Damned if it wasn't exactly how Valerie remembered it . . . He hadn't thought that she was lying, no, but he'd kind of hoped that she'd somehow gotten it wrong . . .

Heaving a disgusted sigh, he tossed the stack of papers onto his desk. A small bit of paper slipped out of the stack, only to flutter to the floor without a sound. Bending down to pick it up, Evan scowled. A picture? Yeah, that's what it was. Two teenage kids—a boy who looked like he might've been sixteen, maybe, and a girl who didn't even look that old . . . but the girl was holding a tiny bundle, wasn't she? A tiny thing wearing a pink ruffly dress . . . a tiny thing with dark eyes and a head full of flyaway white-blonde hair . . . "V," he rasped out, staring at the picture. It had to be, didn't it? The infant in the girl's arms . . .

He didn't know how long he stared at the baby. The rest of the picture seemed to dull in his eyes. Such a pretty baby, wasn't she? Pretty . . .

Dragging a hand over his face, Evan finally shifted his attention to the rest of the picture. Something was weird about it, wasn't it? Staring at it, he frowned. The anger that had been eating at him while he'd read through the file stuttered then slowly died as another emotion rose inside him—something far more difficult to swallow.

She'd told him before, hadn't she? She'd said that her parents were young. Somehow, that was easy to discount as he'd listened to her story that night on the tour bus. Staring at the picture, however, he couldn't help but realize just how very young her parents were. Just babies themselves, weren't they? Babies with a baby in their arms, looking scared of the future, looking terrified of the harmless little infant between them . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Mockingbird_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _Rob_ _Thomas'_ _2010_ _release,_ **_Cradlesong_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Rob_ _Thomas_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :
> 
> _How the hell …?_


	145. 144: Confrontations

‘ _A penny for your thoughts now, baby_ …  
‘ _Looks like the weight of the world's on your shoulders now_ …  
‘ _I know you think you're going crazy_ …  
' _Just when it seems everything's gonna work itself out_...  
‘ _They drive you right back down_ …’

 

-‘ _Miracle_ ’ by Jon Bon Jovi.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

“Ze-e-e-e-el . . .!”

Tossing down the pencil he'd been using to scratch out a few bars of the song he was working on, Evan set the guitar aside and stood up to stretch. “In here, Bugsy,” he called, rubbing his eyes.

The light click of stack heels on the floor closed in quickly, growing louder as the rabbit-youkai moved in fast. “There you are!” Bugs gushed as he rushed into Evan's music room. “I've missed you like _mad_ , of course! Oh, my _God!_ You have _got_ to swear you'll never leave me alone that long again! At least, not with that hussy, anyway!” he pouted.

Evan chuckled and kissed Bugs' cheek, much to Bugs' delight. “Maddy, you mean?”

Rolling his eyes in an entirely melodramatic kind of way, Bugs stuck his bottom lip out a little farther. “Who else, I'd like to know? Ugh, she's _such_ a drama queen—and not a queen in a good way, either.”

“Are you sure that you're not exaggerating things just a little bit?” Evan asked.

Bugs looked positively hurt. “When do I ever?”

“What was I thinking?” Evan quipped, heading for the doorway. “I thought you and Maddy were getting along.”

Bugs followed him into the kitchen and leaned on the counter as Evan turned on the grill top and slapped down a few slices of bacon. “We were,” he agreed, “until we went shopping at Cerin.”

Evan nodded since that made sense. Cerin was an ultra-trendy little shop in the upper east side that was one of Madison's favorite haunts, mostly because the shoe selection, while limited, was always the very latest from the world's top designers, including Madison's beloved Ray Shauzanne . . .

“What'd you do? Fight over the last pair of something?” he asked, arching an eyebrow as he eyed the rabbit-youkai as he cracked four eggs onto the griddle top. “You want an egg?”

Bugs made a face but not nearly severely enough to mess up his makeup and waved a hand. “No, thank you. Anyway, she bought them because she _knew_ that I was looking at them first,” he pouted.

Evan laughed. It wasn't the first time that those two had fought over shoes, and he doubted it'd be the last, either. Somehow, he'd figured it was something like that . . .

“They didn't have them in your size, anyway,” Madison insisted as she breezed into the kitchen, carrying with her the smell of the brisk winter wind.

“Maddikins!” Evan exclaimed, holding his arms open to invite her closer.

Madison giggled and hugged him. “So how was the acation-turned-vacation?” she asked, reaching around Evan to nab a slice of bacon that he'd just moved over to finish off.

“It was good,” Evan said, giving Madison a tight squeeze. “You hungry?”

“Always,” Madison replied with a wink. “Want me to make the coffee?”

“Sure,” he said, reaching for a couple more eggs.

“Anyway, anyway,” Bugs interjected, fluttering a hand to gain Evan's attention as Madison sauntered over to start the coffee maker. “I came by to ask you if you might have time tonight to stop by the Bunny Hole? It's so _lonely_ when you're not there . . .”

“Aww, Bugsy, that's so sweet,” Evan remarked with a grin.

“What that really means is that he's fighting with Keith again and wants you to play if he doesn't show up,” Madison muttered.

Evan's grin widened. “I might be able to swing that,” he replied.

Bugs clapped his hands and squealed. “See? That's why I love you—well, that and your sexy-as-hell body, of course . . .”

Evan chuckled when the rabbit bounced over to kiss his cheek. “I've got to go, so don't miss me too much . . . Keep that shoe-stealing hussy away from you, m'kay?”

He laughed as Madison giggled and rolled her eyes. A minute later, he heard the front door close, and just that fast, Bugs was gone, leaving a waft of expensive perfume in his wake. “Fighting over shoes, Maddy?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he glanced over his shoulder at his childhood friend.

Madison grinned unrepentantly and stuck out her foot, turning it slightly from side to side. “Delicious, right?”

“Those are pretty impressive,” he replied, eyeing the snakeskin stillettos on the woman's feet. “You could kill someone with those if you aimed the heel just right.”

“What are you talking about?” she quipped. “My legs are to die for, all by themselves, remember?”

He chuckled and covered the eggs with a couple metal bowls to finish them. “Well, hell, yes,” he agreed as the scent of freshly brewed coffee hit his nose. “Toast or biscuits?”

“As if you have to ask,” she chided. He nodded and split open another biscuit, tossing it onto the griddle top, too. “So tell me. How was the vacation?”

“I told you already that it was good,” he reminded her.

“You only say things like that when you're trying to avoid something else,” she pointed out. “So why don't you elaborate on 'good', hmm?”

Evan sighed but smiled ruefully. Madison always was far too perceptive for his own good . . . “No, it really was good,” he insisted. “I mean, you know, after I decided to stop being a jackass, anyway . . .”

“You? A jackass?” She sighed and slowly, sadly shook her head. “What happened?”

He grimaced since he really didn't feel like telling Madison about the entire fiasco. Still, maybe it was like a kind of penance, and he'd rather tell her than to let her get the rundown from Valerie when she'd very likely make it sound as though it was entirely her fault. “I, uh . . . I got a little pissed off,” he admitted, choosing his words carefully as he pulled two plates out of the cupboard and carefully scooped up the eggs. “Lost my temper with V . . . Said some things I shouldn't have . . .”

Madison sighed as she considered that for a long moment. “You ran off and got laid,” she concluded with a sage nod.

“You already talked to V?”

She shook her head. “Nope. I just know you,” she said simply. “You've got a self-destructive streak a mile wide.”

“You know me better than you should,” he muttered.

“Does she know?”

He nodded, then let out a deep breath. “Yeah, she does. You know the fucked up thing? Didn't yell at me; not even once.”

Madison blinked and looked surprised. “She didn't?”

“No,” he stated matter-of-factly.   “I mean, why would she when I did my level-best to make sure that she felt about two inches tall beforehand?”

Madison grimaced. “No-o-o-o . . .”

He shot her a droll look. “Y-Yeah, I did.”

“Oh, Evan . . . You didn't . . .”

He sighed but smiled just a little. “It's all right, Maddy. We got everything worked out.”

She didn't look like she believed him entirely as she took the plate he handed her and walked over to the table. “If you worked everything out, then tell me why you look exhausted,” she countered as she stepped over to pour the coffee.

“I was playing,” he replied simply. “Wrote a new song. Lost track of time.”

Madison returned to the table with two steaming mugs of joe. Setting one on the table before him, she didn't reply until after she'd slipped into the seat across from him. “Okay,” she finally allowed. “I'll buy that one.”

He shot her a half-cocked grin as he dug into his eggs. “So, what have you been up to—Well, aside from stealing shoes out from under Bugsy's nose, that is.”

She sighed and shrugged in a decidedly un-Maddy-ish way. “Working,” she replied. “What else is there these days?”

“Now, that doesn't sound like you,” he said, making quick work on his plate of food. “You know what they say about all work and no play.”

“It'd be easier to find play time if I didn't have to make every single decision about the spas.”

He nodded slowly. As much as Madison loved her occupation, he also knew that she really, really hated the 'working' side of things. “Bring in a business partner,” he suggested, standing up and grabbing her empty coffee mug and his to refill them. “Bugs could—scratch that. The two of you would kill each other in less than a week, tops.”

She set her fork down and took the coffee he extended to her. “Actually, I had considered asking Valerie, but I think she's probably already got way too much going on. Besides, for reasons I'll never understand, I think she _likes_ being a lawyer . . .”

Evan chuckled and grabbed the last piece of bacon on his plate. “Yeah, I know. Go figure.”

Glancing at her watch, Madison hopped up. “Oh, damn, speaking of business, I'm supposed to meet this realtor in twenty minutes. He's showing me some potential properties for another Madison's: LA . . .”

“Oh, then you'd better hurry,” he said, grinning as she downed the rest of her coffee. “Oh, hey, there's a package for you on the table in there. Grab it before you go.”

“I will,” she said, sparing a moment to kiss Evan's cheek before grabbing her plate to put in the sink before she headed out the door. “I'll see you later, okay? And get some rest. You look like hell.”

He waved a hand to indicate that he'd heard her, and he sighed when he finally heard the front door close.

Damn, he was tired. Actually, that didn't even begin to cut it. He'd ended up staying awake all night, playing the guitar as he tried to process everything he'd learned from those documents. At least that much of it hadn't been a lie. But everything he'd read . . . Sitting down, forcing himself to put everything in some kind of chronological order, forcing himself to read the damn things . . . It was all so clinical, wasn't it? All of the reports, statements from various foster parents, court papers, the list was long, the damage was high, and somewhere in the shuffle it seemed like the little girl who had grown up to be the attorney he knew so well had somehow been lost . . .

' _Forgotten would be a better way to put it_ ,' his youkai remarked in a rather philosophical kind of way.

What did it matter? The end result had been the same, but it was profoundly worse, wasn't it?

Bad enough that she was born into a home with parents who were little more than children at the time. They hadn't even known how to take care of themselves, so how in the hell could they have ever thought that they could take care of Valerie, too?

He was stupid, wasn't he? Sure, he'd known that her parents, her ex-boyfriends, had all hurt her. Yes, he'd realized that she had trouble trusting anyone, and it had made perfect sense. But it wasn't until he'd read all the paperwork that he'd started to understand that the reality of it all was that what she'd told him had barely scratched the surface, and that wasn't her fault, either. He had a feeling that she didn't even realize just what had happened to her.

He did. He did, and, well, it made everything just that much more difficult, didn't it . . .?

She'd said that she was placed with seven families. She'd said that only one of those families actually wanted her. In actuality, she'd been placed with nine families, but two of them were for less than a week, and maybe in her mind, they didn't count. Placed in homes with too many other foster children, and she probably didn't have anyone who really tried to reach out to her, either. Introverted and withdrawn—he'd seen those words repeated over and over, at least until she'd hit ten.

And then she'd started acting out: cussing out teachers to get kicked out of school, kicking her foster parents in the shins, starting fistfights with a foster sisters and brothers, getting caught smoking and drinking and, yes, doing some light drugs . . . and the boyfriends . . .

The first time she'd tried to run away, she was eleven years old. A cop had found her at the bus station, hitting up people for money so she could buy a ticket. He'd taken her back to her foster family where her foster mother had apologized profusely. Two weeks later, she'd put a chair through a window, and her social worker removed her from that home. From there, she tried to run away a number of times, mostly alone, but there were a couple of reports of her running away with various boyfriends. Looking for love, Evan supposed . . .

From what he could tell, her violent tendencies had come to an abrupt end when she was about thirteen, almost fourteen. It coincided with her placement with the Dennings: Perry and Grace. There were a few mentions of her sneaking out to meet different boyfriends and one or two busts for underage drinking, but she'd apparently calmed down a little.

To make matters worse, at least for Valerie, her parents eventually had two more children—children that she didn't really know. How could she? She'd spent the majority of her life in the foster care system, and her parents missed most of the visitations that they were allotted . . . He didn't have to be brilliant to realize that it had to smart. How could it not? Siblings she'd never gotten to spend time with—siblings who had gotten to remain at home with the parents that Valerie had so desperately wanted . . .

To Evan, it wasn't hard to figure out. After seeing the whole picture, as ignoble as it was, he understood at last, didn't he? Feeling hurt and confused by her parents' years of neglect, being used and abused by those boyfriends who had said that they loved her just to get into her pants . . . That didn't even begin to scratch the surface, didn't it? A seven year-old child, having seen the violent arrest of both of her parents and the subsequent shattering of the only relative stability she'd ever known, only to be cast into families that didn't have the time to devote to her when she so desperately needed it because they had too damn many kids there already . . .

To put it simply, she had been completely and thoroughly abandoned for the first thirteen years of her life, and in those years, she'd learned what anyone would have learned during that time—to look out for herself, to do what she had to do to take care of herself . . . to protect herself, even at the expense of keeping everyone else at arm's length . . . fighting against the emotional abandonment that she knew all too well . . .

What could she possibly have done to ever deserved that kind of life? How in the world was it that she managed to smile now, to laugh—and to cry? How many times had she sat alone back then, crying in the darkness because she just wanted someone— _anyone_ —to love her?

He sighed. And just how desperately did he want to show her that everything she'd learned just wasn't how it was supposed to be? Those ugly things she'd learned so early wasn't really living at all . . .?

Heaving a sigh, he stood up, took his plate and mug to the sink. Somehow, some way, he'd figure it out. All he had to do was to make her want to see those things, too . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

“That was weird. Good, but weird.”

Evan grinned as he dropped his keys onto the table and stripped of the brown leather jacket he'd worn to the Bunny Hole. Valerie had showed up shortly before he left, so he'd dragged her along with him. Besides, he knew damn well that she liked to watch him perform. That he wasn't being Zel Roka for the night, though, didn't seem to impress her. “Eh, it would have caused too much trouble if Zel Roka had showed up, unannounced. Security issues and shit. 'Sides, Bone wanted the night off, so . . .”

Valerie rolled her eyes but laughed as she shrugged off the knee length overcoat and carefully laid it over the back of a chair. “I suppose,” she allowed. “Couldn't you have just used your real name then?”

He grabbed a bottle of beer out of the cooler and poured a glass of red wine for Valerie. “What? You didn't like my stage name for the night?”

“Ben Haumpin?” she stated, leveling a droll look at him as she took the glass and lifted it to her lips. “You're completely bent.”

His grin widened. “I thought it was pretty damn good.”

“Well,” she said as she thought it over, “it was nice to hear you sing something other than songs about crotches and penises and breasts.”

“There's something to be said about crotches and penises and breasts,” he countered, tipping his head back to remove the dark brown contact lenses. “Hey, is my cup over there?”

“I thought you only wore one of those when you're appearing in PSAs,” she replied.

Squeezing his right eye closed a few times, he lowered his chin to stare at her. “Nicely done,” he approved with a chuckle.

She didn't smile, but it was a close thing. “And you thought you were the only one who could manage the smarmy comeback.”

“Hell, no,” he replied, waving a hand in the general direction of the coffee table, “but you should definitely do it more often. Toss me that, will you?”

She didn't, but she did pick up the small plastic case after setting aside her glass, uncapping the right side as she wandered toward him. He held out his finger so she could carefully take the lens and pop it into the cup while he retrieved the left one. “That first song you sang,” she said, her voice taking on a suspiciously neutral tone as she fiddled with the left lid. “Was that a new one?”

“Yeah,” he replied, letting her take the left lens as he stepped past her for the bottle of fake tears on the table and making quick work of dropping them into his eyes.

“It's pretty,” she went on. “Completely non-Roka, but pretty . . .”

“I know; I know,” he agreed with a shrug. “Couldn’t possibly record it or they'd think I was going soft or something . . .”

She bit her lip and set the case on the wet bar before crossing her arms over her chest and lifting her chin a notch. “Was it about someone you . . . know . . .?”

He sighed inwardly. Sometimes she could be far too perceptive, couldn't she . . .? “Maybe.”

She frowned as she stared at him. “' _Mommy and Daddy taught her how to fear . . . taught her how to hide and how to shed a tear . . . Taught her how to run and how to hide . . . how to lock away every good thing somewhere deep down inside_ . . .'?” she recited quietly.

“V . . .”

She let out a deep breath punctuated by a small little laugh that sounded even hollower since it lacked any trace of amusement. “You made . . . _her_ . . . sound . . . kind of pathetic.”

Staring at her as she ducked her head, as she tightened her arms around herself, he slowly shook his head. “' _Someday I'll show her what it means to laugh . . . what it means to love, what it's like to dance . . . For that beautiful girl, I'll wear my heart on my sleeve . . . All she needs to do is learn how to believe'_ ,” he sang.

She didn't say anything for a long moment. She didn't move or make a sound. Grimacing when the scent of her tears hit him hard, he reached out and pulled her into a hug. “There's something I have to tell you, V,” he said a little reluctantly.

Wiping her cheek quickly, as though she was hoping that he hadn't seen her do it, she cleared her throat and sniffled quietly before drawing a fortifying breath and peering at him from under her eyelashes.

He heaved a sigh and grabbed her hand to pull her over to the sofa. Damn, she was going to be mad, wasn't she? He didn't doubt it for a moment . . .

“Have I ever told you what Bubby does for a living?”

Valerie sat beside him but looked a little confused by his question. “I . . . don't remember. You might have . . .”

He nodded. “I guess you could say that he does investigation stuff for a private organization.”

She still didn't look like she understood what he was getting at. “Okay . . .”

He couldn’t look at her. He wanted to, but he couldn't . . . Raking his hands through his hair, he leaned forward, training his gaze on the floor. “While we were in Maine,” he said slowly, “I, uh . . . I asked him to . . . to look up your parents.”

He could feel her stiffen beside him. The aura around her seemed to condense, to pull in, as though she was bracing herself . . . as though she was trying to _protect_ herself.

“I'm not trying to hurt you, V. It's just . . .” Drawing in a deep breath, he forced himself to look at her. Her face was turned to the side, her eyes suspiciously bright, and for a moment, his resolve wavered. Damnation, she'd been hurting for so long all alone, and the last thing he wanted to do was to add to that burden. He'd seen it before. No matter what she said, no matter what she tried to believe, her parents really did still hold the power to hurt her, and though him— _because_ of him—they were going to do it all over again, too . . .

' _But she deserves to know_ ,' his youkai-voice pointed out reasonably. ' _If you don't tell her now . . . if she finds out after it's too late that you knew . . .? Maybe she can forgive you for all that bullshit in the Bahamas. Maybe she can forgive you for acting like a complete and utter jackass. Do you think—do you_ really _believe—that she'd forgive you if you don't tell her now? Even if it hurts her, she needs to be allowed to make her own decision_.'

He grimaced. Yes, he knew all that. Damned if it didn't go against everything he wanted, everything he'd been brought up to believe. Protect your mate: that's what he'd always been told. But there was no way he could protect her from the truth . . .

“Your father,” he said slowly, carefully, as gently as he possibly could. “He's, uh . . . He's sick—really sick . . . He's suffering early stage renal failure, and the doctors . . .” Evan shook his head, lifted a hand, palm side up, as he tried to find a way to soften what he had to say. There wasn't one, though, and he sighed. “The doctors have him on dialysis, but he's also got problems with his liver, and—”

“And what?” Valerie cut in sharply, her head turning to pierce him with a fulminating glare. “Why are you telling me this?”

The anger in her eyes was completely at odds with the shaking of her hands, with the telltale flaring of her nostrils, with the twitching of her lips, and Evan had a feeling that it was the anger alone that was keeping her from bursting into tears . . . “You have a right to know,” he replied simply, quietly.

She shot off the sofa, paced the length of the room and back a few times. “What gives you the right to—Why, Evan?” she demanded. He shook his head but didn't answer. “Why would you go behind my back to—? What? You didn't believe me? When I told you all of that, you thought I'd lie about it?”

“Of course not,” he said, steepling his fingertips between his spread knees. “I believe you. I always have.”

“Then _why?_ ”

He sighed. “I don't know. Maybe I wanted to hunt him down. Maybe I wanted to beat his ass with the belt he used on you. Maybe I wanted them to understand how much pain they've caused you over the years. Maybe I wanted them to know just how well you turned out in spite of them . . .” Trailing off with wince, he slumped back against the sofa . “But I believed you the entire time,” he said softly. “There was never a second when I didn't.”

She barked out a terse laugh, an incredulous laugh. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked, her voice thick with confusion, with tears that still had yet to fall. “I don't . . . don't _care!_ ” she insisted as she pulled together her tattered anger. He could see it in her eyes. She was clinging to that outrage, wasn't she? Clinging to it like it was a raft adrift in the ocean . . . “I don't care!”

Her last sentence came out as more of a squeak, almost a whimper. He stood up, started toward her, but she held up a hand to stop him. “Why should I care?” she demanded, shaking her head stubbornly. “They didn't care about me, did they? They forgot all about me after I was taken away! They didn't even bother to come see me! Once a month, Evan, and they couldn't even manage that!”

Stomping over to the wet bar, she pulled out a few bottles, sparing a moment to glance at the labels, putting them back again until she found what she wanted. Sloshing a good amount of vodka into a glass, she slammed it back with a grimace and refilled it before she dared to speak again.

“I decided a long time ago that I would never let them hurt me again,” she said, gripping the glass so tightly that her fingertips turned white. “Never again.”

Evan sighed and let her drink that glass of vodka, too. When she started back for a third, though, he reached out, caught her arm gently, and pulled the empty glass out of her hand. “That's not going to help you, V,” he said softly as he reached out with his free hand to brush her hair out of her eyes, “but I will if I can . . .”

She stared at him, and for a moment, he thought she was going to start yelling again, not that he could blame her. But as suddenly as her anger had come, it seemed to dissolve, and Evan winced when she threw herself against him, when the tears she'd been trying so desperately to hold back finally broke free. Sobbing so hard that her entire body shook as he wrapped his arms around her, she seemed to crumple against him, her fists closing around handfuls of his shirt, as though she were afraid that she'd melt away if she let go of him.

Rubbing her back, stroking her hair, uttering sounds meant to sooth her that only made her cry harder, he closed his eyes, hated himself in silence for being the one to tell her . . .

And he did the only thing he could possibly do, holding her close, telling her over and over that he was sorry, so sorry, feeling like a mere shadow of a man for being unable to do a damn thing to help her or to take her pain away.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘ ** _Miracle_** ’ _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _Jon Bon Jovi's_ _1990_ _release, **Blaze of Glory**_. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Jon Bon Jovi_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Damn_ _it_...


	146. 145: Disparate Paths

' _But I would walk 500 miles_ …  
' _And I would walk 500 more_ …  
' _Just to be the man who walks a thousand miles_ …  
' _To fall down at your door_ …'

 

-' _I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)_ ' by the Proclaimers.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Heaving a sigh as she stepped out of the shower, Valerie reached for a towel to dry her face.

She hadn't gotten much sleep last night. Okay, that was an exaggeration, wasn't it? She hadn't gotten a damn bit of it, actually. Evan had suggested that she lay down for a while instead of going in to work when he'd dropped her off on his way to the airport. She'd thought about that for all of thirty seconds before heading for the bathroom to take her shower instead.

" _He's, uh . . . He's sick—really sick . . . He's suffering early stage renal failure, and the doctors . . . The doctors have him on dialysis, but he's also got problems with his liver_ . . ."

Scowling at her reflection in the mirror, Valerie yanked the towel around herself and tucked the end in to keep it from slipping. She didn't care, and why should she? They were the ones who didn't give a damn. They were the ones who hadn't cared enough to try to get her back. Hell, she'd told Evan last night that they hadn't even bothered to come see her for monthly visitation, right? They'd made their choice, and it wasn't her. More concerned with where they'd score the next hit or finding the money to get a case of beer, weren't they?

' _If you don't care, then why couldn't you sleep last night? Why did you ask Evan if you could stay with him? If you didn't care, Valerie, why in the hell did you cry . . .?_ '

Slamming the door on those thoughts with the vindictive finality of an executioner, Valerie refused to let herself think about that any deeper. No, she needed— _needed_ —to remember that they didn't care, that they'd forgotten her about as soon as the squad car door had closed to take her away. She had to . . .

Unfortunately, the sound of the blow dryer didn't drown out the memory. Evan . . . He'd almost canceled his appearance at the Monsters of Rock festival in Germany, all because of her . . .

" _Hey, Mikey . . . Yeah, I know what time it is . . . Listen, about the Germany thing . . . Cancel it, will you . . .? No, I'm not kidding . . . I don't really give a shit, who it pisses off . . . Something just came up, all right? Just tell them_ —"

" _Evan, no," she'd said, tugging on his arm to pull the phone away from his ear. "You have to go. It's your job, right? Don't cancel your show just to babysit me_."

" _V_ —"

" _Absolutely not," she maintained stubbornly. "You can't go around calling off shows." Forcing a wan smile as she tamped down the irrational rise of panic that ripped through her, she shrugged. "I'm fine; I swear it_."

 _He didn't look like he believed her. She gave his forearm a reassuring squeeze. "I . . . I'll call you if I need you," she told him, willing her smile to brighten, praying that he didn't see the uncertainty in her eyes_.

Valerie sighed, yanking the cord from the socket, jamming the hair dryer into the drawer beside the sink. He hadn't wanted to leave her alone, but in the end, he had. ' _He's only going to be gone for a few days_ ,' she thought with a snort. ' _It's not like he's never coming back_.' She caught her hair back with one hand as she scrubbed the hell out of her teeth. 'I _'m not going to . . . to break if he's not here . . . That's just ridiculous_ . . .'

Completely ridiculous, right . . .?

Pushing out of the bathroom, Valerie headed toward the bedroom to get dressed for work though to be honest, the idea of going into the office just didn't appeal to her at all. She'd decided that it was better, though. The very last thing she needed was to sit around alone, to have too much time to think . . .

She missed him already, didn't she? If he hadn't been there last night . . .

He'd hated to be the one to tell her; she knew he did. As upset as she was, she was never actually angry at him. She'd tried to be. In those minutes, she'd tried to be mad at everyone in the world, but Evan had known . . .

Biting her lip as she tugged on a white cotton blouse, Valerie worked the buttons up the front without seeing them.

" _He's, uh . . . He's sick—really sick . . . He's suffering early stage renal failure, and the doctors . . . The doctors have him on dialysis, but he's also got problems with his liver_ . . ."

"Stop it," she told herself sternly as she adjusted the collar and pushed a few skirts aside. Enough was enough. She'd told Evan that she was fine, right? Well, she'd be damned if she'd let that be a lie. She was fine. She was just as fine today as she was yesterday when she'd woke up in the morning. It was all the same. Nothing in the world had changed. It was logical, wasn't it, to be upset over her father's condition. She'd just found out about it, so, of course, it had bothered her.

But in the bright light of day, the long and short of it was that it had nothing to do with her—nothing at all, and that had been his choice, not hers. If he—If _they_ —had wanted her to give a damn, then maybe they should have tried a little harder when it would have made a difference to her . . .

' _It sounds good, doesn't it?_ ' her conscience asked ruefully. ' _I mean, it really does. Nice and neat and all wrapped up in an ugly little package that you can toss out with the rest of the trash, right?_ '

Taking her time as she pulled on a pair of fawn colored wool slacks, Valerie made a face. That wasn't what she was doing. That wasn't it, at all. How many times had she waited for them over the years? How often had she sat on the porch in the summer, stood at the door in the winter? How many times had she jumped when a particularly loud car drove by?

They had their chances, and they'd made their choice.

' _But you know why Evan told you. You know, even if you don't want to say_.'

Carefully pulling the wool blazer that matched the slacks off the wooden hanger, Valerie closed the closed and dropped the jacket onto the bed.

Of course she knew. She'd have to be stupid not to. He'd told her because he wanted her to talk to him—her father; wanted her to confront him before it was too late. He hadn't said it outright, no, but she knew. Why else would he have told her?

And she could understand his sentiments, even if she didn't completely agree with him. After all, he might well feel like an outcast in his own family, but he had to know deep down that he was loved. If Gin had ever missed a single milestone in Evan's life, Valerie would never believe it. He saw things differently than she did, and that was okay, too.

But there wasn't a question in her mind that she'd never go back, never demean herself by asking them a single thing. She'd worked too hard to become the woman she was now, hadn't she? To swallow her pride and confront them when she knew deep down that they'd somehow find a way to make excuses?

' _And if it's so cut and dried, then why are you still thinking about it? It's not, is it? Things like this never, ever are_ . . .'

Her telephone rang, and Valerie sighed, reaching for the handset with a frown. "Hello?"

"Hey, baby delicious. You okay?"

She rolled her eyes but smiled wanly. "I'm okay," she assured the errant rockstar. "Aren't you supposed to be somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean right now?"

"Got held up," Evan replied. "Mikey got into a little fender-bender on the way here. Nothing big, he said. Some guy smacked his door into Mikey's car while he was stopped at a light."

"But he's all right?"

Evan chuckled. "Yeah . . . I was more concerned about you, to be honest. You sure that you'll be okay? If you need me—"

"I'm a big girl, Roka," she told him gently. "I think I'll live through a few days without you."

"I don't know, V . . . I'm pretty addictive," he drawled.

She laughed despite herself, and he did, too. His chuckle sounded relieved, as though he had been more worried about her than he'd wanted to let on. "You're kind of a dork," she told him. "You know that, right?"

His laughter grew a bit stronger. "Yeah, I am," he agreed. When he wound down, though, he sighed. "Listen, V, I was thinking . . ."

"You are so not canceling your show," she insisted when he trailed off.

"N-No, not that," he said. "I talked to Rodney, the guy who's doing security at the house while I'm gone, and I told him that if you want to stay there to let you in."

For some reason, his offer caught her by surprise. "Why would I want to do that?" she asked, almost amused by his statement.

"Because you love my waterbed, duh."

"Well, yeah, there's that . . ."

"And my shower."

She laughed. "Okay, that, too . . ."

He sighed. "Mikey just got here, so I guess we're going to take off as soon as we're cleared, but if you need me, you know you can call me any time."

"I know," she replied, her smile taking on a slightly wavering edge. "Have a safe trip . . . Evan?"

"Yeah?"

She grimaced. "About last night . . ."

"Don't worry about it, V," he told her. "Believe it or not, there are times when I don't want to be alone, too. I'll call you when I get to Germany, probably after we check into the hotel."

"Okay," she said, tightening her grip on the receiver. For some reason, the idea that he was about to hang up terrified her for a split second. "Bye."

"Bye."

The connection went dead, and Valerie sighed, staring at the device for several long moments before setting it back on the stand once more. Stay at Evan's house . . .?

Letting out a deep breath, she stood up and grabbed the jacket off the bed. She was fine, and as nice as the offer was, she'd be all right here.

It didn't take long to slip on her boots and coat, and she was just pulling her attaché case off the table beside the door as she turned the knob, ignoring the file that Evan had given her—the information he'd gotten on her family . . .

A strange sound in the hallway made her blink and look down, and when she did, she gasped, taking a step back in retreat . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Closing the door behind himself, Evan let out a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. International flights sucked, no way around that, and if there was one thing he disliked about his chosen profession, that was it, hands down. Add to that the fact that he hadn't actually gotten much sleep last night, and, well . . .

He grinned a little wanly. Just how 'rock' was it that he was eyeing the bed like it was heaven on earth instead of plotting his grand escape from the hotel . . .?

' _Damn, I shouldn't have left her alone_.'

Evan's youkai-voice sighed. ' _Relax. Like she said, it's only for a few days. She'll be fine._ '

He wasn't inclined to believe that, not after her upset the night before . . .

Shuffling over to the bed, he flopped across it without bothering to remove anything, not even his shoes, but he sat up a moment later when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket.

"Hey, V," he greeted, unable to help the little grin that surfaced on his face. "I just got into the hotel. Don't tell me that you want me to come home already."

"It's . . . staring at me . . ." she hissed, her voice no louder than a stage whisper. "Tell it to go home!"

He blinked and shook his head. "What's staring at you?"

She uttered a sound that was kind of a mix of a whine and a growl. "That gargantuan beast you call a dog!"

"Whose dog?"

The sound tipped toward the growl side of things. " _Your_ dog!"

" _My_ dog?"

"Yes!"

"What's my dog doing there?"

Her growl grew a little louder. The dog must've thought she was playing, though, because he uttered a rumble-y bark, and Valerie gasped. "It's going to eat me!"

Rubbing his forehead, Evan winced. After he'd dropped Valerie off, he'd run past the townhouse to ask Bas to keep an eye on her while he was gone. Munchies had been sitting in the room at the time, and the idiot dog must've thought that Evan was talking to him, instead . . . "Let me call Bubby. I'll have him come by and pick Munchies up, okay?"

She squeaked out a half-yelp. "Don't you _dare_ hang up on me, Evan Zelig! He's been stalking me all day, and I'm telling you, he's trying to figure out how I'll taste with fava beans and a nice Chianti!"

He had to choke back a laugh since he didn't figure she'd appreciate it too much. "Baby, I gotta hang up or I can't call Bubby to come get him."

She whined again and sounded suspiciously close to crying, and he grimaced.

"Come on, V. Tell me you're not really scared of a big lump like Munchies," he coaxed, mostly to calm her down.

It did the trick, and she snorted. "I'm not _scared_ ," she shot back haughtily. "I just don't _like_ dogs; that's all!"

"Okay," he said, purposefully inflicting enough of a patronizing tone that it should have left Valerie more irritated than scared, which was the ultimate goal at the moment. "Just let me call Bubby, and I swear I'll call you right back . . ."

"Wait! Just—Just put me on hold or something! Don't hang up!" she hissed.

Evan wisely refrained from chuckling. "Hold on."

He did laugh, however, when he put her on hold and dialed Bas' number.

"Hello?"

"Bubby," he greeted. "Where the hell's my dog?"

"Your—? Oh, Gunnar had a break on a case up in Maine, so we're heading up there now. Mimi and Momo are with us, but Munchies got all upset when we were trying to load him up, so I dropped him off at Madison's."

Evan sighed. Well, that answered his question, didn't it? Madison loved the dogs, and they loved her, too, but she didn't always keep them confined, either, and if Munchies acted like he wanted out, she'd have opened the door and let him go, taking it for granted that he'd be back when he was good and ready to. "All right," he said. "You going to be back next week?"

"I'm not sure. If not, I'll bring the dogs down when I can."

"All right," Evan said. "Thanks." It only took him a moment to reconnect Valerie's call. "Hey, V, I'm back."

"He keeps stalking around me," she growled from between clenched teeth.

"Where are you?"

She snorted. "I'm on the counter in the kitchen!" she replied as though it was the most natural thing in the world. "When's Bas going to get here?"

Evan winced. "Well, uh . . . He's not," he admitted, bracing himself for the Wrath of V.

"Wh . . . What do you mean, he's not?" she asked. It was worse than wrath. She honestly sounded like she was going to faint . . .

"Bubby got called back to Maine, so he left Munchies with Maddy. I'm guessing that he didn't want to stay with her, and that's why he's there with you."

Dead silence for about five seconds followed. Evan squeezed one eye closed and scratched his head. "V?"

"Are you trying to tell me that even if she comes to get him, he'll just come right back?" she demanded.

' _Oh, hell . . . We didn't think of that one, did we?_ '

' _Shut up if you're not going to say anything helpful_ ,' Evan grouched. "I'll talk to Maddy."

"Ev _an!_ "

He sighed. "V, I swear to God, he's harmless, really. He'd never hurt a fly."

"That's nice," she retorted, "but I'm not a fly—I'm a person, and he's eyeing me like he wants to take a bite of my leg or worse!"

"You want me to come home and save you? 'Course, you'll have to spend another ten? Twelve hours on the counter . . ."

She sniffled. "You're not funny," she accused.

He grimaced again. "Okay, try this. Look at him calmly and in a firm tone, tell him the word 'away'."

He could hear her breathing. Maybe she was garnering her courage. A moment later, she cleared her throat. "Away," she said, inflicting as much authority as she could into the single word.

"Did that work?" he asked.

She sighed. "He . . . He did it. He backed away from the counter."

"Good," he said, breaking into a small smile. "Now point to where you want him, and tell him 'down'."

"Down," she ordered a lot quicker than when she'd issued the 'away' command.

He could hear an audible sigh of relief from her. "That's better," she muttered.

"He knows a lot of commands," he told her, "and he'll stay there till you tell him he can get up, so why don't you get off the counter now?"

"Are you going to call Maddy to come and get him?" she asked, finally sounding like herself again.

"I can do that," he agreed. "Just remember, he'll listen to you as long as you're not scared of him, okay?"

"Okay," she replied though she still sounded rather dubious.

"Maybe you should keep him there with you," he suggested offhandedly.

"Why would I do that?"

He chuckled. "Because he'll listen to you—and he loves to go jogging."

She snorted indelicately. "Just call Maddy, Roka," she told him.

His laughter died, but the smile on his face didn't. "Okay, V," he allowed. "But if you change your mind . . ."

Again, she snorted. "As if, Roka," she grumbled. "As if . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valerie's Chianti and fava beans line is a reference to **_The_** **_Silence_** **_of_** **_the_** **_Lambs_** , copyright 1991 MGM Studios. 
> 
> ' ** _I'm_** **_Gonna_** **_Be_** **_(500_** **_Miles)_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _The_ _Proclaimers'_ _1988_ _release, **Sunshine**_ **_on_** **_Leith_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Craig_ _and_ _Charlie_ _Reid_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _He'll_ _eat_ _her_ _liver_...


	147. 146: Destination Unknown

'' _Cause I got a peaceful, easy feeling_ …  
' _I know you won't let me down_ …  
' _'Cause I'm already standing_ …  
' _On the ground_ …'

 

-' _Peaceful Easy Feeling_ ' by the Eagles.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

The hum of the blow dryer soothed the edges of Valerie's nerves almost as well as the soothing feel of the brush being pulled through her hair, and she relaxed a little more, sinking down in the salon chair as Madison worked her brand of magic.

She'd given Madison a very droll look when she'd stopped by her office earlier and suggested that Valerie come by the salon. Apparently, Madison thought that Valerie looked 'stressed out'. True enough, Valerie supposed, but the idea of going there had somehow seemed odd, even if she wasn't sure why. By the time she'd stepped out of the courtroom, however, she'd changed her mind. Dealing with Helga Weimar's case was enough to frazzle anyone, she figured. Helga seemed to think that the more drama, the better, and the theatrics she'd put on in the courtroom today were worthy of an Oscar, as far as Valerie was concerned. Whether the judge believed her or not, though, remained to be seen, but he hadn't dropped the domestic abuse charges against her client, so Valerie had a feeling that the Honorable Jeffery Cornwell just wasn't buying . . .

"Now see that? You look more relaxed already."

Valerie smiled wanly and opened her eyes as Madison straightened up the chair and peered at Valerie in the mirror. "You know, this shade is nice," the hairdresser remarked thoughtfully, "but you look so much better in your natural color."

"I know, I know," Valerie replied, waving a hand dismissively since she'd been using the darker rinse on her hair ever since they'd gotten back from the Bahamas. "Evan's said that, too. I think he just has a thing for blondes."

Madison wrinkled her nose. "I think he just has a thing for _you_ ," she pointed out bluntly.

Valerie snorted but didn't comment.

"There. What do you think?"

Eyeing herself in the mirror critically, Valerie turned her head slightly to one side and nodded. "Thanks for the trim, Maddy. It looks great."

She leaned back, wrapping an arm over her stomach as she nodded. "I swear, V, I get ladies who come in here all the time, wanting the hair that you were blessed with from birth. Lucky girl."

Rolling her eyes, Valerie snorted again. "So where's the beast?" she asked instead, opting to ignore the statement.

Madison looked around then nodded over toward the front desk. "Looks like he's done, too—are you sure you don't want me to take him home?"

Heaving a sigh as she hauled herself out of her chair, Valerie wrinkled her nose when she spotted the gangly mutt, lounging on the floor like he owned the place. Evan had only been away for a day so far, and that creature had already decided that he liked her well enough to keep coming back a grand total of five times yesterday. She had no idea just how he'd managed to get into her secured building, but he had—over and over and over again. By the time she'd opened her door this morning, only to find him lying across the threshold just like the day before, she'd heaved an sigh, pointed to the floor by the dining table and told him to lie down there—and he'd stayed there until she'd gotten back from work, or so it would seem. "Like it matters. That monster keeps coming back, doesn't he?"

As if he realized that she was talking about him, Munchies lifted his head, his huge tail thumping on the floor.

"It must be true love," Madison remarked with a giggle.

"Ugh, I swear, that's absolutely obscene," Valerie grumbled, shaking her head as she tried not to see Munchies' testicles, squishing out behind his haunch as he kicked his legs once. "Do they sell doggy diapers or something?"

"Hmm, yeah, those are some pretty prominent balls, huh?" Madison drawled, curling a finger over her lips as she stared at the dog in question.

"No one needs to see that," Valerie concluded with a shake of her head. "Why hasn't Evan had him fixed? I mean, that is one ugly mutt . . ."

Madison giggled. "That'd be like having his brother neutered," she replied. "Anyway, that is a special dog, don't you know? His mother is a direct descendent from the dog that Evan's dad first bought for Gin after they were married."

Valerie wrinkled her nose. "That doesn't really make him any cuter," she pointed out then sighed. "Well, at least he doesn't stink anymore . . ."

Madison laughed and clapped her hands. "Munchies! Come!"

The gangly dog rolled to his feet and trotted over, his freshly manicured claws clicking softly on the floor, the topknot on his head bouncing slightly, then nudged Madison's hand, looking for a treat.

Shaking her head, Valerie snapped the leash onto his collar. They were both pink, and they were both purchased before the sojourn to the salon since the great monster didn't have either when he showed up this morning. It was perfect, as far as she was concerned. The mud-colored mutt looked better wearing color. Besides, they matched the pretty pink bow in his hair, too. "You've known him a while, right?" she asked suddenly.

Madison blinked and shook her head. "Evan or Munchies?"

Valerie shot her a droll sort of glance. "Munchies."

"Oh, and yes on both counts," Madison replied. "Why?"

"Is his hair normally this way?" she asked, waving a hand at Munchies' entire body.

"His short hair, you mean?"

Valerie nodded. "Well, yeah. I mean, Evan doesn't have him shaved or something, does he?"

"Nope, never."

Valerie didn't look convinced. "Then why does he have that tuft of long hair on top of his head?"

"I don't know," Madison said with a giggle. "Evan said maybe it was a birthmark or something. I told him before that we could shave it so that it matches the rest of him, but he liked it. Said it looked like a mohawk."

Valerie snorted. "It might look better if it was all the same length," she mused as she eyed Munchies critically. "Then again, he wouldn't be able to have that bow, now would he?"

Tapping her lips, Madison giggled. "V, sweetie, why did you buy him pink stuff?"

Valerie straightened up and glanced at Madison. "I like pink."

"Hmm, okay," she said with a laugh. "Give me a call if you want me to come get the sissy-boy."

"All right," Valerie agreed. "How much do I owe you?"

Madison waved a hand. "Don't worry about it, V. You can just buy my dinner the next time we have a girls' night."

"Okay. Come, Munchies," she commanded.

The dog didn't even hesitate to fall into step beside her, and Valerie sighed. "You're a pain, did you know?" she asked. Munchies glanced up at her and wagged his tail. "I don't like you. I don't like _dogs_ ," she went on. "I really don't, so don't take it personally. You're stupid, you're ugly, you're smelly, and you need some pants." Stepping out onto the sidewalk, she shrugged and turned to head back to her apartment. "Come to think of it, you kind of remind me of Roka."

Munchies uttered a whiny-bark as the tail moved double time, and she heaved a sigh. "Really, really stupid," she amended, "and don't you think for even a second that you're getting on my bed tonight, buster. Got it?"

He barked and wagged again. Valerie wasn't sure if that was his agreement to her terms or if he was trying to think of a good way to lull her into a false sense of security so that he could nibble on her feet . . .

Okay, so maybe Munchies wasn't as scary as she'd first thought. In fact, she'd have to agree, at least grudgingly, that he was pretty well behaved, all things considered. It had helped that Evan had told her the basic commands. It helped even more that Munchies actually listened to her whenever she said anything at all.

' _Or maybe you're just keeping him for Evan because he keeps you occupied so you don't have to think about anything else._ '

That was absurd, wasn't it? After all, she didn't have to think about anything else. She wasn't avoiding anything because there was nothing to avoid, right? And even if she was doing that, who cared? Nothing had changed, had it, regardless of what Evan had told her. He'd said it himself, hadn't he? He'd just passed along the information that he'd gotten. What she did with it was up to her, and as far as she was concerned, there was no difference in her feelings, and why should there be?

' _Except that you know that isn't true at all. Maybe nothing should have changed, but it has, hasn't it? It's just that you're scared to admit it_ . . .'

Biting her lip, Valerie tried to ignore that little voice; didn't want to hear anything else it had to say. Scared? That was ludicrous . . .

A sudden lurch of her arm dragged Valerie out of her bleak thoughts. With a sharp gasp, she nearly fell as Munchies suddenly veered to the right, dragging her with him by the leash hooked around her wrist.

"Munchies! Stop!" she demanded, catching herself before she wiped out. "Sit! Uh, heel! _Stop!_ "

The dog ignored her, and Valerie squeaked out a harsh little cry as the dog barreled straight toward the glass doors of a small shop. Somehow, she managed to yank the leash off her wrist just before she smacked into them. The crazy monster didn't stop, smashing straight into a swinging Plexiglas dog door, the leash flopping behind him like a banner.

It took her a moment to catch her breath. When she did, she was finally able to read the printing on the door. ' _Bev's Dog Bistro_ ', it read.

"Well, that just figures," she muttered, grasping the door handle and pulling.

"Hey, Munchies! Don't you look, err, pretty?" the woman behind the counter said. She was looking down, and Valerie couldn't see the dog in question. "Where's Evan?"

"He's out of town on business," Valerie said, wandering closer as she gaped at the row of glass enclosed display cases stacked with all manner of gourmet dog treats.

"Oh, hello," the woman greeted with a smile as she held up her hand with what looked like a cookie. "You want it, Munchies? Yeah?"

Munchies barked, and Valerie heard his claws clicking crazily on the floor like he was dancing or something.

"Such a good boy!" The woman laughed and fed him the treat before turning her smile on Valerie. "Nice to meet you. I'm Bev."

"Valerie Denning," she replied, leaning across the counter to shake Bev's hand. "This place is all for dogs?" she asked, still rather surprised by the vast assortment of treats that all looked homemade.

Bev gave a deep belly laugh that seemed absolutely perfect with her warm smile and handshake. "I trained in the best restaurants all across Europe, then came back here and decided to open a dog bistro. Go figure, right?"

Smiling despite herself, Valerie shook her head in wonder. "And you make all of this stuff every day?"

"Well, not every day," she confessed. "Some of the things will last a couple days before I'll make more, but they tend to sell out so quickly that I don't usually have scrap. Back when I first opened, I took the leftovers to the local shelters but these days?" She sighed then shrugged. "I do make extras to take there, though." Her already bright smile widened a little more as she grabbed a carob chip cookie out of the case and held it out to Valerie. "People like them, too," she said with a wink.

Valerie wasn't entirely sure if she ought to sample the cookie or if it was some kind of weird joke. The woman looked serious enough, and since she didn't want to offend Bev, she hesitantly nibbled off one side.

It was good—really good. It tasted like a regular chocolate chip cookie with less sugar and more texture—oatmeal or something, she supposed. "Wow," she said, blinking in surprise and trying not to think about the idea that she was eating a dog treat.

Bev positively beamed. "They're good, right?"

Valerie nodded. "Absolutely . . . These are for dogs?"

She laughed. "Yeah, though some dogs do share with their people."

Munchies skittered around the counter and plopped his rear end down on the floor in front of Valerie as his front paws tapped out an impatient sort of dance. She broke the rest of the cookie in half and fed him the parts, one at a time. "Are these his favorites?"

"Munchies loves them all, don't you, sweetie?" Bev crooned. "But yes, Evan usually buys him those and a few others, then the tiny ones for Mimi and Momo."

"I don't have the other two," Valerie remarked slowly, staring at Munchies, who was doing a full-body wag-wiggle-shake as he tried his level-best to sit still and wait. "Could you just package up whatever he usually likes?"

Bev smiled. "You want to pay for these or add them to Evan's tab?"

Valerie snorted. "He has a tab here?"

"Sure. Sometimes he sends Thaddeus to pick up treats, so it isn't a big deal."

Valerie didn't recognize the name, but that was irrelevant at the moment. She thought it over for a few moments then shook her head. "I can pay for them."

She nodded and set about bagging up the treats: a little deli box of a dozen carob chip cookies, another bag with a few different pastry-looking ones . . . Munchies seemed to know that they were for him, and he settled down to a manic tail-thumping as he watched the woman work.

"Come on, you big lump," Valerie said after paying for the treats and taking the cute little paper bag with raffia handles from Bev and retrieving the end of the leash before herding the dog toward the doors. "You got what you wanted. Now we're going to get what _I_ want."

Munchies trotted along beside her, perfectly behaved once more since he'd gotten his treats.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Afternoon, Mr. Roka. I'm Jens Heinritch from the _Frankfurt Press_. How do you think this year's Monster of Rock festival measures up against the years past?"

Leaning forward on the utilitarian table in the conference room, Evan scratched at the couple days' worth of whiskers on his chin, pausing for effect as he considered the question. Ten minutes into the shooting match, and he was already sick of the questions . . . "Turn out's bigger this year," he remarked then shot them one of his lazy, lopsided grins, "and you know what they say about 'bigger' . . ."

The assembled reporters offered the perfunctory laugh as Evan flicked a finger at another reporter. "Go ahead."

"Guten Tag, Herr Roka. Alexander Kampf from _Crank It Up_ magazine, and my question is the one thing that everyone wants to know: is there a real 'V'?"

His grin was genuine this time, and he chuckled. "A real V? Hell, yeah, there is—and she's just as hot as the woman on the cover of the CD . . . You there. What's your question, baby?"

The woman stood up, sparing a moment to adjust the low-cut, scoop-necked black leather dress. He didn't have a doubt in his mind that she was sent in the hopes that he'd pay a little extra attention to her— _personal_ attention—and once upon a time not so long ago, he probably would have done exactly that . . .

She smiled and shifted her legs to give Evan a better view of what she had to offer. ' _Not bad,_ ' he had to allow. Too bad he wasn't the least bit interested . . . "Good afternoon, Mr. Roka. Selene Vogel here from _Mannheimer Morgen_. My question is: since the death of Philansoclantes' bassist, Dieter Reichhardt last summer, there have been rumors that you refuse to work with anyone else in a permanent capacity. Is there any truth to this?"

Frowning at the question, Evan tried to affect his usual nonchalant air. "The band needs to make sure that the person they choose is a good fit, don't you think? I mean, some pussies might be one size fits all, but not all bassists are." He'd catch hell for that remark later from Mikey, he was sure, but fuck, what did he care? Catching a glimpse of the man in question, who was standing off to the side and indicating that Evan should wrap up the press conference soon, Evan snorted inwardly and lifted a finger to let Mike know that he understood, then pushed himself to his feet. "Sorry, guys. Gotta go."

The crowd of reporters broke out in a low rumble as he strode over to Mike, who led the way out of the press room. "You know, if you were going to cut in, you should've done it before they started asking stupid questions about Deet," Evan muttered just loudly enough for Mike to hear him.

Mike snorted. "Did you have to make the pussy comment?" he grouched.

"Press conferences suck ass," Evan retorted. "What the hell's the point, anyway? They always ask the same damn shit, and none of it was worth answering the first fucking time."

"Yeah, well, it's time for rehearsal."

"All right," Evan replied, stretching his arms out to the sides. "I'll be there in a few. Just need to make a phone call first."

Mike nodded and kept walking. Evan pulled out his phone and dialed Valerie's number.

"Hello?"

He grinned, enjoying the sleepy sound of her voice. "Hey, V. How's it going?"

She yawned. "Mm, it'll be fine in about five minutes."

"Five minutes?"

"Mhmm."

His grin widened. "Why five minutes?"

"Because," she replied, "I plan on being asleep again then."

"What time is it there?" he asked, ducking into a small storage closest for some privacy.

"Early," she replied then uttered a yawning sound. "Or late . . . dunno . . . I'm not opening my eyes to find out."

He chuckled. "You doing okay?" he asked, his tone casual despite the lingering worry that nagged at him.

"Not bad," she admitted. "Maddy trimmed up my hair yesterday—and gave your nasty dog a bath, too."

"Good . . . Maddy gave Munchies a bath?"

"One of her girls did," Valerie said. "At least he doesn't stink anymore."

Evan snorted but smiled just a little. "He didn't stink before, did he?"

"Oh, he stank, all right. He smelled like a dog."

Coughing delicately, Evan chuckled. "He is a dog, V."

"Yes, well, he doesn't have to smell like one," she insisted. "Your five minutes are almost up."

"All right," he agreed. "Give me a call if you need anything."

"Mm . . . bye."

"Bye, baby," he said. Ending the connection with a sigh, Evan frowned. Damn, he'd never actually been this anxious to get back home in his life. True enough, he loved doing the shows, but something told him that he'd enjoy this one more if a certain attorney were here instead of back home in New York City . . .

Mike had asked if Evan wanted him to start trying to schedule the next world tour to coincide with the release of his next album that he wouldn't start recording for another good nine months, at least. The thing was, Evan wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to be gone for months and months on end. Sure, he still loved the thrill of the live shows, but somehow, the idea of being so far away from Valerie? The thought of leaving her alone for that long at a time? It was completely out of the question, but if he couldn't talk her into traveling with him for that length of time, well . . .

Of course, he was getting a little ahead of himself. First, he had to convince her that she wanted to be with him, and while he was relatively sure that he could win her over in the end, he wasn't quite so confident when he thought that he'd rather that it was sooner than later.

Besides, there were far more pressing things on the slate at the moment, weren't there? Things like whether or not she really wanted to confront her father before it was too late or if she really could put him out of her mind and leave it all alone.

He sighed, pushing out of the closet and heading down the hallway toward the practice stage. Would she be ready to talk about it again when he got back home? With Valerie, it was hard to tell. On the one hand, she could easily decide that she didn't need to talk to him ever again, and rightfully so, he couldn't say that he would be able to blame her if she really felt that way. On the other hand, she could decide that it was literally now or never, couldn't she? She was stubborn to a fault, sure, but knowing that he didn't really have that much time left . . .? He wasn't entirely sure that even she could overlook that . . .

All he really could do would be to support whatever choice she made and hope that it was the right one. The trouble was, he wasn't sure which would be better for her in the long run. Sure, some people spouted crap about 'closure' and confronting people who hurt you, but the question remained: was there anything even remotely good that could come of it? Even if her parents told her that they'd made one huge mistake after another, it wouldn't go far to erase the memories that hurt Valerie.

' _One thing at a time, Roka_ ,' his youkai-voice reminded him. ' _Just put one foot in front of the other. It's about all you can do, right?_ '

Letting out a deep breath, Evan scowled. As true as that might be, he wasn't very good at waiting, was he? This time, however, he'd have to take a crash course and hope for the best. Right now— _right now_ —the most important thing was Valerie, what she needed.

And right now, what she needed desperately was a friend . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Peaceful_** **_Easy_** **_Feeling_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _Eagles'_ _1972_ _release, **Eagles**_. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Jack_ _Tempchin_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Stupid dog!_


	148. 147: Lost

' _When lonely days turn to lonely nights_ …  
' _You take a trip to the city lights_ …  
' _And take the long way home_ …  
' _Take the long way home_ …'

 

-' _Take the Long Way Home_ ' by Supertramp.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Way to go, Zel!"

"Awesome show, Roka!"

"You kicked their asses, man!"

Grinning widely as he strode down the long, cinder-block hallway toward his dressing room, Evan nodded, slapping hands with a few of the crew who were scurrying around, heading for the main stage to start tearing down his gear. Someone slipped a bottle of Sekt into his hand, and he tipped it to his lips without breaking his stride. He poured faster than he could swallow, though, but he didn't really notice when some of it spilled down his face and onto his sweaty, bare chest.

"Damn," he muttered as he stepped into the dressing room and closed the door, raking his sweat-soaked hair off his head and wincing as it tangled around his fingers. Letting out a deep breath, he set the bottle down on the makeup table and rubbed his face as his left leg bounced with nervous energy. It was the same nervous energy that had led to a lot of his more notorious moments, he was sure. He always came offstage reeling from the frenetic vibe of the crowd. It was that feeling that fueled his fire, especially during tours that could last for months and months on end.

Just how, however, it was working against him. Mike, in all his wisdom, had opted to book his return flight for tomorrow, but considering he'd done nothing for the last three days but worry about Valerie, he'd much rather have dealt with being swept from the sold out arena, straight to the airport instead.

' _So what's stopping you, rockstar?_ '

Evan blinked and nodded slowly. ' _That's true . . . Except commercial flights suck_.'

' _Maybe, but you'd get home a lot faster than if you wait until tomorrow and take the chartered plane_.'

There was no arguing that logic, now was there? Grabbing his cell phone, it only took him a few minutes to book a seat on the next flight out: first to London, then on to New York City. At least he'd managed to get a seat in first class, so it'd be a little more comfortable. Glancing at the clock on the wall as he fired off a text to Bone, he frowned. He had about two hours to clean up and get to the airport before the flight boarded . . .

He sighed, scrubbing at his head with a grimace as he headed for the adjoining bathroom to get himself cleaned up. He didn't have anything else to do since Mike never booked anything directly after a show, and he had to admit that he was never so glad for that as he was right now. He'd mentioned on the flight over that Evan ought to consider taking a day or two to do a PR blitz. Evan had told Mike that he wasn't interested this time around.

Turning on the shower tap before he peeled off the skin tight leather pants, Evan made a face. Sweat and leather were a terrible combination . . . Too bad they looked so good. That was pretty much the only reason he actually wore them, in the first place . . .

She said she was fine over the phone. She'd said it multiple times, of course, even though he'd heard the worry in her voice, even though he'd sensed the preoccupation in her replies. She was as fine as she could be, he figured, and he couldn't blame her for that, either. He knew damn well that she didn't really want to think about any of it, and he had faith that she'd come to her own conclusions in her own time.

He just wanted to be there for her, to let her know that she wasn't alone. Hell, he hadn't wanted to leave her in the first place, but she'd insisted. He knew damn well that she was trying to downplay the significance of it all, knew that she was trying to convince herself that she just didn't care, and as much as he wanted to tell her that it was all right, that she didn't need to do that, he also knew that this time, she really needed to figure things out on her own. That didn't mean that he had to like it . . .

"I got a car ready and sent Tim to the hotel to pick up your passport, ya."

Evan peered over the top of the shower stall and nodded at Bone. "Thanks."

Bone shook his head but grinned. "Never thought I'd see it, man . . ."

"See what?" Evan asked, squeezing his eyes closed as he rinsed shampoo out of his hair.

The big man chuckled. "The day you'd want to rush right back to see a woman— _any_ woman—well, other than your mama . . . 'Course, V, now . . . Guess she ain't just _any_ woman, ya?"

"No, she isn't," he agreed, a somewhat sad little smile quirking his lips. Crossing his arms, leaning on the top of the frosted glass shower wall, Evan stared at Bone. "Let me ask you something."

"Okay."

He frowned. "Why haven't you found your mate yet?"

"Mate?" Bone echoed, shaking his head. "You kidding me? I'm having way too much fun as it is, ya. I'll find my mate. I just ain't looking right now."

Evan grinned and turned back to finish his shower. "Figured it was something like that," he allowed. "Hey, if you see Mikey, tell him the plan, will you?"

Bone laughed. "Already did. He said to be careful and to let the stewardesses do their jobs."

Evan's grin widened. "You coming back with me?"

Bone shook his head. "Mikey thought it'd be best to leave tomorrow as planned. We'll find someone to stand in for you long enough to get onto the plane, ya? I figured that Marc could do it."

"Marc? The lighting tech?"

Bone chuckled. "Why the hell not? He's tall and kinda gangly and about as hyper as you. Add some shades, maybe a hat, a ratty brown wig, and instant Roka, you dig?"

Rolling his eyes, Evan laughed and shut off the shower taps. "Just make sure no one gets too close to him—err, me . . ."

Bone tossed Evan a towel and grinned. "That was the plan, duckie."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Somewhere in the distance, the sound of a car horn's blast registered in Valerie's mind as she methodically placed one foot in front of the other. Breath condensing in the frosty air, only to dissipate before the next one hit, she kept moving, absently enjoying the slight, rubbery feeling in her legs, the almost heavy feel of her arms that only came after a good, long jog.

She'd been all over the area in the last few hours since she'd decided to go for a run. Munchies plodded along, perfectly content to stay beside her.

In fact, she had to admit, however grudgingly, that Munchies really was a very well trained, well behaved dog. He might look like a beast, and yes, he was pretty ugly, but . . .

Well, it was hard to be afraid of a great lump like him, wasn't it? He didn't really bark very much—she hadn't heard him bark at all—and if anything, he ran around, wagging his tail and generally trying his best to please her. It was kind of funny, really. She still wasn't ready to admit that all dogs were okay, but Munchies was all right.

Rounding the corner of her block, she slowed her step a little bit. A hot shower, a light dinner, and maybe a movie or something sounded good. Maybe she'd even take some time to look over a couple files for work . . .

' _Or that file that's still sitting on the table by the door_.'

Slowing to a walk, she frowned. The file by the door—the one containing all the information that Bas had collected on her family . . . She still didn't want to read that, did she? Why did she feel as though there were awful things in there?

' _Don't be stupid_ ,' she chided herself. ' _They . . . They can't hurt me anymore_ . . .'

They couldn't, could they? She wasn't a child anymore—She wasn't the little girl they'd cast aside to start a new family. She'd decided long ago that she didn't need them. She'd decided that they couldn't hurt her any more. Now . . .?

Heaving a sigh, she shook her head, absently reaching down to pet Munchies' head.

Early stage renal failure . . .

' _Damn_.'

No, she didn't want to think about it, did she? And she knew damn well that ultimately, Evan had told her because he had to believe that she should talk to them—to him, her father. Why else would he have said anything at all? He tried to understand, and she'd give him points for that, but he didn't really, did he? And it was fine that he didn't. He'd grown up in a family surrounded by love, even if he didn't see it. That was how it was supposed to be, right?

But she knew better, didn't she? She knew . . .

Munchies suddenly whined then gave a half bark before trying to take off at a dead sprint that nearly yanked Valerie's arm out of the socket. "Munchies!" she hollered, twisting her wrist in an attempt to get a better grip on the leash.

Either the dog didn't hear her or he just didn't care because he kept going, leaving her with no option other than to run as fast as she could, lest he should yank her right off her feet. She was about to panic when he abruptly stopped, and Valerie blinked as strong arms caught her, steadied her. "Damn, woman. Trying to run me down, are you?"

She blinked and finally looked up into the face she knew so well. "E-Evan?" she said, slowly shaking her head. Yes, it was Evan, all right, but he was wearing contact lenses so dark that his eyes looked almost black, and . . .? "What did you do to your hair?" she demanded sharply before she could stop herself.

He let go of her and reached up to touch his hair, as though he'd forgotten about it. "Oh, that?" he said, grinning at her in a rather sheepish way. "I had to disguise myself to get out of the stadium," he went on with a shrug.

"So you cut off your hair?" she demanded incredulously. "Ev _an!_ "

He wrinkled his nose. "Aww, relax, woman! I'll go to Maddy's, and she'll fix it right up."

Valerie wasn't done; not by a long shot. "That red is awful," she pointed out, flicking a hand at his head. "You look like a walking, talking candy apple."

"Yeah, it is pretty bright, isn't it?" he allowed, turning his eyes upward.

Valerie snorted. He'd cut it so short that it was also sticking straight up, all over his head, not unlike a spiny sea urchin. The color was bad enough, but when she thought about the few other times when she'd seen him with short hair, well, those times had been pretty forgettable on the whole . . .

She started to cross her arms over her chest but got caught up on the now-slack leash around her wrist, so she yanked that off and jammed it into his chest. "Take your beast, Roka," she demanded, shaking the end of the lead for good measure.

Evan took it with a grin then knelt down to greet his dog, only to stop and blink—and stare. "Oh . . . wow . . . Aren't you pretty?"

Munchies whined and kind of scooted around with his rear end about two inches off the ground.

"Pink hair ribbon and pretty pink . . . Is that a doggy diaper?" he asked, casting Valerie a questioning look.

She shrugged offhandedly. "There are some things that I don't think the rest of the world needs to look at," she said in her own defense. "If you got him neutered, you'd be doing the general population a favor."

Evan looked properly horrified at the suggestion that she do something about his dog's dangling bits. "Bite your tongue, woman!" he gasped, covering his crotch with his hands and turning a sickly sort of grayish-yellow.

Valerie wasn't buying. "Forget it," she told him with all the finality of an executioner. "The last thing you want is for that creature to procreate. There is no way on earth that any babies coming out of _that_ would be even remotely cute."

Evan pouted at her as he reached over and mashed Munchies' ears down against his skull. "Don't listen to her, Munchy-Munch," he said in a soothing tone of voice. "V doesn't know what she's talking about." Munchies whimpered and tried to lick Evan's cheek.

"I thought you weren't flying back until tomorrow," she finally said as she turned toward the apartment building where he had been sitting on the steps only minutes before.

Evan followed along behind her. "Well, I know you're not too keen on watching Munchies, here, but you've been a real trooper about it."

She shot him an unimpressed look over her shoulder as she unlocked the door and strode into the building. "Don't patronize me, Roka," she told him with a snort.

He chuckled. "I don't know if it's worse that you painted his claws—"

"I didn't. The girl at the salon did," she interrupted, taking the stairs two at a time at a light jog. "Precious Pink."

"Huh?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "That's the name of the color: Precious Pink."

"Or that you bought him a pink collar and leash—"

"Pink's pretty," she pointed out.

"Or the equally Precious Pink rumba-panties you put over his doggie diaper."

"He looks good in pink," she insisted. "Or as well as he can look, all things considered."

Evan laughed. "V?"

Rounding the landing between floors, Valerie didn't look back. "Hmm?"

"You like him, don't you?"

"Like who?"

He chuckled. "Munchies," he said. "Who else?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I'm pretty sure that he's not a real dog," she said with a shrug.

"Oh? And what do you think he is?" he challenged, sounding incredibly amused if the tone of his voice meant anything at all.

She broke into the smallest of smiles as she strode down the hallway toward her apartment. "I'm kind of thinking that he's more of a cat in the disguise of a dog."

Evan snorted. Loudly. "A what?" he demanded, sounding properly aghast.

"He's all laid back and mellow," she pointed out, "like a really big cat with really atrocious grooming habits."

Evan wasn't impressed, if the look on his face meant anything at all. She pressed her thumb against the identilock and waited for the beep to indicate that her print had been accepted. "I don't know what you're wagging about," he said as he eyed his dog carefully. "You're the one she's talking about."

"Suck it up, Roka," she said as she stepped into her apartment. "Your big, tough dog isn't all that tough, that's all."

Evan tried to look irritated but gave up when he broke into a grin instead. "You're right. He's not. He just looks badass, right?'

Valerie rolled her eyes but smiled. Considering what Munchies was currently wearing? Badass didn't really apply . . . "So how was the show?" she asked, stripping off the oversized sweatshirt and tossing it aside.

"Not too bad," he replied. "Pretty damn good, actually."

"Good," she said.   Plopping down on the sofa, she leaned over to untie her shoes. "No problems with your fill-in bassist?"

"Nah," he said, stretching out on the floor so Munchies could attack him. "He's done the gig before, though, so I didn't figure it was going to be a big deal."

"Glad to hear it," she said, pausing long enough to stare at him for a long moment. "Should you really let him lick your face like that?"

Evan pushed Munchies aside long enough to grin at her. "He's not hurting anything," he insisted. "'Sides, it's not like he just licked his balls or anything considering you put him in a diaper. Munchies, aren't you at least a little ashamed? You're wearing ruffly panties, for God's sake."

Munchies whined at Evan, his rear end wiggling around on the floor a little more. Evan laughed. "Yeah, I guess if she wanted to put those on me, I'd let her do it, too."

Rolling her eyes, Valerie laughed despite herself. "I'm going to go take a shower," she announced, brushing aside the sense of well-being that Evan's mere presence could inspire in her. "If you leave, take that dog with you."

Evan yawned and pushed himself upright, leaning back on his hands as he stared at her. "I was thinking about getting a nap," he confessed then shrugged. "Then I could take you out for dinner—you know, since you were kind enough to take care of my dog, here."

"Dinner, huh?" she drawled. "I could let you do that."

He flopped back down, dragging Munchies over with one arm and laying his head on the dog. "Wake me up when you're ready to go," he told her with a little grin.

Valerie pursed her lips but smiled. "All right," she agreed, grabbing a heather gray microfiber plush throw off the back of a chair and shaking it open. Then she spread the blanket over him and sighed. She would have suggested that he go lie down on her bed, but damned if he wasn't already asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Sekt_** _: German and Austrian sparkling wine. I became familiar with this stuff when given a number of bottles on my eighteenth birthday. I don't drink, so I didn't sample it, but if I recall, I didn't care for the smell of it, either lol_.
> 
> ' ** _Take_** **_the_** **_Long_** **_Way_** **_Home_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _Supertramp's_ _1979_ _release, **Breakfast**_ **_in_** **_America_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Rick_ _Davies_ _and_ _Roger_ _Hodgson_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Evan_** :  
>  _Precious Pink, eh …?_


	149. 148: Misunderstandings

' _I'm all out of faith_ …  
' _This is how I feel_ …  
' _I'm cold, and I am shamed_ …  
' _Lying naked on the floor_ …'

 

-' _Torn_ ' by Natalie Imbruglia.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Heaving a sigh and drumming her fingernails on the steering wheel as she waited for the gates to swing open, Valerie had to wonder just why she'd thought that getting out of the bed was a good idea this morning.

Oh, sure, she had thought that it'd be all right. In fact, she'd thought that it might be a pretty good day. As she'd taken her shower and gotten ready for work, still smiling just a little as the memory of the fantastic dinner she'd shared with Evan at the very trendy le Femme restaurant. He'd behaved himself pretty well, and she'd had a really good time with him despite the unsettling feeling inspired by the sight of him with short hair.

So it was rather shocking when the registered letter had arrived just after noon.

She should have known better than to have let her guard down, especially when it came to a certain errant rockstar . . .

Nodding at Bone, she pulled through the gates and continued down the driveway that led to the house.

It didn't take her long to park the car, and she downed a couple Tylenol and grabbed the papers she'd been served on his behalf as well as the slimfile she'd collated before getting out.

"Roka," she called when she stepped into the mansion.

He didn't answer, and she sighed as Munchies rounded the corner and slid to a halt, wagging his huge tail like crazy. Valerie stared at him for a moment then scratched his head behind the ears rather grudgingly. "Where is he, Munchies?" she asked, not actually expecting any kind of answer as she slipped the file onto the table just inside the living room.

Munchies gave a whine then took off again, stopping in the doorway to look back at her. Raising her eyebrows in mild surprise, she followed him through the house and down the stairs to the finished basement that was decked out with a full and functioning gym.

Evan stopped in the middle of a bench press to grin at her, his silver hair caught back in a low hanging ponytail to keep it out of the way. He must've gone in and had Madison fix it this morning, which wasn't here nor there, but she had to admit that she was glad to see him looking like his regular self again. "Hey, V," he said, letting the bar down and tugging the earphones out. "Didn't hear you come in. Want to work out with me?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, Valerie shook her head. "Can it, rocker boy," she retorted dryly. "We've got to talk."

Pushing himself to his feet, he ambled over to grab a bottle of water out of the small refrigerator nearby. "You sound way too serious for this time of day," he quipped, breaking the seal on the bottle with an efficient twist and draining half of it in a single gulp.

"'Serious' doesn't even begin to cover it." Rubbing her forehead, Valerie drew a deep breath. "This was delivered to my office," she said, holding up the blue backed court docket and waving it in his general direction.

He blinked and stared but didn't seem too concerned by it. "Whatever it is," he stated before draining the rest of the water and tossing it toward the recycling bin, "I categorically deny my involvement."

She sighed as the throbbing in her head escalated by degrees. "As if it's that simple," she muttered. "This is serious, Evan."

For a second, he looked like he was going to crack another joke. Then he sighed, too, and held out his hand.

She let him take the docket, and she waited while he looked it over. It didn't take long for him to grasp the charges levied against him this time, however, and his expression shifted from one of amusement to one of mild surprise. "Wow," he said though he lacked any real emotion as he handed back the docket and headed toward the stairs.

"Wow?" Valerie repeated incredulously, following him up the stairs. "Is that really all you have to say?"

He shrugged and dropped onto the sofa in a slouch. "What do you want me to say? I told you already, it's not true."

She frowned. "Okay," she allowed calmly. After all, it was entirely possible that the entire thing was the machinations of some girl's imagination. Considering who he was? Considering his reputation? It wasn't really that surprising, was it? Couple that with the idea that he had to have money—any idiot could have figured that one out—and, well, she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, at least for the moment. "So you've never met this girl before?"

Evan snorted. "Well, I never said that," he replied, lifting his arm, draping it over the back of the sofa.

She stared at him. Hard. "You _have_ met her, then."

"I don't know," he explained in an almost nonchalant kind of way. "I'm just saying that it's possible."

Controlling her urge to sigh, Valerie stalked over to retrieve the slimfile she'd set down when she'd arrived. It only took her a moment to boot up the files, the images that were attached. "Her," she said, flipping the file around so that he could see the girl in question.

He glanced at the image and shrugged. "Maybe," he allowed.

"Maybe?" she repeated, shaking her head as she scowled at him. "You don't remember her face?"

That shrug again. Damned if he was going to take it seriously . . . "V, I see a lot of faces in my line of work, you know? Maybe I've seen her before, maybe I haven't. I don't really know."

"Did you sleep with her?" Valerie demanded in a no-nonsense way.

"I—well—I don't—Eh, I _could_ have. Do you have a picture of her pussy in there?"

Snapping her mouth closed, Valerie had to count to ten so that she could rein in her temper before she lost her patience entirely. "This isn't a joke, Roka," she pointed out in a measured and deceptively calm tone. "This girl is claiming that you're the father of her child!"

He rolled his eyes and broke into a grin like he honestly thought the entire thing was one big joke. "I know that," he replied with another of those offhanded shrugs, "and I can see why you'd think that it's possible, but I'm telling you, it's not mine."

She sighed and leveled a no-nonsense look at him. "How do you know that?"

"Easy. I always use a rubber."

Valerie had to bite down hard for a moment to keep from growling in frustration at the man's devil-may-care attitude as well as his simplistic belief that using a condom would fix everything. "You realize, right, that those things can fail. If there was a hole in one or—"

"Not possible."

She rubbed her forehead furiously. "That's what I'm trying to say! It _is_ possible! Evan—"

"V, I swear to God, it's not my kid, and I get why you'd think it could be, but it isn't. Can we just leave it at that?" he asked, finally looking as though something was getting through that thick skull of his.

She stared at him for a long moment then sighed. "Okay, fine. It's not your child. Then it's easy. You take a paternity test, and if it's proven that you're not, then that's that."

She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn't the reaction she got. Instead of arguing or fussing at her, instead of grouching or even telling her that it'd be fine, he laughed—in fact, he didn't just laugh. No, the man actually threw his head back and nearly howled in amusement. For almost two minutes straight, he laughed, so hard, in fact, that he had to wipe tears away when he finally managed to get himself under control again.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at him. "What, pray tell, is so damn funny?" she demanded in a deceptively quiet tone.

He was still wiping at his eyes, and damned if that idiotic grin wasn't still stuck fast to his face, either. "No paternity test, V," he said, obviously taking it as a foregone conclusion that she was going to accept his edict.

' _One-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, three-Mississippi_ . . .' she counted in her head. "And why not?"

He snorted incredulously. "Because it isn't necessary. I already told you; it's not my kid."

Heaving a sigh as she tried not to lose her temper at Evan's apparent nonchalance, Valerie took the slimfile and opened another picture attachment. Then she turned it around so he could see the child in question.

"Cute pup," he remarked after barely glancing at the image. "Not mine, but cute."

' _Four-Mississippi, five-Mississippi, six-Mississippi_ . . .' "You didn't even look at him," she pointed out.

"Don't need to," he insisted with another shrug.

' _Seven-Mississippi, eight-Mississippi, nine-Mississippi_ . . .' "Fine, then. Good. So you won't mind getting the test done. It's not a big deal, just a little blood."

"No way," he countered mildly, grabbing a pillow and tossing it into the air, only to catch it on the way down and repeat the process again. "No blood tests."

She opened her mouth to argue with him then snapped it closed when another thought occurred to her. "Are you afraid of needles?"

"What?" he asked, blinking in surprise. "Afraid of—? No."

She rubbed her forehead again. His reaction was absolutely perplexing. She could understand that he didn't want to admit that the child could be his, but his adamant insistence? Just what was he thinking, anyway? "Okay, so you're not afraid of needles? Then why won't you just do this?"

Settling back, he blinked slowly at her, lazily—smugly. "V, the kid isn't mine. Isn't that good enough?"

"No, it isn't," she insisted, her irritation rising fast, quickly undermining any understanding that she had been feeling before. "This isn't a joke, Evan, it's serious! If the child isn't yours, great, but you need to prove it in court just like anyone else would have to!"

"V, look, it's just some chick who got knocked up around the same time that I just happened to be in town, right? Understandable, isn't it? I mean, who better to say is the daddy of your baby, but someone who actually has the money to pay for it, but I swear to God, the kid's not mine."

"And how do you know that?" she pressed. "Just because you say so? You know, even if I believe you—and that's a rather big 'if', given the way you're acting—your refusal to take a blood paternity test is absolutely ridiculous! If you have nothing to hide, then it isn't a big deal, now is it?"

"Aw, give it a rest, woman," he grouched. "I'm telling you that he's not mine, and that should damn well be good enough for you."

"Yeah, well, it's not," she snapped back,   "If anything, your refusal to take the test is only doing one thing: it's making me think that maybe— _maybe_ —you're scared."

"Scared of what?" he challenged, his eyes still twinkling in an entirely amused sort of way.

"That the child _is_ yours," she replied.

"You're starting to sound like a broken record, V," he told her.

"Am I? You know," she said, scooping up her things and shaking her head almost sadly despite the irritation that she just couldn't hide. "You don't have the slightest idea, do you?"

"About what?"

She snorted. "Do you have any idea—any idea at all—what it feels like to grow up knowing that your parents—your _father_ —didn't care about you? That your _father_ just didn't want to _be_ a father, so to hell with you? Do you know what it's like when someone asks you where your parents are, why you're not living with them, and you don't know why?"

"There's nothing even remotely similar between your situation and this chick's desire to take me for all I'm worth," he grumbled. "Just drop it; will you?"

She almost growled in frustration but drew a couple deep breaths to keep from coming entirely unglued. "No, I won't," she insisted stubbornly. "You say that the kid's not yours, and maybe you're right, but you won't take the test to prove it? And if you're wrong—if that boy _is_ yours? What then? Are you going to play 'daddy'? Or are you just going to turn away from him without even bothering to acknowledge that it is possible that you might have screwed his mother—that the condom you used might have been defective or that it could have— _could have_ —broken? It happens all the time, Roka, and whether you like it or not, the chances that you could be his father are not that slim! But you won't even consider that, right?" She turned on her heel and started toward the door. She wasn't sure where she was going, but she knew damn well that she had to put some space between Evan Zelig and herself. Stopping in the doorway, she didn't turn back to look at him. She just couldn't. "I thought you were different, Evan," she said quietly. "I thought that you, of all people, would take this seriously. I thought you'd understand just how . . . how hurtful that can be."

"V—"

She shook her head adamantly, still refusing to look at him. "I mean it, Roka," she said, her voice dropping, unable to swallow the huskiness that gave away her emotions. "If that child is yours . . . If he is . . . don't you dare . . ." Trailing off for a moment, she swallowed hard, blinked furiously to stave back the unwanted tears that threatened to spill over. "Don't you dare turn your back on him. It's not his fault. He . . . He's just a kid . . ."

And she left.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan heaved a sigh as the sound of the front door closing drifted back to him where he sat, slouched on the sofa. "Fuck," he muttered, smashing his hands over his face as he tried not to grimace.

" _I thought you were different, Evan . . . I thought that you, of all people, would take this seriously. I thought you'd understand just how . . . How hurtful that can be_."

He hadn't meant to hurt Valerie again, had he? In fact, that was the last thing he'd wanted to do. He'd thought that if he'd just played it off as no big deal that she would, too.

He should have known better.

Oh, maybe the circumstances were vastly different, but the feeling had to be the same. Regardless of what she believed, the idea of the little boy being caught up in the middle of this—That's what really bothered her, didn't it?

And if he had stopped to consider that before he'd started blowing off all of her questions, he'd have realized that a lot sooner, too . . .

The problem was, the boy wasn't his pup, and he knew that. He was youkai, for all intents and purposes, and accidental pregnancies just didn't happen to youkai. He knew well enough how that kind of thing worked. Trouble was, Valerie didn't, and since he still couldn't tell her about all that stuff, how in the hell could he convince her otherwise?

"Damn it," he muttered, rubbing his forehead and scowling at the empty room. "Shit . . ."

But he couldn't get any kind of blood test done, could he? He seemed to recall having overheard Isabelle talking to Cain about that kind of thing before. Youkai didn't have the same blood make up as humans did, or at least, that's what he thought she'd said.

Grabbing his phone, Evan figured he might as well ask. After all, if he could get away with having the test done, then Valerie wouldn't be upset anymore, right?

"Isabelle Marin."

"Hey, Bitty," Evan greeted. "Got a minute?"

"Evan!" she exclaimed, her businesslike tone dissolving quickly. "I've always got a minute for you. So what do you need?"

He sighed and made a face. "Well, I need some advice, actually."

"Advice? So this isn't a social call?"

"Uh, no, unfortunately . . ."

"Okay," she allowed quickly enough. "What kind of advice do you need?"

"I guess not advice, actually. More like the answer to a question . . . I cannot take a blood test, right?"

She didn't answer for a moment. "A blood test . . ." she finally said. "Why do you need one of those?"

He winced, knowing damn well what was going to come next. "Some girl is claiming that I fathered her child," he forced himself to say.

"Oh . . . Oh my," Isabelle said. He could hear the amusement in her voice. He should have known . . . "Oh, well, you can't get a DNA test, if that's what you mean."

He sighed again, mostly because of her tone. She'd said it like she thought that he was being dense on purpose . . . "I figured as much," he replied. "Any suggestions as to how I can avoid it?"

"Hmm," she drawled. In the background, he could hear the definite tap of her claws against something hard—it sounded like wood, like a table or a desk—or a door . . . "Well, no," she said slowly, carefully. "I mean, I imagine that a judge is going to demand it if you're going to claim that the child isn't yours. I'm assuming that's what you're going to do, right?"

Another thought occurred to him, and he sat up a little straighter. "Yeah, well, can't I have you do the test? Then everyone's happy, right?"

Isabelle let out a deep breath. "You could try that," she mused. "I don't know that a judge is going to go for it, though. More than likely, you'll be asked to repeat the test with a court-appointed lab, and if that's the case, then there's a damn good chance that the test will be done by a human facility. Most of them are, anyway."

"Damn."

She sighed. "This is something you should probably talk to Grandpa about," she suggested a little cautiously since she had a hunch as to how he'd take that particular suggestion. "He has connections. Maybe he can figure out how to handle this."

"The hell!" Evan snorted. "Tell Cain? Jesus, I'd rather pay for the kid for the rest of my life."

Isabelle uttered a low sound likely meant to pacify him. "That's not really a good idea, either, don't you think? After all, the child's human, right? You can't drag a human child into anything, and you know it."

Evan scowled, wanting to disagree with Isabelle just on principle but unable to really do it. "Shit," he grumbled, hating to admit that Isabelle had a point, even if she did. "Damned if I couldn't do without the fucking lecture."

"Oh, I don't know," Isabelle gently intoned. "Considering your profession? I'm surprised that you haven't been sued for paternity before now, don't you? Besides, Grandpa knows that you'd never father a child indiscriminately."

He wasn't as convinced as Isabelle, but he grunted. "Yeah, well, thanks, Bitty."

She sighed. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help you out."

"Yeah," he replied, a wry smile that kind of resembled a grimace twisting his features. "Let me know if you think of any other options."

"Will do, sweetie. Bye bye."

He glowered at the receiver after the phone call ended. Talk to Cain about it? "Keh!" he grunted, flopping against the sofa once more.

' _Yeah, well, even if you don't wanna talk to him, you do need to figure out something. In case you didn't notice, you upset V—a lot._ '

' _Aww, shut the hell up if you don't have something to say that I don't already know_ ,' he complained. ' _Just what the hell do you want me to do? Tell her that I'd be fucking happy to take that goddamned test?_ '

' _Yeah, but you know where she's coming from, right? And there were better ways to handle things instead of just summarily ignoring her concerns. First off, she's your attorney. It's her job to keep your ass out of trouble. Second off? Jesus, Roka! You know how she feels about her family, right? Do you really think that she can just put her own feelings aside and watch you do to some other kid what her parents did to her? Maybe it's not exactly the same thing, but it doesn't have to be, does it? Damn, you're a fucking idiot, did you know?_ '

Snorting indelicately, Evan scowled at the ceiling. The real problem was that he couldn't actually prove that he hadn't slept with the girl. There was a good chance that he might have, even if he couldn't really place her face. That, of course, only made it sound worse, didn't it? Hell's bells, if he told Valerie that, she'd probably never speak to him ever again, too . . .

" _If that child is yours . . . If he is . . . don't you dare . . . Don't you dare turn your back on him. It's not his fault. He . . . He's just a kid_ . . ."

No doubt about it, he was screwed, any way he looked at it. First things first, though. The most important thing was to get himself back into Valerie's good graces. If he could manage that one, he'd figure out what to do about the rest of it . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Torn_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _Natalie_ _Imbruglia's_ _1997_ _release, **Left**_ **_of_** **_the_** **_Middle_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Scott_ _Cutler,_ _Anne_ _Preven_ , _and_ _Phil_ _Thornalley_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Aw, for fuck's sake!_


	150. 149: Isolated

' _Oh, father of mine, tell me where did you go_ …?  
' _Yeah, you had the world inside your hand, but you did not seem to know_ …  
' _Father of mine, tell me what do you see_ …?  
' _When you look back at your wasted life_...  
' _And you don't see me_ …'

 

-' _Father of Mine_ ' by Everclear.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

It was late.

She didn't know what time it was. She'd lost track a long time ago.

Sipping the glass of wine in her hand, she stared at the picture of the smiling little boy. He wasn't very old, maybe a year? Maybe . . . Eyes so dark that she couldn't rightfully tell the color—they could have been sapphire blue—with a thick fringe of eyelashes . . . dimples carved deep into his chubby cheeks . . . a shock of white blonde hair—cornsilk, wasn't that what they called it . . .? Sitting in a blue plastic baby swing in a park, it looked like . . .

' _He could be Evan's_ ,' the voice in the back of her mind whispered.

She sighed. She'd been staring at the image of this little boy for hours now, hadn't she?

" _Aw, give it a rest, woman . . . I'm telling you that he's not mine, and that should damn well be good enough for you_."

' _But what if he is . . .?_ '

Valerie grimaced. That little boy—Will, his name was . . . He didn't know how cruel the world could be, not yet. Too young, too naïve, he could still run around the park, laugh with all his heart when he sat in the swing in that picture . . .

She was like that, too, once upon a time. As screwed up as her childhood had been, there was a time when she hadn't realized that her life differed so much from that of the other children. Before she'd learned that she was different; that she was somehow inferior to the everyone else, she'd laughed and played and all that, too . . .

Rubbing her forehead, Valerie tried not to think about it, tried not to remember things best left forgotten. Those horrified glances from her teachers that she hadn't understood . . . The strange looks at the 'new girl' . . . The curiosity of the other children who always wanted to know why she didn't live with her mom and dad, why she called her foster parents by their first names . . .

Maybe it wouldn't be that bad for him, for Will. After all, he did still have his mother, and that had to count for something. Wouldn't he wonder one day, though? Wouldn't he want to know where his father was? Wouldn't he ask questions that his mother couldn't answer?

When she'd gone over to Evan's house, and she supposed that she'd expected that he'd deny it all, at least on some level. She might have even expected a joke or two, at least until he'd realized the severity of the situation. But . . .

It was a simple blood test, wasn't it? If he was so sure that the boy wasn't his, then why wouldn't he just let them draw his blood and be done with it? Why did he have to say that he just wouldn't do it, no matter what?

Evan didn't realize, did he? He didn't realize just how badly he could potentially hurt the boy. If Will really was his son . . . If Evan really did refuse to have anything to do with him . . . The only one who would suffer then would be Will, right? A sad, almost cynical smile twisted her lips, and she sighed. The children were always the ones who paid the price for their parents' sins, their parents' greed . . .

' _That's not really it, though. The thing that's bothering you most is your own disappointment, isn't it? Because he's not perfect? Because you never thought that Evan would just turn his back on anyone so easily?_ '

Maybe there was that, too. Maybe she'd thought that he would take responsibility, no questions asked, if the boy really was his son. After all, he loved kids; she _knew_ he did.

And maybe that was why she'd been so thrown, so confused by his reaction. In fact, it went against everything that she knew about Evan, period. Goofy? Yes. More likely to joke than to take anything seriously? Sure. Introspective and sometimes a complete enigma? Of course. Selfish and afraid to admit that maybe he'd made a huge mistake but a mistake nonetheless? She hadn't thought so, had she?

The trill of her cell phone broke through her reverie. She didn't have to look to know who it was. Reaching over, she clicked the button to send the call to her voicemail. When she'd first gotten home, she'd ignored his calls because she was still angry, but now?

Now she just didn't feel up to talking to him. Angry, no. Disappointed, yes . . . and maybe a little hurt, too. It didn't work to try to make excuses for him. Maybe he didn't know just how awful it was to have felt like her entire family had abandoned her long ago. She thought that he did. Somehow, his reaction felt akin to a slap in the face, didn't it? It felt like every moment when she had believed that he understood the things she was telling him were all just an act. ' _Throw her a bone, right? Tell her that you understand, then laugh when she's not looking_ . . .'

Wincing at the callousness of her own thoughts, Valerie sighed softly. Was it really as bad as all that?

Draining the last of the wine from her glass, she pulled her legs up a little closer on the sofa cushion, tried to ignore the desolation that kept tugging at the edges of her psyche. That was how it felt, wasn't it? His reaction to this little boy . . .

' _Aren't you being a little harsh? He was as stunned as you were, don't you think?   Maybe he wasn't really trying to brush everything off as much as he just didn't know how to deal with it yet. Can't you give him the benefit of the doubt this once? Go back tomorrow; let him explain himself. Don't let your expectations cloud your ability to be objective_.'

But what was there to be objective about? He'd summarily denied being the boy's father, and that was one thing. His adamant refusal to submit to DNA testing, though . . . What was there to misconstrue about that?

Sure, he thought that his father didn't want him, but somehow, Valerie didn't agree with that, either. She might have had she not met Cain Zelig, but she had, and the things he'd said about Evan?

No, it didn't matter what he said tonight, did it? The fifteen or twenty phone calls she'd already sent to voicemail but hadn't had it in her to listen to the messages he'd left . . . And she didn't have it in her to try to be calm, to explain to him that he'd have to submit to the tests whether he wanted to or not. Maybe it was selfish of her. Maybe it made her a horrible person and a terrible friend, but . . .

Setting the empty wine glass on the table, Valerie heaved a sigh and closed the slimfile.

She'd try to deal with him tomorrow. Tonight? Well, maybe it was all right if she just put her head down and tried not to think about it anymore . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Dropping the phone onto the table with a dull clatter, Evan heaved a sigh and stomped over to the windows, staring out into the blackness without seeing.

Damned if he hadn't really done it this time, huh? She was more upset with him now than she was after the huge fight they'd had on the island, but why?

' _What do you mean, 'why'? It's pretty obvious, isn't it? You just acted like the world's biggest ass about this entire thing, and you wonder why she's pissed off at you? Idiot!_ '

That wasn't what he was trying to do, damn it. ' _I know that already,_ ' he snapped back with a snort. She'd left her car: the one he'd gotten for her birthday . . . Bone had called shortly after Valerie's unceremonious departure to let him know that he'd called a cab for the attorney, who refused to take the car— _her_ car . . .

Unfortunately, he still wasn't entirely sure what to do about the whole situation, and what was worse? There was a good chance that he really was going to have to submit to the blood test if it came down to it, if the court ordered it, and why wouldn't they? Just saying that he wasn't the pup's father wouldn't be good enough, and he'd have to be dense not to realize that.

About the only thing he could do would be to find out why the girl seemed to think that he was the child's father, in the first place, and he figured that suggesting that he meet with her just wasn't going to fly with a certain attorney, no matter what.

' _So do what Bitty suggested and call your damn father._ '

He snorted and brushed off that idea before he even bothered to consider it. Call Cain? About this? ' _Fat fucking chance_.'

It was a nightmare, damned if it wasn't. There wasn't a chance in hell that the boy was really his, and he knew that. Anyone who knew what he was would know that, too. Valerie, however, didn't know any of that, so it wasn't surprising that she didn't have any idea as to why he would just summarily dismiss the paternity of the child. Maybe a part of him had forgotten that at the time.

' _Damn it_.'

He'd really looked like an ass, hadn't he? No doubt about it, the more he considered his nonchalance, his complete disregard of the situation as a whole, it was no wonder she'd gotten upset with him, was it?

' _There's more to it than that, don't you think? You're thinking about this in a far too narrow kind of way_.'

Scowling out into the night, Evan shook his head. ' _Narrow? What's that supposed to mean?_ '

His youkai sighed. ' _Okay, so you were an ass when it came to the question of being the kid's father, but think about it, will you? What was it she said? What was it . . .?_ '

He rolled his eyes. ' _She said a lot of shit, didn't she? And okay, she had a right. She's my attorney, isn't she?_ '

' _It had nothing to do with that, rockstar. Think about it. What she said . . . the look on her face_ . . .'

Evan sighed. What she'd said? What she'd said . . .

" _Do you have any idea—any idea at all—what it feels like to grow up knowing that your parents—your_ father _—didn't care about you? That your_ father _just didn't want to_ be _a father, so to hell with you?   Do you know what it's like when someone asks you where your parents are, why you're not living with them, and you don't know why . . .? I thought you were different, Evan. I thought that you, of all people, would take this seriously. I thought you'd understand just how . . . how hurtful that can be . . . If that child is yours . . . If he is . . . don't you dare . . . don't you dare turn your back on him. It's not his fault. He . . . He's just a kid_ . . ."

"F . . . Fuck . . ." he muttered, raking a hand over his face as he let out a deep breath, as he started to realize just how big of an impact his careless thoughts and actions had made on her. Somehow in her head, she'd made the connection between her childhood and this little boy, hadn't she? And he . . .

Damned if he hadn't just inadvertently tossed it all back at her—every insecurity, every painful memory—every tear she'd ever cried . . . that she had grown up without the parents she'd so desperately wanted, even if those parents weren't worth the time of day, and his denial that the boy was his? In her mind, he'd just condemned the boy to a lifetime of the same emotions, hadn't he? Another broken child from another broken home . . .

That wasn't what he was trying to do. That wasn't what he'd meant. The boy wasn't his. If he was, Evan would make damn sure that the boy had everything, including a father, but . . .

But that's not what he'd said to Valerie, was it? He'd somehow managed to forget that she didn't know how he could be positive that the child wasn't his. He'd forgotten that, as well as Valerie might know him, she couldn't read his mind any better than he could read hers.

" _I thought you were different, Evan. I thought that you, of all people, would take this seriously. I thought you'd understand just how . . . how hurtful that can be . . ._ "

No doubt about it; he'd really dropped the ball on this one, hadn't he? Caught off guard, certainly, but was that really an excuse? The very last thing he'd meant to do was to hurt Valerie, especially after having told her about her father's failing health, and sorry just wasn't going to cut it this time, was it? Just how many chances was she going to give him when he did nothing but fuck everything up, time and again, anyway?

" _I tried to tell myself for years that they tried their best, you know? I tried . . . tried to make excuses for all the times that I'd get ready to see them—put on my prettiest dress and fix my hair and wash my face . . . and they rarely showed up . . . maybe once every six months or so . . . Do you . . .? Do you think that they even know what today was? Do you . . .? Do you suppose that they stopped at some point today and . . . and remembered?_ "

Damned if he didn't know better. He'd been too quick to discount her concerns, too fast to listen to her when she tried to tell him anything. He might have known, but she certainly didn't . . . Trying to blow off the idea of being the father of that little boy . . . just how many of those awful memories had he brought back to vivid life in her mind?

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

" _How long are you gonna stand there? They ain't coming_ . . ."

 _Ignoring the taunts of her younger foster brother, Drake, she stood patiently at the glass door, staring outside. It was a beautiful spring day with the smell of cut grass fresh on the air that billowed through the open windows—the first of the season. She didn't notice any of it as she continued her silent vigil, as she waited for the rusty, faded old truck to come puttering around the corner_.

" _They never come," Drake jeered, sprawled on the tired old sofa and idly tossing a beaten-up Nerf football in the air. "You've been waiting for hours already._ "

" _Leave her alone, Drake," Mother-Jane said as she hurried through the room with a stack of laundry in her arms. "I'm sure they'll be here this time_."

 _She nodded slowly, silently, without taking her eyes off the far corner_.

 _Mother-Jane let out a deep breath and moved on with her burden_.

" _Coming through!" Billy yelled, barreling straight toward the door. She stepped aside as two of the boys ran outside. "Why don't you come play with us?_ "

 _She didn't say a word as she shook her head_.

" _Aww, give up, Billy," Drake said as he pushed himself off the sofa to follow the others outside. "It's visitation day._ "

 _Billy glanced at her then shorted loudly, his bright red hair seeming to glow in the bright light of the sun behind him. "But they never show up," he stated_.

 _She ignored the boys as they ran off to play_.

 _The never did come_ . . .

 _She was standing in a stale old building that reeked of dust and old urine . . . Hanging back in the half-shadows, counting the money she'd stolen out of her foster mother's purse . . . Thirty-three dollars wasn't enough to get her back to Durkes, was it_ . . .?

 _A man in a rumpled pair of faded jeans and a blue flannel shirt wandered into the station_.

" _Can I help you, sir?_ "

 _He stepped over to the ticket booth—the one illuminated area in the stinky old place. "When's your next bus leaving for Nashville?_ "

 _The woman snapped her gum. "There's not one till seven tonight. Sixty-four-fifty if you want to buy your ticket now._ "

 _The man nodded and dug into his pants pocket for the money. With a creak of the high stool that the woman was sitting on, she turned around to retrieve the ticket. "The ticket's not refundable," she informed him as she took his money and dropped his change into the metal drawer then slid it back out to him with the ticket_.

" _Thanks," he said, taking the ticket and stashing the money back into his pocket again_.

 _She watched him as he shuffled toward the exit, and she followed him. "M-Mister_ . . ."

 _He stopped on the sagging steps that led down to the sidewalk and turned to look at her. She didn't say anything else as she slowly lifted her hand, as she held it out, palm up, as she forced herself to slowly meet his gaze_.

 _He blinked and stared at her open hand, shifting his gaze to her face just once then back again. "What do you need money for, little one?_ "

 _She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, shuffled her scuffed tennis shoes as she scrunched up her shoulders and tried not to be afraid. "I want to go home," she said in a whisper. "Mommy and Daddy live in Durkes_."

" _Then how'd you get here?" he asked, tugging on the legs of his jeans and kneeling down beside her_.

" _I walked," she whispered_.

 _He smiled kindly and shook his head. "No, I mean, if your parents live in Durkes, how come you're here in Carter?_ "

 _She shrugged again since she didn't completely understand his question. "My foster parents live here," she said_.

 _He nodded slowly, as though what she'd said made perfect sense to him. "And who are your foster parents?" he asked gently_.

" _Kari and Tim Hodges_."

 _He considered that for a moment then nodded again. "I know them," he said at last. "Live over on Cherry Street behind the school, right?_ "

 _She gave a small shrug and bit her lip_.

 _The kind little smile on his face turned a little sad. She didn't know why. "I tell you what," he said at length, rubbing his jaw as he turned his gaze up toward the clear sky above. "How about I give you a ride?_ "

 _She shot him a surprised kind of look as her chest erupted in a million little butterflies of excitement. "O-Okay," she agreed, managing a timid little smile_.

 _For some reason, his own smile faltered as he pushed himself to his feet, as he held out his hand for her_.

 _She didn't take it, but she did follow him down to the shiny blue sedan parked on the street. He held the door open for her and closed it after she'd climbed inside_. . .

Valerie groaned and awoke with a start. She wasn't sure what had interrupted her sleep, but she sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. The dream still lingered in her mind. She hadn't thought about that day in ages.

The man at the bus station was a deputy at the local sheriff's office in Carter, and he'd given her a ride, all right—right back to that house on Cherry Street where Kari Hodges had spent a good hour apologizing profusely for Valerie's behavior. After he'd left, she'd asked Valerie why she'd wanted to go back to Durkes, but why did she think? Was she really that dense?

" _Your parents can't take care of you right now, Valene," Mother-Kari had explained in an overly-sweet tone. "That's why you're here—so they can take the time to get their lives together so they can give you a good home, like the one you have here._ "

Always the same thing, the same excuses. It was what the adults had always told her when she said that she wanted to go home, and they'd all used that same tone of voice, too, hadn't they? It was always the same—always the same . . .

Sitting up on the sofa where she'd fallen asleep, she heaved a sigh and rubbed a weary hand over her face.

Why now? Why was she remembering those things now . . .?

Glancing at the clock, she sighed again. It was almost six in the morning, but she knew damn well that she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep now, and even if she could, she had to go into work in three hours, anyway, so what was the point?

Rubbing her face again, Valerie opened her eyes and frowned when her gaze fell to the coffee table—and the keys to her car. She'd given those keys to Bone before she'd gotten into the cab that he'd called for her. "Tell Evan thanks, but . . . I don't want it anymore," she had said, and how proud had she been that she'd managed to keep her emotions in check?

Pushing off the blanket that she hadn't covered up with before she'd fallen asleep, Valerie bit her lip. He was here, wasn't he? He wasn't now, no, but he had been. He'd brought back the car, he'd covered her up, and her frown deepened when she realized that she could smell a fresh pot of coffee, too . . .

Back to being the Evan she knew, was he?

For some reason, the things he'd done—making coffee for her, covering her up while she slept, even bringing back the car . . .

Why did those things make her feel even sadder, even more isolated, than she had ever felt before . . .?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Father_** **_of_** **_Mine_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _Everclear's_ _1997_ _release, **So**_ **_Much_** **_for_** **_the_** **_Afterglow_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Art_ _Alexakis_ _and_ _Everclear_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _What is he thinking …?_


	151. 150: Innocence

' _Some people say they will never believe_ …  
' _Another promise they hear in the dark_ …  
' _Because they remember only too well_ …  
' _They heard somebody tell them before_ …'

 

-' _An Innocent Man_ ' by Billy Joel.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

". . . Wow."

Evan heaved a sigh and grimaced as he leaned back in his chair. "Yeah, that's kind of what I said, too."

"But it isn't true, no?"

"No," Evan replied. "Unfortunately, I'm not too sure what to do about it. I can't take a fucking blood test, right?"

Tipping the espresso to his lips, Gage Jordan made a face then leaned forward to slip the cup onto the table in the quiet little bistro before flicking an imaginary bit of lint off the cuff of his immaculate white sleeve and settling back in the booth with his arm stretched across the back rest. "Hardly my area of expertise," he allowed in a somewhat philosophical tone, "but no, I would wager that would be a poor choice."

"Yeah, well, trust me. I've already looked into that, and no, it can't be done," Evan muttered, twisting his coffee mug in an idle sort of way.

Gage nodded slowly, dragging a long-fingered hand through his jet black hair. "What is that charming phrase you barbarians use? Ah . . . Got your balls nailed to the wall, yes?"

Evan chuckled despite his bleak thoughts. "Something like that, yeah." He sighed. "Speaking of nailed balls," he went on, arching an eyebrow, "what'd you do with Violca?"

Gage broke into a lazy little grin that made Evan shake his head since he had a decent idea that the native European was reliving something that he didn't really need—or for that matter, want—to hear. "Ah, the lovely Violca, a girl of very many talents . . ."

Rolling his wrist to hurry Gage on, Evan chuckled. "Yes, her."

"I did what I said I would do," he said simply. "I tracked down her people, and I left her with them."

"Nice," Evan replied, nodding his head slowly. "It was touch and go there for a while."

Gage chuckled and motioned at the waitress to bring another espresso. "And how are things going with the lovely Ms. Denning?" he asked with a very amused glint in his eyes. "Your _attorney_ , correct?"

"Eh, well, it's going," Evan muttered. "She's not too pleased with me at the moment."

"Ah, back to the child again, yes?"

Evan sighed since that wasn't actually the real problem, as far as he was concerned. Close enough, though . . . "Something like that."

Gage shrugged, as though it was of no real consequence. "And so you tell her that you are not the child's father."

That earned the Frenchman a droll look. "You think I didn't do that already?"

" _Merci_ ," he said to the waitress when she delivered his drink. Evan grinned just a little as he rolled his eyes when the poor girl nearly swooned at the lazy kind of look Gage gave her. It wasn't the first time that Evan had witnessed Gage's near legendary charm in action, and he sincerely doubted it'd be the last, either. After the waitress had hurried away, he turned his attention back to Evan once more and slowly shook his head. "Your V does not believe you?"

Evan made a face. "Doesn't matter if she does or not, considering I've told her that I can't take the test but can't really come up with a good reason not to."

Gage chuckled. "She thinks you are a liar, no?"

"Sounds about right," Evan grudgingly allowed.

"In any case," he went on, "I have every faith that you, of all people, can figure it out."

"I'm trying," Evan admitted with a shrug. "I'll talk to her later on. Hopefully, she's not quite so ticked off at me."

Gage chuckled. "It is a shame. You should have invited her to join us. Lovely woman, your V . . ."

Evan snorted. "Forget it, Jordan. I'm onto you."

His smile widened. "She is a very sensual woman," he went on, stroking his chin thoughtfully, his gaze taking on a rather hazy sort of appearance, as though he was remembering the time he'd met her while Evan was in LA on tour. "Very _erotic_ . . ."

"Yeah yeah, keep it in your pants, Romeo," Evan retorted dryly. "You're never going to find out, just so you know."

Gage laughed softly, digging a Djarum Black clove cigarette out of the inner pocket of his jacket. "I jest, I jest," he said.

Rolling his eyes, Evan broke into a grin. "Then again, knock yourself out," he decided with a shrug. "I give her two days to figure out that you're a pompous ass."

Gage's laughter escalated. "She would undoubtedly see right through me, no?"

"Absolutely," Evan agree, lifting his coffee to his lips. "So what are you doing here, anyway? I mean, you did say that you weren't coming back to the city."

"I never said I wasn't coming back," he corrected. "I said that I preferred the more relaxed climate of, say, southern California. Anyway, I was invited to opening night for _Ferrier's Way._ "

"The Broadway show?" Evan asked, arching an eyebrow in surprise.

He nodded. "Mattieu Pointau is conducting the orchestra, so he invited me. Said it was a . . . personal favor."

That was surprising. Mattieu Pointau was well known for having antagonized Gage for years, ever since the night when Gage had fled the Paris Grande Arcanum theatre just before he was scheduled to perform in front of a packed house. "I thought the old bastard hated your guts," Evan remarked.

Gage chuckled. "He does," he allowed with a nonchalant shrug.

"Then why did he invite you to the opening?"

"I think he is still trying to convince me that I am missing out of something," he replied simply. "So I thought, what better way to show my apathy than to go to this performance and have a great time?"

Evan shook his head but laughed. "I suppose that'd work."

"You shall have to join me. You, Madison, and your lovely Ms. Denning."

"Maddy? Sure. V? Not so sure she'd be interested, but I'll ask her."

Gage inclined his head as he settled back with the fresh espresso in his hand. "It should be fun, no?"

Evan chuckled. "Of course."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie paced the length of the room and back again, her heels clicking on the floor, dulled here and there by the area rug near the sofa.

' _Where is he . . .?_ '

Munchies heaved a sigh where he lay near the fireplace, his chin on his paws and an anxious look on his face.

She wasn't sure where Evan was, but she'd been there for nearly an hour already, and she supposed it was her own fault for not having bothered to call him first. Still, she'd really thought that he'd be here, hadn't she?

She sighed. Honestly, she wasn't sure what she wanted to say to him, but she had to try, didn't she? She had to make him understand, both from a legal stand point as well as from one friend to another. The thing was, she didn't know exactly how to do that when he didn't want to listen. She could only hope that he'd thought about it a little last night, and maybe he was more inclined to hear her out. Maybe . . .

The sound of the front door drew Valerie to an abrupt halt. Pressing a hand against her stomach to contain the instant rise of nerves, she bit her lip and drew a deep breath, and pivoted on her heels to face the doorway.

"Hey, V," Evan said as he strode into the living room and tossed his brown leather jacket onto the nearest chair. "I went by your office, but they said you left early."

"I wanted to talk to you about yesterday," she said, hoping that the reticence in her voice hadn't been as noticeable as she thought that it was. "It was wrong of me to have just walked out."

Letting out a deep breath, he held out his hands in a placating kind of gesture. "V, no, I, uh . . . I handled it badly," he said. "It's just that . . . I know that you don't understand, but I'm telling you for certain: the pup isn't mine. If there was a chance in hell that he was, I'd be the first to step forward and do the right thing, but there isn't. Really."

"Okay," she agreed slowly, nodding as she considered his statement, "I believe you, then, but you have to know that you're still going to have to submit to the blood test. There's no way that the judge isn't going to order it as par for course."

"I know, but . . ." He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "I can't do a blood test. I just really can't."

She shook her head and stifled the urge to sigh herself. "If it was against your religion or something, then we might be able to fight it," she told him. "If there was a good, legal reason why you couldn't, that'd be different, but there isn't . . . Is there"

"It's a long story," he mumbled, looking completely irritated but unwilling to give her a logical reason for his stubborn insistence.

"I've got time," she countered mildly.

That didn't seem to impress him, either. "Like I said before, I don't even know if I did sleep with her," he pointed out. "Hell, I don't know that I remember every single woman I've ever been with . . ."

Tamping down the flash of irritation that his bald statement had inspired, Valerie tapped her foot and reminded herself that she needed to keep her temper if she had any kind of hope to get him to agree to the necessary testing. "Be that as it may, it doesn't change the fact that this girl is accusing you of fathering her child!"

Evan grunted. "I realize that, V," he snapped though he sounded more exasperated than angry.

"Are you sure you're not scared of needles?" she repeated the question she'd asked yesterday. "If you are, I'm sure that they can do it so that you won't even feel it, and—"

"It's not the needles, V!" he scoffed. "I've shot up a few times in my life, you know. You think I'd have done that if I was scared of fucking needles?"

Valerie rolled her eyes and sighed. "That's not really scoring you any points, Roka," she pointed out calmly.

"Hi, everyone," Madison said as she sashayed into the room.

Valerie nodded curtly at her but didn't reply. "Then why won't you take the test? It's easy enough, right? A few seconds, a little blood, and done! It's simple!"

"It's not simple," he scoffed, ignoring Madison's arrival completely. "I just don't wanna do it, and I don't give a shit if the damned judge throws me in jail for it!"

"Jail? Why now?" Madison asked rather dryly.

Valerie rubbed her temples, sorely pressed to remind herself that she had no intention of arguing with the stubborn man. "Well, if you don't, then it just makes you look guiltier, and if you think that you're going to come out of this smelling like a rose, you're wrong! If you keep this up, you're going to have half of the world thinking that this little boy _is_ yours, regardless of what any test says, _and_ you'll look like an absolute ass for trying to avoid it, in the first place!"

"Who gives a great goddamn what the world thinks?" he shot back angrily. "I sure as hell don't, and it doesn't matter, anyway, because the kid isn't mine!"

"Kid?" Madison echoed, blinking in surprise. "Someone's claiming that he's the father of her child?"

"Yes," Valerie bit out with a sigh. "Yes, she's saying that he's the father."

"Oh," Madison replied then fluttered a hand in blatant dismissal. "He's not."

"Yeah!" Evan blurted, having finally noticed Madison's presence. "See? Thanks, Maddy."

"No problem," she said.

Valerie rolled her eyes. "So, he's said," she interrupted before an all-out love-fest ensued. "That doesn't matter when he refuses—flat out _refuses_ —to get the blood test done to prove it!"

Madison glanced at Evan then smiled at Valerie very calmly. "Oh, a blood test isn't necessary."

Evan slipped an arm around Madison's shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. "See? See? Even Maddy thinks it's not necessary!" he gloated, pointing at Madison with his free hand.

Rolling her eyes, Valerie tossed her hands up in the air in mock surrender. "I just don't get either one of you," she grumbled. "How on earth can you say that? Of course he needs to take a blood test, just to prove that he's not the boy's father!"

Madison giggled. "Oh, it's really not needed, V," she insisted.

"Right!" Evan fairly crowed. "Maddikins rocks, did you know that?"

"Give me one good reason why you're agreeing with him!" Valerie insisted, waving a hand in Evan's general direction.

"You tell her, Maddy," Evan chimed in, puffing up his chest and looking entirely too smug for his own good.

"Well, that's easy," Madison said, blinking innocently at Valerie.

"It is?"

Madison nodded. Evan nodded harder.

"Why is that?" Valerie asked.

Madison laughed again. "Because he's sterile."

"Yeah!" Evan gloated. "Because I'm— _What?_ "

Valerie snapped her mouth closed and couldn't help the shocked expression on her face as she turned to stare at Evan once more.

He stepped away from Madison, looking almost as stunned as Valerie was. "I'm _what?_ " he growled. "The _hell_ I'm sterile! I'm so _not_ sterile that I could knock up half of Manhattan right fucking now if I wanted to!"

Madison pasted on a tolerant little smile despite the heightened twinkle in her gaze, and she raised an eyebrow at Evan before glancing from him to Valerie and back again.

"Keh! No! _Fuck_ no!" he insisted, stomping across the room and back. "I'm not st—!"

Madison cleared her throat and jerked her head toward Valerie, tapping her lips with a beautifully manicured index finger.

Evan stopped mid-tirade and shot Valerie a scathing glower before glaring at Madison once more as he uttered a low, irritated growl. "Okay, fine," he gritted out, cheeks pinking almost painfully as he shifted his eyes to the floor and refused to meet anyone's gaze. "I'm . . . fucking . . . sterile."

Madison uttered a sound that was suspiciously close to a choked wheeze, but Valerie didn't really notice it. In an instant, everything Evan had said fell into place in her mind, and she breathed out a small, "O-O-Oh . . ." as she watched the man in question.

"That's right," Madison went on smoothly. "He's sterile—shooting blanks—got no backup singers—the river's run dry—Elvis has left the—"

"Thanks, Maddy," Evan growled. "I think she gets the idea."

Madison smiled brightly. "Any time, sweetie!"

"Oh, my God," Valerie said gently, taking an involuntary step toward Evan. "I'm so sorry . . . I-I didn't know . . ."

He blinked and scowled at her for several moments then uttered a loud grunt and stomped off toward his music room, muttering under his breath about demented women.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _Sterile!_ ' he fumed, stomping around the room like a caged animal. ' _I'll show them fucking sterile! Sterile, my ass! That damned Maddy! How the hell did she come up with that bullshit . . .?_ '

The door creaked open, and the woman in question peeked into the room. "Hiding, are you?"

He snorted loudly. "What do you want, Judas?" he grumbled, throwing himself down on the couch and glowering petulantly at his best friend.

She giggled and slipped into the room. "Oh, don't be mad," she told him, sitting down beside him and leaning against his shoulder. He shrugged to dislodge her head. It didn't work, which just figured.

"Go away," he told her brusquely, "before you announce that I'm a fucking eunuch, too."

She giggled some more, much to his chagrin. "Well, it's not like you could take a blood test to prove you're not the kid's father, right? You should be thanking me, not castigating me . . ." Her giggles escalated. "That sounds almost like 'castrating' doesn't it? Get it?"

"Again," Evan grouched, shrugging his shoulder a little harder, "you're not funny in the least."

She managed to wind down to little bits of choked laughter that did nothing to endear her to Evan in the least. "You could've thought of another way to 'help' me," he pointed out. "But no, instead you had to make me into some pathetic half-man or something."

She tried to control her amusement. He had to give her that at least. Pressing her lips together in a very thin line, her cheeks puffing out once, twice as her nostrils flared, she choked back a bark of laughter. "Just because you're sterile—"

"Which I'm not," he ground out.

"—Doesn't make you a half-man—"

"Except it does."

"—And if I were you—"

"Keh! Good thing you're not!"

"—I would use this to my advantage."

That earned her a very menacing scowl. "And just what's advantageous about any of this bullshit?" he demanded.

She shrugged offhandedly. "Well, for starters, V's feeling pretty sorry for you. I'm sure that there's some way you can use that."

He snorted. "You know, ordinarily, I might agree with you, but considering all I want to do right now is wring your neck? I'll pass, thanks."

She leaned up and kissed his cheek loudly. Evan snorted, using his forearm to push her away as he wiped his cheek on his shoulder. "Get away from me, damn it," he grumbled.

Madison rolled her eyes and resumed her place against his side once more. "Sorry, sweetie. It had to be done."

"Not that way, it didn't," he griped.

Madison giggled and reached up to wipe a bit of lipstick off his face. "You should be thanking me," she pointed out again. "V's on the phone as we speak, telling the DA about your condition, so—Oh, now what?" she asked when he started to groan out loud.

"She's telling the fucking DA?" he demanded, looking even more incredulous by the second—and seeing his life pass before his eyes at the speed of light . . .

Madison nodded, still looking entirely too pleased with herself for his liking. "Of course she is! Why beat around the bush with it, anyway? It proves that you cannot possibly be the child's father, doesn't it?"

Evan grunted and stood up, heading for the door to stop a certain attorney.

"Where are you going?" Madison asked.

"Keh!" he snorted, yanking open the door again. "I'm going to go tell her that the kid's mine," he tossed back over his shoulder.

"Are you nuts?" Madison asked, quickly getting to her feet to hurry after him.

"Better than being labeled as sterile!"

"Good news," Valerie said as she grabbed Evan's arm. "The DA said he'll consider dropping the charges, providing that you can produce a medical report that supports your inability to father children."

Evan blinked and glowered at her. The excitement that had illuminated her features dulled as a wince surfaced, and she sighed. "I'm really sorry to hear about your . . . your condition," she said in an overly compassionate tone as she reached out to pat his hand. "I know how much you love children, and—"

His snort cut her off abruptly. "Can we drop this, V?" he asked pointedly.

She bit her lip and nodded but didn't let go of his hand. "Evan?"

Gritting his teeth at the sight of the overwhelming pity on her features, he sighed. "What?"

"If you . . . If you need someone to talk to . . ."

Rolling his eyes, he yanked his hand away and brushed past Valerie, heading for the foyer.

"Where are you going? Evan?" she called after him.

"Out," he grouched.

"But—"

"Let Maddy keep you company. Maybe the two of you can figure out a good way to restore my manhood," he replied, grasping the handle of the front door and giving it a good yank that did nothing at all to assuage his overall irritation. Stomping outside, ignoring the falling snow, Evan snorted loudly and stalked down the path toward the driveway.   ' _Women!_ ' he thought with a very terse grunt.

In his head, he could hear his youkai-voice laughing like a moron.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _An Innocent Man_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _Billy_ _Joel's_ _1983_ _release, **An Innocent Man**_. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Billy_ _Joel_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Well_ , _that_ _explains_ _it_...


	152. 151: Pain and Suffering

' _I don't want anybody else_ …  
' _When I think about you_ …  
' _I touch myself_ …'

 

-' _I Touch Myself_ ' by the Divinyls.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Are you about done in there?"

Evan snorted. "No."

Rolling her eyes, Valerie slowly shook her head. "But you've been in there, what? Twenty minutes? Half an hour?"

He snorted again. "These things take time, woman."

"With you?" she countered dryly. "I don't think so."

"Dunno why you insisted on coming along with me," he complained. "I could've done this on my own, you know."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Valerie rolled her eyes—not that he could see her. "Because," she said calmly—maybe _too_ calmly—"you balked when I told you that you had to do it. Knowing you, you'd have paid some bum to do it for you or something." Turning around, she leaned against the closed door and checked her watch. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. Lots of men all over the world are sterile—"

"Would you stop saying that so loudly?" he grouched in a sharp hiss. "Jesus! What if someone hears you?"

She sighed and bit her lip. She really wasn't trying to upset him more, but she couldn't help but to feel badly for him. How many times had she seen him go out of his way for children, whether it was stopping by to visit at a local hospital or teaching underprivileged children how to play music at a run-down YMCA? He loved kids; she knew he did. It had to hurt to know that he just wouldn't be able to have any of his own . . .

And even then, she could appreciate his reluctance to submit to this test, too. Though he'd given Valerie a written affidavit issued by Evan's doctor in Maine—his cousin, Isabelle—the DA maintained that it wasn't good enough; he wanted an actual fertility test done on Evan before he'd drop the charges for failure to provide child support, which was why they were here.

"Are you done yet?" she asked again.

"How about I let you know when I'm through?" he muttered.

"Oh, come on," she replied. "You're a pro at this, aren't you? Are you seriously going to tell me that you can't do it now?"

He snorted. "Listen, woman, it's not like I'm doing this for recreational purposes," he snapped back. "Don't pressure me, dammit! You're making it ride back up."

"Ride back up? What does that mean? It's not like you're in there peeing. You're supposed to be masterb—"

"Shhhh!" he hissed.

She stifled a sigh. "Don't they keep some kind of visual aid in there or something?"

"Of course there are," he grumbled. "Read that one . . . Read that one . . . that one . . . that one . . . that one . . . Oh! Here's one I haven't seen yet . . . Hey, V, the girl on the cover kind of looks like you."

The sigh she'd stifled slipped out as she slowly shook her head. "You'd better not!" she warned.

"Better not what?"

"Don't you dare use me as your visual aid, Roka."

He chuckled. "Be easier, don't you think? All you gotta do is show me your titties, and I'll be done in . . . a minute? Less?"

"Ugh, you're such a pig," she retorted though her tone lacked any real rancor. "Just fill your cup, and let's get moving, okay?"

"Oh, hello, V-wannabe . . . Lookin' at me, all hot n' sexy . . ."

"I'm not your visual aid, damn it!" she hissed through the door.

"Well, look at that . . . Very pretty boobies . . . 'Course, hers look a little fake . . ."

"There is nothing _fake_ about me, Roka," she snapped.

He groaned. "Oh, don't I know it . . .?"

She snorted. "Just get moving, will you?"

"I can't believe it's come to this," Evan bemoaned melodramatically.

"So did you have an accident or something? Were you running around with a pencil in your pocket, maybe?" Valerie asked, completely ignoring Evan's whining.

"No," he grumbled. "You know, you're not nearly as funny as you think you are."

"I'm not trying to be funny," she replied calmly. "I just thought that if it was the result of some sort of accident or something, maybe there is a medical way to reverse it."

"Can we not talk about that?" he complained. "And just so you know, I'm holding you responsible for being forced to do this."

She made a face as she tapped her finger against her lips and considered the things she'd read during her online search for information pertaining to male infertility. Pointing out that less that less than five percent of men in the USA were truly infertile was probably not the best row to hoe, so she'd kept that little gem to herself. "But you know, there have been a lot of medical advances in the area of infertility," she pointed out, "so maybe if you went to a specialist about it, there might be some kind of treatment to help you."

Evan didn't respond right away, and Valerie gave an involuntary little yelp when the door abruptly opened just enough so that Evan could glower through the crack at her. "Why don't you go on back to your office? I really don't think you're doing me any good here—unless you're going to flash those boobies at me, that is . . ."

She sighed and rolled her eyes at the unabashed hopefulness in his expression. "It's just that I looked it up last night, and there were all kinds of articles about the latest treatments, and depending on what caused you to be infertile, they might really be able to help you."

He snorted. "You're not winning any points with me, woman."

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie slowly shook her head. "Are you sure you wouldn't feel better if you talked about it?" she asked gently.

"No, it wouldn't," he snapped. "Besides, you're not my therapist, now are you?"

"I don't have to be a therapist to know that talking about something might help you deal with it, and—" Cutting herself off abruptly when the part of his arm that she could see started to move in a highly suspect way, she narrowed her eyes. "Don't do that with the door open!" she growled, moving to stand in front of the crack while peering over her shoulder at the rest of the empty examination room.

"Why? No one else in here," he said. "Ooh . . . oo-oo-oo-ooh . . ."

"Stop that!" she hissed, unable to staunch the flow of blood that exploded in her cheeks.

"Oh, that's it, baby! Wrap those lips of yours around my co—"

"Evan!"

"V! Oh, V . . ."

"Get in there!" she grouched, smashing her hand in the middle of his face and shoving him a step back. "And stop defiling me in your twisted little brain!"

He sighed and rolled his eyes but chuckled as he shut the door again. A moment later, he started making the most obnoxious noises, ever, and Valerie smiled despite her concern. "It sounds like you're hurting yourself," she called through the door, completely unimpressed by the horrendous sound of slapping skin that wasn't quite drowned out by the man's show of grunting.

His response was to moan and groan even louder.

She wasn't entirely sure that he'd actually managed to accomplish his task without maiming himself, and she sighed since it wouldn't do any good to try to talk to him at the moment as she shuffled over to the plain wooden chair to wait.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Did it work?"

Gage blinked and eyed Evan lazily as he leaned back in his chair. "Did what work?"

Evan chuckled. "Did Mattieu's plan to make you realize just what you were missing work?"

Gage laughed softly, intimately. As far as Evan knew, Gage Jordan was one of the few men who could really get away with flirting with anyone—woman or man—in such an offhanded way that it never seemed contrived in the least. "Sadly, it did not. I did, however, find the presentation to be very well done and highly enjoyable."

"Overall," Evan agreed with a thoughtful nod. "A couple of the songs were a little flat."

"Only so flat that you would notice. I sincerely doubt that anyone else did," Gage remarked as he reached for his glass of red wine. "You've always had a better ear for pitch than . . . well, anyone I've ever met."

"Except for you," Evan added.

Gage shook his head. "No, your ear is far more acute than mine, too."

"Hmm, sounds like an interesting conversation," Madison drawled. Evan stood up as she and Valerie slipped back into their seats at the table. Gage was a little slower to follow suite. Valerie looked a little surprised by Evan's show of manners, and that made him grin. Considering Cain was fairly old school, he had taught Evan manners when it came to women early on, and besides, it was always amusing whenever Valerie showed that hint of surprise when those manners reared their ugly heads . . .

"Sorry, Maddikins," Evan teased as he sat back down again. "Top secret information that isn't fit for the delectation of a lady's tender sensibilities."

Madison wrinkled her nose. "Well, if that isn't a load of something, then I don't know what is," she scoffed. "Did you _gentlemen_ order already?"

"Of course," Gage replied with a lazy grin.

Evan could feel Valerie's probing gaze on him again, and he refrained from giving in to the urge to sigh.   It wasn't the first time during the course of the evening that he'd caught her watching him, and it wouldn't be the last, he was sure—just as he was sure that if he did glance at her, he'd see that expression of overwhelming pity on her features, too. ' _Damn it_.'

It really was just a little too much, wasn't it? Bad enough that Madison had decided that it was the simplest way to explain why he couldn't possibly be the father of the boy in question, and Valerie had somehow decided that it 'explained everything', but worst of all was the over the top pity that Valerie was hell-bent on displaying.

' _Admit it. The real thing that's bugging the hell out of you was that you had to explain it to Isabelle, right? And the idea that she laughed about the whole thing for a good half an hour before she calmed down enough to generously offer to write the statement verifying your infertility_.'

' _Shut up_ ,' he growled, wondering absently why his youkai-voice sounded so damned amused, as well. ' _Need I remind you that if I'm supposedly sterile, then so are you?_ '

' _You might be_ ,' his youkai shot back, ' _but I'm not_.'

Evan snorted inwardly and reached for his glass of wine. ' _That's retarded, you know_.'

' _Nah, it's true. Without me, you'd just be rock without the roll. If you didn't have me to fall back on, you really would be sterile_.'

He sighed, tipping the glass to his lips. Between his youkai-voice and the damned DA, he figured that they all had it out for him. After all, why else would his personal physician's sworn affidavit not be good enough? Oh, no- _o-o_ -o. He had to submit to a fertility test at Parker-Watkins Foundation's clinic, too. Hell, he'd half hoped that Isabelle would tell him that he had to avoid that, no matter what, too, but she hadn't. In fact, she said that because he was youkai—or close enough, anyway—that it was 'perfectly safe' since all they'd be looking for was the presence of viable sperm in his semen, which, he had also been assured, would not be possible—unless or until he wanted them to be, that was . . .

It was too much, wasn't it? The injustice—the _indignity_ —of it all. He'd willingly and knowingly humiliated himself by slinking into the clinic through a back door, just to be handed a plastic specimen cup and escorted to the 'collection rooms' to do his thing while the twenty-something nurse had smiled a rather knowingly and quite obviously recognizing his Zel Roka facade as she told him to turn in the cup along with the forms he'd been given after he'd done the dirty deed . . .

' _I should have just told V that the pup was mine and paid whatever child support the court deemed necessary,_ ' he grumbled.

"Evan? Are you all right?"

Evan started slightly and glanced at Valerie, stifling another sigh when he saw the obvious concern in her expression. "Fine, V," he replied, forcing a smile that he was far from feeling, given the direction of his current thoughts.

She winced a little—apparently, his little ruse wasn't working on her—and bit her lip. "If you want to go home, I can understand," she said, leaning toward him so that the others wouldn't hear her—or at least, they wouldn't have if they weren't youkai . . .

Gage grinned. "Ah, so did you find a suitable solution to your problem, Evan?" he asked, arching an eyebrow as that grin of his widened.

"Something like that," Evan grumbled, hoping that his answer was enough to put the Frenchman off for a while.

"Oh?" Gage said, looking way too surprised for Evan's liking. "And?"

Madison smiled brightly and shot Evan a saucy wink. "He told her the truth, of course," she replied when it became evident that Evan wasn't going to speak up.

"Is that so?" Gage countered, his surprise growing by the second. "The _truth?_ "

Rubbing his forehead, Evan wondered vaguely if they'd notice if he got up and left the table for a minute. Then he sighed.

"Oh, Evan, did you order a salad for me?" Valerie suddenly asked, her voice slightly higher than usual, her smile a little brighter than it should have been.

Evan opened his mouth to respond. Madison was faster. "Of course," she went on with an airy flutter of her hand. "He had to tell her, didn't he? After all, it's really not a secret . . ."

"But that doesn't really solve his problem, does it?" Gage asked, turning his attention to Madison.

She laughed softly. "Of course it does! After all, considering he's _sterile_ , it's not like he could ever have fathered her or anyone's child, right?"

Gage choked and shot Evan a startled glance that quickly shifted into one of the utmost amusement—which just figured. "That is true," he concluded with a chuckle. "How could I possibly have forgotten about that?"

"Which reminds me," Madison went on, her eyes twinkling with sorely misplaced amusement, as far as Evan was concerned, "how did the test go?"

"Test?" Gage echoed, looking like he believed that whatever 'test' Madison was bound to be of sovereign interest.

"Maddy," Valerie murmured in what could only be described as a warning tone.

Madison ignored her. "Evan had to go in and have his semen tested," she pointed out in a very loud aside to Gage. "He had to masturbate into a cup."

Evan heaved a sigh and slowly shook his head. What was that old saying? What comes around goes around? Well, he supposed that he probably deserved the ribbing on some level. After all, he had to admit that he'd done a number of things that Madison might want revenge for in the past. Still, that didn't really make it any easier to swallow, either. "Okay, okay," he grumbled, rolling his eyes as he kept his tone neutral. "Let's talk about something else, shall we?"

"That seems a little drastic, don't you think?" Gage asked, completely ignoring Evan's request to change the subject. "There are certain things in this world that should never be saved for later," he went on with a chuckle, "and that's one of them."

"They weren't saving it for anything," Evan replied. "They're just getting a count of my—You know what? I really don't wanna talk about this anymore," he grouched.

"So how did your meeting with the realtor go?" Valerie suddenly asked, turning her attention to Madison once more.

"It seems a little strange, no?" Gage asked, still entirely too amused by the turn of events. "The biggest rock star on the planet, and you cannot even do the one thing that makes a man . . . a man?"

"Ha ha ha, very funny," Evan grumbled, giving up on all pretenses to be enduring the teasing as he crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at Madison and Gage, both of whom were quite obviously enjoying the entire situation just a little too much.

"What's the point of having sex at all if you're only half a man?" Gage continued.

Evan snorted but didn't deign to remark on that bit of nonsense.

"Did anyone at the clinic recognize you?" Madison chimed in. "Can't you just see the headlines now? ' _Rock Legend Zel Roka Caught Entering Fertility Clinic'!_ "

"Okay, that's enough," Valerie growled from between clenched teeth as she set her wine glass down with a very heavy thump. "You both should realize that this is a very sensitive subject for him, and how in the world you can sit there and make light of it is entirely beyond me! You should be ashamed of yourselves! He loves children—adores them! Of course he wants to have them someday, but he can't, and the two of you are just making the entire thing worse! And just so you know, being sterile doesn't make him a half-man by any stretch of the imagination!"

Heaving a sigh, Evan let his face drop into his hand as he slowly shook his head. As she'd spoken, her voice had grown louder, so by the time she she finished, she was quite loud, which wouldn't have been such a huge deal except for two things. Firstly, the restaurant was a fairly nice establishment, so it didn't take much to gain everyone's attention—even the service staff who were leaning out of the kitchen with varying degrees of shocked expressions on their faces. Secondly? Well, she was waving her hand in his general direction, so even if there was a question as to who, exactly, she was referring, all anyone had to do was watch her to know pretty damn quickly.

"V . . ." he said, hoping to stop her before she could really get wound up.

She was having none of it. "I'd even go so far as to say that I think he's two—no, _ten_ —times the man you are, especially when you sit there and make fun of him when it's not his fault! You make it sound like there's something wrong with being sterile, and there isn't! At least he knows what's important, and if that's the way you treat your 'friends', then I'd say you're not much of one, now are you?"

"Valerie," Evan said, grasping her wrist with his free hand and giving her a little tug. "Thanks."

She blinked but finally glanced at him. "What for?" she asked, shaking her head in obvious confusion.

He sighed. "I appreciate that you feel so strongly about all this," he managed to say while avoiding shifting his gaze around the deadly silent restaurant, "but would you mind keeping it down before everyone _outside_ hears you, too?"

She still looked confused for about two seconds. Then she must've realized just what he was talking about, because she gasped softly and shot him an apologetic glance before leaning over the table and lowering her voice to an angry hiss. "You two should be ashamed of yourselves," she insisted. "He'd never make fun of either one of you if you were in his shoes."

"Okay, Tiger," Evan said, standing up and pulling Valerie to her feet. "You've made your point. Let's go."

"I'm not done," she insisted, tugging her arm away from him and gesturing at Gage and Madison—both of whom looked even more amused by Valerie's outburst than they had been before.

Evan rolled his eyes. "Fine," he told her, shaking his head in defeat. "Then you can stay and finish telling them off, but I'm going home."

He wasn't sure how he managed to get out of the restaurant with his head held high, and he didn't need to look around to know that everyone in the damn place was still staring at him. Heaving a sigh as he stepped out onto the street, he snorted. ' _Talk about humiliating_ . . .'

His youkai-voice laughed. ' _Yeah, you'd better correct V, don't you think?_ '

' _Correct her? About what?_ '

The voice snorted. ' _About her assumption that you wouldn't tease the hell out of Gage or Maddy if they were in your shoes. You would. You absolutely would_.'

"Evan! Wait . . ."

He stopped mid-stride and swung around in time to see Valerie hurrying down the sidewalk toward him. She sighed and looked irritated. "I'm sorry," she said when she finally caught up to him. "I wasn't trying to embarrass you. It's just . . ." Waving a hand as though she were trying to grasp the words she wanted to say, she heaved another sigh and slowly shook her head. "It's just—I can't believe how mean they were both being, and it . . . It made me mad . . ."

He stared at her for several moments. Face illuminated by the artificial lights of the city street, the upset in her eyes was telling, wasn't it? He smiled ruefully and started to walk again, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. "It's okay, V," he told her.

"No, it's not," she insisted as she fell into step beside him. "Teasing you about something silly is fine, but . . . but not about something so important . . ."

"Nah," he assured her, turning the corner as they headed toward the parking garage where he'd left his car. "Besides, you were wrong, you know."

She blinked and shook her head. "I was?"

"Yeah," he stated, his grin widening by degrees. "If Gage were me? I'd have given him ten kinds of hell, too."

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie snorted. "You would, wouldn't you?" she muttered in a somewhat disgusted tone.

He chuckled as he handed the parking attendant his ticket and leaned against the wall to wait. "Yeah," he agreed with an offhanded shrug. "I really would have."

She heaved a sigh then uttered a curt laugh. "Such a jerk," she remarked, the warmth in her tone completely at odds with the sternness in her stance.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"I can't believe you talked me into this."

Leaning back in the hot tub, Evan tipped the bottle of beer to his lips. "What? It's warm enough in here," he said.

Valerie set her glass of wine on the edge and sank down a little lower in the steaming water. Okay, so she'd give him that. It really _was_ warm. The hot tub was built under an overhang near the pool, but the sliding glass doors that opened it up in the summertime also went a long way in keeping the area warm enough to use in the winter, too. Funny thing, really. She couldn't say that she'd ever noticed the receding wall before—or maybe she hadn't bothered to look. In any case, when he'd suggested a good, long soak, she'd thought he had lost his mind, at least until he'd pointed out that the room was enclosed, anyway . . .

"I guess so," she agreed, breaking into a small smile as she adjusted the thin strap of the bikini that she'd picked out from the stocked bureau in the cabana room. The smile faded quickly, though, and she sighed. The preoccupation in his gaze was telling, and while she knew that he really didn't want to make a big deal out of his situation, she couldn't just let it go, could she? "About the other day," she said slowly, softly. "I really shouldn't have jumped to conclusions when you wouldn't give me a reason why you didn't want to do the test . . . about why you were so sure that the boy wasn't yours . . ."

"Don't worry about it, V," he told her, the expression on his face stating quite plainly that he just didn't want to dwell on it.

"No, Evan. I should have known that there was more to it—something you weren't telling me. I mean, I know how much you love children . . . Have you ever thought about adopting?"

Evan blinked and looked rather surprised by her suggestion. "Adopting?" he echoed with a shake of his head.

She nodded. "Do you have any idea how many kids are out there, wishing for a good home? Just waiting for someone to . . ." she trailed off for a moment and swallowed hard, quickly shifting her gaze to the side, hoping that he didn't read too much into her words, ". . . to love them . . ."

"Yeah," he allowed quietly. "There are, aren't there?"

She sighed, leaning forward, drawing her legs up under the water as she wrapped her arms around her calves, staring without seeing as the jets under the surface made the water roil and bubble. "Why is it so easy?" she asked, more to herself than to him.

"Why is what so easy?"

She shrugged, casting him a quick glance. Brows drawn together, he was staring at her in a thoughtful kind of way, as though he were trying to see just what was going on in her mind. "I don't know," she said, forcing a tight little laugh. "I was just thinking out loud, I guess."

"No, tell me," he prompted gently.

"It's just . . . something I've never understood," she explained, rubbing her forehead and offering him a weakened smile.

"What's that?"

She shrugged again, as though she were trying to brush it all off. "It doesn't make sense, does it? The people who don't have the sense that God gave a billy goat crank the kids out right and left, and they don't know or care about the ones they have, but the people who would make the best parents are the ones who have to fight for it . . ."

He considered that for a long moment, his own smile, tight, drawn . . . "Is that what you think?"

"You don't?" she challenged mildly.

"I don't know about that," he replied. "I mean, it's true that some people don't know how to care for their pups, but most of them do."

"Maybe," she said. Then she sighed. "Tell me something?"

"Okay."

Biting her lip, she tried to affect a nonchalant air, but she had a feeling that it wasn't quite working when Evan stood up and waded across the hot tub to sit beside her. "Why did you tell me about my . . . my father?"

He let out a deep breath, but he didn't seem at all surprised by her question. "You deserved to know," he told her softly. "What you do with it is entirely up to you."

She nodded. "I shouldn't care, should I?" she asked, her tone sad, more conversational than it was questioning. "I mean, if you think about it, there's no reason at all why I should. It's not like they were ever good parents, right? And even if I try to tell myself things like, 'they were young,' and, 'they didn't know any better,' it just feels like I'm making excuses for them, and I shouldn't have to do that, should I? I shouldn't have to justify anything to anyone, especially to myself . . ."

"No, you shouldn't," Evan said, pulling her against him, letting her rest her head against his chest. There was nothing at all sexual about it. No, it was more of a feeling of comfort that he provided her, and the infinite gentleness in his gesture brought a stinging tingle to her eyes, to her nose.

"I don't know why," she said in an almost apologetic tone of voice. "I just kept looking at the picture of the boy, you know? And I kept thinking, what's he going to learn from all of this? Is his mother trying to play some sort of game? Trying to accuse you of fathering her child so that she can milk you for money? Does she honestly think that you are his father? Or . . . or does she just not have any real idea? And as much as I'd like to think that maybe she's just confused or something, I can't help this . . . this part of me that thinks that it's all just an act, that she's using her little boy, and it makes me so angry. I mean, maybe she doesn't neglect him, per se, but isn't that kind of the same?" She sighed. "That boy is going to have questions one day, and what is she going to tell him? That he was some kind of afterthought? That she was out having a good time and he came from that? Then I think . . . I think about how unfair that really is . . ."

Evan sighed and kissed the top of her head. "Do you have any idea just how pissed off I get at your parents when you talk like this, V?" he asked quietly, honestly.

She sat up and frowned at him, shaking her head slowly as she met his gaze. "When they first took me away, I thought about it a lot. I heard my foster parents talking when they thought I wasn't listening, you know? They'd call me, 'that poor thing,' or say stuff when I got caught doing things that they didn't understand like, 'well, what can you expect? She's never had a real home,' but . . . but I _did_ have a home," she whispered, her gaze falling away, as though she couldn't quite bring herself to look him in the eye. "Maybe it wasn't a great one." She winced. "Maybe it wasn't even a _good_ one, but I had one . . . Back then, I had a good memory for every bad memory, too. My father—Daddy—whipped me with his belt, but the same night, he would play songs on his guitar until I fell asleep beside him. He cut all my hair off, but later on, he tore a strip off a pink sheet to tie around my head like a ribbon . . ." Trailing off, she shrugged again, hating the pathetic feeling that hung over her, the helpless feeling that she'd never quite forgotten. "As I got older, the bad memories started to outweigh the good ones. Maybe I started to believe all the things that everyone said about them . . ."

Evan tried to smile. It looked more like a grimace. "No one has the right to tell you how you should feel, V," he told her.

She wished that she believed him, and she sighed. "You . . . you think I should go there, don't you? You think I should . . . should confront them or something . . . What . . . What would you do? If you were me, what would you do?"

He stared at her for several long moments, his clear blue eyes so dark, so serious—so pained. "I can't tell you that, V. No, that's not right," he interrupted himself with a stubborn shake of his head. "I _won't_ tell you that," he amended. "None of this is about me; it's about you, and what I would do isn't necessarily what you should." Leaning forward, he seemed to be reaching for words, and he winced, then he drew a deep breath and shifted his gaze to meet hers once more. "Only you can decide what's best for you, and it doesn't matter if I agree or not. You're the one they hurt over and over again. Only you can decide what you need to do."

She frowned and shook her head as a strange sense of near panic welled up inside her. She wanted him to tell her, didn't she? Wanted Evan to make the choice that she couldn't make for herself . . . "But—"

"I can't make your decision for you," he said gently, and to his credit, he looked infinitely sad. "No matter what you choose, though, I got your back."

Her frown deepened, and she slowly shook her head. The expression on his face . . . the gentleness in his eyes . . . the little smile that he offered to encourage her . . . He had more faith in her than she had in herself, didn't he?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _I_** **_Touch_** **_Myself_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _Divinyls'_ _1990_ _release, **Divinyls**_. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Christina_ _Amphlett_ , _Billy_ _Steinberg_ , _Tom_ _Kelly,_ _and_ _Mark_ _McEntee_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Gage_** :  
>  _I_ _guess_ _that_ _would_ _be_ _one_ _way_ _to_ _deal_ _with_ _it_...


	153. 152: Bittersweet Memories

' _Her daddy drank all day and mommy did drugs_ …  
' _Never wanted to play or give kisses and hugs_ …  
' _She'd watch the TV and sit there on the couch_ …  
' _While her mom fell asleep_...  
' _And her daddy went out_ …'

 

-' _The Little Girl_ ' by John Michael Montgomery.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

' _Just do it, Valerie. It's not that difficult. Just open it and read it_ . . .'

Biting her lip as she frowned at the deceptively harmless looking file in her lap, Valerie still made no move to do it. One question had been twisting around in her brain, hadn't it? Ever since she'd left Evan's house the night before . . . She'd gone to work, she'd done what she needed to do. She'd sat through a progress meeting, met with a couple potential clients, and always, lingering in the back of her mind, that question loomed, unanswered. It had followed her home as she'd checked her mail and changed her clothes, hanging the dress she'd worn to work back in the closet once more, and though it was still light outside, she'd still poured herself a glass of wine before making herself grab the file that still lay on the table beside the door . . .

Exactly what was in it . . .? What was it about the information that it contained that had the power to make Evan look so very sad . . .?

" _I can't tell you that, V. No, that's not right . . . I_ won't _tell you that. None of this is about me; it's about you, and what I would do isn't necessarily what you should . . . Only you can decide what's best for you, and it doesn't matter if I agree or not. You're the one they hurt over and over again. Only you can decide what you need to do._ "

What she needed to do . . .? Just what _did_ she need to do?

" _I can't make your decision for you . . . No matter what you choose, though, I got your back_."

Rubbing her forehead, she rubbed her lips together, spreading out the lip balm she'd applied a few minutes ago—another attempt to put off opening the file, she supposed.

She didn't want to see what was in there, did she? Didn't want to read it; didn't want to think about it; didn't want to know . . .

' _Are you scared?_ '

Scared? Valerie snorted, her frown deepening into more of a scowl. Scared? Damn, she hated to be perceived as being afraid of anything. She always had, hadn't she? Never in her life had she ever been all right with fear in any capacity. Or maybe . . .

No, that wasn't it. She wasn't scared of a few stupid slips of paper. That'd be ridiculous, wouldn't it? That'd be just like admitting that the shadows in her bedroom at night frightened her or the scratch of the leaves on the asphalt on a cold fall day made her feel afraid . . . Those things certainly held no fear for her. But . . .

' _No_ ,' she told herself sternly. ' _Afraid? That's absurd! They don't matter to me anymore, do they? So what should it matter whether or not I read anything? It doesn't, right?_ '

That was it, wasn't it? She wasn't afraid of what that file contained as much as she couldn't stand the feeling that she was being forced into it: forced into reliving a part of her life that had done her no good at all. That wasn't what Evan was trying to do, and she knew it. The end result was the same, though. Why was it that they had the power to make her think about them when she had never been afforded the same luxury? It was crystal clear, wasn't it? If they'd ever thought about her at all, then they would've tried, right? They would have showed up once in a while instead of leaving her hanging time after time. They would have tried harder to get her back, wouldn't they? And now? Why was she expected to give a great goddamn about them?

' _Because_ ,' a voice softly chided—a voice that sounded entirely too much like Evan, ' _because you're better than that, V. Because you owe it to yourself to know everything—even the things that aren't so pleasant_.'

Heaving a sigh, Valerie set the file aside and stood up, reaching for her empty wine glass before she shuffled off to the kitchen. She'd just finished refilling the glass when her phone rang, and for some reason, she knew who it was before she touched the receiver, and she smiled, albeit wanly. "Thought you were supposed to be meeting with some video director or something," she said when she answered.

Evan snorted loudly. "You have no idea just how fucking boring these meetings can be," he told her. "Don't suppose you'd consider hacking an arm or leg off or something—anything—to get me the hell outta here . . ."

"Sorry, Roka. I think I like my limbs right where they are," she said with a soft laugh.

He chuckled. "Yeah, I kinda like your limbs, too," he allowed. "I think I'd like them better if you had them wrapped around me . . ."

She snorted this time, taking the glass and heading back into the living room. "You just had to go there, didn't you?"

She didn't have to see him to know that he had a goofy grin on his face. "Keep on pitching 'em, woman, and I'll just keep smacking 'em right out of the ballpark . . . _Crack!_ And the crowd goes wild! _Wo-o-o-o-o hah-h-h-h-h!_ "

She laughed. She couldn't help herself . . . "So, why are you calling? You know, other than trying to get me to maim myself."

"Keh!" he grunted. "Do I have to have a reason to call my best girl?"

"You? Yes," she replied dryly despite the smile that lingered on her features.

"Figures," he scoffed then chuckled again. His amusement trailed off a moment later, though, and she didn't miss his quiet sigh. "Listen, V . . . Are you okay? I mean, if you need me to, I can ditch this shit and come by . . ."

"I'm fine," she insisted, "but thanks."

"All right," he said though he sounded a little dubious. "If you need me . . ."

"I'll call you," she said, finishing his sentence when he trailed off.

"I'll be home later if you want to come by," he offered. "Shouldn't take more than an hour or so to finish up here, anyway."

"You're becoming quite a homebody, aren't you?" she asked.

He snorted. "A homebody? Me? Hell!" Then he sighed. "I've just had this idea for a song floating around my head all day. I want to go home and get it hammered out before it drives me crazy. Anyway, I'll talk to you later."

"Okay," she said, staring at the receiver after the call ended. What was it about him that made her smile, even when she wasn't feeling particularly happy? Shaking her head as she set it back in the charge stand on the counter, Valerie headed back into the living room again. She'd have to tell him one of these days, wouldn't she? She'd have to thank him for somehow knowing just when she needed someone to give her that precious moment of reprieve . . .

Her smile dimmed then faded, however, when her gaze fell on the unopened file as she sank down on the sofa again.

He wanted her to read it. He didn't have to say it for her to know it was true. Maybe he said that he just thought she should make up her own mind, and maybe he believed that, but the truth of it was that he honestly thought that she should read the file.

Setting the glass of wine on the table, she drew a deep breath and picked up the folder, yanking it open before she could talk herself out of it.

She didn't know what she'd honestly expected to see, but for some reason, the police report on top made her wince. She didn't recognize the date, but when she scanned over it, she understood. It was the night she was taken from them—and that night was as bright and garishly vivid now as it was at the time . . . the lazy flash of the patrol car's lights that cast hideous and misshapen shadows all around in the falling twilight . . . the ugliness of her father's anger as he lashed out at the officers on the scene . . . her mother, being dragged to the ground as she tried to fend off the police with an old baseball bat . . . and Valerie had stood there screaming for her mama, for her daddy, crying because there was nothing else she could do; because it was all her fault . . .

Pages and pages of various reports—mental assessments, police records, memos from foster parents to her social workers . . . She didn't try to read through those. She didn't really need to. It was shocking to see so many of them, wasn't it? Her entire life, condensed down into a stack of papers in a manila folder . . .

Leafing through them as she tried not to think about the barrage of painful memories that the chain of documents dredged up, she wasn't sure what she was looking for. Later documentation on her parents mentioned the births of her brother and sister, and she winced when she saw the printed out picture of the family. It wasn't a great picture, obviously a scan, and not a good one, at that. Her father was sitting on a park bench beside her mother, who was holding her sister in a faded but very clean little pink jumper dress while her brother was standing between her parents with a little blue plastic toy guitar hanging limply from his hand. They were smiling, and they looked like a happy enough family . . . and there wasn't really any room in that picture for a big sister, was there . . .?

Rubbing her forehead, Valerie flipped through more of the pages. The things that were the most telling weren't the things that were in there. The most telling were the things that were missing: reports on visitations, petitions to regain custody—anything that might convince her that her parents really had cared. They hadn't, and she knew that. It didn't make her stop wishing somewhere deep down that maybe—maybe they did . . .

The bottom of the stack of papers was different. A report on the current family, complete with what looked to be satellite images of the old trailer where she'd lived for the first seven years of her life; reports on the siblings she'd only met a handful of times—if that many . . . No more police reports, no more reports from the welfare department, but the doctor's reports started, instead, from the first trip to the emergency room where her father had reported chest pains and some dizziness and excruciating pain in his lower back and stomach. They'd run a battery of tests then but hadn't found a lot. Ultimately, they'd told him that he would be fine and had sent him home without a real diagnosis.

Trouble with his kidneys, liver, lungs, and he'd developed a heart murmur, too, somewhere along the way. In those early days when he might've had a better chance of getting the appropriate medical care to give him a better overall prognosis, he stubbornly refused to go get checked, it would seem. By the time he'd collapsed at the job he'd held for the last ten years, it was too late: the downward spiral had already been chosen. Early stage renal failure, cirrhosis of the liver, heart disease, asthma . . . The life he'd lived had led him down this path, and at this point, the damage was irreversible. About the only hope for him, the various doctors seemed to agree, was organ transplants, and he wasn't eligible to be put on the national waiting list. Because his illnesses were a direct result of the abuse he'd heaped upon his own body over the years, he wasn't even a consideration . . . No one in the immediate family had tested out to be compatible, so the option of getting the much-needed organ was slim and none—closer to none, with no real hope at all . . .

Swallowing hard, Valerie reached for her wine glass and sighed. The logical part of her could understand that. Why should someone who had gone out of his way to wreck himself be given a chance over someone who had not done anything of the sort? And yet, another part of her had to wonder. Sipping the wine, she breathed a quiet sigh as a sense of hopelessness washed over her, and in her head, she could hear a little girl's laughter as her daddy chased her through the trailer, intent on catching and tickling her . . . He'd caught her many times, hadn't he? Tickled her until she couldn't breathe, as his own laughter mingled with hers . . . His arms, closing around her as he pulled her back against his chest, as he positioned her tiny hands on the guitar to teach her how to play . . .

" _Your daddy's gonna be a rock star,_ " her mother had said to her. On those nights when her father hadn't come home, when he was out playing at one club or another in the area, her mother had told her that her daddy was going to be famous one day, and then he'd buy them a big house in the city with a maid and a cook and pretty new clothes . . .

Valerie flinched as the sound of her mother's voice echoed in her head. How many years had it been since that voice had first gone away? She couldn't remember the last time she'd heard it, and the memory was enough to make her bite down hard, to clench her teeth until her jaws ached. So many times during her childhood, she'd ached to hear that voice, hadn't she? The faraway whispers of a time and place where she'd felt like she belonged . . .

' _You can't go back home, Valerie. You can't go back because it wasn't really your home at all_ . . .'

She couldn't go back . . .? Was that true? How could she, really? Even if she wanted to, how the hell could she? To go back to that place where she had been nothing but an afterthought for so long—if she'd even been that . . .? The image of the happy family in that scanned picture made her wince. They'd looked . . . _perfect_ . . . Didn't they? Father, mother, brother, sister . . . the perfect balance . . . There wasn't any room for her, was there? There . . . She blinked quickly as the unwelcome sting of tears prickled behind her eyelids. ' _There never was_ . . .'

"Stop it," she told herself sternly, pinching the bridge of her nose as she squeezed her eyes closed for a moment then popped them open wide again. "Just stop it."

She didn't belong there. That's what she knew. If they'd ever wanted her to, they'd have tried harder, wouldn't they? It wasn't like she'd ever gone out of her way to avoid them. Over the years, they'd developed a whole different life, hadn't they? They'd managed to pull it together when her brother was born, punctuated a couple years later by the birth of her sister, and in that new family, there wasn't room for Valerie. It had become painfully clear to her, hadn't it? And now . . .

With a sigh, Valerie set the glass down and scooped up the stack of papers to tap the bottoms before she put them away once more, and she blinked when a thick bit of paper under all the others flipped loose and fluttered to the floor.

Reaching down, she picked it up, her frown deepening when her mind registered that it wasn't just as slip of paper. It was a picture.

Turning it over in her hands as she stood up, as she wandered over to the window, holding the picture so that it would better catch the last light of the fading afternoon, Valerie scowled in confusion. It took her brain a moment to figure out exactly what she was looking at, and when she did, she gasped softly . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

It was late.

Nearly two in the morning, he realized as he glanced at the clock on the wall. He'd lost track of time again . . .

He yawned, stumbling out of the music room as he scratched the back of his head.

Valerie hadn't returned his phone calls.

"What do you think, Munchies? Should I go over there and check on her?" he asked, scratching the dog behind the ears.

Munchies uttered a low growly-type sound as his tail thumped heavily against the floor.

He sighed. He was worried about her; no doubt about it. As strong as she was, as strong as she tried to be, she still hadn't figured out yet that it was okay to be weak sometimes . . . or maybe that wasn't it. Maybe she just didn't want to show that weakness to anyone, even him . . .

And it wasn't the first time that he had to wonder if he had done the right thing. Telling her about her father . . . was that really the right thing to have done? Knowing, as he did, just how painful her childhood had been, how hard she'd struggled to become someone better than the little girl who had been forgotten for so long . . . Had telling her everything undermined it all? And if it had, how the hell would he ever convince her that she was so much better than she was when she'd started out in life?

"Damn it," he muttered. The last thing he'd ever wanted to do was to shake Valerie's already fragile glass world. Maybe in some respects, it would have been all right, but not in this. The stakes were high already. Somehow, he couldn't help but wonder if he hadn't pushed her just a little too far this time . . .

She wasn't ready to face the subject of her parents. Evan didn't have to be brilliant in order to have realized that. And he couldn't say that he could blame her for that, either, all things considered. Telling himself that she needed to know, that she had a right to know really was nothing but an excuse to make it okay for him to have told her, wasn't it, especially when he knew what kind of damage it could potentially do to her.

' _Stop second guessing yourself, rockstar_ ,' his youkai chided. ' _The beginning and the end of all of it is that you did have to tell her. Think about it. If you hadn't and her father had died before she was 'ready' to face him? If she found out that you'd known when she still had the time to confront him, what do you think that'd do to her? Don't you think that it might be worse? You're underestimating her, you know. Valerie is stronger than you think. Hell, for that matter, she's a helluva lot stronger than we are_ . . .'

Heaving a sigh, Evan slowly shook his head. Wasn't that no better than still making excuses for having told her, in the first place? What the hell right did they have to hurt her again, anyway? What right did anyone have to do that? None, that was what. Why in the world did she have to suffer? Why was it all right to remind her of a not-so-pleasant childhood over and over again?

Not that it mattered. It didn't, did it? The damage was already done. He couldn't take back what he'd already told her. The only thing he could do was to offer her whatever support she'd take from him—and for him to hope to God she didn't end up hating him completely . . .

' _Damn . . . Why didn't she call me back . . .?_ '

If it wasn't so late, he'd go right over there to check on her. He hadn't meant to spend so much time in the music room, but he'd gotten caught up in the song he was trying to get down on paper—not an uncommon thing to happen, but annoying, all the same.

But it was late, and he had very little doubt that she'd already be in bed. Whether or not she was sleeping was debatable, but in bed, certainly. He sighed. No, she knew, didn't she? If she needed him, she'd call, and as much as he hated it, he also knew that sometimes, you had to think things through in your own head before you could try to sum up your feelings for someone else . . . She needed the time by herself, maybe, and even if he couldn't stand being completely and utterly helpless to do anything really for her, it didn't matter. He'd realized long ago that it wasn't about him. It was about her, about what she needed, even if she didn't know that she really needed anything at all . . .

No, the best thing he could do for her now was to just go on to bed and keep his phone nearby, just in case . . .

Shuffling through the living room, he headed over to the control panel to make sure that everything was locked up for the night. It didn't take him long to check the windows. They were already locked, and given that it was still winter, that wasn't surprising. Still, he checked them anyway then flipped over to the cameras stationed around the perimeter of the house, only to stop short when he noticed something.

The small, huddled form, sitting on the porch steps: shoulders slumped, head ducked, looking so lonely, so lost . . .

Hitting the panel as a muffled curse escaped him, Evan dashed around the wall that separated the living room and the foyer and didn't stop as he grabbed the door handle and jerked it open with an impatient yank.

"V," he said, skidding to a stop on the frigid stone porch. "How long have you been out here?"

She didn't really answer him other than an almost imperceptible shrug of her shoulders. He let out a deep breath and ran down the steps, grabbing her icy hand to pull her to her feet. "Come on," he coaxed gently. "Come inside before you freeze."

She still said nothing as he tugged her into the house. After a moment of consideration, he left her in the foyer and hurried off to the kitchen to get her something hot to drink. His first thought was coffee, but somehow, that seemed wrong. As much as she loved the stuff, something a little more comforting seemed to be a better choice . . .

He was almost finished mixing up a steamy mug of cocoa when she shuffled into the kitchen. Her eyes were darkened, shadowed by demons that only she could see, and her skin was pale, almost sallow. When she reached for the mug he held out to her, her hands were shaking, and whether it was because of the cold or not, he wasn't entirely sure . . . "You should have called me," he told her gently. "I would have come over. You know that."

She didn't speak until after she'd sipped the cocoa a few times. She looked a little more like herself, though the shadows in her gaze had yet to recede. "I never knew what I looked like," she ventured at last, her voice low, raw, almost harsh in the quiet, "when I was a baby . . ."

He took her cup and refilled it, and when he turned back to give it to her again, he blinked when he saw the picture clenched tightly in her hand. "You were just as gorgeous then as you are now," he said softly, offering her the barest hint of a smile in an attempt to make her feel a little better.

She tried to smile. It looked more like a grimace. "I don't want to go back there," she said just as softly, eyes brightening suspiciously as she slowly shook her head. "The last thing I want to do is to go back there . . . and I keep telling myself that . . ." She swallowed hard and winced. "That I don't have to, but . . . but I do, you know?" Uttering a terse laugh that was twisted by a half-sob, she smashed the knuckles of the hand holding onto the picture against her lips for a moment like she was trying to shove down the emotions that were threatening to overcome her. "Of course you know," she said once she'd gotten herself back under control. "You knew from the start, didn't you?"

There was no accusation in her words; nothing but a sense of hopeless resignation—and a loneliness in her gaze that made him want to cry . . . "You don't have to," he countered gently, taking her hand and pulling her into the living room.

She sank down on the couch, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her thoughts, and her fingers were still shaking as she tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "If I don't do it now, I never will," she said in that same throaty tone. "If I don't do it now, it might . . . might be too late . . ."

"I'm sorry, V," he replied, hating the sound of the hollow apology; hating the impotence in not being able to do a damn thing to help her, after all.

"They . . . They stopped caring about me a long time ago, didn't they?" she asked suddenly, the probing look she shot him making him wince inside. "They didn't care enough to try to get me back, so they turned around and started another family instead, and in that new family, there was no room for me . . ."

Evan blinked fast as the sound of her quaking voice shook something loose inside him. Setting the cocoa on the table, he reached for her, pulled her against him, cuddled her to him, even as he wished that he could staunch the wash of pain that reached out from her, straight to him, leaving him raw and torn and bleeding.

"All I wanted," she said as the first of her tears started to fall, "I just . . . wanted to go home . . ."

"V . . ."

"They threw me away," she choked out between breaths as she struggled not to let her sadness get the better of her. As if she had no idea what else to do, she balled up her fists, beat them pathetically against his chest. "They threw me away . . ."

"No, baby, no," he insisted, tightening his grip on her unconsciously. "They didn't throw you away . . . No one could _ever_ throw you away . . ."

She didn't say anything for a long while, simply allowing him to hold her, to comfort her as she cried in silence. With every tear that fell from her eyes, Evan could feel a part of him falling away, too, and the pain that lingered was excruciating. The desolation that she had felt so often in her past was there, eating away at her, gnawing away at him, and no matter how powerless he felt, he couldn't help but to hope that she could feel him there with her, too.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, how long he held her, how long she sobbed in silence. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but the tears she'd shed were long dried when she finally spoke to him again. "Evan?" she whispered, as though she were afraid that she'd somehow hurt him if she raised her voice at all.

He kissed the top of her head. "Hmm?"

She sighed. It was an infinitely weary kind of sound. "I . . . I have to go see them, don't I?"

He sighed, too, closing his eyes for a long moment, struggling to control his own tone of voice. "Is that what you want to do?"

She shook her head. "No . . . But I think I _need_ to . . ."

Swallowing hard, hoping that she couldn't see how sad her words really made him, he nodded. "Then that's what you should do," he allowed in as neutral a tone as he could muster.

"Evan?"

"Hmm?"

Sucking in a deep breath, she pushed against his chest, leaned back so that she could slowly, hesitantly meet his gaze. "Would you . . .? I mean, I know you're busy and everything, but . . . if you . . . if you had a couple of days? Do you think . . .?"

Gritting his teeth against the fear that she was struggling to hide, he forced a smile that he was far from feeling because she needed to see it. "You want me to go with you?" he asked, trying to make it all a little easier for her.

She winced but smiled just the tiniest bit—a weak and wavering attempt that seemed somehow completely heartfelt, just the same. "Would you?"

This time, his smile was a little brighter, a little more genuine, as he pulled her against his side once more. "You don't have to ask, V," he chided gently. "You know I will."

"Thank you," she breathed. He could feel the tension flow out of her, as if she only needed his word to reassure her. He only wished that he could reassure himself as easily, too . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _The_** **_Little_** **_Girl_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _John_ _Michael_ _Montgomery's_ _2000_ _release, **Brand**_ **_New_** **_Me_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Harley_ _Allen_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Damn_...


	154. 153: Soulquake

' _Eyes without light, too tired of goodbyes_ …  
' _Never felt embraced_ …  
' _And frightened of every face_ …  
' _A life in disguise, hope forever died_ ...'

 

-' _Forgotten Children_ ' by Tokio Hotel.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _Her hair is the same color as the upper part of a candle flame—that part just before it turns red again_ ,' Evan mused as he stared across the table, over the top of the lone candle, at the quiet attorney as she pushed her uneaten food around the plate. For the last week, she'd been like this, ever since she'd decided that she needed to go see her father: there, but a million miles away, and the closer the trip crept, the farther into herself she seemed to retreat. Today, however, she'd washed all of the darker rinse out of her hair, probably because she was done being Counselor Denning, at least until after she'd faced her parents . . .

He'd give anything to know what she was thinking about. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He had a good feeling that he knew what was causing her preoccupation. He'd have to be an idiot not to know, wouldn't he? He changed his mind daily about whether or not he thought that this was all a good idea or not. Today? Today, he was leaning toward the 'bad idea' side of things.

Setting his knife and fork aside, Evan let out a deep breath as he sat back and gave up any pretense of trying to eat. "V? You want to go somewhere else?" he asked gently.

She blinked and kind of jumped slightly, her cheeks reddening as her gaze flashed up to meet his for the briefest of moments before she turned her attention back to her food once more. "What? Uh, oh, no. No, this is . . . This is really good . . ."

He didn't call her on the lie. There wasn't a point to it, anyway. Shoving aside the frustrating feeling that he was completely useless to her, he offered her a little smile that he hoped that she wouldn't be able to see right though. He must've been a better actor than he thought because when she saw the expression, she smiled, too. It wasn't big, and it wasn't quite what he was used to from her, but it would do, as far as he was concerned.

He cleared his throat. "You don't seem very hungry," he remarked, nodding at her untouched food.

She blinked and glanced down at her plate then shot him a somewhat guilty look, probably because he'd brought her to a fairly exclusive restaurant, and she hadn't even taken a bite yet. "No, it's good," she insisted, feeding herself a forkful of the grilled chicken breast. "Mm. This has really nice seasoning," she said, her tone a little brighter than it should have been.

He chuckled. "You want to go for a walk or something?" he suggested when she returned to picking at her plate once more.

"I guess I'm just not really that hungry," she said in an apologetic tone of voice.

Evan shook his head to brush off her concern as he lifted a hand to call the waiter over. Without a word, he handed the young man his credit card. "It's all right, V," he assured her.

Biting her lip, she looked like she wanted to say something, and she opened her mouth to speak, only to be cut off short when the waiter hurried back over with Evan's credit card and receipt. "Have a good night. Would you like for me to have your car brought up for you?" the young man asked with a friendly smile.

"Not right now," Evan replied as he put the card away and stood. "We were going to go for a walk first."

"Okay," the waiter said with an exaggerated nod. "Then I hope you have a terrific night."

"Thanks," Evan said then held a hand out for Valerie. "Ready?"

She nodded and let him help her stand, following him through the restaurant to the foyer to wait while he asked for their coats. "I can pay for my dinner," she offered as he held her coat open for her.

"Don't worry about it, V," he said as he took her hand and led her out of the restaurant and onto the street. "You sure you want to leave all this gorgeous weather behind to go down to Kentucky?" he teased, pulling the lapels of his overcoat up to block the wind a little more.

She wrinkled her nose. "What do you think the weather is like down on your island right now?" she countered mildly.

He chuckled. "A hell of a lot warmer than it is here," he replied.

She heaved a wistful sigh. "If we go for a walk, we'll miss that show," she pointed out as they waited at the light to cross the street, heading straight into Central Park.

He shrugged. Gin had sent him tickets to an off-Broadway production of a new play that was garnering very positive reviews, and he'd asked Valerie if she wanted to go, mostly to get her mind off things, even if it was only for a couple hours. She didn't seem to upset by the idea that they might miss it, however, and Evan figured that he really didn't care, as long as she was content. "Oh, I don't know," he said as they started across the street. "We can see it some other time."

"If you want to," she agreed quickly enough despite the hint of preoccupation evident in her voice. "It sounded like a good show."

"That's what I've heard, too," he replied with a simple shrug.

Crossing her arms over her stomach to hold her coat closed, she turned long enough to cast him a curious glance before lowering her gaze to the path they were walking along once more.

"What was that look for?" he asked in a teasing tone.

"Nothing," she insisted.

"It wasn't a 'nothing' kind of look," he told her.

She laughed softly—one of the few laughs he'd heard from her in a while—and maybe it wasn't a big one but it was still welcome, as far as he was concerned. "It's just . . . I don't know. You know, when I first met you, I never would have thought that you'd be a fan of the theater."

"Why's that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow meaningfully.

Valerie waved a hand in blatant dismissal. "Because you were doing your best to convince me that you were nothing but a shallow-minded rockstar," she replied simply.

"Yeah, but you changed your mind about that," he pointed out. "Now you know for sure that I'm a shallow-minded _idiot_ rockstar."

Valerie rolled her eyes but giggled—exactly the reaction he was hoping for. "I'd like to think you're a little deeper than that," she remarked as they turned down the well-lit path that led into the park. "After all, I'd like to think that I wouldn't give you the time of day if you really were _that_ incorrigible."

"I'll have you know that I work damn hard to be incorrigible," he retorted haughtily. "Keh!"

"Yeah, but I've figured out that most of your bad behavior is just because you want to get the reaction," she informed him airily.

Evan snorted but couldn't hide his smile as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. "That is so not true," he scoffed despite the grin on his face. "I behave badly because I'm bored—I've told you that a million times, haven't I?"

"Be that as it may, I—" Valerie cut herself off abruptly and stopped when her cell phone interrupted her, and she dug the device out of her purse to look at the caller ID. "Hi," she greeted, holding up her index finger toward Evan as she lifted the phone to her ear. "How are you?"

"Hey, Val, I'm glad I caught you."

Evan gritted his teeth as the sound of Marvin's voice reached his ears. Muffled and distant, sure, but audible, just the same—and Evan felt no qualms in listening into the conversation, considering Valerie had no idea that he could hear it, at all . . . ' _Gotta love the youkai sense of hearing_ . . .' he thought darkly as he schooled his features to blankness and affected a nonchalant stance.

"Oh?" she asked, glancing at Evan almost anxiously, as though she thought that he might be plotting something devious. "You sound worried . . ."

Marvin chuckled. "No, nothing like that," he assured her. "Hey, uh . . . Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she said, her tone brightening by degrees. "Fine."

"Are you sure?" he persisted, sounding genuinely concerned. "You sound a little stressed out . . ."

"I'm fine," she insisted. "I've just had a lot on my mind lately."

"Work?"

"It's nothing," she said.

"I see," he mused. "I was just wondering . . . I mean, I know you're friends with that rock star guy, right? Zel Roka? The one you're representing?"

It was unbelievably hard to keep his features blanked at the mention of Zel Roka. Somehow he managed it, though . . . ' _Just what the hell is that little twerp thinking?_ ' he couldn't help asking himself.

' _Dunno_ ,' his youkai-voice replied. ' _Now shut up and listen, will you?_ '

Evan snorted inwardly but didn't dare look at Valerie even though he could feel her gaze on him.

"Yeah, what about him?"

"Well, I was taking with Chester Fortham—you know, the head of the Straussman Fund? Anyway, I mentioned that you were an attorney and that you worked with some fairly famous people, so he asked me who all you'd represented, and I mentioned Zel Roka—" He uttered a rather twittery laugh. "It was the only name I could remember, actually—and he said that his daughter is a huge fan of his. I don't know if it'd be possible, but I thought that if he didn't mind, maybe you could get an autographed picture or something?"

' _An autographed picture? For the daughter of some bastard that the little peckerhead is trying to schmooze?_ ' Evan's youkai scoffed. ' _Tell him to bite your big weenie!_ '

' _Shut up_ ,' Evan grumbled. ' _I do autographs all the time. What does one more matter? And for the record? I'd rather that he doesn't touch my weenie, thanks_ . . .'

' _That's not the point! That little shit is trying to use V's relationship with you to further his own agenda! And fine then . . . Tell him to bite_ my _big weenie, then!_ '

' _You don't have a weenie_ ,' Evan shot back. ' _Now be quiet, can't you? I think she's getting a little pissed off_. . .'

It was true, if the crackle in her aura meant anything at all. She hesitated for a moment before answering, and Evan wasn't at all surprised when she turned away and lowered her voice to a tight, clipped, carefully contained tone. "You didn't tell him that I'd do that for her, did you? I can't take advantage of my position as his attorney to ask him for favors like that."

"Oh, no," Marvin insisted quickly. "I just thought it'd be a nice surprise; that's all . . . I didn't mean to make it sound like I expected you to do anything, really . . . Of course you shouldn't do that, and I didn't mean to imply that you should . . ."

She sighed. "No, it's okay," she replied. "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"You didn't," he assured her. "It was my fault for making it sound like it was something I expected you to do . . ."

"It's okay," she told him again with a heavy sigh that completely belied her next statement. "I'm glad you called."

"Me, too," he said, apparently ready to let the subject drop. "Hey, I've got to get going. I'm supposed to meet Chester for dinner in twenty minutes . . . Give me a call if you need me?"

"Sure," she said. "Bye."

"Bye."

Letting out a deep breath, she stashed the phone into her purse once more before slowly turning to face Evan.

"So what'd good ol' Morris have to say?" he asked, careful to keep his tone completely neutral.

"Nothing, really," Valerie replied. "He, uh . . . He just wanted to tell me how he's doing."

For the briefest of moments, Evan considered calling her on the blatant lie. About a fast as the thought occurred to him, though, he dismissed it. She'd just end up either angry or feeling bad, and what was the point of that?

Or asking him how in the hell he'd overheard the conversation, in the first place.

He started walking again, ambling along slowly enough that she quickly fell into step beside him. They didn't talk, and that was all right. The cold wasn't quite so bad in the relative protection of the trees, and there was something comforting in the sound of their footsteps on the path.

' _Damn . . . Did you notice what I did?_ ' his youkai-voice asked.

' _What? That that little shithead has impeccable timing, as always?_ ' Evan countered.

His youkai snorted. ' _That, too, but no_.'

' _Then what?_ '

' _She didn't tell him that she's going to Kentucky; that's what . . . and what's more? Do you think she's told him anything at all about her father? Her parents?_ '

He considered that for a moment then brushed the thought aside. ' _Who the hell cares?_ '

' _You should, idiot_ ,' his youkai shot back. ' _Think about it, will you? Don't you think that it's a pretty significant thing that she's about to do?_ '

' _So?_ '

His youkai sighed. ' _So if you were her? Don't you think that you should want your fiancé—the man you say you're going to marry—to be with you? Not some stupid rockstar, but your fiancé?_ '

Scowling as he ignore the rise of irritation at Valerie's ever-absent fiancé, Evan kept walking. ' _Like it matters_ ,' he retorted as he kept moving. ' _It's not about me—none of it. It's about her_.'

' _Yeah, it is . . . and she wants_ you _there—not Munchkin. That says a helluva lot, don't you think? Not that he'd be able to make the time to go with her, considering he's too busy burying his nose up everyone's ass who has some money . . . Between that and representing the Lollipop Guild, he's pretty damn full up, time-wise, wouldn't you say?_ '

Evan didn't respond to that. What was there to say? It just wasn't surprising, was it? Maybe it should have been, but it wasn't. He'd realized long ago that Valerie just didn't rely on Marvin that way. He had the feeling that she never actually had. He had the feeling that she'd made it a point over the years not to rely upon anyone but herself . . .

Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he stifled a sigh. At some point during the silence, she'd dug her gloves out of her pockets, and though she didn't say a word, he could tell that she was cold. "Do you want to go back?" he asked quietly.

She blinked and started, as though she had forgotten that he was there beside her. "N . . . No, I'm good," she assured him. "Maybe just a little farther . . ."

"Okay," he said without breaking his stride. "But I gotta tell you, V: those are just not good shoes for hiking . . ."

She stared at him for a moment before glancing down at her feet—and the black suede pumps with three inch stack-heels. Then she laughed softly. "That's why women are tougher than men," she insisted.

"Because you can walk around in those?"

She nodded. "I'm pretty sure that Madison could run a marathon in her heels."

Evan chuckled, too. "Yeah, she probably could," he agreed. "I used to tease her all the time because she always wore shoes like that—well, she did go through a boot phase in high school. Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure that she's always had a thing for shoes, in general . . ."

Valerie shook her head though her smile hadn't diminished. "When we first became friends, I told her that I had maybe ten pairs of shoes, and I thought she was going to cry."

"Only ten?" Evan countered with a grin. "Damn, V. That's sad."

She wrinkled her nose. "It isn't," she insisted. "Maybe I didn't have a lot of shoes, but the ones that I did have were very, very nice."

"Yeah, but shoes are practically Maddy's religion," Evan pointed out somewhat philosophically. "Only having ten pairs is akin to blasphemy, as far as she's concerned."

Valerie rolled her eyes but laughed. "I have more now," she pointed out.

"And how many of those were Madison-inspired purchases?"

Her smile widened a little bit. "Most of them," she allowed. "The point is, I own more than ten pairs now. That's all."

Evan watched as she pulled her coat a little closer around her, and he stifled a sigh as he shrugged his coat off and dropped it over her shoulders. She shot him a quick glance then started to yank it off, only to stop when his hand closed over hers. "You're cold," he told her, as though it was a foregone conclusion. "Not really dressed for the weather, huh?"

"You're going to catch a cold," she told him, frowning in a wholly disapproving kind of way.

"I'm okay," he assured her with a little grin. "I'll let you know if I get cold."

She didn't look like she believed him. "It's freezing out here, Roka," she pointed out reasonably. "Here. Take this back."

"No," he insisted, brushing her hands away when she made to pull the coat off again. "This jacket's pretty warm, anyway. Wool, you know."

She narrowed her gaze and snorted. "It's a dinner jacket," she corrected, "and it doesn't matter if it's wool or not, it's not meant to be warm." Suddenly, she stopped, only to give him a suspect glance before she started walking again. "I thought you hated to dress like that," she reminded him, waving a hand at his outfit in case he thought about feigning ignorance.

"I don't mind it every now and then," he corrected her. "Besides, you can't really eat at Glaciens without the appropriate attire."

She didn't look like she completely bought into his reasoning, but she must've figured that she wasn't going to get much more out of him, either, because she finally gave a little shrug and let out a deep breath, instead. "Well, you look nice tonight," she told him. "Did you take out your nose stud?"

He chuckled as they turned to take the path that would lead back toward the area where they'd entered the park. "Had to look somewhat respectable, didn't I?" he teased.

"As if that's possible," she retorted.

She fell silent again as they kept walking. Evan had a feeling that there was something on her mind; something that she was trying to figure out, something that she wasn't quite ready to voice out loud just yet . . .

That was okay, wasn't it? She'd get around to talking if and when she was ready. She always did.

The evening was falling deeper into the shadows of the night. The tree line took on the rusty glow of the myriad of city lights that collectively held the darkness at bay—the kind of light that could only be found in the bigger cities of the world. It defied the natural order of things, thumbing its nose as the otherwise insurmountable forces of nature, creating a living, breathing pulse that stood against the gentler powers of daylight and darkness.

"He's not eligible to be placed on the national transplant list," Valerie said quietly, shattering the silence that had fallen between them.

Evan nodded. "I saw that."

She sighed, tightening her arms around herself. "They tested my mother and . . . and my brother and sister, but none of them were matches."

A hint of a frown drew Evan's brows together as he started to comprehend just what she was hesitating to say. "I read that, too," he admitted.

Nodding slowly, keeping her gaze trained downward, she rolled her shoulders like she was trying to affect a stronger stance. "What . . . what if they ask me? What if they want me to be tested, too?"

"What should you do, you mean?" he asked gently.

She nodded once but stubbornly avoided his gaze. "Y-Yeah . . ."

He stifled a sigh. In truth, he wasn't sure what he really wanted to say about that. The decent part of him said that he should encourage her to do it, anyway. The rest of him? That was easy. The rest of him figured that they didn't have the right to ask her for a goddamned thing . . .

"Why don't you worry about that later, V?" he suggested at length. "One thing at a time, okay?"

She finally lifted her gaze, her eyes veiled in shadows, sparkling like the stars in a midnight sky. "One thing at a time?" she repeated.

He nodded and reached for her hand. "Yes," he insisted, pulling her closer next to him as his fingers closed around her cool leather glove. "One thing at a time . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Forgotten_** **_Children_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _Tokio_ _Hotel's_ _2007_ _release, **Scream**_. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Dave_ _Roth_ , _Patrick_ _Benzner,_ _David_ _Jost,_ _Peter_ _Hoffmann,_ _Tom_ _Kaulitz_ , _Bill_ _Kaulitz_ , _and_ _Rebecca_ _Roth_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Testing …?_


	155. 154: Valentine's Day

' _Dusty words lying under carpets_ …  
' _Seldom heard, well, must you keep your secrets_ …  
' _Locked inside, hidden deep from view_ …?'

' _Was it all that hard, is it all that tough_ …?  
' _Now I've shown you all my cards, well, isn't that enough_ …?  
' _You can hide your hurt, but there's something you can't do_ ...'

 

-' _Talk to Me_ ' by Stevie Nicks.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Do you want to go get some dinner?"

Valerie started and whirled around to face him, an immediate and livid blush exploding under the surface of her skin. "Pardon?"

Smiling just a little, Evan hauled himself out of the overstuffed chair and ambled over to the window.   "I asked if you wanted to go get some dinner," he said again.

"Oh," she said, tucking her hair back behind her ear as she shot another almost nervous glance out the window again. "I'm, uh . . . I'm not really hungry," she said.

He nodded and reached over to rub her back when she turned to stare outside once more. "Okay," he replied, wishing that he could think of some way to calm her down. Seeing her so on edge was painful . . . "You know," he said, slipping behind her, folding his arms around her as he pulled her back against his chest. "There's a really great Jacuzzi tub in the bathroom. I could draw a bath for you . . . add some of those smelly soapy-crystal-y things that girls seem to love . . .? You could have a good soak, maybe read a book or something? Try to relax a little bit?"

"That might be all right," she decided at length, craning her neck to give him a rather uncertain little smile, then shook her head. "I can get it."

"Nah," he said, letting his arms drop away from her. "I'll take care of it."

The smile on her face was reward enough, as far as Evan was concerned. Wavering and wan, sure, but her gaze was a little clearer than it had been since he'd picked her up early this morning on the way to the airport.

Heading down the hallway toward the master bedroom, Evan heaved a sigh. She'd barely said more than a handful of sentences since they'd arrived at the Lexington Plaza Hotel and checked into the best suite the place had to offer a couple hours ago.

He'd wanted to book a hotel closer to Valerie's parents' home, but it hadn't taken him long to find out that there wasn't one in Durkes, not even a bad one. At least Lexington was only about a twenty minute drive, so it wasn't too bad. He'd suggested that they could drive over and take a look around if she was up for it shortly after they'd checked in, but she'd looked so freaked out by that suggestion that he'd let it drop.

Of course he could understand why she was being so reticent. He supposed that if he were in her shoes, he would be, too. Still, he hoped that he could get her mind off of it, at least for a little while, long enough for her to relax. He had the feeling, though, that it wouldn't really be possible unless or until she actually did what she came here to do.

"Foaming bath salts . . . roses and vanilla milk, lavender and chamomile, or green tea and white ginger," he read aloud as he touched the panel to start the flow of water into the tub. Lavender and chamomile was supposed to be a relaxing combination, wasn't it? Giving a little shrug, he reached for one of the single bath sized packets in the basket near the tub and ripped off the top. "Not bad," he decided as he sniffed the contents before dumping them into the water. The bluish-purple powder dissipated the second it hit the water, and a moment later, the entire room was filled with the supposedly soothing scent.

Evan sneezed and stuck his fingers under the flow of water then bumped up the temperature control a few degrees, then rubbed his nose and strode out of the bathroom before he ended up having a sneezing fit.

He'd let Valerie have the master bathroom, mostly because he thought she'd like that the windows would catch the morning sunlight, and her suitcase was still on the floor beside the bureau where the porter had left it. It didn't take him long to dig out her sweatpants and oversized tee-shirt that she normally wore to bed along with a very nice pair of very skimpy pink lace panties and a pair of thick socks in case her feet were cold.

' _You know, there's a good chance that you're going to burn in hell for staring at her panties when you're supposed to be gathering her things for her bath_ ,' his youkai-voice chided. ' _Damn pervert_.'

' _But they're so_ . . . ho-o-o-o-ot . . .' he whined, holding up the panties as he gave them another good look-over.

' _Yeah, yeah, they are_ ,' his youkai agreed, ' _but you better quit messing with them or you're gonna—aw, hell, too late_.'

Evan made a face and tossed the clothes over his shoulder to free up a hand so he could adjust his jeans since they'd suddenly gotten extremely uncomfortable. ' _Do you suppose she'd be willing to model these for us?_ '

His youkai sighed. ' _No, unfortunately, I don't think she would_.'

"All right, Roka. Just what do you think you're doing with my panties?"

Grimacing inwardly, he slowly turned to face Valerie, who was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest while looking entirely nonplussed at having found him in her room with her panties in front of his face. "Oh, hey, V," he said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

She blinked a few times, her expression quite blank, as she stared at him. Then she stalked across the room and yanked her panties out of his grasp. "You weren't doing anything twisted, were you? Like sniffing these or something?"

"Of course not!" he scoffed then shot her a sheepish grin. "I hadn't gotten that far yet."

"So gross," she muttered, shaking her head as she reached for the clothes slung over his shoulder.

He heaved an inward sigh as she stalked off toward the bathroom.

"You need help?" he called after her.

"Forget it, Roka," she tossed back over her shoulder without breaking her stride. "I'm on to you."

His laughter followed her into the bathroom, only to die away when the door closed behind her. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, he sighed. Might as well order something from room service. He had a feeling that she wasn't really going to feel like going out, anyway . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

The hot water was quite soothing—or it would be, Valerie supposed, if she weren't already wound tighter than a spring. She hadn't bothered to bring her eBook reader in with her, anyway. There was no way she'd be able to concentrate on a book at the moment.

Easy to say that she needed to confront her parents, especially her father, before it was too late. It sounded a lot simpler than it really was. For the last week, she felt as though time was crawling, leaving her far too much time to think, to remember. Now that she was here, however . . .

Heaving a sigh, she stuck out her leg, pointing her toe to hit the control for the water jets, turning them down a notch. The bubbles that had clung to her foot slid down the slick tile wall, gathering in a foamy white glob on the edge of the tub as she lowered her leg back into the steaming water.

Everything was so unsettled. The last week had made her question everything about herself, hadn't it? Even the simplest of things that she'd thought that she'd known seemed to have unraveled in front of her eyes, but the part of it that bothered her the most was that she was positive that her life wasn't going to have a hope in hell of getting back to a semblance of 'normal' until she dealt with her parents, one way or another . . .

And then there was Evan . . .

Leaning back and closing her eyes as she sank a little deeper beneath the bubbles on the surface of the water, Valerie bit her lip. Not for the first time, she couldn't help but feel like she was somehow taking complete and utter advantage of him, dragging him along on this trip. He was a busy man with better, more important things to do than to go running around Kentucky to hold her hand while she broke down time and time again, and while he hadn't complained at all, she couldn't help the sense of guilt that surged through her every time she stopped to think about it.

"V, how the hell can you stand these?"

Valerie gasped and started to sit up straight when Evan pushed the door open and strode into the bathroom. Before she could, however, she remembered that it would be a horrible idea, and she sank down lower, her cheeks blossoming in embarrassed color as she squelched a little shriek and turned to glower at him.

And blinked. "Wh—What the . . .?" she muttered, disbelief registering in her tone at the sight of him, standing there in the middle of the bathroom, looking entirely uncomfortable, which wasn't at all surprising, all things considered . . . "Oh, my God," she groaned, wrinkling her nose in abject disgust. "Why are you wearing my _panties?_ " she demanded.

He grimaced and thrust out his hips, reaching behind himself to dig the pale peach g-string out of his butt crack. "Jesus, woman! How the fuck can you stand these?" he grouched, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in a perverse sort of dance.

She winced. Damned if it wasn't like a train wreck: she knew well enough that shouldn't look, but hell if she could make herself stop . . . "Ugh . . . that's something I just don't need to see," she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. "Your _balls_ are squishing out the sides . . ." She shuddered. "Tell me that's not what I think it is . . ."

"What isn't?" he asked.

She sighed and slowly shook her head. "Whatever's sticking out of the top of them . . ."

He actually had to look down to see what she was talking about. "It's my penis, woman. It wouldn't fit."

Her grimace deepened. "Ugh."

"I know!" he complained, bending his knees outward as he stooped over to do some more digging. "Shit! I think they're cutting me in half . . ."

"Why are you trying to wear them?" she demanded in a half-whine.

He blinked and stood up straight, looking rather confused by her question. "Well, because," he said, his tone indicating that he thought she should already know the answer to that one. "I wanna feel pretty . . ."

Snapping her mouth closed, it took a moment for Valerie to digest what he'd just said, and when she finally did, she snorted. "There's nothing at all 'pretty' about _that_ ," she insisted, waving a hand up and down.

"Keh! No wonder you've been kind of grumpy this week," he grouched, hopping up and down, apparently thinking that it would help. It didn't. Valerie grimaced. All that did was make things bounce—things that she never, ever wanted to see doing it. "You're walking around with a permanent wedgie!"

She rolled her eyes. "It's a g-string, Roka! It's supposed to be that way!"

"See, now," he went on as though she hadn't spoken at all, "this is exactly why I don't wear underpants."

"Get them off!" she demanded, leveling her most formidable scowl at him to emphasis her words. "But not in—"

"Okay."

"—here," she said with a sigh as he whipped the panties down and tossed them into the air with a flick of his leg. He caught them and tossed them onto the counter next to the tub atop the clothes that she'd brought in with her to change into.

"Aw, damn . . . I think it's broke," he muttered as he headed out of the bathroom once more. Valerie watched him go, rolling her eyes since he had his right hand jammed in his butt crack, rubbing to dispel the feel of the string, she supposed. "Sorry, guys . . . Don't worry. I'll give you both a good rubbing . . ."

Heaving a sigh when the door finally closed again, Valerie made a face and hesitated for just a moment before pushing herself up so she could reach the panties on the counter. With a grimace, she picked them up between her thumb and index finger like they were contaminated with the Plague and pitched them into the nearby trash can before settling back in the tub once more.

"Idiot," she grumbled in the quiet room, closing her eyes and trying to force the lingering visual out of her mind. She was going to have nightmares for a year; she just knew it . . .

Too bad it was a _little_ amusing. A moment later, she broke into a little smile. A moment after that, she couldn't help the giggle that escaped her as she slowly shook her head. "Absolutely demented . . ."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan yawned and stretched out, making a face at the unsettling feeling of trying to sleep in a bed that wasn't his. It was a familiar enough feeling. After having spent so much time on the road, he would have thought that he'd be used to it by now, but he wasn't, and he didn't figure that he ever would be, and it always had to spend a moment or two getting used to it before he could actually close his eyes and fall asleep—unless he was too damn drunk or strung out to care, but those things didn't happen too often.

That wasn't really the problem tonight, though.

No, the problem tonight was the woman sleeping in the room across the hall.

Okay, so he highly doubted that she was actually sleeping, despite the weariness that seemed to hang off of her like an invisible cloud that originated with her . . .

He'd done everything he could think of to distract her: to get her mind off of the reason they were here—at least, for the night, anyway—and it had worked, to a point . . .

' _I'm still numb—and not in a good way_ ,' his youkai complained.

Grimacing at the not-so-subtle reminder of the panty stunt earlier, Evan grinned wanly. ' _It did make her laugh_ ,' he pointed out.

' _Yeah, there's that, but damn . . . next time, try to find panties that are closer to our size, will you?_ '

He snorted though the smile didn't dissipate completely. ' _Next time? Hopefully there won't be a 'next time' . . . although I have to admit, you'd have thought that it would have felt a little weirder than it did, wouldn't you?_ '

' _Keh . . . Do you think Bugsy wears those atrocities?_ '

' _They weren't that bad_ ,' he corrected. ' _In fact, they're pretty hot . . . just not necessarily on me . . . As for Bugsy, it would explain a helluva lot, don't you think?_ '

His youkai sighed.

Sighing in the quiet room, Evan reached over to turn off the lamp and was just settling back down again when the soft knock sounded on the door. A moment later, Valerie peeked into the room. "E-Evan?" she whispered.

"Hey, V," he replied gently, pushing himself up on his elbow. "What's up?"

Lingering in the doorway, she shuffled her bare feet—he could hear the rub of her soles against the carpet. Arms crossed protectively over her stomach, she sighed. "If you're tired, I'll leave you alone . . ." she murmured, a hint of reluctance entering her voice. "It's just that I . . . I can't sleep."

Scooting over, he held a hand out to her. "Come here," he coaxed.

She hesitated for a moment, as though she were trying to decide if going over to him was really a good idea or not . . . or maybe she was trying to decide if she was showing some sort of perceived weakness . . .

In the end, however, she must have decided that her pride could stand to lose one round, and she slowly shuffled over to the bed, dropping something on the nightstand that he ignored.

"I . . . I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate your coming with me," she said as she sat down on the edge, one of her legs bent and folded under the other one that was still on the floor. "You didn't have to, but . . ." Twisting her fingers together into a moving knot, she shrugged almost helplessly. "But you did, and . . . and I'm not so sure that I would have been able to if you hadn't . . ."

"You would have," he told her with a smile. "You're stronger than you think."

"No," she said in a long exhalation. "I'm not; not really . . ."

"Don't sell yourself short, Counselor," he said, his light tone meant to reassure her.

She shook her head, still staring down at her hands. "I never thought I'd be back here again," she admitted quietly. ''No, that's not right. I never wanted to come back here again," she amended. "After I grew up, that is . . ."

Evan nodded and reached out, grasping her wrist and tugging on her arm to pull her down beside him. When she finally complied, he wrapped his arms around her and planted a kiss on her forehead. "It's okay, you know," he told her gently. "You've got nothing to be ashamed of. I mean, think about it. You grew up, you went to college, you went to grad school . . . You became a lawyer, and no one did any of that for you. You did it all, and if anyone deserves to hold her head high, you do."

Her face was half veiled in shadows, half glowing in the paltry light afforded by the glowing city outside the windows, but her eyes shone dark, glittering pinpoints, alight in the terrible dimness. "You're a good friend, Evan," she murmured, unconsciously huddling a little closer to him, seeking the reassurance that she really wasn't alone. "I know . . . I know you said that you never wanted to _be_ my friend, but—"

His sigh cut her off. "That's not what I meant, V," he said, a certain gruffness tingeing his voice. "I like being your friend."

The expression that entered her gaze caught him off guard for a moment. She understood, didn't she? Knew what he was saying—and on some level, a part of her wanted that, too, even if she didn't really know it yet. No matter what she thought, what she believed, she wanted the same things he did, even if it was on a purely subconscious level at the moment . . . "I do, too," she replied, a weak little smile quirking her lips. Wan and hesitant, but heartfelt . . .

He let himself indulge in her smile for a minute, letting the silence become a comfortable thing as he extended his youki, willed it to wrap around her, to lend her a sense of strength even if she thought hers was faltering, and to his relief, he could feel the tenseness in her body seem to drain away just a little bit.

"Oh, hey," he said suddenly, sitting up and tossing the blankets back. "I almost forgot . . ."

Valerie sat up, too, blinking in confusion as he flicked the light back on and tumbled out of the bed and onto his feet. "Forgot what?"

He spared a moment to cast her a cheesy grin as he strode over to his suitcase and dug into it for the small wrapped package and card. "It's Valentine's Day!" he reminded her as he strode back to the bed and dropped the gift into her lap.

She stared at the package for a moment then slowly shook her head. "I know," she ventured as she reached over to retrieve the thing she'd put on the nightstand before she'd sat down and held it out to him.

For some reason, the idea that she'd actually remembered the silly holiday in the middle of everything else pleased him far more than he could credit. "Thanks," he said as he turned the envelope over in his hands, his grin widening when he saw what she'd written on the front in her neat handwriting: _Roka_ , it said.

He tore it open and tugged out the card, a bark of laughter escaping him before he could think about it. The exceedingly large and apparently very naked woman on the front of the card was holding a huge red heart that said, 'If you show me yours . . .'

"Oh, damn," Evan remarked, his grin widening as he opened the card. On the inside, the woman was pictured again, still holding out her arms though the giant heart was missing—and yes, she really was very, very naked—and even bigger than he'd first thought, too . . . '. . . I'll show you mine!' was written underneath the picture.

Valerie giggled as she read the card he'd picked out for her. "Did you buy this at Thompson's Novelties?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as she peered over the top of her card.

He laughed. "Well, no," he confessed, understanding her question since he'd gotten her what amounted to the male equivalent of the same card. "Wow, that's a really big girl . . . and she's hot," he quipped.

Valerie snorted though her smile didn't dissipate. "Now I'm really going to have nightmares," she informed him with an exaggerated shake of her head. "Between the panty stunt and this card, I may never be able to close my eyes again . . ."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, propping the card open so that it would remain upright on the nightstand. "Open the box, V. Open the box."

She shot him an almost wary look despite the sparkling in her eyes, and she tore into the paper. The expression on her face took on a more quizzical lilt as she opened the plain white cardboard box and pulled out one of the fortune cookies inside. "You got me cookies?" she asked with a shake of her head.

He plopped back down on the bed and shrugged. "Yeah, but those are special ones," he informed her happily.

A hint of foreboding flickered to lift in her eyes and only grew in intensity as she eyed the box of seemingly harmless cookies. "Special, how?" she asked reluctantly.

He chuckled. "Open one and see."

She sighed, looking more and more reluctant with every moment that passed. In the end, though, she tore the plastic and cracked the first cookie open. "'Wise man say never trust man with small penis'," she read then rolled her eyes. She tried for a stern expression, but it was ruined when she giggled. "There's something wrong with you," she informed him, tossing half of the cookie at Evan.

He caught it in his mouth and chewed it up. "Nice, right?"

She snorted. "Only you would think of something like that."

He grinned and reached out to pull her back down beside him again. "Yeah, there are a lot of great Roka-isms in that box. You can read them all tomorrow."

She leaned away long enough to set the box back on the nightstand again before huddling close to him once more, and he turned the light off again.

She seemed content enough just to be near him. Well, maybe not him, per se, he thought with an inward sigh. Maybe she just needed to be close to someone, and that was all right, too.

"Evan?" she said, her voice a whisper.

"Hmm?"

She sighed softly. "What if . . .?"

"What if?" he repeated when she trailed off.

She sighed again, louder this time. "What if . . . What if they . . . they don't recognize me . . .?"

"They'll recognize you," he told her gently.

She considered that for a moment. "I don't know . . . It's been . . . Well, it's been a while . . ."

"What's meant to happen will happen," he assured her, "and no matter what does happen, you'll be fine."

Her silence was dubious, at best, not that he could blame her for that.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Talk_** **_to_** **_Me_** ' _first_ _appeared_ _on_ _Stevie_ _Nicks'_ _1985_ _release, **Rock**_ **_a_** **_Little_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Chas_ _Sandford_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Twisted_ _fortune_ _cookies_ … _That_ _figures_...


	156. 155: Killing Time

' _If you're gone maybe it's time to come home_ …  
' _There's an awful lot of breathing room_ …  
' _But I can hardly move_ …  
' _And if you're gone, baby, you need to come home_ …  
'' _Cause there's a little bit of something me in everything in you_ ...'

 

-' _If You're Gone_ ' by Matchbox Twenty.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

He was trying not to look at the clock; he really was. It made no sense to do it, anyway, since it was probably only a few minutes later than it was the last time he'd checked. Funny how he'd never noticed before, just how much he hated sitting around and doing absolutely nothing.

Glancing over at Valerie, he stifled a sigh. Scowling as she stared at the run-down old trailer, she hadn't said a word in well over an hour, and she hadn't said much before that, either.

"Do you think they're in there?" Valerie suddenly asked without dragging her gaze off the trailer.

"I don't know," he said in an almost absent kind of way. "I'll go knock."

She grabbed his arm when he started to reach over for the handle. "Don't you dare," she hissed at him.

He relented with a sigh. "Okay, okay," he grumbled, letting go of the door and settling back in the seat again. "You wanna go get a cup of coffee or something? I mean, they're probably here, and it doesn't look like they're planning on going anywhere . . ."

"I'm good," she replied, letting go of his arm.

Evan frowned, turning his attention back to the trailer once more.

Damn, it was a sad place, wasn't it? The gray paint on the metal siding was peeling off here and there, and in some places, the weathered gray aluminum peeked through. Even from where they sat just off the narrow path that might have been covered with gravel at some point in time, he could see the patches here and there that had been affixed to the walls where pieces of the paneling had come off. The yard covered with sparse dead grass, obviously cut short before the winter months had set in, but there was no snow on the ground despite the chilly air. Against the backdrop of the grayish, overcast sky, the overall bleakness seemed to be almost oppressive . . .

But the very old car sitting in the driveway looked like it was in reasonable shape despite its advanced age, and it had to be the one they were currently using since it had a handicapped placard hanging from the rear view mirror as well as a current handicapped plate on the back. In fact, everything about the place looked old and tired, from the skeleton of what was probably last season's garden off to the left to the faded black sports car that was resting on cinder blocks right beside the trailer. The roof of the trailer was a few different colors—patches, Evan supposed—maybe not the prettiest work, but he figured that it did what it was supposed to do: keeping the weather outside where it belonged.

But as worn as it all was, there was something else about it, too—a lived-in feel and the kind of understated warmth that surprised him. Maybe he'd expected that her family was going to be a den of monsters, but there was an unmistakable pride beneath the surface of it all. Maybe the yard wasn't as lush as it could have been, but it was trimmed neatly all the way around—at least, as far as Evan could see. Maybe the cars weren't the latest models, but both seemed clean enough, despite the rust dotting the lower panels. The window boxes below the frames were covered with snippets of green tarp, as though they were ready for the spring's flowers to be planted. Even the cheap plastic yard chairs on the porch were neatly stacked and covered with the rest of the green tarp that was secured with a bright yellow bungee cord and seemed to be affixed to the house to keep the chairs from blowing away.

' _Paradise Palms_ ,' he thought with a inward sigh. Hardly what he'd consider a paradise, but maybe a bit better than what he'd ultimately expected . . .

Then again, Durkes wasn't much to look at, either, was it? It seemed like little more than blocks of weathered buildings: a post office, a handful of stores—more of them closed than open for business. A couple gas stations at either end of the main drag—a few office buildings. Smaller than Bevelle, certainly, but retaining the same kind of laid-back atmosphere. He'd read online that the population of Durkes was about two thousand, and most of those people likely worked in Lexington and commuted every day. Valerie had mentioned that the other side of Main Street was the nicer side of town with more expensive houses with better cars sitting in the driveways, more expensive little mom and pop shops and stuff like that.

But he'd seen all that hours ago when they'd driven through town on their way out to the trailer park where her parents lived, and judging by the expression on her face, he had a feeling that she still wasn't quite ready to approach or retreat, simply contenting herself for the moment in just observing and, he supposed, waiting to see if she could catch a glimpse of them before she decided what she really wanted to do . . .

He wanted to be supportive; he really did . . . but the sitting still thing was getting to him in the absolute worst way. Even when he was on tour, he was doing something, and the vehicles that he employed were big enough for him to get up and move around. He could stand it a lot better if they were moving at least, too, which, of course, they weren't. He'd rented a dual-cab truck for the duration, thinking that they'd fit in better, and they might have if the trailer was on the other side of town, but even a dual cab wasn't big enough to allow much in the way of movement.

' _Damn, I'm_ —'

' _Don't say it_ ,' his youkai cut in. ' _Saying it only makes it worse_.'

Evan snorted inwardly. ' _Well, I_ am,' he pouted.

' _Yeah, but it doesn't matter, does it? We're not here on a vacation or anything. We're here to support V, remember?_ '

' _I know; I know,_ ' he muttered. ' _Fuck . . . I think my ass just fell asleep_. . .'

His youkai sighed but didn't respond.

Glancing over at Valerie again, Evan stifled yet another sigh. Something told him that he was in for a very long day . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Biting her lip as she stared at the front door of the small trailer, Valerie frowned. Almost one in the afternoon, and she still hadn't seen hide nor hair of her parents, and she really was starting to wonder if they were there at all . . . They had to be . . .

Evan had taken off on foot to stretch his legs, he'd said. He'd offered to go on a hunt for coffee for her, and she'd agreed. The sitting still was driving him crazy. She knew it even if he hadn't complained. It wasn't really surprising. The man was constantly in motion except when he was meditating, and even then, he didn't do that for hours and hours on end, either . . .

It was on the tip of her tongue to point out to him that he was going to get a lot of strange looks since he was entirely conspicuous in the clothes he'd bought just for this trip. She wasn't sure what he was thinking, but he had actually gone out and gotten a black silk—yes, silk—'western' shirt, complete with garish silver piping and metal arrow tabs on the collar, skin tight black jeans, a ridiculously large silver belt buckle, black snakeskin boots with silver tooling, and a black duster to complete the outrageous ensemble. Add the black Stetson, and he'd looked about as non-Kentucky as he possibly could. He looked like an escapee from the Grand Ole Opry, and even though she'd told him that no one dressed that way down here, he'd just grinned at her and tipped his hat.

Weird how things had changed from when she was a child. The trailer she remembered was an off-white kind of color. Her father must have painted it, and the change bothered her. It was a somewhat crude reminder, wasn't it? Even though she'd known that life had gone on long after she'd been removed from her parents, seeing proof of it, however abstract, was painful . . .

Everything had changed. It was an unsettling feeling that had gripped her as they'd driven through town earlier in the day. She remembered it all a little more vividly than she had thought that she would. After all, she hadn't been in Durkes in years. Changed, yes, and yet, fundamentally, it was the same, too . . .

Her frown deepened as she stared at the trailer. Not for the first time, she had to wonder exactly what Evan thought about this place. When she thought about the house he'd grown up in, the way he'd been raised, it seemed almost sad, didn't it? Just how pathetic did she seem to him? Even if he didn't really think that she was, he had to think that the trailer where she'd spent the first seven years of her life was joke enough . . .

The sound of a child's laughter drifted through the cracked window and interrupted her thoughts, and she turned her head to look at the trailer across the lane. A little girl, maybe five years old, ran outside in a smudgy pink coat and a dingy white stocking cap, her threaded mittens dangling from her sleeves as she ran across the yard. She was chasing a tired looking rubber ball—the kind the kids always used to play kickball at recess—and when she caught up with it, she gave it a little kick then took off after it again.

It was amazing, wasn't it? Toys didn't have to be expensive or brand new, did they? A child that young just didn't care as long as it was fun . . .

"Here you go," Evan said as he opened the door and climbed back into the truck.

Valerie blinked and took the Styrofoam cup he offered her. "Thanks."

He snorted. "Don't thank me till after you've tasted it, V. It's not very good."

"Coffee is coffee is coffee," she insisted, sipping the hot brew carefully. Then she grimaced. "Wow, that's really awful," she muttered, glowering at the harmless looking cup and turning it slowly in her hand.

"Told you," he replied, ripping open a small bag of potato chips and stuffing about five of them into his mouth at one time. "You want me to dump it for you?"

"Are you kidding?" she parried, arching an eyebrow as she shook her head. "It's still got caffeine in it."

He rolled his eyes but grinned at her, pushing the Stetson off his head and letting it drop to the floor behind the seat.

"So did people stare at you funny?" she queried in a somewhat bored tone of voice, peering at him over the rim of the cup.

He shrugged. "Kind of anticlimactic, if you ask me," he pointed out. "I mean, everyone in town is dressed _normally_."

She shook her head at the disgust evident in his tone. "You didn't really think that people walk around here looking like that, do you?" she countered, waving her empty hand at his outrageous outfit.

"It would've made things a lot more fun," he grumbled, crumpling up the empty bag and looking around on the floor for something to put it in. There wasn't anything, and he stared at the wad for a minute before stuffing it into his pocket. "Talk about misrepresentation . . . It's Kentucky, right? Bluegrass music? The famous country twang? Kentucky hooch? Hillbillies? Inbreeding? Inbred hillbillies—probably inbred after drinking the hooch, by the by . . ."

She snorted and slapped him in the center of the chest with the back of her hand as she turned her gaze back toward the trailer and sipped the horrible coffee. "See, now that's how stereotypes are perpetuated."

He laughed. "You win. I'm sorry," he conceded even though the grin on his face hadn't diminished.

She opened her mouth to retort but sucked in a harsh breath instead when he door on the trailer suddenly opened. A skinny, almost frail looking woman stepped outside, pulling a huge flannel insulated jacket closed over her chest and holding it in place with her arms crossed over her stomach as she hurried down the steps and across the yard. For one dizzying second, she looked up, frowning rather curiously at the rental truck, and while common sense told Valerie that there was no way she could rightfully see into the vehicle, it didn't stop her from shrinking back slightly, slipping down a little in her seat to better hide in the shadows.

The woman only went as far as the mailbox on the edge of the yard to retrieve the day's delivery. As she watched her, Valerie's frown took on a thoughtful turn. She remembered her mother's bright golden hair—hair that always seemed to catch the sunlight that fell over her mother's shoulder, tickling Valerie's cheek . . . It looked tired and dull now, caught back in a low ponytail that hung nearly to her waist.

"Damn," Evan muttered, staring at the woman as she closed up the mailbox and turned back toward the trailer again. "Holy damn . . . You look just like her, don't you?"

Valerie didn't respond though she supposed that she did. Valerie was taller than her mother, certainly, having inherited her father's height, but it was difficult for her to reconcile the woman she saw and the mom she used to know as being one and the same.

Her mother . . . she looked so much older than she ought to, didn't she? She was only, what? Forty-two? Forty-three years old? And yet she looked like she could easily be fifty, maybe a little over . . . Deep lines in her face, especially around her mouth and at the corners of her eyes, lines furrowing her brow . . . the results of a lifetime of worry? And . . . and why did it bother Valerie so much . . .?

She blinked suddenly and glanced down, only to see Evan's hand resting on hers. As though he understood without words, once again, a simple gesture spoke volumes . . .

Grasping the door handle, Valerie couldn't quite bring herself to give it the little pull that would open it, watching instead as her mother crossed the yard again, then disappeared into the trailer once more.

"There's no rush," he said quietly. "I don't think they're going anywhere."

Valerie let out a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah," she agreed just as quietly, a hint of sadness tingeing her voice. "They never have . . ."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"There used to be a little second-hand store here," Valerie ventured as the two of them walked down the main street. "It used to have this big old rocking chair in the window—not fancy, but you could tell that it was solid wood. Just needed refinished—that's what my . . . my mom used to say . . ."

"You walk down through here with her a lot?"

Valerie shrugged and shook her head. "Not really," she admitted with a shake of her head. "Sometimes, though . . . When we were out of food and I complained about being hungry, we'd go on down there and check behind the diner to see if anything good was tossed out."

Evan frowned, unsure if the idea of Valerie eating food that had once been considered trash bothered him more or if it was the matter-of-fact tone of voice that did it, as though what she'd said was completely normal, and while it may have been a part of her early existence, that just wasn't how it should have been, especially not for a girl like Valerie . . .

She sighed. "The _Penny Press_ is still here," she murmured, staring at the old stone edifice as they passed by. "It's the free paper," she explained. "Mom used to check it to see who was having yard sales. Dad's friend, Kenny lived up there above. He played guitar, too, and when he'd come over, he'd always bring a bag of pot with him . . . sometimes, he'd bring other stuff. Mom always said it was big people stuff . . . They'd smoke it or whatever and play guitar all night, and Dad, Mom, and he would all be passed out in the living room in the morning . . ."

Evan frowned. The entire place just seemed so . . . so abysmal, as though the town itself was locked in a vortex of nothingness, like nothing at all could ever come from it—a dead zone. It felt more like the kind of place where hope came to die, where nothing in the world could flourish except for the bitterness, the emptiness that came from the layers upon layers of dreams that were easier to forget than to chase after.

They crossed the street and continued down the block. She stopped suddenly, scowling at an almost empty parking lot between two newer looking buildings. "There used to be a park here," she said, her gaze darkening as she looked around.   "Well, not a big park," she amended with a shrug. "A couple swings and a beat up old merry-go-round with chipped paint that made the worst screeching noise when you pushed it too fast . . ."

"Did you come here a lot?" he asked quietly, unwilling to interrupt her memories with a louder tone of voice.

She flipped up the collar of her coat against the rising wind that had cooled dramatically as the afternoon had progressed. "Sometimes," she said, her gaze sweeping over the changed area. "Sometimes I'd stop here on my way home from school to play for a while." She shot him a hesitant smile, one that seemed uncertain as to whether or not it should be there at all. "My father brought me here a couple times. I liked it when he pushed me on the merry-go-round . . . Once, he pushed it so fast that I threw up all over the place." Uttering a decidedly nervous kind of laugh, she shrugged and looked rather embarrassed. "Then I begged for him to push me some more . . ."

"That's a good memory," he agreed with a little nod. "Well, except for the puking, maybe . . ."

She laughed weakly, but her heart wasn't in it. He couldn't really fault her for that. She hadn't been ready to take this trip down memory lane, but here she was, and even if she was a little scared, a little reluctant, he couldn't help but to be proud of her, too.

"Show me where else you used to go," he prompted.

She stared at the parking lot for a moment longer then finally turned away with a soft sigh. The silence that fell between them as they moved on was companionable, and when they reached the next corner, she frowned. "The dime store used to be there," she said, pointing diagonally across the street at an empty store with plywood nailed up over the windows. "The . . . The one where I'd stolen the lunch box . . ." After a moment, she glanced at him, smiling wanly as she offered him an offhanded shrug. "Things change a lot, don't they?"

"I guess they do," he agreed, reaching over to tuck an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

She stared at him for a moment then smiled again, and this time, the expression seemed brighter, more genuine. "Over there's where the old men always used to gather," she remarked, pointing toward an old fashioned news stand nearby. There were a couple rickety metal tables set up out front on the sidewalk along with a few chipped metal chairs. "Looks like they still use it, at least when it's warmer out," he said.

Valerie nodded. "Probably, though I'd imagine that the faces have changed a little."

She turned down a side street where the concrete sidewalk gave way to much older molded brick cobblestones. Many of them were broken, and the edges were grown over with flattened grass. The houses were small, the yards were tiny. Some were tidy, others not so much. Even still, there was a level of warmth that seemed to exist beneath it all that was harder to find in the more expensive neighborhoods.

"Those people used to have this huge dog—a mutt, I think," she said, pointing at a rundown brick house across the street. "Once it broke out of the yard and chased me all the way home . . . I thought for sure that it was going to try to bite me. Scared me so badly that I avoided walking down this street for months until I heard Dad say that the dog had gotten hit by a car and died."

Evan nodded, not surprised when he noticed that she kept glancing at the house. It was the same kind of irrational worry that the dog was still there, wasn't it? The same kind of fear that his mother still harbored when it came to rodents of any kind . . . Maybe Valerie wouldn't admit that she was afraid, exactly, but he supposed he could understand her feelings just the same. A little girl being chased home by a neighborhood dog? Yeah, that had to be a fairly scary thing especially if the dog was perceived to want to do her harm.

"Oh," Valerie said softly, stopping mid-stride as she stared at the building across the street. "I don't believe it . . ." Biting her lip, she blinked a few times, as though she thought that whatever she was looking at was about to disappear. "It's still here."

Evan followed the direction of Valerie's gaze. "Candy Cane Confections," he read out loud off the sign hanging over the glass doors.

She nodded slowly as a rather bashful little grin surfaced on her features.

Then he remembered. That was the bakery, wasn't it? The one where she'd tried to steal a loaf of bread and had ended up being given a couple loaves and a jar of peanut butter . . .

She started forward again, moving with a quiet sense of purpose. Evan followed her across the street and into the small bakery.

It smelled good, didn't it? Damn good, actually . . . The yeasty smell of freshly baked bread seemed to encompass the store in a welcome air. The girl behind the counter smiled at them. Valerie wandered over an gestured at a row of baskets behind the counter on a shelf—baskets that held an array of different kinds of rolls. "Two of the pretzel rolls," she said, glancing back at Evan and smiling. "Oh, and a two pints of milk, please."

The girl bagged up two rolls that looked somewhat like a cross between pretzels and a roll and grabbed two containers of milk out of the cooler. "Five twenty-five," she said.

Valerie handed the girl a twenty dollar bill.

"Have a nice day," she said with a bright smile as she handed Valerie her change.

"You, too," Valerie replied.

The clerk turned away to continue her task of wiping off some of the shelves, and she didn't see as Valerie crumpled the bills in her hand and dropped them into the tip can on the counter.

Without a word, she led the way out of the shop and back onto the sidewalk again, and she didn't speak as she dug a roll out of the bag and handed one to Evan along with one of the containers of milk.

"This is pretty damn good," he said between bites.

Valerie nodded, pulling a small piece off her roll and popping it into her mouth. "They tasted even better back then," she allowed, then she shrugged. "Well, I guess they taste the same, and it's really good, you're right," she explained. "I think anything would've tasted like a treat back then . . ."

"Nah," he said. "Definitely good."

She laughed as some of the tension that she'd carried with her for days seemed to drain away. Maybe she wasn't completely relaxed, but maybe . . . Maybe taking the time to face her memories, to come to terms with some of the things she hadn't understood back then was good for her, even if she didn't really comprehend what she was ultimately doing.

"You know," she went on, stashing her milk in her pocket unopened so that she could devote her full attention to her roll as she pulled it apart bit by bit and popped little bites into her mouth, "some small part of me had always thought that everything here had stopped when I got taken away. Stupid, right?"

He chuckled. "Nah, not stupid," he told her. "I think that's probably pretty normal, if you ask me."

She rolled her eyes but giggled softly. "Something about eating this," she mused as she stared at the roll and ate another bite, "makes me feel like a little kid, all over again."

"I kind of feel that way whenever I eat one of those molded ice cream things."

"Molded ice cream things?" she echoed, casting him a questioning kind of look.

He grinned. "Yeah, you know, like the ones you get from the ice cream truck?"

She laughed. "What was your favorite?"

"Favorite? Ah, let's see . . . Oh! I always liked the Marvin the Martian ones," he said, his grin widening. "Always liked to bite his damn head off . . . Guess I've never liked anyone with that name—well, except to eat it or something . . ."

Valerie snorted but the humor in her expression remained. "Why doesn't that surprise me?" she asked drolly.

Evan shot her a cheesy grin but didn't make any excuses.

She rounded the corner on the next block then stopped, her smile fading as she gazed at the abandoned building before them. Then she sighed, and while she didn't look sad, exactly, she did seem a little taken aback.

"What's this?" he asked when she remained silent.

Valerie crumpled up the wax paper that had held her roll. "That's where I went to school," she said. "See that window on the far end there? That was my kindergarten classroom."

Evan took in the sight of the empty building and nodded slowly. "You wanna break in?" he asked, only half joking.

She rolled her eyes and smacked him lightly in the center of his chest. "How did your brain automatically go there?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as she slowly shook her head.

He held up his hands to protest his innocence. "I just thought that you'd want to take a look around," he insisted and waved toward another window that looked like it was broken. "Besides, it looks like someone already beat us to it, so it's not really a big deal, right?"

She snorted and grabbed his hand as she carted around on her heel to go back the way they'd come. "Come on, deviant," she said, tugging on him when he didn't move fast enough. "Only you would think of breaking into a school, anyway."

He laughed but let her lead him off. The sun was starting to set, casting long shadows as the generosity of night closed in fast.

Back on the side street once more, Valerie let go of Evan's hand and slowed her step as she sipped the milk. "I guess we should go back to the hotel for the night, anyway," she ventured at length.

Evan nodded. "If that's what you want," he agreed.

She sighed and appeared to be deep in thought, if the scowl on her face meant anything at all. "It's just . . ." She trailed off for a moment with a grimace as she chucked the empty milk container into a nearby trash barrel. "I don't know if I want to . . . to talk to them," she admitted, her voice raw with emotion. "But if I do . . . Wouldn't it be better to do it when the kids aren't there?"

"Makes sense," he allowed, tossing away his trash, too. "But you want to see them, don't you?"

"I'd rather see them than talk to Mom and Dad," she said.

Evan nodded, slipping his arm around her and giving her a reassuring little squeeze. "Whatever you want," he told her, leaning in to kiss her temple without breaking his stride. "We can drive back down here tomorrow."

She didn't respond right away, but when he started to pull his arm away from her, she caught his hand and held on. "Evan . . . thanks again," she said, trying to offer him a smile but failing miserably.

He sighed and gave her another squeeze. "I told you, woman. Don't thank me. There's no need."

She didn't look entirely convinced, but she did manage a real smile. It was enough for him.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _If_** **_You're_** **_Gone_** ' _by Matchbox Twenty originally appeared in the May 2000 release, **Mad**_ **_Season_** _, written by Rob Thomas.   Copyright 2000 EMI Blackwood Music_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :
> 
> _V's mama is hot!_


	157. 156: Courage

' _If you want to, I can save you_ …  
' _I can take you away from here_ …  
' _So lonely inside, so busy out there_ …  
' _And all you wanted was somebody who cares, yeah yeah_...'

 

-' _All You Wanted_ ' by Michelle Branch.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"' _My uncle's my paw and my cousin's my maw way down here in Kentucky_. . .  
' _I got my supper from a semi trucker, what hit a deer in Kentucky_ . . .  
' _I got me a truck that useta get stuck till I duct taped 'er up in Kentucky_ . . .  
' _Now I can't drive 'er cuz she ain't got no tires an' she's up on blocks in Kentucky_ . . .  
' _My teacher named Nelle was fat as hell and when it rained she smelled in Kentucky_. . .  
' _Her teeth had gaps, her breath reeked like ass, and she toked on grass in Kentucky_ . . .  
' _The chicks like my twang and my big old thang an' they just wanna bang in Kentucky_ . . .'"

 

 

 

"Okay, Roka," Valerie interrupted, smashing her hand over the plastic guitar he was strumming in time to the demented song he'd been singing for the last ten minutes. "I get it. You've made your point. Very funny. Ha ha."

He shot her an innocent look— _too_ innocent, in her opinion. "You don't like the _Hillbilly Song_?" he asked.

She snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. "That is so _not_ a real song," she argued mildly.

He grinned. "It should be, huh?"

She rolled her eyes. "You should use your powers for good, not evil, you know," she pointed out dryly.

"But evil's a lot more fun," he joked.

Valerie sighed. Day Two of her vigil, watching the trailer where she'd spent the first seven years of her life, and Evan, apparently, was losing his mind.

He'd just gotten back about twenty minutes ago from walking up to the convenience store-slash-gas station where he'd gotten her the terrible coffee yesterday. Today's brew was no better, but it was coffee, at least, and that was something—maybe.

But he'd also found a package of plastic kiddy musical instruments that really weren't instruments, at all. It didn't stop him from trying to play them, though, and while she'd thought that the silly blue plastic guitar was amusing enough when he'd first gotten it out of the package, when he'd decided to compose the absolutely ridiculous _Hillbilly Song,_ her amusement had died quickly enough.

He sighed and dug a Zero bar out of his pocket, stuffing half of it into his mouth after he ripped it open. "Wan' bite?"

She shook her head and wrinkled her nose as she pushed his hand away. "No, thanks," she replied.

He seemed content enough to eat the rest of the candy by himself. At least he'd given up on the outlandish 'western' wear, though he'd shot her a cheeky grin when he'd emerged from his room in a blue plaid flannel shirt earlier. She'd rolled her eyes but figured that it was better than what he'd worn the day before.

Making a face as she lifted the Styrofoam cup of coffee to her lips, she sighed. "This stuff's so bad," she muttered.

"Yeah, and you'd think that you wouldn't be drinking it in that case," he remarked.

"It's coffee," she retorted.

They'd gotten here earlier than they had the day before—in time to watch as her younger brother was picked up for school by a kid in an obnoxiously loud hatchback that didn't look safe in the least. Garret had loped out of the trailer and down the steps as she'd stared in silence. Tall like their father, impossibly skinny, like he'd recently hit a growth spurt and hadn't gained the weight to go along with the height yet, his hair was a little darker than Valerie's, even if the shape of his face, the contour of his lips and eyes were very similar to hers . . .

" _Damn," Evan whistled low as he watched the kid fold himself practically in half as he climbed into the car, "that is one pretty boy_ . . ."

Valerie was inclined to agree, even if she did snort indelicately at Evan's bald assessment.

A few minutes after Garret's departure, Kaci Lea had left, shouldering a faded denim bag that was laden heavily with her school books. She'd trudged alone down the makeshift road that led through the trailer park, head ducked as she read over some pages in a notebook. Studying for a test, maybe? Valerie had smiled as the girl caught the length of her long blonde hair and held it with one hand to keep it from blowing into her face as she walked. It was hard to see that face, unfortunately . . .

Still, by the time the two had gone, Valerie had felt a lot better. There had been so many times over the years that she'd wanted to see both of them. In her estimation, that was the worst part of it all. It was easy for her to tell herself that she didn't care about her parents, but what bothered her the most was the lack of a relationship she had with her siblings. They wouldn't even know her, would they? She sighed.

The rustle of plastic drew her out of her reverie, and she blinked when she glanced over, only to see Evan shove another candy bar into his mouth: a Heath bar this time . . .

"How much candy did you buy?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as he stuffed the wrapper into his pocket again.

"They didn't have any real food," he explained almost guiltily.

She shook her head but refrained from further comment as she turned her attention out the windshield once more. Surely they had to come out of the house at some point, didn't they? She wrinkled her nose. Of course they did, damn it. The trouble was, she had a feeling that she wouldn't be sure exactly what she wanted to do until she saw them—really saw them. Sure, she'd seen her mother the day before, but it was too shocking at the time. It had been more of a jolt to her system after all these years, and she hadn't quite been able to process much of anything in those precious few minutes. This time, she'd be able to figure it out, wouldn't she?

If they came out of the trailer, that was. Ten in the morning, and it was starting to look like a repeat of the day before . . .

A strange sense of jiggling interrupted her thoughts, and she glanced over at Evan again, only to find him scowling at the trailer, too, but his right leg was bouncing up and down fast, as though he couldn't contain his energy and it had to find a way to escape.

She sighed. It figured. She really should have known that he simply wasn't used to sitting still for any real length of time. Was that really surprising, given what he did for a living? He really was trying; she'd have to give him that . . .

" _I can't help it! I get in trouble when I'm bored_ ," he'd said. Of course, it probably didn't help that he was eating yet another candy bar, too . . . He was going to end up so high on sugar that he'd be bouncing all over the place soon enough . . . She grimaced.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _Not bad_ . . .'

Evan's youkai-voice snorted indelicately. ' _Not bad? Keh! Not good, either, if you ask me_.'

' _Which I didn't_ ,' Evan shot back, tilting his head to the side as he considered his handiwork.

' _Face it. We're bored. Bored silly—or_ stupid, _in your case_ . . .'

' _We're fine_ ,' Evan retorted. ' _Besides, I don't think V's ready to do anything but sit here and keep watching that trailer_.'

Evan's cell phone buzzed in his pocket, and he dug it out with a grimace. Mike. He sent it to voicemail and set the device aside.

"Who was—?" Valerie started to ask, only to cut herself off when she turned toward him. "What is that?" she asked, sounding less than impressed when she got a good look at him.

"What's what?" he queried as he grinned at her.

She rolled her eyes and waved a hand at him. "That," she stated once more.

Evan glanced down then met her gaze once more as his grin widened. "What? My boobs?"

She snorted. "They're Sno-balls," she replied flatly.

"Yeah, I know," he said, puffing out his chest to display them proudly. "Small but firm, right?"

"How'd you get them to stick to you?" she couldn't help asking as she continued to eye him.

"Well, the backs are pretty moist," he explained. "I should've bought some jelly beans. Then I could've made nipples, too."

She stared at him for another long moment then grabbed the closest one and bit down. Without a word, she smashed it back onto his chest, face shifting into a grimace as she reached for her coffee once more.

"V!" he complained, frowning down at his chest. "You ate part of my boob! Now I'm all lopsided!"

"Ugh," she groaned, draining the cup in one long gulp. "Those things are gross, Roka."

"I can't believe you ate one of my boobs," he grumbled, pulling the malformed Sno-ball off his chest and stuffing the rest of it into his mouth. "Mmm . . . 'arsh'alloh . . ."

She didn't reply as she dug a disposable toothbrush out of her purse and yanked down the visor so she could use the mirror mounted on it.

He heaved a sigh designed to let her know just what he thought of her ruining the overall effect and made quick work of eating the other snack cake. "My chest's all sticky now," he told her as he tugged the flannel shirt closed and worked the button fastenings.

"You should've thought about that before you decided to stick on your 'boobs'," she pointed out dryly.

He stifled the urge to sigh. "You want another cup of coffee?" he asked, hoping that she did since he'd at least get to stretch his legs, walking down to the gas station again.

"And give you the chance to buy more candy? You'll have to be scraped off the roof as it is. I think I'll pass," she replied.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, sounding more irritated than apologetic. "It's just sitting here, you know? It's so—"

"Don't say it," she cut in before he could get the accursed word out.

He heaved a longsuffering sigh. "Oka-a-a-ay," he drawled in much the same way as a pouting child might.

"Suck it up, Roka," she told him brusquely. "You're fine—just fine—and . . ." Trailing off as a medical supply delivery van rumbled past, she frowned as it pulled to a stop in front of her parents' trailer. "And what's that, do you think . . .?"

Evan sat up a little straighter and cracked his window as though to help him hear what was going on, not that it would help much. Even with his youkai sense of hearing, he was still too far away to hear anything . . .

The man got out of the van with a handheld computer module in his hand, and he paused long enough to punch a few things in on the pad before stuffing the device into a pouch suspended from his belt before yanking open the back doors and reaching for a box inside.

"Oxygen," Evan said after a minute. "That's what it looks like . . ."

Valerie frowned since she couldn't rightfully tell what was in that box. "Are you sure?"

"Looks like," he repeated with a shrug. "The warnings on the box . . ."

She leaned forward slightly to get a better view. Evan dug a pair of binoculars out of his pocket—he'd bought them the last time he'd walked uptown from a small sporting goods store near the gas station—and held them out to her, repressing his rising amusement as he considered just how weird they had to look to someone who was just passing by. She snorted at the binoculars but took them anyway, rotating the small knob that adjusted the zoom of the device.

"I feel like we're on a stakeout," he murmured, glancing at the attorney and tamping down the urge to laugh.

"You're right," she agreed, ignoring his assessment of the situation. "It's just oxygen . . . Why does he need that, though? He's got one of the ones that takes it out of the air, doesn't he?"

Evan shrugged and sat back, satisfied that it wasn't anything more alarming than a couple oxygen tanks. "Those things work at home," he agreed, "but he'd still need tanks sometimes."

She uttered a sound of reluctant agreement, but she didn't lower the binoculars, either.

They watched in silence as the delivery man hurried across the yard with the cumbersome box. Her mother opened the door before he had to knock, and she held it open while he stepped inside to leave the package. A few moments later, she signed for the delivery and handed back the clipboard tablet. The delivery man gave a jaunty wave before hurrying down the steps and back to his truck once more.

It was another reminder, wasn't it? As much as Valerie might like to believe otherwise, her father really was sick. It was now or never, do or die, put up or shut up . . .

So why couldn't she seem to make herself take that step? Why couldn't she just reach for the door handle and step out of the truck . . .? Stifling a sigh, Evan slowly shook his head. He knew why, of course. That was a stupid question. As much as she hated to admit as much, she was afraid, and why not? Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he frowned. If she did manage to confront them, then what? And worse, if they hurt her again? How in the hell was he going to be able to stand back and watch it happen . . .?

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"What time is it?"

Glancing at her watch, Valerie slowly shook her head. "About ten minutes later than the last time you asked," she replied.

Evan sighed and shifted around in his seat. "Sorry," he muttered. "Don't get me wrong here, V, I'm still really touched that you wanted me to come with you, but we're not really going to spend the next five days, sitting here in the truck, are we?"

"You're not being very supportive," she told him, sparing a moment to cock an eyebrow at him.

"I'm being supportive," he argued with a snort. "I'm like the sportsbra of supportive."

She rolled her eyes. "So you ruined a pair of my panties by putting them on the other day, and now you're comparing yourself to a sports bra? Nice, Roka. Really nice."

"I can feel the second verse of the _Hillbilly Song_ coming on," he warned.

"Don't be a jerk," she warned him.

"Well, it's not like the song's about you," he pointed out in what he likely thought was a reasonable tone of voice. "It'd only have been about you if you'd stayed here in Kentucky all your life."

"And I hope they all come after you with their pitchforks in hand," she said.

"We could stay down here," he mused, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "We'd be like Ma and Pa Kettle—of course, we wouldn't really fit in too well, considering we're not inbred . . ."

"Shut up, Roka."

He chuckled. "Did you know, V? Kentucky is the only state in the Union that actually has a question on their marriage license applications as to whether or not you and your intended are first cousins."

"Shut _up_ , Roka."

"Hey, V?"

She sighed. "What?"

". . . Are you and Marvelous first cousins? I mean, it'd explain a lot . . ."

Rubbing her forehead, Valerie sighed again. "And what, exactly, do you think it would explain?"

He was grinning. She knew he was grinning without having to look. "For starters, it'd explain why you're willing to marry someone who's last name sounds like a euphemism for 'man-parts' . . ."

She snorted. "First off, Roka, no, we're not related in any way, shape, or form. Second off, it's not his fault that his last name is Pinkle. It's not like he got to choose, and third off? If you actually called your penis a 'pinkle', then I'd feel sorry for you because it would make it sound like a very, very small 'man-part'."

Evan pressed his lips together as he tried not to burst out laughing. "So . . .?"

"So, what?"

He cleared his throat. "Is it?"

"Is it, what?"

He cleared his throat again. "Is it a very, very small 'man-part'?"

"Jerk," Valerie growled, turning to deal a succession of light slaps to Evan's arm. "You're such a jerk! Why are you such a jerk?"

He was trying not to laugh; she'd give him that. He wasn't doing a very good job, but he was trying. The jerk . . . "I don't know, V. Why were you in my bushes?"

She opened her mouth to growl at him for the perpetual question that he insisted on thinking was the funniest thing in the world. Movement in the yard across the way caught her attention, however, and she sat back suddenly, eyes widening as she stared—as she watched her father step out of the trailer onto the porch, pushing a walker-wheelchair in front of him. A portable oxygen tank was strapped to the seat, and he waited while her mother stepped outside, too. She seemed to be saying something to him, but Valerie couldn't hear the exchange.

She took the walker and carried it down the steps while he followed along behind her, painfully slowly, as far as Valerie could tell, hanging onto the railing as he took each step, one at a time.

Valerie frowned, shaking her head slightly as she watched the two people. That . . . That couldn't be her father, could it? The man looked so frail, so very different from the father she remembered. His face was too gaunt, too haggard . . . such thin shoulders—shoulders that she used to think were as wide as the sky overhead . . . stooped over, as though he couldn't rightfully stand up straight, the thick plaid flannel jacket seemed like it might have fit him well at some point, but it hung off his frame in an almost pitiful way, much like the faded old jeans that had to be held up on his waist with a belt of some sort . . .

The long blonde hair she remembered was gone—buzzed so short that for a moment, she'd thought that maybe he was bald. Once her mother had set the rolling chair on the ground, she ran back up the steps into the trailer, only to reappear a moment later with a gray stocking cap that she pulled down on her husband's head. He must have said something to her, though, because she reluctantly turned and went back inside again.

Her father seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when he was finally left alone. Leaning heavily on the walker-wheelchair, he turned it and headed across the dry grass, and for a moment, Valerie had to wonder just where he was going. Her frown deepened as she watched him as he moved off toward the sports car suspended up on concrete blocks on the side of the trailer.

"He's not well enough to do that," she muttered to herself as she slowly shook her head. "He shouldn't even be outside . . ."

Even as she said that, though, her father unfastened the cord that held a tarp over a rolling tool chest that she hadn't noticed before. Situated between the car and the side of the trailer, it had kind of faded into the background—a good thing, considering it could have very easily been stolen . . .

That done, he popped the hood of the car easily enough and used a cut off two-by-four to prop it open. It started to slip, and Valerie sucked in her breath, but he caught it and managed to adjust the board before the hood slammed closed on his fingers. He fussed with a socket wrench for a moment then leaned over the opening to work. A sudden coughing fit hit him hard, though, and his grip on the tool loosened. It slipped out of his hand, and the muffled curse that followed was audible.

Valerie yanked the door of the truck open and stumbled out onto the dead grass beside the lane, pushing it closed and hurrying around the vehicle, only to stop short when she saw that he'd managed to retrieve the tool and was bent over the opening again. Evan got out of the truck to stand beside her, slipping an arm around her waist as though to offer her a measure of reassurance. She didn't even glance at him, however. Her gaze was fixed on the man's back—on her father.

He moved painfully slowly. A few times, he stopped and flexed his hand, staring down at his fingers as he opened and closed them. She couldn't see his face from where she stood, but she didn't need to. His own lack of mobility was annoying him, wasn't it? Something about it—about his stance, about his demeanor . . . It hurt her to see it, to see him . . . to watch him . . .

Another round of coughing drew him up short, and he fumbled the wrench as he set it down fast. The fit seemed to rattle right through him, and Valerie winced involuntarily as she leaned forward but didn't move her feet.

The depth of his coughing, the harsh rattling in his chest was hard for her to listen to. Even after it had subsided, it took a few minutes for him to catch his breath again.

Was he really her father? Really? This man she barely recognized? Somehow, he'd become an old man, beaten down by the years, by sickness, and by abuse. Did it matter that he'd done it to himself? Valerie winced. Maybe it mattered to some. She wasn't entirely sure that it mattered to her. The bottom line was that seeing him this way was painful—more painful than she'd ever imagined that anything else could possibly be . . .

Evan's arm tightened around her. She'd forgotten that he was standing beside her. She shot him a quick glance, and he smiled just a little, just enough to bolster her waning courage as she slowly turned her attention back to her father once more.

He was leaning over the engine, his arm slowly, methodically moving as he worked the wrench. Swallowing hard to force down the suspect lump that grew larger and larger in her throat, she drew a steadying breath, grasping Evan's coat, her fingers so tight that her knuckles ached. She felt the warmth of Evan's lips on her forehead, and the simplicity of his gesture was enough to help her to relax just a little.

Her father worked in silence for another few minutes, pausing now and then to move the chair beside him so that he could adjust his stance, but another bout of coughing racked through him harder than the others, and with a harsh clatter, the wrench slipped from his hand, clanking loudly as it fell. "Damn it," her father muttered, pushing the chair out of the way as he tried to catch his breath and kneel down at the same time.

Valerie didn't think. Darting away from Evan, across the lane, across the corner of the yard, she retrieved the tool from beneath the car and stood up straight.

"Th-Thank you," he said, his voice taking on a wheezy sort of air as he leaned heavily on the car, his breathing still labored and harsh. "Kind of a cold one for a walk, huh?"

Slowly lifting her gaze, she finally looked him in the eye. It was the hardest thing she'd ever done. She'd run over just because she hadn't been able to stand to watch her father trying to do such a simple thing, and now . . .

He looked confused for several moments. But the confusion dissipated slowly, only to be replaced by a sense of absolute disbelief. Green eyes flaring wide as what color there had been in his face slowly drained away, he looked like he couldn't believe what he saw as he lifted a trembling hand. It hovered in midair, but he didn't touch her. "V-Val . . . Valene . . .?" he whispered.

She swallowed hard, blinked fast, her heart lurching up to lodge in her throat for a dizzying moment before it slammed down somewhere close to her feet. "H-Hi, Daddy," she murmured, unable to control the tremor in her voice. "I . . . I'm home . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _All_** **_You_** **_Wanted_** ' _by_ _Michelle_ _Branch_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2001_ _release_ , **_The_** **_Spirit_** **_Room_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Michelle_ _Branch_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Bishounen …!_


	158. 157: Blown

' _Let your tears touch to the ground_ …  
' _Lay your shattered pieces down_ …  
' _And be amazed by how grace can take a broken girl_ …  
' _And put her back together again_...'

 

-' _Broken Girl_ ' by Matthew West.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"I . . . I can't believe it . . . Is it really you?"

Valerie tried to smile. She wasn't sure if hers worked or not, but he tried, too—a sad sort of smile that seemed all the more sad when she saw the suspect brightness in his eyes. "It's me," she heard herself say. Funny, considering she hadn't actually thought that her voice really would work at the moment . . .

He barked out a terse laugh even as he quickly dashed a hand over his eyes. "You . . . You look good," he said. For a moment, he looked like he might want to hug her, but he stopped himself before he reached for her. She wasn't sure what stopped him. Maybe he thought that she wouldn't want him to . . . "You look so much like your mama . . ." That seemed to remind him that his wife was inside; that she hadn't seen Valerie yet, and he grabbed the wheelchair and tried to hurry back across the yard again. "You—you're not leaving yet, right? I mean, you just got here, and . . . Y-Your mama's inside. Let me go get her . . ."

"I'm not—" she began, only to cut herself off as she remembered suddenly that she'd left Evan standing over by the truck. "I-I'll be right back!"

For a moment, her father looked alarmed, but he caught sight of Evan and must've realized that she wasn't alone. "Okay," he called after her. "Your friend's welcome, too . . ."

She waved a hand and darted back over to Evan once more.

He smiled gently. "How's it going?"

Biting her lip, she glanced back toward the trailer. Her father was pulling the chair up the steps with a little difficulty. "You're coming in with me, aren't you?"

Evan seemed a little surprised by her question. "Do you want me to?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" she scoffed, looking back at her father again, her brows knitting together as she ground her teeth together. She shouldn't have left him alone with the cumbersome chair and oxygen unit . . . "Of course I . . ." Stopping suddenly, she turned back to Evan again. "Will you?"

His smile widened just a little despite the serious glimmer in his eyes. "If you want me to."

She nodded and grabbed his hand, dragging him with her as she hurried back over to help her father as he negotiated the steps. "Here," she said, reaching for the wheelchair. "Let me help you . . ."

For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue with her. Finally he nodded, his gaze lingering on Valerie's face before casting Evan a curious glance. Then he stepped up onto the porch and shuffled over to the door. "Ronnie," he called as he pushed the door open. "Ronnie, you'll never guess who's here!"

Valerie stepped inside behind him as a wave of trepidation slammed down on her. She heard her mother before she saw her. Footsteps hurrying down the hallway that led to the bedrooms announced her mother's arrival before she could actually see her. Her father stepped forward as Rhonda Duyer rounded the corner with a stack of towels still in her arms. "Give me a heart attack, Jack," she complained. "What on earth are you yelling about?"

"Look," he said, gesturing at Valerie as he moved aside. "Look who I found outside."

Her mother cast her husband a questioning sort of glance before shifting her gaze to the side, but when she did, she stopped dead, eyes widening as she opened and closed her mouth a few times. The stack of towels fell to the floor unnoticed, and for a moment, Valerie thought that her mother just might faint. "V-Va-Valene?" she whispered, her hand fluttering over her chest—over her heart. She uttered a choked sort of sound and covered her mouth with her hands for a moment. " _Valene . . .?_ "

She couldn't speak. She couldn't get past the lump in her throat, couldn't help the greedy way her eyes roved over her mother's face, as though she had to take in every detail, every nuance . . . Maybe somewhere deep down, she feared that her mother would somehow dissolve before her eyes like a dream or a fairy tale that would disappear in the blink of an eye. A hundred butterflies broke loose in her stomach, making her feel giddy, weak, and just a little afraid . . . That strange sense of panic was back in spades—the one that she'd felt as she stared out of the window of the squad car as it took her away . . .

The gentle pressure of a hand on the small of her back made her blink, yanked her out of her unsettling thoughts, bolstering her resolve with the gentle reminder that she wasn't alone. Evan's inner warmth seemed to wrap around her, gave her the reassurance that she so desperately needed.

"Valene," her mother said, taking the few steps that separated them, holding her arms out. She hesitated for just a moment, and suddenly, she was in her mother's arms, being hugged so tightly that she had to gasp for breath. Tears, so many tears, and Valerie didn't know if they were Rhonda's or her own. Maybe . . . Maybe they were both . . .

"Oh, my God!" Rhonda gushed at last, stepping back and grasping Valerie's hands in hers as she smiled through her tears, uttering a weak laugh that seemed heartfelt, all the same. "Look at you! Just look at you! You're just beautiful! Jack? Isn't she just beautiful?"

"Yeah, she is," he agreed with a smile. Valerie peered over her mother's head, but her smile dissipated quickly. He was exhausted; she could see it in his face. Leaning heavily on the wall, he was trying not to show just how tired he really was. Valerie pulled her hands away gently and stepped over to him.

"You look like you need to sit down," she said quietly, slipping her hand under his elbow to help him.

For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue with her. Maybe he was too exhausted to do that, though, because in the end, he waved a hand at the beat-up old recliner across the room.

He let her help him over to the chair then allowed Rhonda to pull off his jacket before he sank down with a sigh. Rhonda tossed the jacket into the sofa before unhooking the oxygen tube from the tank and attaching it quickly to the larger floor unit beside the chair. Then she shook open an old quilt that was threadbare in some places and covered Jack's legs. "You want something to drink?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at Valerie. "I just made some iced tea . . ."

"That'd be good, Mama," Jack said, kicking his feet to adjust the blanket. "Do you still have some of those cookies left or did your boy eat them all?"

Rhonda retrieved the jacket and hurried over to hang it up. "There are some left. I'll get them in a minute," she offered, her gaze searching out Valerie once more, the smile on her face trembling but bright.

"Uh, n-no," Valerie blurted, cheeks pinking at the perceived notion that she was somehow being a burden. "We're fine . . . Oh!" she exclaimed softly, hurrying back over to Evan, who was still standing back, just inside the door. "This is my friend, Evan. Evan, these are my . . ." she swallowed hard. "My parents, Jack and Rhonda."

"Pleased to meet you," he said, shaking Rhonda's hand warmly then striding across the room to repeat the gesture with her father.

Jack stared at Evan for a long moment, as though he were trying to size Evan up. In the end, though, he nodded once. "A friend of Valene's? That right?"

"I'll go get that iced tea," Rhonda said as she turned to head toward the kitchen.

Valerie followed her.

"Do you want sugar? Cream?"

Valerie blinked and shook her head. "Really, it's okay," she assured her. "I don't need anything."

Rhonda fluttered a hand, as though to dismiss Valerie's concerns. "Your father likes two sugars and a little cream . . . I know, that sounds a little weird, doesn't it? I told him that before, but that's how he likes it . . . It's how your grandfather, Bucky always liked his iced tea, too . . ." Trailing off for a moment, Rhonda seemed to turn a little thoughtful, pausing for a moment when she reached for a glass in the cupboard. "You don't remember him, do you? Grandpa Bucky?" She sighed and shook her head, her shoulders slumping just a little. "Of course you don't. He, uh . . . He and your father didn't talk for a while when we got married. He was so mad at your daddy for getting me pregnant . . ."

Valerie frowned. No, she didn't remember him at all. Angry at her father for having gotten her mother pregnant . . .? She supposed that she could understand that, too . . . "Um, I don't need any sugar," she said quietly.

Rhonda smiled at her before nodding. "And your friend? Evan?"

"Oh, he . . . He'd probably like sugar, too," she said. For some reason, it bothered her . . . watching her mother, pouring iced tea into mismatched glasses—some of them with cut patterns around the bases—patterns that were tinged yellow in the deepest cracks from age or hard well water or both . . .

But Rhonda seemed happy enough as she pulled a plastic container out of another cupboard. She pulled the lid off and stared at it for a moment before she bustled over to retrieve a faded but pretty china platter off of a high shelf on which to arrange the cookies. "They're not fancy," Rhonda said in a quietly apologetic tone, "but they're your daddy's favorites . . ."

"How sick is he?" she heard herself asking. She could have kicked herself when her mother's smile faltered. She did her best to recover quickly enough, but not before Valerie had seen the upset that her question had inspired.

Rhonda let a little sigh slip but smiled wanly. "Oh, you know . . . He has some bad spells, but he's doing as well as can be expected."

For some reason, Valerie had the distinct feeling that she was lying. Well, maybe not lying, exactly, but certainly downplaying the seriousness of the situation. "How often does he have to go in for dialysis?"

Her mother stopped what she was doing long enough to cast Valerie a worried sort of glance, kind of like that of a deer caught in the headlights. "Usually only a couple times a week," she admitted. "Last week, he had to go in an extra time. He had an infection, so his kidneys needed some extra help."

Valerie nodded slowly. Her mother was downplaying the situation; that much was clear, and while she could understand why, she couldn't help the spark of irritation that rose inside her, either. After all, she wasn't a child who needed to be protected anymore. "What did his doctor say?"

"Oh, the usual," Rhonda insisted, again trying to hide her concern behind a facade of nonchalance. "But he did say the last time that he went in that your father's doing real good . . . real good."

Rubbing her forearms, Valerie shifted her gaze around the small kitchen. Small pots of what looked to be herbs were arranged on the counter under a light that had been mounted to the underside of the cabinets. An old Formica-topped table took up most of the space in the already cramped room with four metal chairs pushed up neatly as far as they could go. In the center of the table was a red pillar candle surrounded by white and red plastic vines with glittery red hearts sticking out here and there like flowers. The refrigerator was clean but had a few rusty spots here and there where moisture had gathered on the surface, and it struck her, just how familiar the kitchen was even if she hadn't been in it in such a long time.

From the living room, she could hear the muffled rumble of male voices. She couldn't make out what they were talking about, but that was all right. Turning to look at the arrangement of pictures on the wall, Valerie bit her lip. All kinds of pictures arranged in cheap frames—most of them were of her brother and sister though there were a few of her parents, too—hung close together like an impromptu collage . . . She smiled wanly at the five-by-seven picture of her brother in the early years of grade school, smiling proudly, showing off the nice gap where one of his front teeth had been . . .

"I always thought it was funny, how Kaci Lea looked just like you when you were little," her mother went on in a completely conversational tone of voice. "Her hair's a touch darker than yours, but she's the spitting image of you . . ." Trailing off, she gave an almost nervous kind of laugh. "Well, she's a little shorter than you. Guess you got your daddy's height."

"Y-Yeah," she said, unable to shake the slight daze that seemed to encompass her. Reaching out to help her mother arrange the cookies on the plate she'd set out, Valerie smiled just a little.

Rhonda seemed surprised but didn't wave her off.   "A big city attorney," she said, her voice punctuated by a quiet sense of undeniable pride. "Who would have thought that?" She laughed softly. "We've read about you in the papers some. All those big name clients? It's really something, Valene—Oh . . ." Her faltering smile widened by degrees. "It's 'Valerie' now, right?" Suddenly, she laughed, as though someone had told her a joke or something. "I wanted to name you 'Arlene' when you were born, but your daddy wanted to name you 'Valerie'. Got into a few fights over that. We almost didn't get married because we couldn't agree on it. So my mama suggested that we compromise, and we both thought 'Valene' was pretty . . ."

Valerie blinked and stared at her mother. She'd never heard that story before. Somehow, it touched her, even if she wasn't entirely ready to let down her defenses entirely, and she couldn't help but feel a little bad for having changed her name all those years ago. "I didn't know that," she said softly, almost apologetically.

Her mother laughed and waved a hand in dismissal. "Valerie suits you," she decided. "Besides, changing your name doesn't really change who you are, huh?"

Valerie's smile faltered then faded. That's exactly what she'd tried to do, wasn't it? To change who she really was and to erase the ugliness she felt deep down when she thought about herself, about her past . . . But her mother didn't see the expression on her face, and that was probably for the best, too.

Rhonda pulled a wooden tray out from under the sink and set the glasses on it along with the plate of cookies, and she smiled again as she leaned toward Valerie. "But that boyfriend of yours? He's a real looker," she said, lowering her voice like she was telling Valerie a secret.

Valerie opened and closed her mouth a couple times as a flood of heat washed into her cheeks. "He-He-He's not," she blurted, glancing at Evan to make sure that he hadn't overheard her mother as they stepped back into the living room again. He didn't seem to have heard a thing, much to Valerie's relief. "I mean, we're just friends."

Her mother's smile seemed almost knowing, didn't it? Or maybe Valerie was just reading things into it . . . Her gaze shifted to Evan once more then back to meet Valerie's.

"Evan, here, says that you're going to be around till Saturday? Is that right?" her father asked before her mother could say anything else on the subject of Evan Zelig.

"Oh, uh, y-yeah," Valerie said, clearing her throat as she reached for a glass of tea and handed it to Evan.

"Thanks," he said with a little wink. She didn't miss the trace hint of worry in his gaze, either, and she smiled to reassure him. It did the trick, at least, somewhat, because his grin widened as he took the glass from her.

"That's nice; that's nice," Jack said, the hint of anxiety that had tinged his voice dissipating quickly enough. "Mama, you can take the time off, right?"

Rhonda paused for just a moment as she slipped the tray onto the table beside Jack's chair. "I don't know. We're pretty short-staffed as it is . . . I don't know that they'd let me switch . . ."

"It's okay if you have to work," Valerie hurried to say. "I mean, you weren't expecting me, and—"

Jack flicked a hand to cut her off. "Don't be ridiculous, Valene. It's not every day you come around! The home can do without your mama for a few days, I say."

"I can try," Rhonda said though her tone bespoke her doubts that she could actually get the time off. Or maybe she was more worried about the loss of a few days' income, especially when there were still bills to pay. Valerie had read in the file that her mother was working a couple jobs, but her full-time one was working at the local nursing home, third shift in housekeeping. Aside from that, she did a few odd jobs during the week, too, working from home, addressing and sending sale fliers from a few local businesses, and twice a week, she cleaned the houses of a couple more affluent residents of Durkes, but the job at the nursing home paid the most, and while Valerie knew that Jack meant well, she could understand her mother's very real concerns, too.

"It's okay, really," Valerie insisted.

Jack ignored her. "Why don't you call Jo Beth? See if she'll work your shift for you or something?"

Rhonda shot Valerie a nervous kind of look. She was worried that she was going to offend Valerie, wasn't she? "Well, I could," she reluctantly agreed. "I think she's off, so she might."

Jack snorted. "You've gone in for her a few times," he pointed out in a wheezing grumble. "She can do it up for you a time or two."

"If you can't, it's okay," Valerie stated once more. "It's fine, really."

Her mother didn't look entirely reassured, but she did smile as she handed Jack a glass of iced tea. "I'll go give Jo Beth a call," she said. "I'll be right back."

Valerie bit her lip as she watched Rhonda hurry back toward the kitchen again, but she was jarred out of her musings when another bout of coughing drew her attention. The rattle was awful, sounding like it came from somewhere deep, deep within Jack's chest. She winced and grabbed a couple tissues out of the box on the table. "Here," she said, gently pushing them into his hand as she retrieved the glass of tea before he dropped it. "You should spit that stuff out, shouldn't you?"

He managed to hold the tissues against his mouth, and Valerie ground her teeth together as he hacked up some phlegm. Mercifully, though, the coughing fit passed, and Jack leaned back heavily in the chair, closing his eyes for a moment as he let the soiled tissues fall into the small metal garbage can beside his chair. "Sorry 'bout that," he muttered after he'd finally caught his breath. "Damn cough's gonna kill me."

Valerie grimaced at her father's attempt to make a joke. "Daddy . . ."

"You didn't come here to feel sorry for your old man, did you, little girl?" Jack asked lightly despite the hint of a scowl on his face when he finally opened his eyes again.

"Uh . . . n-no," she said, unable to bring herself to voice any of the questions that had spun around in her head for so long. Something about seeing her father looking so weak, so frail . . .

Jack reached for the glass of tea again. Valerie hurriedly slipped it into his hand, but she had to hold herself in check when he slowly lifted it to his mouth. She wanted to help him. Too bad she didn't think he'd let her do that . . .

After a long sip of tea, he smiled, letting the glass rest on the arm of the chair. "You turned out good," he said, staring at Valerie as his smile took on a bittersweet tilt. "You turned out real good." Gaze shifting over to Evan for a moment, his grin widened. "Real pretty, huh? Like her mama—just like her mama."

Evan chuckled and winked at Valerie. "Yeah, she is," he agreed quickly enough. "You're right. She does look like her mama."

Jack seemed pleased by Evan's statement, even as Valerie had to fight back a livid blush. "You're kind of skinny, little girl," he stated as his gaze narrowed critically. "Don't they feed you in that big city?"

"I eat," she murmured.

Jack snorted like he didn't really believe her. "Yeah, you get a few good, home cooked meals here," he went on. "We'll put a little meat on your bones."

"I don't—"

"Garret hit a possum the other night," he remarked. "I think Mama's still got some in the 'fridge."

Valerie blinked. Evan choked a little then coughed.

Jack broke out in a wheezy laugh. "Kidding," he insisted, taking another drink of his iced tea. "We're not _that_ sticks—not yet, anyway."

Evan chuckled. "A deer would feed you longer," he added.

Jack's grin widened as he rumbled out another laugh. "I like you," he decided with a nod of approval as he looked at Evan. "I'll have to tell Garret to aim for one of those the next time he's out."

"Twisted," Valerie muttered under her breath.

"See, V? Your dad's got it right. Why pay for food when you can just run it down in your car?" Evan teased.

Valerie rolled her eyes. "Really, really twisted."

Jack grinned. "V? That what the boys are calling you these days?" Scratching his chin, he thought that over. "V," he mused again. "I like that."

"Only that one," Valerie stated, jerking her head toward Evan, "and he doesn't count."

"Jo Beth couldn't trade with me," Rhonda said as she hurried back into the room. "But I called Wendy, and she said that she'd trade me shifts, so I've got to go in tonight, but I'll be off Thursday and Friday."

"Good," Jack said. "What do you think, Mama? Need to put a few pounds on our girl, here, don't you think?"

Rhonda laughed softly as she picked up the plate to offer cookies to everyone. "I think she looks just fine," she insisted. "Better than 'fine', if you ask me."

Jack sighed, but his smile didn't disappear. "She does, don't she?"

"I still can't believe it," Rhonda murmured, her eyes glossing over with tears once more. "Makes the place really feel like home, don't you think?"

Jack nodded and set the glass on the table before reaching for his wife's hand. "It does, Mama. It sure does."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Broken_** **_Girl_** ' _by_ _Matthew_ _West_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2010_ _release_ , **_The_** **_Story_** **_of_** **_Your_** **_Life_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Matthew_ _West_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Jack_** :  
>  _V, huh …?_


	159. 158: Dubious

' _Tell me why you have to go and make things so complicated_ …?  
' _I see the way you're acting like you're somebody else gets me frustrated_ …  
' _And life's like this: you—you fall and you crawl and you break and you take what you get_ …  
' _And you turn it into_ …  
' _Honestly you promised me I'm never gonna find you fake it_ …  
' _No,no, no_...'

 

-' _Complicated_ ' by Avril Lavigne.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Are you sure that this is necessary?"

Valerie shot him a dour look but didn't break her stride as they moved toward the produce section of the grocery store. "They don't have that much money," she stated in a tone that indicated that Evan ought to know as much already. "Feeding _you_ would break them, for sure."

"That's so mean," he grumbled despite the grin on his face as she stopped to eyeball the potatoes.

"Oh? So you don't eat like a horse?" she challenged mildly.

He snorted. "Keh! I don't eat like a—Oh, all right, so I _do_ tend to eat a lot . . ."

She rolled her eyes and started to move but stopped suddenly and whipped around to poke him in the chest. "And while we're at it, you, no more hillbilly jokes, either. Got it?"

He opened and closed his mouth a couple times then chuckled. "Your daddy made that one, if you'll recall."

She wrinkled her nose. "But you laughed—and then you added to it."

"I didn't laugh," he reminded her. "Well, I _tried_ not to, remember?"

"You didn't try very hard," she countered mildly as she turned her attention to the row of fresh lettuces. "And I _don't_ need to be 'fattened up'."

He chuckled. "Give it up, woman. You really could stand to gain a couple."

"Well, good, then," she tossed back, completely unfazed. "If you think that, then you can stop hitting on me every chance you get, too."

"No way," he insisted, reaching for a couple bell peppers, "you're still way too hot not to hit on." She snorted but didn't respond. "Speaking of 'hot'," he went on casually, "your mom's pretty damn hot, isn't she?"

"That might work," she remarked at length, " _if_ she weren't happily married—and if I thought for even a moment that you were being serious. Too bad I know damn well that you're not."

"Who says I'm not?" he scoffed airily, reaching over her to grab an English cucumber. "I'm totally serious! Dead serious! So serious, I'm—" His cell phone cut him off, and he dug into his pocket to retrieve the device.   "Yeah?" he said in lieu of a greeting.

Taking the cucumber out of his slack hand as he scowled at whatever the person on the other end of the call was saying, Valerie stuck it into the cart and turned her attention to the fresh herbs.

Okay, so it was a bit of a stretch, wasn't it? She hadn't decided to go to the grocery store just to buy food to supplement the dinner that her mother was making at the moment—well, not entirely, anyway. True, Evan did eat a lot, and she did think that they should help out a little on that front, but . . .

But the truth was that maybe a part of her really needed a few minutes to process everything. It was so much— _too_ much—and she needed to catch her breath, so to speak. They were so happy to see her, weren't they? She wasn't sure why that surprised her, but it did. She supposed that she hadn't actually considered that they would be, likely because she wasn't looking forward to it herself. Still, the warmth of their welcome was genuine—she knew it was. She just wasn't sure exactly how she felt about any of it . . .

Well, that wasn't entirely true. She wanted to be happy about it all, didn't she? A part of her . . . a part of her had been thrilled, even if she had felt as though she was betraying another part of herself, too. But that wasn't it, not really. She still wanted answers that only they could give her. So why couldn't she bring herself to ask? Why did she hate the idea of saying anything that would take the smiles off their faces . . .? And no matter how many times she'd thought before that she deserved those answers—that she was justified in wanting to know why they hadn't bothered to try to get her back—if she made demands, those smiles would disappear, wouldn't they . . .?

' _Face it, Valerie. It's not like getting your answers would change a thing; not really, and even if it would, is it really worth it? That warmth you felt when your mother hugged you . . . Can't you just forgive them? They were young; you've said that yourself. They made mistakes. So did you when you were a teenager, remember? The only difference is that you weren't unfortunate enough to end up pregnant from yours_.'

Flinching inwardly at the deadly accuracy of those words, Valerie bit down on her cheek—hard. Was that really all there was? Some unlucky twist of fate? Some people came out ahead while others were dealt a crappy hand . . .? And if that really were the case—if she ought to forgive them for their mistakes in the past—then did it negate the years of her life when she'd wanted nothing more than to go home . . .?

Or . . .

"Hell, no," Evan growled, looking more irritated than she'd seen him in quite a while. "Tell 'em to quit shoving crap up their asses and shitting it out of their mouths. I don't give a great goddamn."

A woman nearby with a young child sitting in the cart uttered an incensed sound and hurried past them, glowering at Evan as she moved away while the youngster stared, wide-eyed at him.

Valerie shook her head, knowing well enough that pointing out that the folks around here weren't quite as forgiving with the foul language that he was so used to using just wasn't going to make much of a difference to Evan, she sighed.

"Forget it," he went on in a 'don't argue with me' kind of tone. "Just take care of it."

"Something wrong?" she asked in what she hoped was a casual tone as he ended the call and dropped the cell phone into his pocket once more.

Rubbing his forehead, it took a moment for him to get a grip on his very obvious irritation. "Stupid shit," he replied with an offhanded shrug. "Nothing for you to worry your gorgeous little head about."

"It didn't sound like 'nothing'," she pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest as she turned to level a no-bullshit look at him. "It was Mike, right?"

The glance he shot her was definitely surprised, almost a little guilty, but he masked it quickly enough behind a careless shrug and an exaggerated, momentary frown. "Yeah, but you know how he is."

He was trying to downplay whatever Mike had said to him on the phone, and she knew it. Reaching out to catch one of the lemons he was currently juggling, Valerie slowly shook her head and pinned him with a very serious stare. "You're lying to me."

He neither confirmed nor denied it, but he did smile that cocky little half-grin as he caught the last lemon in the air and set them back on the angled shelf.

"You've come all the way here with me," she pointed out reasonably. "Dropped everything to do it, right? If you have something to say, then I want to hear it. Please."

For a moment, she thought that he was going to ignore her again. He must have thought better of that, though, because he shot her a sheepish kind of smile and shrugged offhandedly. "Mikey said that they're asking me to appear at the Grammys." He laughed suddenly, but it sounded forced, almost weak. "Told you it wasn't a big thing."

She frowned. "The Grammys? But aren't those next week? You're telling me they don't already have all that stuff set up?"

He rolled his eyes. "Ordinarily, sure," he agreed, grabbing the cart and pushing it down the aisle. "Guess they're banking on ' _Piece of You_ ' winning fucking song of the year. That's a riot, right? Song of the year? Huge joke, huh?"

Inwardly, Valerie grimaced, knowing damn well just how touchy Evan tended to be about that particular song. He hadn't bothered to tell her about the nomination, either, which hadn't really surprised her in retrospect. He wasn't trying to keep it from her. He simply didn't care enough to bother to make a comment on it, in the first place. Maybe it was his own way of trying to keep things in perspective, and she figured that was all right, too.

"I get why you're saying that," she agreed slowly. "That song wasn't meant to be a single, and it still pisses me off that Wicked Soundsations screwed you on that front. However, your personal feelings aside for just a moment," she said, tilting her head as she stared at the rockstar, "I have to say objectively that it does deserve to win. It's a fantastic song."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't change the fact that I have no fucking interest in appearing at the Grammys."

Breaking into a wan smile, Valerie shrugged. "No, I didn't figure that it did," she allowed.

"Anyway, enough about that," he insisted with a flick of his hand. "We'd better get a move on before your parents think we jumped state or something."

The blatant reminder was enough to startle her out of her musings, and Valerie nodded. Evan glanced at her then smiled, slipping an arm around her waist to pull her against him and planting a reassuring kiss on her forehead. "I figured they'd be thrilled to see you again."

Valerie rolled her eyes and shoved him away playfully even as a wan little smile tugged at her lips. "They were, weren't they?" she asked rather sheepishly.

Evan chuckled and headed toward the meat department.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"So, uh . . . Are you an attorney, too?"

Evan blinked and stared at Valerie's father for several long moments, trying to decide whether or not the man was being serious. He seemed to be, but . . . really? Did he really look like an attorney? For some reason, that idea amused the hell out of him, mostly because he knew it'd irk the same hell out of Valerie . . .

"An attorney? Me?" He chuckled. "No."

Jack seemed to relax a little as he reached up to adjust the oxygen line under his nose. "Always wondered how it was that my girl could grow up to be one of those," he admitted with a sheepish little grin. "Smart . . . always been smart . . ."

Evan nodded as he leaned forward. "Yeah, she is—a little too smart sometimes."

That statement amused Jack. "How do you know her?"

Breaking into a little grin, Evan laughed softly. "Everyone needs a good attorney every now and then, don't they?"

Scratching his chin, Jack nodded slowly. "I suppose they do," he allowed at length. "But Valene . . . she works for famous folk, doesn't she? That's what the papers said."

Evan blinked. "Papers?"

"Yeah. There was an article in one of them a while back. Showed Valene—uh, _Valerie_ —with that rock star—Zel Roka." Jack suddenly laughed, but the laugh morphed into a small bout of coughing. Evan started to rise to do something—anything—to help, but it subsided quickly enough, and he sat back down again. "That boy can play, I tell you," Jack went on after a few wheezing breaths. "My son's got a video, you know? We watch it sometimes, and I tell you, he's right up there with the best of 'em. Some of those guys just hold a guitar and strum it now and then because they think it looks good, but that one? Zel Roka? He's a player before he's a damn singer."

Evan didn't reply right away. He wasn't sure how to. Sure, the man had no idea that he was talking to Zel Roka, but that didn't matter. From one musician to another, it was about the highest of compliments that he could have ever gotten . . .

"My boy wants to be just like him. He's not bad—damn good for his age," Jack went on though his voice was growing a little thinner, a little weaker. "He could make it as long as he don't follow my example, anyway . . . I don't suppose you've ever listened to him, have you? Roka, I mean . . ." Jack laughed suddenly and waved his free hand. "Never mind. You don't really seem the type."

"I'm familiar with his music," Evan replied.

Jack blinked, looking rather taken aback. "You are?"

Shrugging offhandedly, Evan chuckled. "Isn't everyone these days?"

Jack considered that then nodded slowly. "I suppose."

"V said that you play," Evan remarked.

Jack grimaced, his hand trembling slightly as he lifted the glass of iced tea to his lips. "Used to," he said, his cheeks pinking just a little. "I think I was better in my head than I really was, though."

"She said you were in a band, too."

Jack sighed. "A few of 'em over the years," he admitted, his eyes taking on a glazed over kind of expression, as though he was looking back over time. "We were just messing around between shifts at work and on the weekends."

The expression on his face gave Evan pause. He'd seen that look before on different people at different times. It was regret, wasn't it? Regret for things that had never come to pass, he supposed . . . It made sense, of course. Valerie's father had wanted to make it big, hadn't he? But he hadn't done it, and whether it was because of bad timing or if he'd given up, what did it matter when the end result was the same?

"Eh, it's all right, though, if you ask me," Jack when on when Evan remained silent. "The way I was back then . . . probably woulda ruined my life even more than I did without the fame." Letting out a deep sigh, he slowly shook his head, unable to meet Evan's gaze as he scowled thoughtfully at the floor. "I, uh . . . I guess Valene—err, you call her 'V', right . . .? I guess she told you . . . I wasn't the best dad to her. Hell, I wasn't even a half-assed one . . ."

Evan didn't respond right away. There really wasn't much he could say, considering. Jack Duyer hadn't been much of a father, and while Evan could appreciate that people made mistakes, glossing over the things that had happened to Valerie as a child was a little more than he could do.

Jack seemed to understand that, though, and he sighed. "You two seem like a good couple," he muttered after a moment of uncomfortable silence. Then he chuckled. "Must be pretty serious if you came all the way out here with her."

A voice in the back of his head told him that he ought to tell her father that they were just friends. Unfortunately, that voice was pretty easy to ignore, too. "You think so?" he quipped, breaking into a little grin.

"You two, uh . . . serious?" Jack asked a little too casually.

Evan shrugged. "Well, she tells me I am not nearly serious enough for her at times," he confessed, trying to evade the question.

Jack chuckled. "Ronnie does that, too," he admitted. "Hell . . . sometimes you've gotta make jokes or you go crazy, right?"

"Sounds about right," Evan agreed.

The front door opened, and the kid Evan recognized as Valerie's younger brother stepped into the house. He stopped short, green eyes flaring wide when he spotted Evan sitting on the sofa, and he stared at him for a long moment. "Hey, Dad . . . there's a strange guy sitting in the living room," he pointed out rather dryly.

Jack chuckled. "Garret, this is Evan. He's here with your sister, Valene—Valerie."

The curiosity in Garret's eyes shifted into an expression of mild shock, or maybe it was disbelief. "V-Val . . .? She's here . . .?"

"H-Hi," Valerie drawled as she bit her lip and tried not to look nervous. She'd come out of the kitchen, and she clasped her hands in front of her as she gazed nervously at her brother.

Garret blinked and turned, only to stare at Valerie for a long moment. Then he chuckled. "You . . . You don't look like I remember," he said with a shake of his head.

Valerie stared at him for a long moment then broke into a somewhat nervous little smile. "Yeah, well, you don't, either."

Garret considered that then shot her a bashful grin. "I suppose," he allowed, his smile widening by degrees. It struck Evan once more, just how 'pretty' Valerie's kid brother really was. With Valerie's gorgeous blonde hair and those bright green eyes of his, it was almost too much to see the thick fringe of sooty eyelashes. Add all that to the fine bone structure, the straight yet narrow nose, the full lips, and yeah, he looked like he should have been her kid sister, but somehow, the message was lost somewhere in translation . . .

"You're a lot taller than I remember," Valerie joked, striving for a normal kind of tone and almost succeeding.

"You're a lot prettier," he replied, then grimaced a moment too late. "I-I mean, you were pretty back then—" Cutting himself off abruptly, the kid seemed visibly shaken, then he grimaced almost apologetically. "I can kind of remember you," he muttered, cheeks pinking as he jammed his hands into his pockets and scrunched up his shoulders. "A-A little, anyway."

For a painful moment, no one said anything. After all, what was there that could be stated without causing unnecessary damage in the process? It was Jack who finally broke the stilted silence with a soft, albeit, weary, sigh.   "I'm sor—"

The front door opened, interrupting Jack's apology, which was just as well, as far as Evan could tell. Valerie didn't look like she knew quite what to do with that yet. Besides, that was definitely something that Valerie and her parents ought to talk about alone . . .

"Hey, Daddy, is it okay if I go to the library for a while? I have to do a report for English, and . . ."

The girl who breezed through the doorway slowed, then stopped as she glanced around at the unfamiliar faces invading her home. Brown eyes curious as they flitted over Evan, her expression seemed to darken just a little when she finally spotted Valerie.

"Do that tomorrow, Kaci," Jack insisted, waving a hand in Valerie's direction. "Your sister's come home! You should stay here."

Evan wasn't entirely surprised to see the momentary flicker of a scowl cross the girl's features, but she covered it up quickly enough, pasting on a wan little smile instead. "I've really got to get some books for my report," she hedged, stubbornly refusing to look at Valerie again.

"Can't you check out some books at the school library tomorrow?" Rhonda asked, wiping her hands on a bleached dish towel. "It's not every day your sister comes to visit! She came all the way from New York City, and—"

"And the report's due by the end of the week for a third of my grade," Kaci cut in calmly enough despite the irritation that seemed to swirl around her.

"Still—"

"I thought you wanted me to graduate and go to college and all that," she went on, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Of course we do," Rhonda insisted. "It's just that—"

"I'll be back by dinner time," Kaci replied.

"Stop interrupting your mama," Jack said, sounding even more exhausted than he had yet.

"Sorry, Mama," Kaci responded in an automatic kind of tone.

Rhonda looked like she wanted to say something. Valerie was faster, smiling brightly as she turned to look at her mother. "It's okay," she hurried to say. "I don't really expect you guys to change your plans on my account. Besides, it sounds like Kaci's report is important." That bright smile faltered as Valerie's gaze shifted to her sister, but only for a moment before she managed to right it again. "English, right? What's the subject of your report? Maybe I could help you . . .?"

"It's fine," Kaci insisted tightly. "It's not about law or anything. I'll be home later," she called, whirling around to make for the door again.

"Kaci!" Rhonda called after her, only to be answered by the sound of the closing door. Then she sighed and offered Valerie an apologetic little smile. "Sorry about that," she said quietly. "She's getting to be that age, I guess."

Valerie didn't comment on that, but she did nod. "Dinner is starting to smell good," she ventured, turning away from the living room. "Why don't you let me help with something?"

Garret slowly turned to look at Evan again. "Don't worry about her," he muttered with a shrug as he dropped his knapsack on the floor and plopped down on the edge of a nearby easy-chair. "Maybe she's PMS-ing or something."

Jack grunted. "Don't talk about the womenfolk that way, boy," he corrected.

Garret wrinkled his nose. "You said that before about my sixth grade history teacher," he pointed out.

"That's different," Jack replied evenly.

"How's that?"

Jack shrugged. "Because she was."

Evan chuckled and sat back. He had to admit, he rather liked Valerie's family. He hadn't forgotten what they'd done to Valerie before. He doubted that he ever would. Still, it wasn't his place to hold onto a grudge, especially when he knew deep down that he wanted Valerie to be able to let go of her own feelings—the ones that made it impossible for her to move on. That didn't mean that the people her parents were now were the same as they had been years ago. He knew from his own family that people were quite capable of making terrible mistakes. It was part of life, wasn't it? As long as they didn't hurt her again, because if they did . . .

"You know, what you said earlier about playing?" Jack went on after a fortifying drink of iced tea. "That boy, there . . . Now, he's pretty damn good . . ."

Evan nodded and shifted his gaze to the side, only to stop and blink when the kid in question quickly looked away. "You play guitar?" Evan asked, ignoring Garret's somewhat odd behavior.

He lifted his chin long enough to blush slightly as he gave one jerky nod. "Wh . . .? Uh, y-yeah," he stammered before ducking his head once more. "A little . . ."

Jack grunted. "A little," he scoffed. "Don't let him fool you. He's a natural. Listen to something once, and he can play it damn near perfectly."

"I-I'm not that good," Garret muttered, his already pink cheeks pinking even more.

"Don't let him kid you," Jack went on, unmistakable pride thick in his voice. Suddenly, though, he frowned. "You gotta work tonight, boy?"

That question drew a sigh from his son, and Garret nodded. "Yeah," he allowed. "I'd call off, but a couple guys said they were gonna."

"What're they all skipping work for?"

Garret shrugged. "They got tickets for that Dovermyer concert tonight," he explained.

Jack digested that in silence, then finally nodded as he watched Garret push himself to his feet and pick up his back pack to take it to his room. He paused at the entrance of the hallway and stared at Evan for a long moment, though Evan didn't look to confirm it.

"He wanted to go to that show," Jack mumbled after Garret had finally continued on his way once more. "Had enough money for a ticket, but he's saving up to get a new guitar, he says. He's got my old one, but hell, that thing's been through hell and back . . ."

Evan chuckled. "I'd like to hear you both play sometime," he remarked.

Jack's smile dimmed then faded as he lifted his hands slightly and frowned at his fingers. "Been a while since I've played at all," he admitted with a sigh. "Not sure I can even do it anymore."

Evan flicked a wrist dismissively. "Eh, it's just like riding a bike, isn't it? You never really forget how to do it."

Jack considered that for a moment then nodded. "Maybe that's right," he said at length, flexing his fingers slowly. "Maybe that's right . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Complicated_** ' _by_ _Avril_ _Lavigne_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2002_ _release_ , **_Let_** **_Go_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Avril_ _Lavigne_ , _Graham_ _Edwards_ , _Lauren_ _Christy_ , _and_ _Scott_ _Spock_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Was that kid … staring at me …?_


	160. 159: Nerves

' _And his daddy's gone somewhere smokin' rock now_ …  
' _In and out of lockdown, I ain't got a job now_ …  
' _So for you, this is just a good time_ …  
' _But for me, this is what I call 'life'_...'

 

-' _What Would You Do?_ ' by City High.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Well?"

Evan dropped the keys from the rental truck on the table near the door and peered over his shoulder at Valerie before digging his wallet out of his pocket and letting it fall onto the keys with a dull thump. "Well, what?" he drawled in a suspiciously neutral tone.

Valerie bit her lip and scowled thoughtfully at his broad back like she was trying to decide whether or not he was being serious. "Don't go there, Roka," she insisted, rubbing her forehead wearily. "I know damn well that you've got at least a million things to say."

He paused long enough to grin at her. "I think I'm in love with your baby brother," he informed her with a cheesy wink.

"Great," Valerie grumbled under her breath. "You really _are_ gay; I knew it—not just gay, but a gay pedophile, to boot . . ."

"Face it, woman. That kid's just too damn pretty for words," Evan went on, brushing off Valerie's assessment with a flick of his wrist.

She broke into a little smile and sighed, rubbing her forearms as she wandered toward the wall of windows that overlooked the city below. "He is, isn't he?" she mused quietly. Of course, she doubted that Garret would be pleased if he had been privy to the current conversation, but it didn't really change the facts, either . . .

Evan retrieved a couple beers from the small wet bar, and she heard the soft hiss of the caps being released before he stepped over to stand beside her. "Your sister seemed a little surprised to see you," he went on gently, slipping one of the bottles into her hand.

She winced inwardly. 'Surprised' was a pretty big understatement, to be honest. Valerie wasn't sure exactly how she'd expected for her sister to react, but she'd felt the understated current of resentment, and if she were to be completely honest with herself, she really hadn't expected that . . . She sighed. She'd hoped that she was just imagining things to start with, but considering Kaci Lea hadn't returned by the time they were ready to leave, she was pretty sure that she had been right, after all . . . "She wasn't very happy about it, was she?" she ventured in a carefully neutral tone of voice as she lifted the bottle of beer to her lips.

Evan sighed. No, it was more of an exhalation than a real sigh. She felt it more than she heard it. "Did you ever get to see her when she was little?"

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie shrugged. "Once? Twice? Maybe . . ." she admitted with a thoughtful frown. "There was one time when she was a baby—a couple months old?" Shaking her head, she bit her lip. "There was another time when she was a year old or so . . . She was walking, and she didn't want to sit in the high-chair in McDonald's. Mom and Daddy ended that visit early because Kaci Lea was throwing a fit . . ." Suddenly, she grimaced, casting Evan a sidelong glance; an almost guilty expression on her face. "I-I'm not blaming her or anything," she blurted quickly, unable to keep the heat from rising in her cheeks. "I mean, she was just a baby, really. It wasn't her fault." Swallowing hard, she berated herself mentally for having said anything about that in the first place. "I never thought it was her fault."

He chuckled softly and slipped an arm around her waist. "It's okay, V," he replied, giving her a gentle squeeze. "I never judge you, remember?"

Somehow, the teasing tone in Evan's voice was enough to offer her some sorely-needed reassurance, and while she couldn't ignore the warning in the back of her head that told her that, as much as she welcomed the support he offered her, she really ought to pull away before she ended up stepping over the line with him again, she felt so weary, so mentally exhausted, that her entire body felt heavy, leaden. "Have I mentioned how thankful I am that you came with me?" she ventured instead.

"You have," he informed her with a cheeky grin though he pulled her a little closer against his side. "Don't worry about it, though. I figure that it's always a plus when my attorney owes me a favor or two."

She snorted at his obvious teasing but smiled, just the same. "Yeah, but knowing you, you'll waste those favors on something silly—and mildly perverted."

"I'd prefer something silly and _morbidly_ perverted," he quipped.

Valerie rolled her eyes and shot him a stern glance, though the effect was ruined a moment later when she giggled. "I know you would," she allowed, "but I wouldn't."

"There you go again, woman," he grouched, letting his arm fall away as he tipped the beer to his lips. "Ruin my best dreams."

"Get over it, Roka," she scoffed. Her smile faltered then faded away completely, and she sighed once more as she turned away from the window and leaned back on the window sill. "Half of me thinks that I ought to try talking to her," she confessed quietly, going back to the original subject. "The other half thinks that it'd just make things worse instead of better."

"Well," Evan drawled, considering what Valerie had said carefully, "even if you don't talk to her about it right now, I don't think there's any reason to rush it. After all, she might listen better when she gets to know you a little more—or maybe she was just having a bad day today or something."

Valerie could tell from the tone of Evan's voice that he really didn't believe any such thing, but his advice seemed sound enough. Given Kaci Lea's obvious reluctance when it came to Valerie, trying to force the issue would probably do more harm than good. Then again, maybe she was just reading too much into it. How would she feel, anyway? If she had an older sister whom she barely knew, how would Valerie feel if said-sister just showed up one day out of the proverbial blue . . .?

She sighed. Any way she looked at it, the point really was that Kaci Lea was entitled to her own feelings when it came to her, wasn't she? Valerie didn't have to like or understand those feelings, but she did have to respect them. Maybe Evan was right. Maybe all she really needed to do was to give it some time, get to know Kaci Lea . . .

"So," Evan said, breaking through Valerie's musings, "did you and your mama get to talk at all?"

Pushing herself away from the window sill, Valerie set her half-empty beer bottle on the wet bar and gave a little shrug. "A little," she admitted, knowing deep down that she was purposefully lying when she knew damn well what he was asking. "Just small talk, really," she admitted. "Mom talked about their neighbors and stuff . . . she told me about Dad's testing and all that." Her shoulders slumped slightly, and for some reason, she just couldn't meet Evan's steady gaze. "We didn't really talk about the past or anything," she admitted quietly. "I just . . ."

She started slightly when Evan's strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her against his chest in a comforting embrace. "That's all right, isn't it?" he asked just as quietly. "Today was for feeling good about your family. You didn't have to make it harder than it was."

Nodding slowly, she closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the welcome sense of well-being that he so freely offered her. "You're right," she murmured. "Thank you."

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. "You should go to bed soon," he told her. "You haven't gotten much sleep lately, and I know you're exhausted. Maybe you can actually get some rest tonight."

Valerie uttered a sound of agreement, but didn't move away. Evan didn't seem inclined to let go of her, either, and that was all right, too. There wasn't anything even remotely sexual in his attentions, and for once, Valerie wasn't quite up to trying to fight him off, anyway.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Do you need any help?"

Rhonda blinked and glanced up from the piles of papers spread out on the kitchen table as she pushed her glasses up her nose with the knuckle of her index finger. "Oh, no," she hurried to say. "I was just making sure that the bills are paid; that's all."

Slipping into the chair across the table from her mother, Valerie slowly nodded. It struck her as a very old-fashioned way to go about things, but she figured that was all right.

"Your sister keeps telling me that I should set all this stuff up on the computer," Rhonda went on absently as she filled out a check for the electric bill. "I don't like to do that, though. The bill fluctuates so much that I'd rather keep an eye on it."

"If this is how you're comfortable doing things, then I don't see anything wrong with it," Valerie allowed, pushing herself to her feet to retrieve the coffee pot so that she could refill Rhonda's cup as well as her own.

Rhonda sighed and paused long enough to smile at Valerie. "Thanks," she said, turning her attention back to the papers she'd arranged. "Maybe it would be faster if I did it all online," she mused. "We put the computer in Kaci's room, though, and I don't like to mess with her things when she's not home."

Valerie didn't say anything about that as she replaced the carafe on the warming pad and sat back down again. "You have lots of pictures of the kids up," she remarked instead, her smile widening by degrees as she took in the collage of photographs once more.

Her mother sealed the envelope for the electric bill and scooped together the bills into a neat stack. "We had some of you up there, too," she said, glancing at the wall before resuming her task once more. "Your foster parents were pretty good about sending us pictures, you know?" She laughed softly and shook her head. "They were getting faded, though, so I put them in an album."

For some reason, that surprised Valerie, probably more than it should have. "Really?"

Rhonda nodded. "Some of them," she replied. Then she sighed once more. "A few years ago, the roof went bad and started leaking," she explained a little sadly. "Your father had just started to get sick then, and I didn't notice the leak until it got worse, what with running to the doctor and the hospital and all that . . . and it ruined some of the pictures I had hanging up—one of your brother's grade school graduation, a couple of your sister, and . . . and some of the ones we had up of you . . ."

"That's okay," Valerie said quickly, uncomfortable with the apologetic tone in her mother's voice. "It's not a big deal."

"It is to me," Rhonda went on. "It is to your father, too . . ." Suddenly, she sighed and shook her head again, picking up her coffee and staring thoughtfully into the cup. "Guess we really screwed up back then," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Always wanted to tell you that . . ."

"It's all right," Valerie heard herself saying, and somehow, it was true, wasn't it? "I mean, _I'm_ all right."

Rhonda finally smiled and finally managed to peer up at her, too. "All right?" she echoed with an incredulous sort of lilt to her expression. "You turned out better than all right . . . already a famous attorney in New York City? That's really good, if you ask me."

"I'm not really famous," she corrected, unable to keep the hint of a blush out of her cheeks at the quiet praise.

"Of course you are!" Rhonda insisted, flicking a wrist to wave off Valerie's insistence to the contrary. "You've been in the papers and all that . . . They say you got that rock star off the hook in that drunk driving case and everything! I cut out the articles . . . I'll show you!"

Valerie blinked and watched as her mother quickly got to her feet to retrieve a thin black vinyl bound scrapbook from a cupboard over the refrigerator. She ran her hands along the cover for a moment before handing it across the table.

The first few pages were pictures—a few snapshots from her childhood—very few . . . A handful from foster homes where she was always playing alone. Then there were some school portraits, most of those faded by exposure to the sunlight. There seemed to be a number of years missing, however—the ones that had been hanging on the wall that had been ruined by the leaking roof, perhaps . . .? One of her senior pictures taken at the fancy studio in the town where she was living at the time . . .

She turned the page and frowned. The pictures on those pages were different, weren't they? Obviously printed off a computer, there were a number of photos from her college years, too. She recognized a few of them from the university's website from the pages that were listed as leisure time activities. That her parents had taken the time to scroll through every one of the images on those webpages was unsettling to her, but in a nice kind of way. They'd gone through the trouble of doing that . . .? But . . .

"You probably wouldn't have become a lawyer if you'd have stayed here with us, huh?" Rhonda said, breaking through the silence as she nervously fiddled with her coffee mug. "That's kind of what I thought, you know? Those folks—the Dennings . . . They were good people, weren't they?"

Valerie raised her chin slowly, only to see her mother, staring unhappily at the table, glancing to the side, out the window—everywhere but directly at her daughter. Gaunt cheeks pinked slightly, a brightness in her eyes that was hard for Valerie to see . . . Rhonda slowly shook her head as her gaze fell to the table top once more. "They wanted to adopt you," she admitted at length. "I . . . I thought it'd be for the best . . . and so did your daddy . . ." She shrugged almost helplessly and seemed to shrink just a little. "They did more for you than we ever could, didn't they? But . . ."

Valerie swallowed hard, blinked furiously as she willed herself not to cry. "M-Mom . . ."

Rhonda shook her head, as though her action could stop whatever it was that Valerie was trying to say. "I'm sorry, Valene—Valerie," she hurriedly corrected herself. "I just . . . I couldn't give you away. I just couldn't . . ."

Biting her lip, Valerie let out a deep breath. How many times had she sat and wondered why her parents had refused to allow her to be adopted, especially after the years when she hadn't seen them at all . . .? And now that she had the perfect opportunity to ask . . .

"Maybe it was selfish of me to think that way," Rhonda went on in an entirely weary kind of way. "After all, I really sucked at being a mom, didn't I?"

She wasn't sure what she ought to say to that. In her mind, telling her mother that she did the best she could sounded like more of a cop-out than a reassurance, and even if it didn't, telling Rhonda that would only be for entirely selfish reasons, wouldn't it? To gloss over the unpleasantness of her own thoughts over the years; that's what it would be . . . "Did you . . . Did you ever want me to come home?" she heard herself asking, even before she knew for certain what she was going to say.

Rhonda flinched but didn't shy away from Valerie's softly uttered query. "I _always_ wanted you to come home," she insisted, a steady conviction delineating her words despite the reticence in her voice. "From the moment they took you, all I wanted was for them to give you back!"

Valerie digested that in silence for a moment. There was still a measure of emptiness that she felt deep inside, despite her mother's reassurances—the answers she'd yet to get, maybe . . . "So why didn't you try?" she finally demanded. "Why didn't you fight for . . . for me?"

Her mother didn't look like she had the answers, either, if the expression on her face meant anything at all. Still, she tried. "We did try . . . blindly at first," she said after a moment. Eyebrows drawing together in a marked frown, she seemed like she was trying to put things into perspective. "It took us a while to figure out that it really was our faults, you see?" She shook her head, rubbed her forehead. Her hand was trembling just a little. "It was easier to get mad at the welfare or the cops or . . . or whoever. It took us a lot longer to figure out that we were the reasons that you were taken. We'd screwed up, but we never meant to. We . . . We loved you, even if we weren't any good at being parents . . ."

Trailing off, Rhonda seemed irritated at the things she'd said—or maybe it wasn't irritation. Maybe it was disgust—disgust at the mistakes she thought she'd made—those mistakes that had ultimately taken Valerie away from them . . .

Then she sighed, and she seemed to straighten her back, as though she was drawing together the last of her resolve, and maybe she was. "We both had problems with drugs," she admitted quietly despite the matter-of-fact tone in her voice. "Your daddy's problem was worse than mine, though, and it took him a lot longer to figure out that he had a problem, at all, and even longer to fix it. After you were taken away, I got real mad at him. I kicked him out for a while, and he ended up in jail a few times for different things. I told him once that I was going to get you back and then take off with you, and he'd never see us again . . . I think maybe that straightened him out some. I mean, he still had some screw ups, but he tried really hard after that. He got his first real job at the tool and die—lost that one a few months later when he went to work stoned. That friend of his—Homer? Do you remember him?"

Valerie slowly shook her head. In truth, she didn't remember many of her parents' friends, no . . .

Rhonda nodded. "Yeah, you were probably too little to remember him, anyway . . . Your daddy had gone out with him to jam, he'd said, and he hadn't bothered to come home all weekend, so he went straight to work on Monday, and he was let go pretty much right off the bat, too." She laughed suddenly, but it was a hollow kind of laugh—one of those that slipped out because she'd already cried about it too often in the past. "He finally managed to get a job at the foundry, and he did good there . . . By then, Natalie, our case worker, said that if we kept on track for a while—say, six months or a year—that we'd stand a good chance of getting you back, but when I found out that I was pregnant later on, well, Natalie said that it'd be good if we waited until we got things settled with Garret." A strange sort of darkness entered into Rhonda's gaze, and she seemed to tighten her jaw, though the expression on her face didn't really change. "Then your sister came along, and we figured that we'd get her settled, too. Natalie was transferred to another office, and we got a new case worker—June O'Malley . . ."

Valerie frowned. She didn't remember that name at all, though she had seen it in the file she'd looked over—the one that Evan had given to her. Judging from her mother's face, however, she wasn't sure she would have wanted to know that woman, either . . .

"June said that you were doing better, that you seemed to like the foster family they'd placed you with then: the Dennings . . ." Rhonda went on, her gaze glossed over, a little vacant, as she seemed to look back into a time that Valerie didn't remember. "They said you were doing better in school, that you were real smart. June said that they could do stuff for you that we . . . that we'd never be able to do . . ." Rhonda sighed as her shoulders slumped slightly. "Why bring you back home, just so you could end up like us? That's what she seemed to say to us, only not in those words exactly. She . . . She even said that we should consider terminating our rights, let you get adopted by that other family. They had money, they went to church, they . . . They _loved_ you, too . . . They were good people . . ."

"They . . . They were good to me," Valerie whispered, more to herself than to her mother. A million thoughts—half-formed, half-forgotten—raced through her mind in those seconds: the nights when she'd lay awake, wondering what her family was doing, why they hadn't written or called or visited . . . A thousand tears that she'd shed, only to berate herself afterward for her moments of weakness . . . and the gentle smile of the two people who knew her story and loved her, anyway . . .

"I'm sorry, Valerie," her mother rasped out, her hand extending, her fingers opening, closing around nothing: a weak gesture that spoke volumes. "That was the family you deserved, and I . . . Your daddy and I . . . We couldn't let you go . . ."

Slowly, hesitantly, Valerie raised her eyes to meet Rhonda's, momentarily shocked at the trail of tears that smudged her mother's cheeks. They were tears that Valerie understood, that she knew because she'd shed them, too, and the trembling smile that formed on her lips was heartfelt—maybe more heartfelt than any of the smiles that had surfaced before. Reaching across the table, she took her mother's hand in hers, gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry, too, Mama," she whispered. "I'm . . . I'm sorry that I doubted you."

She didn't know how long she sat there, holding her mother's hand in hers. The sound of the clock, ticking away the seconds, didn't register in her mind. Oh, maybe those bitter thoughts, those memories, were still there, and she doubted that she'd ever truly forget them. That was all right, though, wasn't it? Because if she didn't have those lingering memories, how could she ever really appreciate the chance to make things right again . . .?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _What_** **_Would_** **_You_** **_Do?_** ' _by_ _City_ _High_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2001_ _release_ , **_City_** **_High_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Ryan Toby, C. Broadius, A. Young, B. Bailey, and Robby Pardio_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :
> 
> _Hey! I got ditched this chapter …!_


	161. 160: Cornered

' _Still like that old time rock n' roll_ …  
' _That kind of music just soothes the soul_ …  
' _I reminisce about the days of old_ …  
' _With that old time rock n' roll_...'

 

-' _Old Time Rock and Roll_ ' by Bob Seger.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"You and V are really just friends?"

Blinking in surprise at Jack's sudden question, Evan couldn't help the grin that surfaced on his face as he met the man's frank gaze. "Yeah," he said with an offhanded shrug. "Is that so hard to believe?"

Jack didn't look impressed with Evan's assertions. "Doesn't really strike me as a 'friendly' sort of vacation for you—coming here with her," he mused. "Seems more like the kind of thing that a boyfriend would do—a serious boyfriend, at that . . ."

"Eh, I didn't have anything else to do," he insisted, purposefully ignoring the underlying meaning of Jack's words.

Jack stared at him for several seconds before slowly nodding. He must have figured that he wasn't going to get more of an answer out of Evan on the subject because he smiled slightly and reached down to adjust the oxygen unit beside the recliner. "If you say so," he relented.

Evan chuckled.

Valerie was in the kitchen with her mother. He wasn't sure what they were doing, but it was all right. He could share her, he supposed, as long as it was for a good cause, like rebuilding her relationship with her parents . . .

Garret shuffled into the living room, face contorted in a wide yawn, scratching his chest with one hand and rubbing his mop of bed-hair with the other. Plopping down on the sofa, he didn't seem very awake, and for a moment, Evan really wondered whether or not the kid was actually aware of where he was . . .

"That's what you get for staying out so late," Jack remarked without preamble as he stared at his son.

Garret managed to grin a bit dopily between yawns. "It wasn't that late," he mumbled.

"Yeah, your mama said that you were still out when she left for work at eleven," Jack pointed out.

"I got home around midnight," Garret replied. "I always get home around midnight when I have to close."

"Hmm," Jack intoned, settling back a little deeper into the recliner, "so why are you home today?"

Garret shot Evan a somewhat nervous sort of glance then cleared his throat. "W-Well, we weren't doing anything important today, and Mom said it was okay. Besides, I wanted to get up on the roof to check it out. Kase said that it was leaking over her bed the other night when it was raining."

"Aw, shit," Jack grumbled.

"No shit," Garret retorted with a cheesy grin.

Jack rolled his eyes but smiled wanly. "Don't you get all lippy now, boy," he warned though the grin on his face widened just a bit.

' _Whatever you do, don't look_.'

Evan frowned at his youkai-voice's cryptic warning. ' _Yeah, I know,_ ' he replied. There was something entirely unsettling in the way the kid was looking at him, no doubt about it.

"Anyway," Garret said, leaning forward and rubbing his palms on the fabric of his jeans, "I was thinking about going to the store in a little while. Mind if I take the car?"

Jack considered that as he fumbled with a bottle of pain reliever. Evan started to reach over to take it, but thought better of it. He didn't really want to step on the man's pride, after all, even if he seemed to be having a bit of trouble with the safety cap. "You won't be gone too long, will you? Your mama gets worried . . ."

"Uh, no," Garret assured him, casting a sidelong glance at Evan once more. He hesitated for a moment then seemed to swallow hard before he went on. "I was just going to see if they've got that new video in."

"New video?" Jack echoed.

Garret nodded quickly. "Yeah—that new Zel Roka one—live in Los Angeles . . ."

' _Err, Roka . . .?_ ' Evan's youkai-voice drawled.

' _I know; I know_ ," he thought before the voice could continue. ' _Not a word. Gotcha._ '

"Oh, yeah," Jack continued as Garret stood up and wandered over to take the bottle of pills from him. The boy popped it open and handed it back. "Thanks."

Garret nodded and shifted from one foot to the other. "So, is it okay?"

Jack shrugged and shook a couple pills out of the bottle. "I don't care. Make sure it's okay with your mama first."

"Okay," Garret said, casting Evan yet another quick glance. "You and V are going to be here a while, right?"

Evan blinked and nodded. "Sure," he replied, ignoring the feeling that something was most definitely off.

Garret finally broke into a grin. "That's cool." Then he shuffled off toward the kitchen, likely to ask his mother if it was all right with her if he borrowed the car. A couple minutes later, he hurried back through the living room, tossing the car keys in the air and catching them effortlessly. "Be back in a few," he promised as he grabbed his coat and kept moving toward the door.

"Be careful," Jack called after him. Garret waved over his shoulder but didn't stop moving. "That boy'll watch the video a hundred times in the next couple days," he remarked after Garret's departure.

"What's that?" Evan asked, shifting his attention back to the man once more.

Jack chuckled. "He idolizes that guy," he went on. "Hell, I think he might've wanted to learn to play guitar because of Roka, not me—seriously playing, that is."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Evan drawled. "I'm sure you had a hell of a lot to do with it."

"Aw, come on. I know the score. Kids don't do squat because of their parents—at least, they try not to. It's that whole rebellious thing, right?" He uttered a wheezing kind of laugh followed in quick succession by a rattling cough. "I started playing because I wanted to imitate the rock stars I idolized. It's the same for Garret—well, playing seriously, anyway . . ."

Evan considered that for a long moment then nodded. He supposed that there was a measure of truth in what Jack had said.

"I know you," Jack suddenly remarked.

Evan blinked and glanced at the old man quickly. "Know me?" he echoed with a shake of his head. He'd been careful not to let the proverbial cat out of the bag, hadn't he? Not that he really minded if Valerie's family knew the real connection between himself and Zel Roka, but, considering what they were in Kentucky for, he didn't necessarily want to take away from that, either . . .

Jack nodded, a completely self-satisfied sort of smirk surfacing on his face. "Yeah . . . You write songs, don't you? Knew I'd heard your name before, so I had Kaci Lea look you up on the internet. You won a Grammy few years back, right?"

He chuckled a little guiltily. "Damn, you're pretty good," he confessed. "That's me."

"I thought so," Jack went on. "You ever get a say in who buys your songs?"

Letting out a deep breath, Evan gave an offhanded shrug. "Nah, but I don't really care. They pay for 'em, so it's all good. Besides, it's nice to hear one of my songs on the radio."

Jack considered that, and then slowly nodded. "I suppose it is, at that."

The irony of it all did not escape him, however. Evan figured that there was a good chance that Jack wasn't overly impressed with Evan's work, if that was the case. After all, most of the songs he sold to other artists were pretty pop-ish, very mainstream, and not in the least 'rock'. In fact, if anyone ever did make the connection between Evan Zelig and Zel Roka, he figured he'd never hear the end of it, all things considered.

"Kaci Lea likes your songs pretty well," Jack went on thoughtfully. "Says all the girls at school like that new one—it's _catchy_."

Evan very nearly laughed out loud at that. The man's careful choice of words was telling, wasn't it? Not a fan of the admittedly light style of the song he'd written over a year ago that was recorded by pop diva Shasta Veruna for her most recent album. It was all right, though, as far as he was concerned. After all, it wasn't like Jack knew that he was Zel Roka or he'd never live it down . . .

Valerie wandered into the living room with a glass of ice water in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. "Mom said you're supposed to take your pills," she said without preamble as she handed the water to her father. "Are you feeling okay today?"

Jack made a face but took the glass and set it down on the table so that he could reach for the pill container. "I'm fine, little girl," he assured Valerie gruffly, looking a little uncomfortable with her very obvious concern. "Don't worry about me, got it?"

For the briefest of moments, Valerie looked like she wasn't exactly sure how to react. Then she handed the coffee to Evan and crossed her arms over her chest. "I do worry about it," she remarked mildly. "Do you need anything? Another blanket or—"

Jack snorted and tugged on the afghan that was spread over him. "Yeah," he retorted. "I need you to go pester your mama a while. You're interrupting man-talk in here."

Valerie snorted and rolled her eyes, but she let out a resigned sigh and relented. "Okay," she agreed slowly, "but if you need anything . . ."

"I don't," Jack grumbled. Then he gave an offhanded shrug. "You didn't come here to take care of your old man. Now go on and catch up some more with your mama. She's more interesting than I am."

Smiling a little uncertainly, Valerie hesitated before following her father's orders. Finally, she leaned down and kissed him on the cheek before slipping out of the room once more. Evan wisely hid his amusement at the tinge of pink that rose in the man's pale cheeks. "Stubborn little girl, ain't she?" he muttered under his breath despite the heightened sparkle in his eyes.

"I kind of like her that way," Evan replied.

Jack chuckled as he shook his pills out of the plastic caddy. Evan gritted his teeth. Six different pills, and it those were just his morning meds . . .

"Ahh," Jack sighed as he grimaced and forced down a healthy swig of water to chase the pills. "Damn, I don't think I'll ever get used to that."

"What? The number of pills?" Evan asked.

Jack shook his head and swallowed some more water. "Hell, no," he griped, setting the glass down with a heavy thud. "The one that tastes like horseshit."

Evan laughed as the man opened and closed his mouth a few times. The expression on his face left no room in Evan's mind as to exactly what Jack thought of it, after all . . .

The front door opened, and Garret hurried into the house with a plastic bag in hand that he didn't let go of while he shrugged off his coat and hung it on the handle of the closet. "Sorry it took so long," he said before Jack could comment on it. "I ran into Fred Brown at the store, and he said he'd give us what's left of the roofing he's got for twenty."

"How much he got left?" Jack asked as Garret tossed the keys into his father's lap. "Twenty, you say?"

Garret nodded, perching on the edge of the sofa and tugging a video out of the bag. "Said he there should be enough to cover the back half of the trailer where it's starting to go bad."

Jack considered that, then slowly nodded. "Twenty? That all?"

"It's what he said," Garret replied, digging a pocket knife out of his pocket to cut through the security seals on the video.

"Tell your ma," Jack said. "She'll run him some money later on."

"I already paid for it," Garret said absently. "He said he'd drop it off later."

Jack scowled thoughtfully. Evan figured that it grated on the man's nerves that his kid had paid for something that the man clearly saw as his responsibility. "Oh . . . then tell your mama to give you twenty."

"It's all right," Garret said, standing up and waving the video. "Can we watch it?"

"Yeah, okay," Jack muttered. "It's supposed to be pretty nice tomorrow. I'll see if I can't get up there and take a look around."

Garret glanced over his shoulder, pausing as he frowned at his father. "I'll do it," he told him quickly. "Besides, it's pretty nice out today. I'll give the guys a call after school and see if they can come over and help out."

"Thought you had practice with your band later on," Jack reminded him.

Garret shrugged and scooted back, leaning over the coffee table to nab the remote control. "Fixing the roof before it starts leaking is more important," he insisted. "Don't worry about it, Dad. I got it under control."

The conversation was abruptly interrupted when the video started. Evan sat back, biting his lip as he tried not to pay too much attention to the television. Garret turned up the volume, and Jack tapped his thigh as the first song started.

It was the first time that Evan had seen this particular footage. He had known, of course, about the video, but he couldn't say that he normally sat down long enough to watch them, either. The release of this one had been delayed when Dieter died since it had been filmed during the three shows they'd played just before the accident that had ultimately led Evan to meet Valerie . . .

"Damn," Garret muttered, more to himself than to anyone else in particular. "He had to be one of the best bassists in rock—completely underrated . . ."

Evan blinked, tearing his eyes off the television in favor of staring at Valerie's younger brother. Garret was watching without blinking. His fingers were resting on his legs, but they were moving just a little, like he was following along with Dieter's playing—or trying to keep up. "You, uh, you think so?" Evan heard himself asking before he stopped to think about it. "Dieter, you mean?"

Garret nodded and still didn't look away. "Yeah . . . He's got some bad-ass lines in there, you know?" He paused and then shook his head. "Wish I could've jammed with him just once . . ."

Evan smiled just a little. "Y-Yeah."

Garret didn't say anything else for a while. So engrossed in the video, he didn't seem to be paying attention to anything else, which was fine with Evan. It was taking everything in him to keep himself from accidentally singing along.

' _Yeah, but didn't you notice?_ '

Evan blinked and ground his foot against the floor to keep it from tapping along with the music. ' _Notice what?_ '

His youkai-voice snorted. ' _The kid . . . He keeps glancing at you_.'

' _Eh, you're seeing things_ ,' Evan scoffed. ' _He's watching that, not looking at me! Why would he look at me, anyway? I'm not Zel Roka!_ '

' _You're—?_ ' The voice snorted again. ' _What do you mean, you're not Zel Roka?_ '

' _Well, he doesn't know I'm Zel Roka, anyway,_ ' Evan amended.

His youkai didn't respond to that, but if it had, Evan had the distinct feeling that the voice might well have called him 'stupid' . . . Garret stood up and hurried out of the living room, down the hallway that led to the bedrooms, and Evan emptied his coffee cup in a long gulp.

"The thing about that guy," Jack remarked idly as he watched the video, "is that he never does the same song twice."

"What's that?" Evan asked, glancing at the man.

Jack scratched his chin. "Some of 'em just keep putting out the same song over and over—their shit all sounds the same. He's different."

Garret slipped back into the room with a beat up old acoustic guitar.

' _Oh, that's not good_ . . .'

' _What? It's a guitar, not a bomb or something_.'

' _Ye-e-e-eah ._ . .'

Evan tried to keep his eyes on the television, but he could see out of the corner of his eyes as Garret carefully plucked a string then turned the pin slightly to tighten it. Then he glanced up at Evan without lifting his chin before turning his attention back to the guitar again and repeating the process with another note.

' _I don't like how he keeps looking at you,_ ' his youkai-voice pointed out suspiciously.

' _Eh, it's fine_.'

' _Says you, rocker-boy, and you're not necessarily the brightest bulb in the box. I'm telling you, I think he knows something._ "

' _There you go again: thinking that there's something more to it than there really is. Just because he's looked at us once or twice_ —'

' _He just did it again_.'

'— _Or three times_ ,' Evan amended smoothly, ' _it doesn't mean anything_.'

' _You're an idiot. Why did I get stuck with an idiot like you?_ '

' _All the good spots were already taken,_ ' Evan shot back. ' _Dude . . . He's playing along_ . . .'

His youkai heaved a longsuffering sigh.

Garret was good—damn good. Frowning in concentration as he strummed along with the song on the video, he seemed to be completely absorbed in it even though he did keep glancing at Evan out of the corner of his eye.

"You missed that part," Jack commented.

Garret shot his father a look and sighed. "I can't get it right," he muttered, his scowl darkening. "It goes by too fast, and it's just, like, a little tweak . . ." He glanced at Evan. "So, uh . . . Do you play?"

' _Oh, it's coming; I can_ feel _it_ ,' Evan's youkai-voice muttered.

' _Shut the hell up_.' Evan sat back and shrugged in what he hoped was an offhanded kind of way. "A little."

Garret blinked, glancing down at the old guitar before shifting enough to look at Evan a little closer. "Yeah? I don't suppose you know this song . . .?"

' _You're gonna give yourself away, Roka_.'

' _Didn't I tell you to shut the hell up?_ ' He shrugged again. "I might . . ."

For some reason, Garret didn't look at all surprised, but he did hesitantly hold out the guitar. "Y-You could try it . . ."

' _Roka_ —'

' _Hush_.' Reaching out to take the guitar, Evan pushed up the sleeve of the flannel shirt he'd pulled on this morning before settling the guitar on his leg.

"I _knew_ it!" Garret suddenly blurted.

Evan blinked as the boy grabbed his wrist and yanked his arm over to inspect Evan's tattoos closer.

' _A-A-And there it is_ ,' his youkai sighed. ' _Congratulations, rock star. You're officially a moron_.'

"You _are_ him—I mean, you're you—I mean, you're—" Garret stammered. Then he drew a sharp breath and grinned. "You're Zel-fucking-Roka!"

"Uh . . . N-No," Evan drawled, trying in vain to deny what the boy had said. "I'm—"

"I wasn't sure," Garret went on, completely ignoring Evan's claims to the contrary, "I mean, I _thought_ you looked like him—err, you—but—"

"Uh . . ."

"You do kind of look like him—well, your hair color's different and stuff," Jack added, also eyeing Evan critically.

Evan heaved a sigh. What was the point in trying to hide it now, anyway? "All right," he relented with a grin. "You caught me."

The color that had washed into Garret's skin seemed to drain away, all at once, and he looked a little stunned. Evan supposed that it was probably the difference between thinking something and having it verified. "Holy shit," he whispered, eyes rounding wide. "Zel Roka's in my living room . . . Holy shit . . .! _Holy shit!_ "

Evan laughed as he pulled his arm away from the boy's slack grip. "It's not that big of a deal; I swear," he maintained. "'Sides, I'm here with V, right? So I'm not really Zel Roka—at least, not at the moment."

But that seemed to remind Garret of something altogether different, and he barked out an incredulous laugh. "Oh, my God! My sister runs around with Zel Roka! How fucking cool is that?"

"Well, if you asked her, she'd say it's not nearly as cool as you seem to think it is," Evan deadpanned rather dryly.

Garret didn't seem to be listening. "Shit! _Shit!_ Uh . . . C-Can you play that song? Uh, hell, of course you _can_ ," he babbled—another trait he apparently shared with Valerie—"I mean, _would_ you?"

Evan laughed and played the part of the song in question—the part that Garret hadn't been able to get. He could feel the boy's eyes on him, and he didn't doubt for a moment that the kid would have no trouble at all in playing the song later on. He played a little longer, then handed the guitar back. "Did you get that?"

Garret nodded and sank down on the coffee table facing Evan, the video apparently forgotten. "Like this, right?" he asked, casting Evan a rather nervous kind of glance before playing the part back to him again. "So that's what it was . . ."

Evan laughed. "Not bad, Garret. You catch on quick."

Garret blushed at what he considered to be praise from his favorite rock star, and his grin turned bashful. "I, uh, I'm not really that good," he confessed with a little bob of the shoulders. "I mean, I can't read music too well, and I really only play by ear."

"Yeah, well, you play better by ear than many guys do who can read the scores properly. Don't worry about it. You're not bad."

Garret looked absolutely beside himself, and he set the guitar aside, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his full attention directly on Evan. "Your new album is hot, man!   I mean, I love the others, too, but _V? V_ 's just fucking hot!"

The amusement of his statement did not go unnoticed by Evan, and he laughed. "Yeah, I think so, too," he replied, not actually referring to the album in question.

Garret laughed, but suddenly, he stopped. His smile faltered then faded, only to be replaced by a rather disgruntled kind of expression as he considered something. "Uh . . . V . . . Y-You're not singing about _V_ —V, are you? Like, _Valerie_ V? _That_ V?"

"Hottest V I know," Evan quipped.

Garret's disgruntled expression shifted into one of severe horror. "Oh, my God," he muttered at last. "Do you know what your songs are about?"

Evan couldn't help but to laugh at the absurdity of that particular question. "Of course I do."

Garret made a face. "O-Oh . . . O-O-Oh . . ."

Jack cleared his throat. "Just what have you been doing with my daughter?" he asked, and while he sounded mildly amused, Evan didn't miss the underlying seriousness in the man's tone, either.

' _Oh, dig that hole, Roka. Make sure it's at least six-feet-deep_.'

' _Shut up_.' Evan opened his mouth, ready to defend himself, all things considered. "Well, I'm going to marry her," he said.

' _Or deeper_ ,' his youkai added. ' _Then again, there ain't a hole in the earth deep enough to hide you from the Wrath of V when she finds out about this_.'

"R-Really?" Garret stammered. "You're going to marry my sister?"

"Yeah," Evan drawled.

"Oh, my God! That's so fucking cool! Holy shit! My sister's going to be Mrs. Zel Roka!" Garret gushed. All in all, he rather resembled an excited puppy . . .

' _Oh, you lie. You lie like a rug . . . and V's so gonna kill you_ . . .'

' _It's not a lie_ ,' Evan retorted, ignoring the truth in his youkai's cryptic words. ' _I_ am _going to marry her—she just doesn't realize that yet_.'

"Oh . . . Well, I guess that's all right, then," Jack remarked, looking quite a bit happier since Evan cleared up that bit of confusion.

Garret looked happy, too—well, kind of. He looked happier than he had, anyway, though he still looked more than a little disturbed by the idea that one of his favorite albums had been written about his sister's nether-regions . . . "If it's okay with you, I-I think I'm going to pretend that the album's about a different V," he finally concluded. "It just . . . hurts my brain too much otherwise. I mean, damn, it's cool that you're going to get married, but—"

Evan laughed and stood up. "Okay," he allowed with a wolfish grin, "but it really _is_ about her," he couldn't resist adding.

Garret made a face. "Dude, that's so wrong in so many ways . . ."

Evan tapped the boy's arm and reached for the coat he'd dropped over the arm of the sofa. "Come on, Garret. Let's go take a look at that roof."

Garret stood up but looked even more disturbed. "Y-You're Zel Roka," he muttered, shaking his head as he cast his father a quick glance. "You don't really want to go look at our roof, do you?"

Evan chuckled. "Why not? I'm here. Might as well help you out if I can."

Garrett didn't look entirely convinced, but he did reach for his coat as he followed Evan toward the door. "Do you know anything about roofing?"

"Nope," Evan replied as he stepped outside into the brisk morning air.

Garret blinked and stared at him but didn't comment as they stepped off the porch and headed around the house. "Guess you don't have to do that kind of thing yourself, right? Being a rock star and all . . ."

"I don't know. Doesn't sound like such a bad thing to do," Evan said. "Besides, it's just a roof, right? I mean, how hard can that be?"

Garret didn't respond to that, but one glance from Evan was enough to make the kid break out into another wide grin. "I can't believe it," he muttered, more to himself than to Evan.

Evan sighed and watched as Garret pulled a ladder from alongside the house where it had been neatly tucked under a tarp for storage. He really ought to tell Garret that he wasn't actually engaged to Valerie—at least, not yet. Otherwise, there was a good chance he'd end up in a shallow grave in someone's back yard before the trip was over . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Old_** **_Time_** **_Rock_** **_and_** **_Roll_** ' _by_ _Bob_ _Seger_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1978_ _release_ , **_Stranger_** **_in_** **_Town_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _George_ _Jackson_ _and Thomas_ _E_. _Jones_ _III._
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _They_ _caught_ _me_ …


	162. 161: Turning Away

' _Where you goin' now …?  
_ ' _When your world's turned inside out_ …  
' _Isn't love what it's all about …?  
_ ' _Where you goin' now …?  
_ ' _When you get to the top of the hill_ …  
' _Gonna be there—yes I will_ ...'

 

-' _Where You Goin' Now?_ ' by Damn Yankees.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"I really don't think it's a good idea."

Evan rolled his eyes as he dropped his coat over the back of a chair in the hotel suite. "Eh, it's fine," he scoffed. "What could possibly go wrong?"

Valerie shot him a quelling look that he promptly ignored. "You didn't really ask me that, did you?" she complained.

"Aww, relax, woman! It's all under control! We yanked off the bad part of the roof today, and tomorrow, we'll put the new shit up. Easy-peasy, right?"

Valerie snorted. "Nothing is _ever_ easy when it comes to you, Roka."

"Besides, it's kind of fun."

Rubbing her forehead, Valerie strode over to the small cabinet that held some amenities and pulled out a packet of Tylenol. "Please don't say stuff like that," she begged in a half-whine. "Next thing you know, you'll be saying the 'b' word or something . . ."

"The 'b' word?" Evan echoed, heading over to the wet bar to retrieve a couple bottles of water. "What one is that?"

Valerie snorted but took the bottle of water that he offered her. "The one that you think is a good excuse for ninety-nine percent of your bad ideas."

"O-Oh," he drawled, nodding in understanding. "Bored, you mean."

"Don't _say_ it!" she snapped, giving the bottle cap a rather vicious twist.

Evan chuckled. "Well, considering the option was letting your dad get up there? I think I'm the lesser of two evils," he said.

Valerie heaved a sigh and swallowed the two pain relievers. "I guess," she allowed. "Mom said that she thinks he's doing better since I came to visit."

"He probably is," Evan agreed. "The mind is a strange thing, right? I mean, mental well-being is as important as physical well-being, isn't it?"

"Maybe," Valerie said. "Still, he seemed really tired, don't you think?"

Evan nodded slowly. "And that's why you wanted to leave early; am I right?"

"He needs to get some rest. Besides, we'll be over there tomorrow, won't we? Mom said something about a celebration dinner . . ."

"Celebration? For what?"

Valerie shrugged. "I don't know. I was going to ask, but _someone_ was outside, hollering for nails."

Evan grinned since he was that someone. That was when she'd discovered that he was up on the roof with Garret, yanking off the bad section of roofing. They'd even cut into the sub-roof and were in the middle of putting on a new piece when they'd apparently run out of nails. If that wasn't bad enough, Jack was outside, too, but at least he was sitting in a plastic lawn chair, content to direct the action from down below.

She sighed and wandered over to the sofa. "Did you know they tried to get me back?" she asked quietly as she sank down into the thick cushions and closed her eyes.

Evan sat beside her. She could feel the shift in the sofa. "Not surprising, is it?"

"I don't know," she ventured with a tired sigh. "I guess I just figured that they hadn't."

"So why didn't they get you back then?" he asked.

Valerie opened her eyes just enough to pin Evan with a serious look. He was leaning back against the sofa, too, his clear blue eyes bright. "Well, at first, it was because they weren't fit to get me back, I suppose," she finally said quietly. "Then, when they were, Garret came along, then Kaci Lea . . . and then they figured I was better off where I was."

"But you weren't," Evan concluded gently.

Valerie sighed. "I wouldn't say that. I . . . I probably was." Wincing slightly, she hated the pragmatic tone of her own voice, and even if what she said was logical, did that really matter? "They were good to me, the Dennings . . ." she went on. "They . . . They loved me, you know? I mean, they _really_ loved me . . . The kind of love I hadn't understood at the time, and I didn't know what to think of it, either . . . Maybe . . ." she uttered a terse little half-laugh as she slowly shook her head. "Maybe I didn't understand it because I'd never really felt that kind of thing before . . ."

"What do you mean?" Evan prompted gently, reaching out to tug her over next to him, her cheek resting on his chest as she relaxed in the comfort of his arms.

"At first, it was the same as all the other homes," she explained. "It was that uncomfortable sort of thing, right? Like they didn't know me, and I didn't know them, and so we went out of our ways to be on our best behaviors around each other . . . Well, they did, anyway. I . . ." She grimaced. "I wasn't exactly the model kid."

"I don't think there is such a thing," Evan remarked.

Valerie nodded slowly. "But I liked it there," she admitted with a wan little smile. "It was the first time I'd been placed somewhere where there weren't a bunch of other kids. It was just me, and they listened to me, you know? They asked questions about me, about the things I liked and didn't like . . . the things I wanted . . . At first, I tried not to talk to them. I tried not to let them into my life, but slowly, I found myself thinking that it wasn't too bad; that it was pretty nice . . . and then, as much as I started to like it, it . . . It scared me, too. You learn pretty quickly when you're in that system that there is no such thing as a permanent placement. I always knew in the back of my mind that if I did the wrong thing, they'd snatch me right out of there and put me somewhere else, and the thought of that . . ." She sighed. "If I started to rely on it too much, it'd hurt when they took me away, wouldn't it . . .?"

Evan grimaced, and his arm around her tightened. A moment later, she felt the warmth of his lips on her forehead, and she closed her eyes for just a second, savoring the feeling of being safe. "That would be rough," he muttered. "Damn . . ."

She shrugged. "When I stopped to think about it . . . When I realized just how upset I'd be if they moved me . . ." She swallowed hard. "I started acting up again. I got into some fights in school, started staying out all night with my boyfriends . . . and so, I thought that I wanted welfare to move me again—I _wanted_ to be moved before I got too used to my life with the Dennings . . ."

"But they didn't move you, did they?" Evan asked.

Valerie smiled sadly. "They didn't," she admitted, swallowing hard, blinking back the stinging prick of tears just behind her eyelids. "The Dennings never told my caseworker," she said. "No matter what I did, they smiled at me and told me that it was all right . . . or hugged me and told me that they were there for me . . . and they never told the caseworker about any of it; not ever."

"Sounds like they were good people."

Valerie sniffled and dashed her hand across her cheek to wipe away the single tear that had fallen. "They were," she agreed with a little nod. "I didn't know why at the time, but . . . but it was because they loved me—really loved me . . . and they never gave up on me, either, even when they probably should have."

"Of course they loved you. How could they not?" Evan said gently, kissing her forehead and giving her another little squeeze. "You know what I think, V?"

"Hmm?"

Evan let out a deep breath and shifted slightly, pulling Valerie just a little closer. "I think you were surrounded by love, even if you didn't realize it. Your parents, even if you weren't with them . . . I think they thought about you all of the time, and your foster family? It sounds like they wanted you to be someone you could be proud of, too . . . Granted, maybe it wasn't perfect, but it was still there, right?"

For some reason, Evan's statement surprised her, and she blinked. She really hadn't thought of it like that before, and maybe there were times in her life when she'd felt alone, but . . . But was she really? Was it enough for her to know now that things hadn't been the way anyone had wanted them back then? The parents who had loved her so much that they hadn't been able to give her up . . . The same parents who had loved her enough not to bring her back home when they'd thought that she was better off where she was . . . and the parents that had given her the confidence to stand on her own, even if they weren't her parents in name . . .

"How is it that you can see things so much more clearly than I can?" she murmured, leaning away far enough to look up into Evan's face.

Evan smiled a little wanly. "It's always easier to see when you're not in the middle of it," he explained.

"Maybe you're right," she mused, settling back against his chest once more, letting her eyes drift closed as a friendly sort of exhaustion filtered over her.

"You'll be loved for the rest of your life, too," he murmured quietly—at least, she thought he did—but she was already drifting off to sleep.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"What took you so long?"

Evan turned to look over his shoulder at Valerie. She wrapped her arms around herself against the brisk air as she stepped off the porch and hurried over to the truck. He grinned. "Miss me, did you?" he teased, reaching into the back seat for one of the black cases. He handed the first one to Valerie and grabbed the other two, then kicked the door closed as he led the way across the lawn toward the porch.

He hadn't meant to take as long as he had. He'd dropped Valerie off earlier, telling her that he had an errand to run and that he'd be back shortly so that he could drive back to Lexington to drop in on an old friend who owned a music store. If Gus hadn't been in, it wouldn't have taken nearly so long to buy the three guitars, but as luck would have it, Gus was there, and Evan had spent the better part of the morning, talking shop with the old guitarist. Back in the day, Evan used to sneak into the smoky clubs whenever Gus was playing. He had no idea how many hours he'd spent, sitting in silence and watching the old man, and he'd learned a lot, too—learned about heart and soul and showmanship, just from watching the twilight legend . . .

Gus used to be one of the best bluesmen in New York City, but he'd opted to retire a few years ago when the gigs had started to slow down and he'd been diagnosed with chronic arthritis in his hands. After that, Gus had scraped up enough cash to open a store down here. Maybe he hadn't ever made a million dollars, and he hadn't sold more than a few thousand units of the one album that he'd recorded well before Evan was even an afterthought, but what did that matter? The man lived by his belief that his guitar could tell a story, and those stories were beautiful. After Gus' retirement, Evan had been pleasantly surprised when he'd accidentally run into Gus down here during one of Evan's tours. He didn't seem to mind the change, and Evan knew well enough that he could still draw a hell of a crowd when his hands felt good enough to indulge him for a few songs while he sat on a stool in the middle of his shop.

"What's this?" she asked, hurrying after him.

"I got your dad and brother new guitars," he replied casually.

"There are three," she pointed out, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

"And one for me," he added, almost as an afterthought.

She grabbed his arm to stop him and raised an eyebrow in silent question. "I thought you said you didn't want anyone to know who you are," she reminded him in a low hiss since she was trying to keep her voice down.

He let out a deep breath, his eyebrows arching upward as he grimaced melodramatically. "Yeah, about that . . ." he drawled.

Valerie blinked and shook her head. "What about that?"

He chuckled rather sheepishly. "Your brother . . . he's slick, I tell you."

She shook her head again, and judging from her expression, she wasn't entirely sure that she knew what he was talking about, in the first place. "Okay . . .?"

He sighed. "He figured it out yesterday."

Valerie considered that for a moment. Evan pulled his arm away, apparently content that she understood what he'd just said. A moment later, however, she grabbed his arm again. "Garret knows?" she asked incredulously. "You told him, you mean."

Evan gave a little shrug. "Little bit of this, little bit of that . . . Anyway, like I said, he figured it out, so it's all good."

She still looked a little confused. "But you said before that you didn't want anyone to know that you and Zel Roka were one in the same. Why did you tell him?" she asked at length.

"He's a good kid," Evan told her. "Besides, he's your brother, right? So it's no big deal."

He might have laughed if Valerie hadn't looked so confused by his simple statement. Instead, he just grinned. "Look, V, I don't think he's going to go off telling everyone, and even if he did, what are the odds that anyone's really going to buy it if he says that Zel Roka was hanging out at his place?"

Valerie snorted and rolled her eyes. "That's just mean, Roka," she muttered under her breath.

He laughed and set one of the cases on the porch, leaning it against the wall so that he could open the door. "So what have you been doing all morning?"

Valerie followed him inside. "Not too much. Just had coffee and doughnut sticks and watched the news with Mom and Dad. Then Mom had to take Dad to the hospital for dialysis, but she said it wouldn't take long when I offered to go along, and she said that the kids will be home early today, anyway. Teacher In-Service or something . . ."

"Is everything okay with him?" Evan asked.

Valerie nodded and smiled a little weakly. She just wasn't very good at covering up her own concern.. "Routine visit, she said . . . It's not that he was feeling worse or anything."

"Good . . . good," Evan remarked. "You okay?"

She tried to smile, but it didn't work, exactly. "I'm fine," she assured him.

He didn't really believe her, but he let it go. After all, she didn't really want him to start making a fuss, now did she? "Ah, so it's just you and me, huh?" Evan quipped instead, setting the guitars against the sofa and pivoting to pin Valerie with an entirely lecherous sort of grin. "You wanna go do it in the kitchen? Bet you'd never look at the dinner table the same way again," he offered, waggling his eyebrows in a ridiculous sort of way.

Valerie snorted but giggled as she set the guitar she was carrying down beside the others. "Sorry, Roka," she shot back without missing a beat while sounding completely insincere, to boot. "I've got a headache."

He sighed. "Ruin my best ideas, why don't you?" he grumbled.

Valerie snorted again and rolled her eyes. "Such a dork."

"Do you, uh, want me to leave you guys alone for a while?"

Valerie sucked in a sharp breath and whirled around, only to come face-to-face with her younger brother. "G-G-Garret . . ." she stammered. "When did you—?"

Garret shot her a little grin then glanced past her at Evan. "Uh . . . I might not look at the kitchen table the same way again," he admitted sheepishly.

Evan chuckled—at least, he did until Valerie turned her head to glare at him. "Good timing, kid," he remarked as he tried to school his features.

Valerie narrowed her eyes at him before turning back to face her brother once more. "He was kidding," she clarified stiffly. "Evan's just being a jerk; that's all."

Garret didn't look like he believed her, but he nodded slowly. "Damn, that's so cool," he muttered, shrugging off his jacket as he kicked the door closed behind him. "Zel Roka wants to do my sister!"

Evan bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud since he figured that Valerie really wouldn't appreciate that in the least.

' _She's gonna kill you, for sure,_ ' his youkai-voice pointed out casually, sounding a little too pleased with the idea of Evan's imminent demise.

' _If I die, so do you_ ,' he reminded it.

' _All for a good cause_ ,' his youkai went on glibly.

' _Yeah, yeah_ . . .'

Garret's smile suddenly disappeared, only to be replaced by a slow expression of apprehension that crept in like a silent storm cloud. "Dude," he breathed as something altogether different occurred to him. "Zel Roka wants to do my sister," he repeated, looking more and more horrified by the second.

"He's being an ass," Valerie stated, her cheeks as red as the sweater she wore.

"No, it's . . . It's cool," Garret hurried on to say, though his expression still wasn't exactly thrilled. "I just . . . I'd rather not _think_ about it; that's all."

"No problem," Evan cut in smoothly before Valerie could say whatever was on her mind. "Say, Garret . . . how comfortable is your bed, by the way . . .?"

Garret looked a little confused for all of ten seconds before the color in his cheeks faded out, only to explode a moment later in a riot of rose. "Man, that's just wrong, wrong, wrong," he complained despite the incredulous little smile on his face.

Evan chuckled. Valerie grunted something unintelligible and wailed Evan in the center of the chest before pivoting on her heel to stop out of the room and into the kitchen, all the while, muttering under her breath about idiot rock stars.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"I'm surprised that your Evan was able to talk Jack into taking that guitar."

Valerie glanced up from the potato she was peeling and smiled at her mother. "He's not my Evan," she corrected, her cheeks pinking slightly. "Anyway, it's not really surprising. Evan's wanted to hear Daddy play since he found out that he used to be in bands."

Rhonda laughed gently. "If he's not yours, then he's not anyone's."

"He's just a world-class flirt," Valerie insisted, dropping the finished potato into a pan of water before reaching for another one.

Rhonda's smile didn't fade as she leaned against the counter for an idle moment. "It does me good to hear your daddy play," she mused, the expression on her face turning a little wistful. "It's been a while since he's done any of that."

"Daddy plays sometimes," Kaci Lea remarked a little tightly and without looking up from the celery she was slicing.

"Not nearly as much as he used to," Rhonda amended. She gave herself a mental shake and turned back to her task of cutting the peeled potatoes.

Valerie smiled, too. "It sounds like the three of them are having a good time in there."

"Are you kidding? Your daddy and brother are never as happy as they are when they're playing, and it seems like Evan isn't much different," Rhonda teased.

"That's true," Valerie remarked.

It was nice, wasn't it? Standing around in the kitchen, helping her mother prep for dinner . . . It seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Strange, really. She hadn't realized that there could be something so satisfying about doing something so simple, and for once, Kaci Lea hadn't tried to get out of spending time with her, either. She wasn't being extremely talkative, but that was all right. She wasn't trying to avoid her, and that had to count for something . . .

"So how did your report go?" Valerie asked, glancing over her shoulder at her young sister.

Kaci Lea reached for another stalk of celery. "Oh, we won't get those back till next week," she replied. "I think I did okay on it, though."

Valerie nodded slowly. "Have you given any thought as to what you want to do after you finish school?"

Kaci Lea shot her a quick glance but shrugged. "Some," she admitted. "I haven't decided yet, though."

"Well, if there's anything I can do for you, just let me know," Valerie said with a smile.

Kaci Lea smiled back, but Valerie didn't miss the tell-tale tightness around the girl's eyes and lips. "Uh, I'm all right," she muttered, setting the knife down and bracing herself against the table to push herself to her feet. "I'm done with this, Mama. I'm going to go study."

"Okay," Rhonda said, taking the cutting board with the chopped celery. "Don't hide in your room all afternoon."

"Sure," she said, grabbing an apple out of the basket in the middle of the table and heading out of the kitchen quickly enough.

Valerie watched her go with a sigh before turning back to the potatoes once more. "She . . . She isn't happy that I'm here, is she?" she ventured, careful to keep her tone as neutral as she could.

"Oh, it's not you," Rhonda said. "I think she's just got too much going on in that head of hers; that's all."

"Oh?"

Rhonda nodded, her eyebrows drawing together in a marked frown. "She worries about everything, you know. I guess it's in her nature, maybe. Worries about her daddy, worries that I'm working too much, worries about her grades . . . She wants to get a scholarship for college because she knows we don't really have enough money to pay for it . . . I think she's happy, but she doesn't smile a whole lot—not like she did when she was little, anyway . . ."

Valerie wasn't entirely convinced. "I don't know . . . I just get the feeling that maybe she isn't very happy to see me."

Rhonda looked like she wanted to argue with that, but maybe she didn't know how. In any case, she smiled encouragingly and turned on the tap to rinse the potatoes. "She just doesn't really know you yet. I'm sure that the two of you will be just fine after you've spent more time together."

Valerie nodded slowly, though she wasn't quite as optimistic as Rhonda. But the last thing she wanted to do was to drag her mother into the middle of it, so the best thing would be to just let it go. After all, she had time to work on her relationship with Kaci Lea, and even then, it was natural, wasn't it? She didn't know Valerie, and Valerie didn't really know her, either . . .

"Speaking of worrying about things," Valerie said in a carefully bright tone, "how did dialysis go?"

"It wasn't bad," Rhonda replied. "The doc said that your dad's vital signs look good. Said he seems more relaxed than he has been in a while."

Valerie let out a deep breath, stealing a sidelong glance at her mother. Rhonda was smiling slightly despite the hint of worry that lingered around the corners of her eyes, her lips. It wasn't the first time Valerie had seen that expression on her mother's face, and she knew damn well that she was worrying about Jack's health far more than she'd ever let on. Biting her lip, Valerie dropped the last potato into the pan of water and moved the colander aside to scrape together the peels that had missed. "I was thinking . . ." she began, hating the hint of trepidation in her voice. "You've all been tested, right? To see if you're compatible donors?"

"We were," Rhonda said with a sigh. "The closest was Garret, but there weren't enough markers for it to be worth the risk."

Valerie nodded slowly, taking her time as she rinsed her hands and reached for the towel. "I want to get tested," she finally said. "I . . . I could be a match, couldn't I?"

The expression on her mother's face made her falter. Rhonda looked hopeful yet strangely horrified and completely sad, all at the same time. "Oh, Val . . . I-I . . ."

She frowned, trying to not feel bad about her mother's strange reaction. "You . . . You think I shouldn't be tested?"

"Oh, it's not that," Rhonda blurted, her cheeks darkening in a painful blush as she reached out to touch Valerie's arm. "It's just . . . Well, you know your daddy. The last thing he'd want is for you to think that the only reason he's glad to see you is because you might be a potential donor, especially after . . ." she trailed off for a moment and swallowed hard despite the smile that she tried to maintain. "Especially after everything else . . ."

"And I just found you again," Valerie heard herself whisper, irritated with herself for the sudden tears that welled up in her eyes. "This isn't about the past, Mom . . . It's about the _future_."

Her words gave her mother pause, and Rhonda looked a little surprised at Valerie's statement. "The future," she repeated, considering the word like she hadn't ever done so before. But her smile brightened despite the heightened glow in her own eyes, and she dashed a hand over them to wipe away the tears that hadn't fallen yet. Then she reached out and pulled Valerie into a tight hug, kissing her cheek soundly. "You're a good girl, Valerie," she finally said. "I'll talk to your daddy about it."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Where You Goin' Now?_** ' _by_ _Damn Yankees_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1992_ _release_ , **_Don't_** **_Tread_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Jack_ _Blades_ , _Ted_ _Nugent_ , and _Tommy_ _Shaw._
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Kitchen_ _tables_ … _nice_...


	163. 162: Unwanted

' _It's been a long time since I rock and rolled_...  
' _It's been a long time since I did the Stroll_ …  
' _Ooh, let me get it back, let me get it back_ …  
' _Let me get it back, baby, where I come from_ …  
' _It's been a long time, been a long time_ …  
' _Been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time; yes it has …_ _'_

 

-' _Rock and Roll_ ' by Led Zeppelin.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Damn . . . What's that for?"

Evan grinned and pulled the new guitar out of the case then strode across the room to hand it to Jack. "Well, you can play, right?" he challenged, raising an eyebrow to underline the implication.

Jack seemed a little chagrined. On the one hand, he was a musician, which meant that he wanted to show his skills. On the other? Well, the man did have his pride, and in spades, at that. Must be where Valerie got hers, too . . . "I can't take this," he grumbled, trying to hand the instrument back.

Evan stepped away and started to pull out the next guitar. "Don't worry about it," he said, waving a hand to shrug off Jack's concern. "Got these free from a friend of mine. He says it's good advertising. Besides, I've got too many guitars at home now, and if I take those back with me, I'll just end up donating them to some charity, anyway."

"They just gave them to you?" Jack asked grudgingly.

Evan nodded. "I comp shit like that all the time. Really, it's not a big deal; I swear it."

"It is pretty nice," Jack allowed as he looked over the instrument with a critical eye.

"You'd be doing me a favor," Evan added for good measure. "Shipping all that stuff back home would just be a pain."

Jack didn't look entirely convinced, but he grunted. "If you're sure," he muttered. He hated accepting anything, didn't he? Not that Evan could blame him. He'd probably feel the same if he were in the man's shoes. Still . . .

"Seriously, it's no big thing," Evan said. "If you don't want it, then you can probably find someone to give it to, right?"

Beside him, Garret uttered a harsh, raspy, almost wheezing sort of sound but remained silent.

"And you didn't have to buy it . . .?" Jack asked to clarify everything.

"Not a dime," Evan replied.

' _Which is a big, fat lie . . . You know, you're doing that a lot lately, Roka_.'

' _Shut it. He wouldn't take it if he knew I bought the damn thing, now would he? Besides, the old one they've got might've been a good one back in the day, but it won't hold a tune for more than ten minutes, and that's no good_.'

' _Okay, okay. I'm just pointing out that lying is wrong, so when you're facing your maker after you kick it, don't be surprised when he slaps you with a one-way ticket, straight to hell._ '

' _Yeah_ ,' Evan agreed easily enough. ' _But I won't be alone, now will I?_ '

His youkai snorted but shut up, and Evan grinned as he held out the next guitar to Garret. The kid blinked and stared, opening and closing his mouth a few times while he slowly shook his head. "N . . . No way," he breathed, taking an involuntary step back in retreat. "Th-That's a Hargreave-Langastan Walker Pro Fourth-Edition!"

Evan chuckled and shook the guitar until Garret reluctantly took it. "Close, Garret, but no. It's a Fifth-Edition—the very newest model."

" _Da-a-a-amn_ . . ." he breathed, handing the guitar as though he thought it'd break in his hands. "Holy shit! I never, ever thought I'd ever get to touch one of these babies!"

"You can have that one," Evan stated as he dug the last guitar out of its case. "Besides, I have this one, anyway."

Garret blinked and finally looked away from the guitar in his hands to stare at the ebony Stainer Rendan Evan held. "Sweet," he said, obviously approving of Evan's choice. The Stainer Rendan series wasn't quite as highly acclaimed as the hand-tooled Hargreave-Langastan Walker Pro series, but it was a close thing. The two companies had emerged in the last thirty years to outshine many of the older, more tired lines, combining a sleeker, newer style with a truer sound, and at a lower price than many of the other big-boy brands. It never ceased to amuse Evan, really. There were numerous musicians who swore by the older brands, but if one was to look into their road cases, they usually had one of the newer models. Besides, Evan already had two of the Hargreave-Langastan models at home . . .

Suddenly, Garret set the guitar down on the sofa cushions and turned away.

"Hey!" Evan called after him as Jack strummed a few chords, pausing now and then to adjust the strings. "Where you going?"

Garret didn't stop as he headed down the short hallway off the living room. "I think I need to go shit my pants now," he called over his shoulder.

Evan burst out in laughter, unable to help himself. No doubt about it: he really liked that kid . . .

He hurried back into the room a minute later with a guitar pick in his hand and another one clamped tightly between his lips. When he caught Evan's gaze, he grinned and tossed another pick at him. Evan caught it and chuckled. "Show me what you've got, kid," he challenged.

Garret's grin widened as he carefully reached for the guitar and sat down on the sofa.

"You know this one, youngun?" Jack asked, launching into a melody that Evan recognized. Settling down next to Garret, he picked up the tune without missing a beat. Garret started playing seconds after Evan.

"Everyone knows _Milwaukee Traveler_ ," Evan teased. "The Grind Down, one of the best crunch bands in the last twenty years . . ."

"Saw 'em once in concert just before Mad Dog Cruder got killed in that car crash," Jack said without missing a beat. "Damn, they were good."

"Well, fuck me up the ass, I'm jealous," Evan admitted. "I always wanted to see them live."

"They were worth it," Jack assured him. "You missed a hell of a show, but I guess you were just a kid back then . . ."

"Hey, Dad, play that lullaby you used to play whenever Kase got all fussy," Garret said.

Jack chuckled, but changed the song while Evan stopped to listen. It was a simple song—a pretty song. Melodic and mellow with sweet words meant to soothe an upset child, and Evan smiled, wondering in the back of his mind if Valerie had ever heard that particular tune before. Evan didn't recognize it. Maybe it was one that Jack had written . . .

Kaci Lea stepped out of the kitchen where she'd been helping with dinner. She started to head off toward her bedroom, but she stopped and slowly turned, her eyes wide as a little smile quirked her lips, as her cheeks pinked in a very pretty way. Wandering over to sit on a threadbare old ottoman near her father's chair, she wrapped her arms around her knees, content to listen while her father played the song that she must have remembered.

Glancing over at Garret, Evan chuckled to himself. True, the song might well have been written for Kaci Lea, but it didn't matter. The boy looked just as happy as he watched his father play. When he caught Evan's look, he grinned. "He's good, right?" he said in a low tone, obviously to keep from interrupting Jack.

Evan nodded. "He is," he agreed. "Damn good."

By the time the song ended, Kaci Lea was smiling, leaning forward as though she were afraid to miss a single note. She stood up quickly and kissed her father's cheek, then sat back down again to wait for the next song.

"Okay, Jack, let's see how good you really are," Evan goaded, launching into another song. It was old—really old—and he figured that Jack would know it. Garret, on the other hand, he wasn't entirely sure about, but it didn't actually surprise him that the kid knew it, too. Maybe Jack was wrong. Maybe Garret had paid more attention to his father than Jack had thought . . .

 

 

" _'Hello darkness, my old friend, I've come with talk with you again ..._  
 _Because a vision softly creeping, left its seeds while I was sleeping ..._  
 _And the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains ..._  
 _Within the sound of silence ..._

_"'In restless dreams I walked alone, narrow streets of cobblestone ..._   
_'Neath the halo of a streetlamp, I turned my collar to the cold and damp ..._   
_When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light, split the night ..._   
_And touched the sound of silence ..._

_"'And in the naked light I saw, ten thousand people, maybe more ..._   
_People talking without speaking, people hearing without listening ..._   
_People writing songs that voices never shared, and no one dared ..._   
_To stir the sound of silence ..._

_"''Fool,' said I, 'you do not know, silence, like a cancer, grows ..._   
_Hear my words and I might teach you, take my arms then I might reach you ...'_   
_But my words, like silent raindrops fell, and echoed in the wells of silence ..._

_"'And the people bowed and prayed to the neon god they'd made ..._  
 _And the sign flashed its warning in the words that it was forming ..._  
 _And the sign said the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls ..._  
 _And tenement halls, and whispered in the sounds of silence_ …'"

 

 

As the song faded away, the silence in the room was thick, full of a breathless sort of quality, as though no one wanted to risk breaking the invisible spell. During the song, Valerie and her mother had ventured out of the kitchen. Rhonda was leaning in the doorway with a trembling smile on her face, her hand poised over her heart. Valerie was sitting on the floor just inside the doorway, leaning against the wall, her eyes suspiciously bright. When she noticed Evan's perusal, she smiled as she reached up to wipe a tear off her cheek.

But it had been something, and even Evan had noticed it. There were times when everything seemed to come together while playing. Maybe it was the connection of the musicians, maybe it was as simple as being completely in tune with the others' emotions. Maybe it was the alignment of the stars or the perfect rising of the tides at sea, but when it happened, something magical was created: as beautiful and fleeting as the insular moment when a butterfly unfurled its wings for the first time, yet so bittersweet because of the whispering knowledge that it might never happen again: that once-in-a-lifetime song that every musician alive tried to attain. He'd felt the perfect blending of guitars and voices, of harmonies and rhythm, and it was enough to send a shiver down his spine.

The others felt it, too. Evan could tell by the way that Garret sat, hand poised as if to strike a chord that just never came. He could tell by the way that Jack stared at his son with all the pride that a father could possibly have, right there in his gaze.

Jack should have made it, shouldn't he? He should have been one of the stars that Evan had idolized in his youth. One of those guys who never cut a single record but whose talent was undeniable . . . If his life hadn't been sidetracked, if he hadn't been caught up in a series of mistakes that had ultimately left him standing still instead of moving forward, he would have been, and yet . . . and yet, it was all right, wasn't it?

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"I forgot how much I love to hear you play," Valerie ventured as she set down a glass of iced tea on the table beside her father. "Evan said that you're really, really good."

Jack snorted. "I ain't that good," he countered mildly. "That Evan—Zel—whatever his name is . . . He's damn good."

She laughed softly at her father's indecision over Evan's name and sat down on the ottoman that Kaci Lea had abandoned a few minutes before. "Are you all right? You look a little tired."

Jack waved a hand and shot her a stern look. "I'm fine, little girl. Don't worry about me."

"I can't help it," she admitted. "I've worried about you and Mom a lot."

"Parents are the ones who are supposed to worry about their kids, not the other way around," he maintained.

She sighed and bit her lip, watching in silence as her father took his evening does of pills. A moment later, the sound of her mother's laughter drifted out of the kitchen.

Jack frowned as he stared at the empty doorway. "Tell me the truth," he said without shifting his gaze. "Can he actually cook or is he in there hitting on my wife?"

Valerie laughed at her father's dry idea of a joke. "No, Daddy, he really can cook—but he probably is in there, hitting on Mom, too."

Jack smirked. "She'll put him in his place," he predicted smugly. "Your Mama's tougher than she looks."

"I know it," Valerie agreed, her smile dimming just a little as she slowly glanced around the living room. Unmatched lamps, threadbare furnishings, books held in place on a rickety old pressed board shelf by a jar full of pennies on one side and an old, wrought iron boot jack on the other . . . carpeting that was so worn that it was completely flat in places, not to mention the faded old curtains hanging on either side of the window . . . She'd seen the mountain of pill bottles in the medicine cupboard in the kitchen. She'd seen the bills for the doctor visits that the public health agencies didn't cover. The old car that sounded like a tank when it was fired up, the patched roof pieced together from so many different odds and ends that it looked more like a quilt spread over the trailer . . .

"You look like you got something on your mind," Jack remarked, cutting through Valerie's thoughts like a sledgehammer against glass.

Valerie blinked and tried to force a smile. "Oh, uh," she hedged, unsure how she should say what was really on her mind. "I-It's just . . . I mean . . ."

"Spit it out, little girl," he muttered gruffly.

She bit her lip and gave a couple jerky nods. "I, um . . . Well, I . . . I have some extra money—I mean, I got a really nice bonus at work for Christmas—and I thought—"

"No," Jack interrupted firmly. "No, Valene—Valerie. You keep your money."

Wincing inwardly since she'd rather figured she'd get that response from him, Valerie straightened her back and took a deep breath. "Daddy, I want to help you guys. Please."

Jack shook his head, a thorough frown carving deep lines between his eyebrows. "No," he stated once more with a little more force than the last time. "It's enough for me that you came home. I don't want your money, little girl."

"But—"

"No 'buts'," he insisted. "I don't ever want you thinking that we only wanted you around to take care of us."

"I don't," she assured him. "That's what family's for, isn't it? To take care of each other?"

"Yeah, and I did a piss-poor job of that when you were a kid," he shot back. Then he heaved a sigh as the irritation on his face gave way to a sadness so deep that it brought tears to Valerie's eyes. "You got no idea how sorry I am, V. You . . . You don't know how many times I couldn't even look your mama in the eyes, knowing what I did . . . Knowing that it was my fault that you were taken away . . ."

"I don't think that," Valerie said softly, reaching out, grasping his hand in hers. "It wasn't . . . It's too late to point fingers now."

He didn't look like he agreed with her, and the heightened brightness—the wash of tears that stood in his eyes was a painful thing for her to see. "You grew up good, didn't you? Grew up better 'n your mama and I coulda done for you."

"Daddy . . ." Valerie began, ignoring the single tear that slipped down her cheek, "I'm tired . . . I'm so tired of trying to be angry, and . . . and I don't want to be an outsider here. I don't want to be a guest. I want to be a daughter— _your_ daughter . . . and I want to help you and Mama."

Jack grabbed her hands, tugged her to her feet, pulled her forward, letting go of her as his arms wrapped around her, and his grip was much tighter than it should have been. The rising tears that she'd held back cascaded over, soaking into her father's shirt as he held her tight. "We don't want your money," he told her once more, his voice strained, cracking, as brittle as the winter wind. "We only wanted you to come home . . . _I_ just wanted you to come home."

Valerie didn't know how long she sat there on her father's lap. If she stopped to think about it, she might have realized that it was wholly ridiculous for a full-grown woman to be held like such a little girl, but somehow, it never occurred to her. When she finally pushed herself up, it was to find him smiling at her, and for just a moment, he looked exactly like he had when she was small—the man she loved best, even if he wasn't perfect—the daddy that she thought was more handsome than anyone else on earth . . . "I love you, Daddy," she whispered, a trembling smile on her lips.

Jack's smile faltered for a moment, twitching as he struggled to hold back his tears. "You, too, little girl," he muttered, his cheeks pinking as he gave her hands another squeeze. Then he grunted. "See? I knew you needed to eat more. You don't weigh nothing—nothing at all."

She barked out a terse laugh but scooted off his lap. "I weigh enough," she insisted.

"If that rockstar knows how to cook, then you tell him to feed you better," Jack went on.

Valerie rolled her eyes as she wiped her cheeks and settled back onto the ottoman once more. "Promise me something, Daddy?"

He looked dubious, but he nodded. "What's that?"

She drew a deep breath and smiled, but this time, the smile was genuine. "Promise you'll tell me if you need anything. Even if it's not for you, if you need money for Kaci Lea or Garret. . ."

She could tell by the look on his face that she'd made a little progress when she'd mentioned the kids and what they might need. That was enough for now, she supposed. Jack wasn't about to give in on the matter, but neither was she. She'd just tell her mother later that she wanted her to call if they needed anything at all.

Jack scratched his chest as he slowly nodded once. "All right," he allowed, "but they got everything they need."

"I know," she said. "I just don't want to see either of them miss any opportunities because they don't think that you can afford it. That's all."

"Okay, fine," Jack relented, albeit with all the ill-grace that he could muster. "If _they_ need anything, we'll call you."

Valerie opened her mouth to point out that his tone indicated that he was just humoring her. He cut her off when he held out his hand. "Now give me that guitar, will you? It doesn't smell like dinner's ready yet, and I feel like playing some more . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Rock_** **_and_** **_Roll_** ' _by_ _Led_ _Zeppelin_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1971_ _release_ , **_Led_** **_Zeppelin_** **_IV_**.   _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Jimmy_ _Page_ , _Robert_ _Plant,_ _John_ _Paul_ _Jones_ , _and_ _John_ _Bonham.  
>  _
> 
> ' ** _The_** **_Sound_** **_of_** **_Silence_** ' _by_ _Simon_ _and_ _Garfunkel_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1966_ _release_ , **_Sounds_** **_of_** **_Silence_**. _Song_ _written_ _by_ _and_ _copyrighted_ _to_ _Paul_ _Simon._
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Hot damn, he's good!_


	164. 163: The Notebook

_'How can I help it if I think you're funny when you're mad_ …?  
 _'Trying hard not to smile though I feel bad_ …  
 _'I'm the kind of guy who laughs at a funeral_ …  
' _Can't understand what I mean ..._?  
' _Well, you soon will_ ...'

 

-' _One Week'_ by Barenaked Ladies.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan paused outside the house and took a moment to look over the contract that Mike had faxed over earlier that morning. After hearing the song that Jack had played for him yesterday, one that he'd written years ago, Evan had been so impressed that he'd called Mike as soon as he and Valerie had gotten back to the hotel last night, and Mike had agreed to see what he could do about selling the rights to record the song. It might not be done immediately, but the money that the deal would provide would be a welcome thing for Jack and his family.

It hadn't taken long. One of the other bands that Mike managed was interested in buying the performance rights, and while that was cool in Evan's estimation, he couldn't say that he thought that the band in question was right for the song, either. Of course, just because they were interested didn't mean that they'd get the song. After all, there was a lot of stuff between here and there, and deals had a habit of falling apart more often than not. Mike figured that it'd be okay to buy the rights now. If Evan himself bought them, then there was no rush to get it out there, either, and they could take their time in approaching the right person to record it. He'd bounced the idea of talking to Mike about it off of Jack before he'd left last night, but he had the distinct impression that Jack had just said yes without actually believing that anything would really come of it.

Still, it was just a standard contract. Evan through Mike had offered Jack more than enough money to make it worth his while, and once the song was recorded, there would also be royalties, and those would be nothing to sneeze at. All in all, in selling this one song, Jack would be able to support his family better than he had in quite a while, and that would undoubtedly mean a lot to the man.

Besides, it would make Evan feel a lot better, too. He didn't have to be a genius to know that Jack would absolutely refuse any help, should Evan offer it. At least he'd let Evan help with the roof, so that was one thing that he felt better about, and when Valerie had tried to offer to give them some money to buy the kids a few things last night, she'd been turned down, flat, and it wasn't just Jack who had refused. The kids, too, had insisted that they were fine. Garret had his part time job at a local fast food restaurant, and Kaci Lea worked on Friday afternoons and Saturdays at the library. Neither one made much, but they both said that they had some spending money for clothes or other things.

"Do you think he'll accept that?" Valerie asked as she stepped onto the porch behind him. He glanced back at her in time to see her flexing her arm, staring thoughtfully at the area where the cotton ball was taped underneath her coat and sweater.

"Sure," he replied with a reassuring grin. "You okay?"

She rolled her eyes at his question. "Come on, Roka. They just drew a little blood. It's not like I'm dying or anything," she reminded him.

He chuckled. "I know," he relented. "You didn't tell him you were going in to be tested, right?"

Valerie shook her head and stepped past him to knock on the door. "No. Mama said that she thought it'd be better to wait until after I'd gotten the type test, and now . . ." Trailing off with a wince, she heaved a sigh, those hazel eyes of hers clouding over. At least the redness that had lingered after she'd given into the need to cry earlier had diminished. "Anyway, I'm glad I didn't."

Evan nodded. She was afraid that he would have told her not to do it, wasn't she? It wouldn't surprise Evan in the least; not really. After all, he knew well enough that Jack felt like he didn't deserve to ask anything at all of her, even if she didn't exactly feel the same way. It was understandable, but it was also understandable, why Valerie would want to do it, in the first place, and her mother had told her last night that she should go into the doctor's office and have her blood drawn to see if it was even possible for her to be considered as a donor, to start with. They'd done that a few hours ago, but she'd been so upset that Evan had suggested that they go out for lunch before heading over to her parents' place. She hadn't really agreed or disagreed, but in the end, it was probably a good thing that they'd waited a while since she obviously wasn't really ready to try to put on a good face. She hadn't said much on the drive over, and Evan wasn't entirely sure that she was okay now, but she'd insisted, so what could he really do?

"I'm sorry about that."

Valerie sighed. "Me, too," she muttered, not even trying to hide her own disappointment. The first thing they'd done was to see whether or not her blood type was compatible, and, unfortunately, it wasn't. Since that was the case, there really wasn't a point to trying to test her further, they'd said. At least she hadn't gotten Jack's hopes up, but still . . .

It was a double edged sword, wasn't it? On the one hand, Evan could understand and appreciate Valerie's desire to help her father. On the other? To be completely honest, Evan was really not too keen on the idea of Valerie being cut open for any reason, whatsoever, and while he knew that she was upset about the idea that she couldn't even be considered to be a donor for her father, he couldn't help the small part of him that was selfishly glad on that front. Sure, he wanted Jack to live, and if it came right down to it, he'd have supported Valerie's decision to donate, but . . . Well, it was a moot point now, in any case . . .

Valerie sighed again and pushed open the door to go inside. Evan started to follow her, but stopped short when his cell phone rang. He considered sending it directly to voicemail until he saw the name that appeared on the caller ID. With a grin, he motioned for Valerie to close the door. "It's my mama," he explained as he connected the call and lifted the phone to his ear. "Hey, hottie. You ready to bag that ol' geezer and come hang with me?"

Gin giggled. "Now, now," she chided despite the amusement in her tone, "your father's hardly a geezer, Evan!"

"Yeah, okay," he relented with a chuckle. "So what's up, Mama?"

"Well," she drawled, "I just wondered what my baby boy's been up to? Sebastian said you're out of the city . . . You aren't on tour again, are you? You didn't mention it when you were here over Christmas . . ."

Evan chuckled again at the slightly petulant tone of his mother's voice. "No, Mama, I'm not," he assured her. "Actually, I'm in Kentucky with V."

"Oh?" she said, sounding more than a little interested. "Are the two of you back together?"

"Uh, not exactly," he hedged, folding the contract up and stowing it in the inside pocket of his coat. "It's complicated . . ."

"Hmm," Gin intoned. "Are you going to be there long?"

"Actually, we're leaving tomorrow," he said. "Then I'll be getting ready for a couple shows overseas. You know, rehearsal and all that good shit."

"O-Oh," Gin said.

"Here, Baby Girl. Give me the phone."

Evan frowned at the serious tone in his father's voice as Cain took the phone from his mother. "Evan?"

"Yeah," he said. "Something wrong?"

Cain sighed. "Not really. You're going back to the city tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he said again. "Why?"

"Okay, good," Cain went on, more to himself than to Evan. "Come up here as soon as you get back, then."

The frown on Evan's face deepened at the no-nonsense lilt in Cain's tone. It wasn't really one that he heard that often. It usually meant that Evan had done something worthy of garnering Cain's wrath, but he hadn't done anything like that recently, had he? As far as he knew, he was in the clear, and even then, Evan couldn't remember having ever been summarily told to get home . . . Well, no, there was one time when that had happened, and Evan just didn't want to think about that time, either . . . "Did I do something, Cain?" he asked mildly.

"Do something?" Cain repeated, sounding more confused than he probably should have. "No," he replied. "We—your mother and I—we just have something to tell you, and it can't wait. That's all."

Evan digested that for a moment then shrugged. "Okay," he allowed. "So tell me."

"We need to tell you in person," Cain insisted. "Your brother and sister will be here, too."

That got Evan's attention quickly enough. "Bubby and Jilli, too? What about Bella?"

"We'll tell her, too, of course. Anyway, the sooner, the better."

"Yeah," Evan agreed slowly. "All right."

"Oh, Cain!" he heard Gin say in the background. "Tell him to bring Valerie along! I'd love to see her again!"

"You heard your mom, right?" Cain asked.

"Uh, yeah," Evan said. "What's all this about, Cain? _Is_ something wrong?"

"No, Evan, I told you," Cain maintained. "We'll see you in a couple days."

"Right," Evan replied just before the line went dead.

He scowled. Just what the hell was going on?

"Are you okay?"

Evan blinked and turned, then forced a small smile when he spotted Kaci Lea on the path with one foot on the bottom step. "Oh, hey. I didn't see you there," he said, brushing aside the feeling that something important was going on back home.

She didn't return his smile, and her concerned frown deepened as her bright hazel eyes—eyes the same color as her older sister's—took on a troubled sort of glow. For the briefest of moments, Evan had to wonder if Valerie had looked like Kaci Lea at that age, and if she had, it was not surprising that she'd had a slew of boyfriends, even if those boyfriends had been complete and utter jerkoffs. "You were on the phone," she explained, gesturing at the cell in his hand.

He glanced down at the device then snapped it closed and dropped it into his pocket. "Eh, that wasn't a big thing," he lied. "Shouldn't you be at school?"

"We got out early today," she explained. "There was a gas leak in the Home Ec room, so they sent everyone home."

"Oh, is that right?" he asked, shuffling over and sitting on the top step. He'd wanted to have a little talk with her before they left, and now was as good of a time as any. It wasn't that he wanted to try to gloss things over between her and Valerie, no, but if he could maybe get some kind of understanding as to what, exactly, was really on the girl's mind, it might help Valerie to figure out how to deal with this particular sibling . . . "I hear you're the smart one," he said, careful to keep his tone light, teasing.

Kaci Lea blushed slightly—damned if she didn't look even more like Valerie, too—and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other self-consciously. "Not really," she muttered, biting her lip and looking entirely nervous. "I mean, I have to study a lot."

"Nothing wrong with that," he allowed. "Can I ask you something?"

She shot him a quick glance, looking more unsettled by the moment, but she nodded. "Okay."

Evan took a deep breath as he considered how to word his question so that he didn't inadvertently put her on the defensive. "Are you . . . Are you unhappy that Valerie came home to visit?"

She seemed surprised for a moment. Tucking a long strand of blonde hair behind her ear, she shuffled her feet again and scrunched up her shoulders. "N-No, that's not it," she blurted quickly, her already ruddy cheeks darkening in color. "Mama and Daddy are so glad she came home."

"Yeah, but are _you?_ " he asked gently. Something about the girl's demeanor . . .

Biting her lip, she hesitated for a moment before replying. "I am," she whispered, her voice as thin as the smile that she tried to sell him. Her eyes were sad, and maybe she thought that she was putting on a good front, but she wasn't any better at doing that than Valerie was . . . "Every day since I can remember, I've heard about her non-stop. I guess she's everything they've said she was."

Evan nodded and smiled gently as an unsettling sense of deja vu crept up his spine. Sure, she was a girl, and he wasn't, but her feelings . . . He could understand them, couldn't he? After all, he'd spent a lifetime feeling much the same way about his perfect brother, Sebastian. That's what it was. He could see it in her eyes. To her, Valerie had become the one person she'd never, ever be able to catch up to, hadn't she? "I know Valerie's looked forward to getting to know you," he said.

She didn't look convinced. "Yeah, but you're leaving tomorrow, right?" Her frown deepened. "So she gets to go back to her big city life and forget all about Mama and Daddy again . . ."

"Do you really think she'd do that?" Evan asked quietly.

She shrugged and shot him a belligerent sort of glance. "Won't she?" she challenged. "If she really cared like you said she does, then why didn't she bother to try to get in touch with Garret or me sooner?" Shaking her head, she seemed to be gathering her waning bravado. "Okay, maybe not me. She never knew me, anyway, but Garret? He's said before that he remembered her some, and if he remembers her, then she has to have remembered him. She's a big lawyer, right? So, that means she's got money, too, right? I mean, if she didn't, then why would she bother trying to give them money? You telling me that she couldn't find us? Because that's a lie . . . Mama told me that they've always lived here."

"Kaci Lea, I don't think—" Evan began, only to be cut off when the girl shook her head furiously.

She sighed, and the sadness in her tone was completely at odds with the guarded expression in her eyes. "Even if Mama and Daddy did her wrong, Garret didn't do a thing to her, and I know it's always bugged him."

"And you," Evan added.

She shook her head again, wrapping her arms a little tighter around the books she held against her chest. "I don't know her," she stated once more, "and I don't need a sister who comes and goes as she pleases."

Letting out a deep breath, he could only watch as Kaci Lea hurried up the steps and brushed past him. Of course, he knew damn well that it wasn't the way that the girl seemed to believe that it was, but what he knew didn't matter. As much as he wanted things to be okay between the two, it wasn't really his place to try to fix it all, and even then, he could understand the girl's feelings. Kaci Lea was too young to understand everything, and as much as Valerie had always perceived things from her point of view, so did Kaci Lea. In her mind, the sister she might have wanted when she was younger hadn't wanted her, and no amount of Evan's interference, no matter how well-intentioned, would change that. The only thing that would was time—time and a lot of effort on both of their parts . . . Add to that the idea that in her mind, Valerie had become the untouchable icon, and, well . . .

The thing was that Kaci Lea had gotten tired of trying to chase after Valerie's shadow, and that was something that Evan really could understand all too well. That same feeling had led him to his desire to be the best of the bad, the exact opposite of his perfect brother. Kaci Lea might not have opted to follow that same route, but her determination was the same.

But Evan also knew that Valerie had no intention of breaking her ties with her family now. She'd fought too hard to regain them, battling demons that had lived deep inside her for far too long, that there was no way she would let go. Eventually, Kaci Lea would understand that, too . . .

The car that Evan had seen picking up and dropping off Garret before and after school pulled to a stop in front of the trailer, and Garret crawled out of the back seat. He muttered something to the driver then stepped away as the car rumbled down the lane.

The boy loped over to the porch with a grin on his face. When he saw Evan's expression, however, he blinked. "V still pissed at you about last night?" he asked without preamble.

Evan barked out a terse laugh then shook his head. "Nah," he replied, finally breaking into a grin as he pushed himself to his feet once more. "She never stays mad at me."

Garret looked rather dubious, but he nodded. "I told Mom not to make a big deal out of it, but she insisted . . . said it wasn't every day that her daughter got engaged and all that . . ."

Evan grimaced at the blatant reminder. Valerie had been pleased enough at the celebration dinner that her parents had thrown the night before. She'd just assumed that they were 'celebrating' her homecoming—until her mother had asked, point blank, when the wedding was going to be. Too bad Evan had been in the middle of taking a bite of fried chicken at the time. He'd inhaled sharply, only to end up choking on crispy bits of the chicken breading while Valerie kicked him as hard as she possibly could under the table . . .

"Hey, you're not limping anymore," Garret remarked as he reached for the door knob and shot Evan a wolfish grin.

He snorted but refrained from comment as he followed the boy into the house.

"Just the man I wanted to see," Jack remarked as Evan wiped his feet on the welcome mat inside the door.

"That right?" Evan asked, ignoring the widening grin on Garret's face.

Jack nodded. "Come here, son."

It took Evan a moment to realize that Jack was talking to him and not to Garret. "Yes, sir?"

Jack stared at him for a long moment before he spoke again. "You're Zel Roka, right?"

Evan raised his eyebrows since he thought that had been established a couple days ago, but he nodded. "Yes, I am."

Jack nodded again. "So you've got money, right? I mean, you've got to, don't you?"

Evan wasn't sure where this was leading, but he went along with it, anyway. "A fair amount," he admitted.

Jack snorted. "Then tell me why my daughter's running around with that joke of an engagement ring on her finger when you're _Zel Roka_ with a _fair amount_ of money."

"Uh . . ."

' _Yeah_ , that _looks smart_ ,' Evan's youkai pointed out as Evan opened and closed his mouth a few times without making much progress on the speaking front.

"You know, I'd have thought you'd buy her the Hope Diamond or some shit," Garret added, crossing his arms over his chest despite the grin that was growing on his face. He was enjoying this, wasn't he? Well, hell, of _course_ he was. Evan would be, too—if he wasn't the one in the hot seat . . .

"Well, see, that's just a—um—a temporary ring," he said, hoping to God that Jack didn't call him on his lie. "I'm having her ring made to order, and it's not ready yet . . ."

Jack narrowed his eyes in a 'Don't Bullshit a Bullshitter' kind of way. "Zelig?"

"Uh huh?"

Jack nodded slowly. "Are you _really_ marrying my little girl?"

Evan cleared his throat. "E-Eventually," he replied.

' _You'd think you'd have learned your lesson about this lying business the first time_ . . .'

' _Shut the hell up, or I swear on all that's holy, I'll fly to Japan and ask Grandma Kagome to purify you right the hell out of me_.'

' _As if!_ '

"But you _will_ marry her," Jack went on.

Evan nodded. "As soon as possible," he added for good measure.

"Not before you buy her a real ring; not if I have anything to say about it."

Evan swallowed hard. Nothing like being called on the carpet by the father of the woman he wanted to marry . . . "Yes, sir."

Garret snorted. Then laughed. Loudly.

Jack, however, seemed satisfied enough with Evan's answer, and he settled back in his chair again. "Good . . . now V said you have something to tell me?"

It took Evan a moment to remember exactly what it was he meant to speak with Jack about, which wasn't surprising, as far as he was concerned. When he did, however, he pulled the contract out of his coat pocket and held it out to the man.

"What's this?" Jack asked, eyeing Evan rather suspiciously.

Evan grinned. "It's an offer," he replied easily enough.

"For what?"

"That song you played for me yesterday," Evan explained. "I played it for my manager last night, and he thinks he can sell it—if you're willing, that is."

Jack looked surprised. "Your manager does?"

"He said last night that he was going to play it for him, Dad," Garret reminded him.

Jack waved a hand at his son then patted his pocket for his reading glasses. Garret reached over, nabbing them off the table, and handed them to Jack. "Yeah, but I didn't think you were serious," he said.

Garret leaned toward Evan. "Do you mean it? Dad could sell that song?"

Evan chuckled. "Absolutely."

Jack made a face. "I don't understand this legal crap," he complained.

Garret fairly ran out of the living room and into the kitchen.

"It's a standard contract," Evan said. "It gives Mike the right to shop the song around to interested parties."

Jack grunted without taking his eyes off the contract. "My song . . . It ain't gonna be recorded by some boy band or something, is it?"

Evan laughed. "Mike doesn't deal with anyone like that," he said. "Even then, if you tell Mike that you don't want him to release the performance rights to someone like that, then it's all good."

Jack sighed, letting the contract drop onto his lap as he rubbed his forehead with a trembling hand. "Then again, guess it don't matter. Hearing my song on the radio . . . That'd be worth something, wouldn't it?"

"I've always thought so," Evan replied. "That song isn't really a pop song, anyway," he went on. "You ask me, though? I think we should look for the perfect person to record it."

Jack nodded slowly, but his frown deepened as he considered the offer. "It's not normal though, is it?"

"What isn't?"

He shrugged. "Your manager, buying the song? I thought the artist that wanted to record it usually did that."

"Not exactly," Evan said. "You're not really _selling_ your song, see. You'll retain all the copyrights and that kind of thing. What you'll be doing here is selling the recording and performance rights to your song, which is completely different. Some songs go through a middle man, though. A lot of times, you sell your recording rights to record labels, and they offer it to their people. This is kind of like that, only Mike would be looking for the _right_ person, not just whoever they figured could sell it to the biggest audience."

"You need help with that contract?"

Evan and Jack both looked over as Valerie followed Garret into the living room.

Jack started to shake his head, but seemed to remember that contracts were something that Valerie would be able to understand well enough, and he grudgingly held up the document. She took it and spent a few minutes reading through it. "According to this, you'd be selling the performance rights to an as-yet unspecified artist for the initial amount of twenty-five thousand dollars up front while retaining all copyrights, meaning that you can sell the performance rights again after the allotted time frame given here of five years from the initial date of public release if someone else wants to record it. After the publication of your song, you will be entitled to royalties of eight and a half percent per unit sold as well as radio and video royalties, to be paid quarterly."

Jack shook his head and shot Evan a questioning look. "What does that mean in terms of money?"

Evan grinned. "That means that if you choose to sign that contract, you'll get twenty-five thousand dollars right now, and when it's recorded, you'll get royalties from that, too. Say your song hits number one on the charts, you'd be looking at a damn healthy royalty check every quarter. Two? Three hundred thousand, easy."

He considered that and seemed a little taken aback by the numbers that Evan had so casually tossed out there. "But it's still my song?"

"Absolutely."

Jack nodded slowly then glanced at Valerie.

"It's a very good deal," she told him with a smile.

"Twenty-five thousand dollars for one song," Jack mused.

"Plus royalties after it's recorded," Evan pointed out. "Jack, listen. I've been doing this for a while, you know? I know a kick ass song when I hear one, and yours is gonna kick a hell of a lot of ass. It wouldn't surprise me if you're looking at damn big royalties that'll make the twenty-five look like nothing, and once the song's released, we're not talking about a year or two of royalties. We're talking about years and years of them—royalties that'll be paid to your grandchildren or even great-grandchildren one day, providing no one does anything stupid, like sell those rights to it."

"I can't believe it," Jack murmured. "My song . . ."

Evan pulled his cell phone out and dialed Mike's number. He answered after two rings. "What's up, Roka?"

"Hey, Mikey, I'm here with Jack right now, and he just went over the contract with V. You wanna talk to him?"

"Okay," Mike agreed. "Does he want to sell?"

"He's interested," Evan said. "Hold on."

Jack blinked when Evan held out his cell phone. "It's Mike," Evan explained. "He wants to talk to you about the contract and stuff."

Jack took the phone, and Evan chuckled. The man looked about as shocked as it was possible to look, but it was definitely shocked in a good way. "Hello?"

"Hey," Garret said, lowering his voice so that only Evan could hear.

"Hmm?"

Garret glanced at his father then back at Evan once more. "Dad's got this notebook, you know? He's got lots of stuff in it—more songs—lots of them."

"Really?" Evan said, turning to face Garret more fully. "Is that right?"

Garret nodded. "A lot of them are real good. Dad says they're not, but he said that one wasn't, either, right? So, maybe . . ." He trailed off and seemed to be thinking about something. A moment later, he shot Evan a resolute look. "I know where it is. I'll go get it."

"You're behind that contract, aren't you?"

Evan grinned at Valerie as she tugged him a little further away from her father. "Now, why would I do that?" he asked.

She wrinkled her nose but smiled at him. "Good thing I know that you wouldn't lie to him about whether or not his song was good," she ventured. "You really _do_ think it's good, don't you?"

He chuckled. "Of course I do, V. But how do you know I'm not just blowing smoke? You know, trying to help him without really helping him?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, she shrugged. "Because you respect musicians too much to do any such thing," she replied simply. "I thought you said that Mike had a band that was interested in the song already? So why don't you let them record it?"

Evan's grin dimmed then disappeared as his gaze shifted back to the man in the chair once more. "They don't feel right," he admitted at length. "They're okay, but they wouldn't understand the real story behind the song."

"Real story? And what's the real story?" she challenged, though not unkindly.

Evan shrugged and slipped an arm around Valerie's waist. "It's a song about redemption," he told her. "It's about a father who doesn't know how to say he's sorry to the girl he lost."

"So it's a love song?" she asked, her gaze also trained on her father.

Evan sighed and smiled just a little. "V?"

"Hmm?"

"He wrote that song for you."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that the music industry currently works a little differently on this front. Since this is years in the future, I figured it would be all right to change some of the status quo, however.
> 
> ' ** _One_** **_Week_** ' _by_ _Barenaked_ _Ladies_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1998_ _release_ , **_Stunt_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Ed_ _Robertson._
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _For … me …?_


	165. 164: Home

' _Times have changed, and times are strange_...  
' _Here I come, but I ain't the same_ …  
' _Mama, I'm coming home_ ...'

 

-' _Mama, I'm Coming Home_ ' by Ozzy Osbourne.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan dropped his suitcase on the floor just inside the door and let out a deep breath as he glanced up at the clock on the wall. Nearly noon, which meant, if he hurried, he could grab a few things, hop in the car, and be in Maine by nine or ten tonight . . .

In fact, he had been a little undecided about what he would do once he got back. At first, he'd considered waiting until tomorrow to drive up, but he'd discarded that idea pretty quickly. Recalling the phone call from his parents, he couldn't help but feel that something was going on. Maybe it was the strange tone underlying Cain's words. Maybe it was the blatant order that Evan be there that did it. True, he had heard that tone a few times before, but Cain had never actually ordered him to come home, either. He'd just told Evan what he'd done wrong and that he expected better of him, et cetera, but . . . But the order had been entirely too formal, too . . . too 'tai-youkai' . . . and there was no mistaking it, either. It _was_ an order.

No, there was definitely something strange going on.

Jilli and Bas knew nothing. Evan had already called both of them. Bas said that, as far as he knew, everything was fine. Jillian knew even less since she'd been summoned home from the ranch in Montana.

It just figured. One thing was certain: there was no way in the world that Evan was going to wait.

Heaving a sigh, he grabbed the suitcase and headed for the stairs. It didn't take him long to dump all the contents onto his bed, and he just grabbed a few pairs of jeans out of his closet along with a few shirts without bothering to pay any attention as to what, exactly, he was packing. The only other thing that he took time to pack was the notebook that Garret had gotten out of Jack's room. Jack had seemed surprised when Evan asked if he could take it with him, but he'd agreed to it.

"Hey, Roka, I . . . What are you doing?" Valerie demanded as she strode into the bedroom. He hadn't heard her come into the house.

"It's nothing," he said, unsure why he was downplaying his concerns. "Cain called me yesterday and said I needed to come home for some kind of family thing. No big deal."

Valerie stared at him for several seconds, a thoughtful scowl drawing her eyebrows together. "Is everything okay?" she finally asked.

Evan smiled, hoping that it was enough to appease her. "Yeah, sure," he replied. "Just said that he had something to tell us; that's all."

"But you're worried about it," she concluded gently.

He opened his mouth to gainsay her, but he heaved a sigh instead. "I'm sure it's all right," he told her again.

"If you really thought that, then you wouldn't have that look on your face, now would you? And don't think that I didn't notice how preoccupied you were on the flight home. I'm not that unobservant."

"It's nothing for you to worry about," he tried to reassure her.

Valerie didn't look like she was buying. If anything, she looked even more determined . . . "Do you have time to swing past my apartment?"

Evan blinked and stared at her. "What for?"

She shrugged and smiled at him. "Because I left my suitcase there," she said in a tone that bespoke her belief that he ought to have known as much.

"You . . . want to . . . go?" he asked slowly, hesitantly, as he snapped the locks on the suitcase closed.

Valerie made a face and put her hand on the handle before he could pick it up. "Of course I do," she said. "I can stay at a hotel or something if you want, but . . . Well, you went with me, didn't you?"

"Like hell, I'd hide you in some damn hotel," Evan scoffed belligerently then heaved a sigh, "and you don't owe me anything for that, V."

"I know," she replied simply. "It's what friends do, right?"

He finally managed a little smile. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

' _No doubt about it. Something about this trip is really bugging him_ . . .'

Casting Evan a sidelong glance, Valerie frowned. Unlike their last trip up here for Christmas, they hadn't stopped even once at any of the convenience stores dotting the highway, and Evan had barely said more than a couple words since they'd left New York City. He wasn't even singing along with the songs on the radio, and that, more than anything, was enough to convince her that there really might be more to it than he was letting on. It bothered her, damned if it didn't. It bothered her in a big, big way, especially after he'd been so good to her during their trip to Kentucky. Did he think that she had enough to dwell upon without having to be burdened with his troubles, too? And if that really was the reason why he had yet to open up to her about it, could he honestly believe that she wouldn't care . . .?

"So you have no idea why they asked you to come home?" she finally asked, breaking the brooding silence that had surrounded them since they'd gotten into the car hours ago.

For a moment, she thought that he was going to ignore her. After a minute, though, he sighed. "None," he allowed. "Cain didn't say anything other than that they'd be expecting me."

Biting her lip, Valerie frowned out the window. "Maybe you're reading more into it than they intended for you to," she ventured.

"You don't get it, V. They don't _order_ me home, ever. Mama might hint that she'd like for me to come home for a visit or something, but they don't _tell_ me to come home; not like that, anyway."

"I see," she agreed, allowing in her own head that what he said made perfect sense.

Evan heaved another sigh. "The last time," he went on, his expression growing more foreboding by the moment. "The last time . . . my niece was missing. She was missing for months, and no one knew where she was . . ."

"Is she . . .? But she's okay now?" Valerie asked hesitantly.

Evan nodded once, but he didn't look at all relieved. "Yeah, she's fine, but . . ." Trailing off, he shook his head stubbornly. "Cain never orders me home; not unless it's something big—no matter what he says."

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie grimaced inwardly. If what he said was true, then he had every right to be worried. After all, sometimes the not knowing was worse than hearing the truth, wasn't it? And she knew that from personal experience . . . But it wouldn't do to let him sit and stew about things, either, as far as she was concerned. He'd drive himself crazy if he kept it up. "I still think you should try to be positive until you know for sure. For all you know, it could be something entirely different."

He snorted indelicately. "Like what?"

Valerie wrinkled her nose at the belligerence in his tone. "Maybe they want to sell their house or something. Maybe they want to ask you guys if you mind."

He snorted again. "Keh! They know damn well that we don't give a rat's ass about the house," he challenged. "It's just a fucking house, isn't it? 'Home' is wherever Mama is."

Despite the irritation in his voice, Valerie couldn't help but to smile just a little at Evan's statement. He really had no idea just how cute he could be sometimes, did he . . .? "Fine," she allowed calmly. "Then maybe they want to convert your bedroom into a home gym?"

"If they wanted to do that, why would they have to talk to Jilli and Bubby about it?" he parried. "Unless they were going to do that to Bubby's room . . . Jilli and I both slept in there often enough when we were pups . . ."

She rolled her eyes but laughed. "You used to sleep with Bas?" she couldn't resist asking.

He glanced into the rear view mirror before shifting his gaze back onto the road ahead of them again. "After Cain booted me out of their bed, yeah," he admitted. "I stood at my door and cried at the top of my lungs until Bubby came and got me."

Somehow, in her mind, she could see that, and the image made her giggle so hard that she snorted. Evan shook his head but finally broke into a wan smile. "So you're admitting that you were a spoiled brat," she said when she'd finally wound down to a few little chortles.

"Of course I was," he said. "Never said I wasn't."

"You're so needy," she pointed out.

Evan shrugged. "Well, yeah," he muttered. "Anyway, I—"

The trill of Evan's cell phone cut him off, and he glanced at the digital display in the center console.

"Maddy!" Valerie exclaimed softly, pushing the button that cut off the radio and switched the sound system I the car to the cell phone to connect the call before Evan could reach for it. "Maddy, sweetie! I've missed you!" she crooned.

Madison laughed. "Answering Evan's phone now? That's the first step toward serious commitment," she teased.

"No, he's driving right at the moment," Valerie said. "So where have you been hiding?"

"Hiding?" she repeated, the amusement in her tone growing by the second. "I haven't been hiding. In fact, I'd say that you and Evan were the ones who disappeared for the last week. Did the two of you have fun?"

"Of course, woman," Evan quipped. "V wants me. She can't get enough of me. All week, all we did was—"

"Ignore him," Valerie interrupted with a giggle. "He's delusional. Anyway, what did you do while we were gone?"

"Not too much," Madison said. "Had a visit from my parents."

"Oh? I thought Mama-K hates New York City," Evan remarked.

"She still does," Madison assured him.

"So what was important enough to drag her out of Maine?"

"Well," Madison drawled, "I'm going to be a sister."

Evan blinked and shot Valerie a raised-eyebrow-ed look. "Is that right?"

Madison laughed. "Yep . . . I asked Daddy if he knows what causes that."

With a chuckle, Evan shook his head. "And what did ol' Cartham say?"

"Not much," she admitted. "He just turned red and told me to stop sassing him."

"Well, tell them congratulations for me the next time you talk to them," Evan said.

"All right," Madison agreed. "I told Mom that I was going to start baby shopping right away, but she said that I should wait until they find out whether they're having a boy or a girl."

"Maybe they'll have twins," Evan teased.

Madison giggled. "Or triplets."

"Cartham'll have to get a part time job," Evan added. "That'd be a hell of a lot of diapers. So when's the happy arrival supposed to be?"

Madison let out a deep breath. "Seven months," she replied. "Apparently, the baby was a late Christmas present—that's what Mom said."

"That's awesome," Evan chuckled.

Madison giggled, then finally sighed. "So . . . Why are you going back to Maine?"

"How do you know I am?"

"Bone told me when I stopped by earlier," she told him.

Drumming his fingers idly against the steering wheel, Evan grunted. "Actually, I don't know," he said. "Cain told me to get my ass home, so I figured, 'What the hell'?"

Valerie frowned. Evan's nonchalant tone might well fool Madison, but Valerie could see the hint of tightness around his eyes, and the slight smile that just didn't reach them.

"Maybe it's like that time your mom kept thinking that you were in trouble," Madison remarked, apparently seeing through Evan's bravado.

"Nah," Evan replied. "Anyway, I'm sure it's nothing big."

"Okay," she relented. "Ugh, I have to go. I've got a five o'clock with Raven Contas, and you know how much I love five o'clocks with _her_."

Evan finally did laugh at Madison's tone, and Valerie smiled, too. She'd heard Madison's opinion of Raven Contas more than once over the years since she'd gotten to know Madison. She didn't think very highly of the middle-aged Broadway star. It had gotten to the point where Madison had to take care of the woman herself since she'd made more than one of Madison's girls cry, and if it weren't for the money that Raven had no problem dropping in Madison's lap every time she came in for services, Madison probably would have told her to go straight to hell long ago . . .

"Another seaweed wrap?" Evan asked quizzically.

Madison snorted. "Yes. She said that she's been so stressed out lately that it's starting to affect her face, but if you ask me, I'd say that it's just because her last round of plastic surgery didn't go so well."

"Then you'd better not keep her waiting," Evan said with a chuckle.

"Okay," Madison agreed. "Bye bye . . . V, keep him in line, won't you?"

"Easier said than done," Valerie muttered despite the grin on her face.

The call ended, and the radio came back on. Evan shook his head and heaved a sigh, but he still looked rather amused. "I'll be damned," he murmured as he started to slow down to pull into a gas station. "Mama-K's pregnant, huh? Nice!"

"Yeah, but she's older, isn't she?" Valerie mused.

Evan glanced at her as he pulled the car to a stop in front of the gas pump. "Aw, I'm sure everything will be fine," he said, understanding Valerie's concerns. "Besides, my cousin is her doctor. Isabelle's one of the best there is. She'll take good care of her."

Valerie nodded as she reached for the door latch, welcoming the opportunity to stretch her legs. Madison didn't sound too concerned. Maybe Valerie was just worried about nothing. After all, as long as her mother was under a doctor's care, it would surely be safe enough.

At least it seemed to have gotten Evan's mind off of his current worries. Whistling under his breath as he started the gas pump, he appeared to be more like his normal self than he had been since they'd left the city, and that had to account for something . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan pulled the door closed as he stepped into the darkened foyer of the Zelig mansion with Valerie in tow. The place was quiet, and for a moment, he wondered if everyone was in bed, but it was too early for that. Munchies padded around the corner from the living room and beelined straight past Evan to greet Valerie, which just figured. Evan chuckled. "See how you are?" he complained half-heartedly.

Munchies wagged happily and continued to wave a paw at Valerie, who stooped down to grasp his face in both hands. "Such a great beast of a dog," she said in a high-pitched tone. "Hey . . . Where are your bloomers?"

Evan snorted. "Mama took them off him, I'm sure—or maybe Bubby did when he brought him up."

Valerie rolled her eyes. "We'll have to buy you another pair, won't we, Munchies?"

The dog wuffed low in his throat, and Valerie giggled, careful not to raise her tone, lest Cain and Gin were already in bed.

They weren't.

Cain's office door was open, and the light was off, but a few seconds later, Gin hurried into the foyer with a happy little squeal as she threw her arms open wide to greet her youngest son.

"Evan, sweetie! I'm so happy to see you!" she said as she rose up on tiptoe to hug him.

He bent down to help her, then scooped her off her feet to give her a healthy squeeze. "Hey, pretty lady. How's my best girl?"

"I could've sworn I've already told you about a million times not to manhandle your mother like that," Cain grumbled as he stalked into the foyer just after his wife. He didn't stop, though, and he carefully plucked Gin away from Evan and set her on the floor beside him. "Evening, Valerie. Your trip up was okay?"

Valerie shot Evan a quick glance. He could feel her gaze on him. "It was fine," she replied, pasting on a smile. "Thank you for inviting me back."

Cain waved a hand but finally managed a wry little grin. To Evan, it looked a little contrived, like there was something else on his mind—something that he had yet to say—or maybe he was simply reading too much into it, all things considered . . .

Gin wiggled out from under Cain's possessive arm and hurried over to hug Valerie in welcome. "I'm so glad that Evan brought you with him," she insisted, letting go of her but taking her hand instead. "Let's go get you settled in . . . If you're hungry, I made chicken and dumplings for dinner—nothing fancy, but I'm sure it turned out well!"

"Oh, I don't want to be any trouble," Valerie said as Gin tugged her toward the stairs.

"Don't be silly!" Gin insisted. "You're always welcome here!"

Evan watched the women disappear up the stairs before he finally turned his attention to his father. Cain was also watching the stairwell, and the little scowl was back on his face again. "So, Cain . . . you summoned me home. How about we cut the crap, and you just tell me whatever it is you wanted to tell me?"

Cain blinked, looking as though he wasn't entirely sure what Evan was talking about. "Talk to—? Oh . . . Right . . ." Heaving a sigh, he draped his hands on his hips and shook his head. "Jilli won't be here until tomorrow morning, and Bas had to go out of town to interview someone for the case he's working on, but he said he'll be back tomorrow night."

"Okay," he allowed, sticking his tongue into his cheek as he tried to contain his impatience. "So, go ahead and tell me what this is all about now, and you can fill those two in tomorrow."

Cain finally chuckled. "Sorry, Evan, but it's really something that we wanted to talk to all of you at about at the same time." Turning on his heel, he started out of the foyer. "Come on. I'll get you some of that chicken."

Letting out a deep breath, Evan slowly shook his head but followed his father through the house. He wasn't hungry on the trip up, no, but come to think about it, he hadn't actually had anything to eat all day. In fact, the last thing they'd eaten was a pretty abysmal breakfast at a restaurant in the airport while they were waiting for their flight to be cleared for takeoff . . .

"So why were the two of you in Kentucky?" Cain asked as he pulled the casserole pan out of the refrigerator.

"She, uh . . . She wanted to visit her family," Evan replied, retrieving a couple plates out of the cupboard. "Salt of the earth people—really nice."

Cain spared a moment to grin at Evan over his shoulder. "That right?"

"Yep," Evan said. Setting the plates onto the counter beside Cain, Evan sighed. "Everything's all right, right?" he couldn't help asking.

Cain seemed surprised by Evan's question, but he nodded. "Yeah. Of course."

Evan stared at Cain for a few seconds. "Are you going to turn my room into a home gym?" he asked, remembering the silly scenarios that Valerie had come up with during the drive to Maine.

Raising an eyebrow, Cain slowly shook his head. "Firstly, do I look like a work-out buff?"

Evan snorted but didn't answer.

Cain nodded. "Yeah, I don't think so, either. Secondly, why would we do that to your room? There's plenty of other rooms to do that—if we were going to, which we're not . . ." Cain grimaced. "And don't mention it to your mother; got it?"

"Whatever; whatever . . . I didn't figure you were," Evan allowed. "Are you going to sell the house?"

"What house?"

Evan snorted. "This one."

"Of course not," Cain scoffed. "Actually, we were thinking about buying some more land."

"Oh, yeah?"

Cain shrugged as he heaped chicken and fluffy white dumplings onto a plate. "Well, either I'll buy it or Bas might. Haven't really decided yet."

"Bubby? Why would he want to buy more land?"

"Well, he doesn't; not really, but it's kind of closer to him than it is to us."

"Where?" Evan asked, taking the first plate and stepping over to the microwave oven.

"That old lighthouse," Cain replied. "They finally decided to sell it. Bas heard that they were going to demolish it next month, and then they're going to sell. Since it's between Bas' land and ours, we figured we'd probably buy it just to keep it in the family."

"The old lighthouse?" Evan echoed, more than a little surprised. If Cain noticed, however, he didn't remark upon it. "Really . . .?"

"Mm," Cain intoned absently. "Uh, is this too much for Valerie?"

It took a moment for Evan's mind to process the abrupt change in topics, and he blinked as he looked at the plate that Cain had dished up. It was easily a Bas or Evan sized serving, and he chuckled. "Yeah, she might eat a quarter of that," he said. "Maybe . . ."

Cain stared at the plate again, but instead of pushing most of it back into the casserole dish, he grabbed another plate, instead. "I'll let you serve her, then, since I'd probably give her too much."

"All right," Evan said.

Pulling open the silverware drawer, Cain retrieved the utensils and dropped two forks onto the counter, keeping one of them in his hand.

"Hungry?" Evan asked, raising an eyebrow as Cain picked up the abundantly full plate and started shoveling food into his mouth without bothering to reheat it.

Cain stopped, mid-bite, and glanced at Evan. "A little," he admitted around a mouthful of chicken.

Evan chuckled again and slowly shook his head. It wasn't the first time that he'd seen his father eat leftovers cold. Cain tended to be a little absent-minded, and there was a good chance that he didn't even really notice—or care.

Gin hurried into the kitchen and paused long enough to kiss Cain then Evan on the cheek before grabbing a plate of her own, too. "Oh, I'm starving!" she announced as Evan took his plate out of the microwave and stuck Valerie's into it. "Valerie will be down in a minute. She said she wanted to freshen up a little first."

"Didn't you two eat dinner?" Evan challenged, leaning against the counter while balancing a plate in one hand. Come to think of it, the casserole hadn't actually been cut into when Cain had gotten it out of the refrigerator, had it . . .?

Gin shot Cain a rather telling glance. The tai-youkai grinned wolfishly just as Gin's cheeks pinked, and she quickly looked away. Evan groaned. "Forget I asked," he muttered, jamming a forkful of dumpling into his mouth.

"We're married. It's allowed," Cain pointed out.

"Sure," Evan remarked as Gin swatted his hip to move him away from the silverware drawer that he was blocking, "and I'm so glad that the two of you still have sex, but you're my parents, and I figure that I should object on principle."

Cain snorted and rolled his eyes as he opened the fridge and grabbed two bottles of beer with one hand.   "Well, if everyone's going to eat, might as well do it at the table," he said, heading around the island and toward the breakfast nook.

Evan followed him and set down his plate just before Cain shoved a beer across the table to him.

Everything seemed normal enough, didn't it? For the first time since that weird phone call, he finally started to relax just a little. After all, maybe it was like Valerie had said. Maybe he was simply reading too much into it . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Mama,_** **_I'm_** **_Coming_** **_Home_** ' _by_ _Ozzy_ _Osbourne_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1991_ _release_ , **_No_** **_More_** **_Tears_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Ozzy_ _Osbourne_ , _Zakk_ _Wylde_ , _and_ _Lemmy_ _Kilmister._
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Parental sex. Just . . . why . . .?_


	166. 165: Trepidation

' _The remedy is the experience_...  
' _This is a dangerous liaison_ …  
' _I say the comedy is that it's serious_ …  
' _This is a strange enough new play on words_ ...'

 

-' _The Remedy_ ' by Jason Mraz.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Oh . . . that isn't really something that I needed to see, first thing in the morning," Valerie muttered as she squeezed her eyes closed once more and flopped over onto her side.

Evan chuckled and plopped down beside her. "No way, woman. I know you're awake."

She grunted something unintelligible. "Go 'way," she grumbled, shaking her shoulder when he tried to turn her over. "Why are you mooning me, anyway?"

His chuckle escalated. "I wasn't mooning you, per se," he insisted. "It just so happens that it felt like something was poking my ass, so I was checking to see what it was."

"Likely story, rocker-boy. Hasn't anyone ever taught you to keep your pants up unless you're in private?"

"Well, I _am_ in private," he argued. "I mean, it's just you and me in here . . ."

She snorted and yanked the blankets over her head. "And _I_ don't want to see your bare ass," she insisted.

"Besides, I happen to like _your_ privates," he added for good measure, "and I'd be more than happy to indulge you by allowing you to run around as naked as you wanna be."

That, in her estimation, didn't even deserve a reply. He laughed outright when it became obvious to him, too. "But I brought you coffee," he said in a cajoling tone of voice, "and I know that Valerie like-y the coffee . . ."

Heaving a sigh, she sat up reluctantly, unable to ignore the lure of freshly brewed coffee. "Give it," she demanded, holding out her hand and wiggling her fingers to hurry him along.

Evan laughed and retrieved the cup that he'd set on her nightstand. "Here you go," he said. "I even brought you the rest of the pot, too. Aren't I the best non-boyfriend ever?"

She couldn't help the little giggle that escaped her at his self-professed prowess. "You're all right," she admitted, spotting the insulated carafe that was also sitting on her nightstand. "Did your parents tell you why they wanted you to come home yet?"

In hindsight, Valerie easily could have kicked herself for asking that question when Evan's grin faltered then faded, only to be replaced by a darkening in his eyes, a tightness around his lips. "Not yet," he admitted with a sigh. "Cain said that he wanted to wait till Bubby got back later on."

Forcing a smile, Valerie nodded slowly. "I'm sure it's all right," she told him. "Don't get so worried, okay?"

"Yeah," he agreed, forcing a wan smile for her benefit. "Hey, since I'm here, there are a few things I need to take care of. Will you be okay or you wanna come with me?"

Valerie rolled her eyes and uttered a terse snort when he started waggling his eyebrows at her in a completely unrepentant sort of way. "Things like what?"

This time, his grin was a little closer to what it should be. "Well, I was going to run past the house and see how Miss is doing, and Mama asked me run a few errands for her—take a few books back to the library, drop off a few things that she's donating for a charity auction at the youth center . . . boring shit, really . . ."

For some reason, the mundane tasks that he was talking about was enough to make her smile. Zel Roka, running errands? That was a good one, wasn't it? Just what would Garret think of his idol if he were to see him doing such domestic things?

"Don't suppose you want to come with me?" he added nonchalantly—a little _too_ nonchalantly.

"Hmm, as much fun as it sounds like, I think I'll have to pass. Your mother said that she wanted to 'have a talk' . . .whatever that means," Valerie drawled, then quickly shook her head. "What does that mean, anyway?"

"I dunno," Evan replied with a careless shrug. "Probably wants to ask you when you're going to stop being mean to me and marry me—all that happy crap, you know?"

She could hear the teasing in his tone, and she reacted in kind. "It'll be difficult, won't it? I mean, you're kind of like a . . . a brother to me, aren't you? And who the hell marries their brothers?"

"Ouch, woman! Brother? Really?" he complained.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, brother," she reiterated, missing the strange brightness that lent Evan's gaze a certain light. "A really, really annoying and pesky brother, at that . . ."

Evan snorted but forced a little grin. "Anyway, you could marry me, even if you thought that we really were related," he shot back with a widening grin. "You're from Kentucky, aren't you?"

She snorted. "Stand still for a moment, will you?"

"What for?"

She snorted again. "So I can find something to throw at you."

"You could throw yourself at me," he went on airily. "Oh, wait . . . I'd like that, wouldn't I?"

"Twisted little monkey."

"Ooh-ooh, ahh-ahh."

She glanced up at him, ready to ask him a little more in-depth about his plans, but stopped short when she finally got a good look at him—or rather, at the tee-shirt he was wearing. "Really," she intoned, shaking her head and narrowing her eyes just a little.

Evan looked down at himself then shot her a stupid grin. "What? You don't like it?"

"'Save a drum—bang a singer'," she read out loud. He chuckled at the obvious distaste in her voice. "Is that something you should wear in front of your dear, sweet mother?"

Evan's grin widened. "Who do you think bought it for me?"

"Come again?"

He laughed. "She saw it in a novelty store a while back and bought it, but between you and me? I highly doubt she really got what it meant."

No, Valerie didn't suppose that she did. Smiling just a little, she let Evan take her coffee mug and refill it. "So, how long is it going to take you to play errand-boy?" she asked.

"I don't know," he replied. "Not too long. You're gonna miss me, right?"

"Maybe I'll take a short run down by the ocean," she mused, completely ignoring Evan's comments. "After eating all that food in Kentucky, I think I need it."

"Yeah, be careful if you do," he warned. "It tends to be slicker than you might think." He paused for a moment, casting her a thoughtful sort of scowl. "In fact, why don't you wait on that? I'll go with you when I get back."

She was about to wave off his concern, but she nodded instead. Evan might be outrageous, and he certainly had his moments, but if he gave her a warning like that, then there was a good chance that there was a reason for it. "All right," she allowed. "But don't think that I don't know that it's just another ploy of yours so that you can stare at my ass."

"Nah," he insisted with a grin. "That's just an added bonus."

She watched him go with a little smile on her face, and she sighed, but it was a happy kind of sigh. She had a feeling that there was something about his errand trip that he wasn't telling her, but that was all right. If it was important, he'd tell her in good time. He always did.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Hmm . . . I don't really look much like Zel Roka, do I?"

Valerie blinked and laughed as Gin peered over her shoulder at her with a very frank expression on her face. "Maybe not Zel," she allowed thoughtfully, "but Evan looks just like you."

Gin giggled and turned back to face the television. "Okay, girls! Ready for the next song?"

To be completely honest, Valerie wasn't entirely sure how Gin managed to talk her into this little misadventure. At least she wasn't alone. Jillian and Sydnie were both humoring her, as well—Jillian with a guitar, and Sydnie with a bass while Valerie, at least, was able to look a little more serious, situated as she was behind the drum pads. She hadn't realized that when Gin had mentioned that she wanted to talk to Valerie that it would include the recently released Zel Roka edition of the _Rock Band_ franchise game.

Of course, she had to admit that the best part of the entire situation had to be hearing Gin Zelig singing along to her son's less admirable songs. Valerie was of the opinion that Gin couldn't possibly understand exactly what the words meant, because she seemed completely oblivious, and happily so, at that.

It was more fun than she would have otherwise thought. They were playing on the easiest setting—and doing pretty well. At least they hadn't been boo-ed off the stage—yet.

"Mama, does Daddy play this with you?" Jillian asked, glancing down at the fake guitar in her hands.

"Once or twice," Gin allowed. "He only likes to play the drums, though, which is so sad! Your father has a beautiful singing voice—I think that's where Evan gets it."

Sydnie raised an eyebrow. "Cain sings?"

"Well, of course he does!" Gin insisted. "When the children were little, he used to sing to them all the time!"

For some reason, Valerie couldn't really picture that, either. Oh, sure, she could picture Cain singing to his children on occasion, but for the game? No, no, definitely not . . .

"Hello, ladies . . . are you enjoying yourselves?"

Valerie stopped, mid-stroke, as did the rest of the women, to stare at Gunnar Inutaisho as the very imposing man strode into the living room.

"Of course we are, puppy!" Sydnie purred. "You want to join us?"

Gunnar chuckled, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Not on your life, pussikins," he replied easily. "Is Bas back yet?"

"Gunnar!" Gin greeted warmly, setting the microphone down so that she could hurry over to kiss his cheek. "Cain said he won't be back till early evening."

Gunnar smiled at his aunt and nodded. "I see."

"We were going to eat lunch soon," she went on brightly. "Why don't you stay and eat with us?"

Gunnar inclined his head, his little smile still in place. "I'm sorry. I really can't. I have a ton of things to do in the office today. Maybe some other time?"

Gin giggled and patted him on the back. "Of course," she insisted. "You're always welcome here, you know."

"I know," he said, his smile widening a few degrees. "I'll keep that in mind."

Clapping her hands suddenly, Gin bounced on the balls of her feet. "Oh! If you're going to go straight back to the office, I'll pack a bentou for you!"

Gunnar blinked and looked surprised. "I don't want to put you to any trouble," he insisted.

Gin rolled her eyes and waved a hand as she started away from him. "Trouble!" she scoffed over her shoulder. "You're never a trouble, Mamoruzen!"

Gunnar chuckled and nodded. "Then that would be great," he graciously demurred. "Thank you."

"Ah! We're about to get boo-ed off the stage!" Jillian exclaimed. "Quick, Gunnar! Grab the microphone!"

"Oh, absolutely not, Jillian," he replied firmly despite the amusement still lingering in his expression.

"You don't really have to know the words or anything," Jillian added. "You can just hum along, and as long as you hit the right notes, it'll still count."

Gunnar didn't look at all impressed with the suggestion, but he was saved from further comment when Cain strode into the living room. Spotting Gunnar, he stopped short, blinking in a sort of surprised kind of way. "Ah, Gunnar . . . did I forget an appointment or something?"

In Valerie's estimation, the man looked rather relieved as he shifted his gaze to his uncle. "Not at all," he admitted. "I was just checking in to see if Bas was back yet."

"Oh . . . No, but he should be back this evening," Cain replied.

"I've been told," Gunnar said.

Cain nodded slowly. "Do you need help with something?"

"No," Gunnar remarked with a casual hitch of his shoulders. "I just wanted to ask him a few questions about that case he gave me earlier."

"I see," Cain intoned. "Why don't you step into my office for a few minutes and tell me what you've found out."

Gunnar didn't respond, but he did follow Cain out of the living room.

Valerie frowned as the fabricated crowd on the video game started to jeer loudly, and she set down the drumsticks and extended her arms over her head to stretch. Case? Just what the hell did Cain do for a living, anyway . . .?

"Gavvie's better at this game than I am," Jillian stated, setting the guitar peripheral on a nearby chair. About the second she turned away, Bailey scrambled up and grabbed it. Olivia started to scale the chair much to Bailey's obvious distress, and with a soft giggle, Sydnie scooped up her daughter and sat down, letting Olivia play around with the buttons on the second guitar. "He uses one of those Air-Bender guitars that Evan sent him, though.

"Where _is_ Gavvie?" Sydnie suddenly asked, arching a delicate eyebrow at her sister-in-law.

Jillian giggled. "Taking a nap," she said with a flutter of her hand. "Poor man . . ." she crooned, sounding anything but sorry, "he didn't get much sleep last night . . ."

"Hmm," Sydnie said thoughtfully, "I'll bet he didn't."

Jillian shot Sydnie a very saucy grin accompanied by a playful wink before turning her smile on Valerie. "And is Evan behaving himself these days?"

She opened her mouth to tell Jillian that he wasn't, but she stopped before she did. For some reason, the idea of saying anything derogatory about the man in question bothered her, especially when he wasn't here to defend himself. "He's been pretty good," she said instead, offering Jillian a somewhat tight little smile.

Jillian burst into gales of laughter, as though Valerie had said something extraordinarily funny. "I'll have to have a talk with him," she said when she'd finally wound down a little. "I don't think he'll _ever_ behave, so, either you're lying to keep him out of trouble, or he's gone and lost his touch."

"Not that one," Sydnie admitted thoughtfully. "But that's how he's always been, right?"

Gin hurried back into the room with a small, black lacquered box in her hands. She stopped and glanced around with a slight frown. "Where did Gunnar go?"

"He went to talk to Cain," Sydnie said, setting Olivia aside and getting to her feet. "Is that his lunch? I'll take it to him."

"Thank you," Gin said, handing Sydnie the box.

Jillian stood up and yawned. "I think I'm going to go lie down with Gavvie for a while," she announced.

"Okay, sweetie," Gin replied. She watched her daughter slip out of the room before turning to face Valerie once more. "I guess it's just the two of us," she said with a bright smile. "Evan said that the two of you were in Kentucky the other day when I called . . . We weren't interrupting anything, were we?"

"Wh . . .? Oh, no," Valerie hurried to assure her. "We, uh . . . We were down there, visiting my family."

Gin's eyes widened. "I see! You wanted to introduce Evan to your parents?"

Valerie could have kicked herself for having led Gin to that conclusion. Worse yet, the woman looked so happy by the idea as well as by the implications of it that it made Valerie grimace inwardly. "Uh-h-h-h . . ."

Gin grasped Valerie's hands and dragged her over to the sofa to sit down. "Evan told me that the two of you were having some problems," she said as she pulled Olivia onto her lap and wrapped her arms around the tiny girl. "I'm so relieved to see that you've worked everything out!"

"Th-That's not really why we went down there," she said with a grimace that she couldn't hide. "I mean, he did meet them, but . . ." Valerie trailed off and heaved a sigh. "I . . . I was . . . estranged from my family for a long time. They . . . They made some mistakes when I was little, and I was taken away from them. Evan found out that my father is really sick, and he told me, so I . . . Evan . . . He just went with me for moral support."

Gin's smile faded almost instantly, only to be replaced by a very distressed, very compassionate frown. "Oh . . . Oh, that's terrible," she said quietly, reaching over to pat Valerie's hand. "Not that Evan went with you—that you and your family . . . I'm so sorry."

Why was she telling all of this to Gin? Valerie frowned at her own admissions, and yet, it seemed so natural a thing, didn't it? For some reason, she was just as easy to talk to as Evan was, even if it was in a wholly different kind of way . . . "N-No, everything's fine now—or at least, it _will_ be fine," Valerie amended, giving the woman a rather timid little smile. "There were a lot of things that I didn't know; a lot of things that no one had ever told me."

Gin shook her head stubbornly, and Valerie was horrified to see that the poor woman had tears in her eyes. "But you were just a child—a _baby!_ You must've been so scared . . ."

"It wasn't so bad," she heard herself saying. If it continued, Gin was going to cry for real, and Valerie didn't want that. "I'm all right now."

Gin sniffled and nodded, forcing a smile that was completely at odds with the tears that were still awash in her gaze. "Of course you are!" she exclaimed softly. "You've got Evan, and he'll take good care of you."

Valerie's already faltering smile disappeared, and she winced. To be honest, she wasn't comfortable with the idea that Gin was led to believe that she was Evan's girlfriend. It wasn't right, was it? Gin was too sweet, too kind . . . "Well . . ." she drawled, trying to come up with a good way to break the truth to Gin. "We're not . . . really . . ." She grimaced. "We're just friends."

Gin giggled softly, wiping her eyes with the knuckle of a crooked index finger. "That's the best way to start," she said, leaning toward Valerie, as though she was letting her in on a secret. "Cain and I were 'just friends', too."

Valerie bit her lip. Telling Gin the truth was proving to be far more difficult than she had ever thought it would be, but the more that she got to know Gin, the worse the lie made her feel. Glancing down at her hands, watching as she twisted her engagement ring around on her finger, she sighed. "The truth is, I—"

"Afternoon, ladies. I hope you didn't miss me too much."

Valerie turned in time to see Evan stride into the room with a couple bags from different stores and an ornery grin on his face. He hurried over to kiss his mother's cheek then just as easily leaned to the side to kiss Valerie's cheek, too.

"We were just talking about you!" Gin said with a bright smile. "Did you get your errands done?"

Evan's grin widened. "Oh, then don't mind me. Just pretend I'm not here," he quipped, stepping back and plopping into a nearby chair while looking completely attentive.

Gin laughed and stood, taking Olivia with her. "I'm going to go check on lunch. You're hungry, aren't you?"

"Always," Evan said, looking entirely too pleased with the idea of being fed.

Valerie shook her head. "I'm all right," she hurried to say. "I guess I had a little too much for breakfast.

She sighed inwardly. That was true enough. When she'd tried to insist that all she wanted was a grapefruit, Gin had looked positively horrified—and then proceeded to cook Valerie an egg, a couple lean sausage patties, and an English muffin with cherry preserves. She hadn't eaten it all, but she had eaten more than she usually did, and all because Gin had looked so pleased when she'd set the food in front of her.

Gin waved a hand in obvious dismissal. "It'll be ready in a few minutes," she promised as she headed toward the kitchen. "I'll come get you in a bit."

Valerie watched Gin go and slowly shook her head. "I think she's trying to fatten me up," she remarked, more to herself than to Evan.

"Entirely possible," Evan allowed. "I told you that you can afford to gain a few pounds, remember?"

That earned him a droll kind of look. "I can't, either," she insisted with a stubborn shake of her head. "Between your mother and mine, I think there's some kind of weird conspiracy going on."

Evan looked a little too amused by her grumbling. "No way, baby . . . So, what were you and my dear, sweet mama saying about me, hmm?"

Valerie rolled her eyes. "Subtle, Roka," she muttered, then scowled. "I want to tell her," she admitted.

"Tell her what?"

Her frown deepened. "That we're not together," she clarified. "You shouldn't be telling her that we are, you know. Besides, I really like her, and I don't like lying to her."

To her surprise, Evan didn't look particularly irritated or even remotely fazed by her statement. No, if anything, he looked somewhat amused. "She already knows that," he told her.

Valerie shook her head again. "She doesn't," she argued, careful to keep her tone lowered in case Gin came back while she was talking. "She doesn't, and it's not okay to let her think otherwise."

Evan sighed and shrugged offhandedly. "You're putting too much brain-power into it, V," he insisted. "Contrary to popular belief, Mama's not nearly as naïve as she might seem sometimes. Call it intuition or something. I promise you, she doesn't really believe that we're together. She just wants us to be; that's all."

Valerie snorted tersely. "All the same, I'd feel better if we just flat-out told her . . ."

He shot her a probing kind of look, and for once, Valerie wasn't entirely sure, exactly what was behind that gaze in particular. "Okay," he finally said. "You win. I'll tell her."

Rubbing her forehead, Valerie shook her head. "I didn't mean that you had to do it by yourself."

"Don't worry about it, V," he insisted. "I'm the one who told her that you were my girlfriend, right? So it makes sense that I should be the one to tell her that you're not. Besides, I already told her we broke up back when we were down in the Bahamas."

Somehow, Evan's easy acquiescence didn't do a thing to make her feel better. For some reason, it actually made her feel that much worse about her part in the deception, even if that had never been her intention. "I just . . . I don't like lying to her," Valerie muttered rather defensively.

Evan's grin looked genuine enough. "Because you like my mama," he concluded. "It's okay. She likes you a lot, too."

Valerie wasn't so sure about that, all things considered.

"So, what did you and Mama do while I was gone?" Evan asked, apparently thinking that the subject was a done deal.

Valerie smiled, recalling the girls' round of _Rock Band: Zel Roka Edition_. "We played that video game—you know, the _Rock Band_ one—the Zel Roka _Rock Band_ one."

Evan barked out a somewhat incredulous little laugh. "Is that right? And I missed it?"

"That's right, Roka," she teased. "You totally missed it."

Evan grunted and started to open his mouth. Valerie interrupted before he could get the words out. "Too bad, rocker-boy."

"So mean," Evan pouted, hauling himself out of his chair and ambling toward the doorway that led to the kitchen. "I'll challenge you all after lunch."

"Who said I'd play with you?" Valerie scoffed.

Evan chuckled. "You will, baby. You know you will."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _The_** **_Remedy_** ' _by_ _Jason_ _Mraz_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2002_ _release_ , **_Waiting_** **_for_** **_my Rocket_** **_to_** **_Come_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Scott_ _Spock_ , _Lauren_ _Christy_ , _Graham_ _Edwards_ , _Jason_ _Thomas_ _Mraz._
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Valerie_** :  
>  _He'd_ _better_ _tell_ _her_...


	167. 166: Shock

' _With arms wide open – under the sunlight_...  
' _Welcome to this place, I'll show you everything_ …  
' _With arms wide open – now everything has changed_ …  
' _I'll show you love; I'll show you everything_ ...'

 

-' _With Arms Wide Open_ ' by Creed.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Mom. Dad. Hey, baby," Bas said as he breezed into the dining room. He nodded at his parents in turn, but made a beeline to his wife's side, stopping only to bend down and kiss her quickly. "Pups good for you?"

Sydnie smiled. "They were angels, of course!"

"Daddy!" Bailey exclaimed, hopping up on his knees in his chair as he very nearly fell over the back in an effort to reach his father.

Bas mussed his hair and grinned. "Hey, Buddy. Sit down and eat before you land on your head, okay?"

Olivia stretched her arms up from her seat in the cherry wood high chair sitting next to Sydnie. "Daddy!" she half-whispered, half-giggled.

Bas leaned down and kissed her cheek soundly, then let her pull his face even closer to kiss him back between giggles. "Miss me, Sweetness?"

Olivia tried to push at the tray holding her into place. Bas released the locking mechanism and unbuckled her before finally slipping into the chair beside Cain. "Jilli. Gavin, how's the ranch?"

"Not too bad," Gavin said between bites of thick and creamy clam chowder. "Hank said that there was a stampede over the weekend, but he and Dax have everything under control now."

"You lose any?"

Gavin shrugged. "Eh, a couple head of cattle, but it could've been a helluva lot worse."

"Good," Bas said with a nod. "Valerie. Evan . . ." He trailed off for a second and slowly shook his head, very likely at the proclamation on Evan's shirt. "Your drive up okay?" he finally asked, obviously deciding that it wasn't worth it to make a comment.

"Sure," Evan replied, shoving aside the irritation that kept plaguing him. He'd managed to keep it at bay for most of the day as he'd waited for Bas to get back. The more he'd thought about it, the more it had bothered him. Bas had to have been told that their parents had this earth-shattering thing to tell them all, wasn't he? And he'd still opted to take off, anyway. Maybe his feelings were a little selfish, but then, so were Bas' actions, as far as he was concerned. He knew about the fact that both he and Jillian were coming in, especially for this announcement, and he hadn't given it a second thought when he'd decided to go out of town. Of course, no one else would see it that way. They never did when it came to Bas, did they?

"I'm glad you had a safe trip, Sebastian," Gin said, starting to stand up, likely to dish up a bowl of chowder for Bas.

"Me, too." He shook his head. "It's all right, Mom," he said quickly. "I can get it."

Sydnie reached over and plucked Olivia off her father's lap so that he could get himself some food and eat in peace. Olivia didn't look very happy, but she was appeased quickly enough when Sydnie tipped a glass of fresh from the farm milk to her lips carefully.

"Okay," Evan said, giving up the pretense of trying to sit through dinner. "We're all here now, Cain. So why don't you drop the formality and just tell us why the hell you summoned us home?"

Cain blinked, his spoon stopping midway between the bowl and his lips, looking entirely lost for all of thirty seconds before he resumed his task of feeding himself. "After dinner," Cain said in a nonchalant, almost absent kind of way.

Evan ground his teeth together. "Why wait?" he challenged, unwilling to drop it. "Didn't you say it wasn't a big deal?"

"It won't take that long," Bas pointed out calmly.

Evan's gaze shifted to his brother. "You already know what it is, Bubby?"

Bas didn't miss the blatant irritation in Evan's tone. "No, I don't," he replied.

Evan wasn't entirely sure whether or not he believed his brother, but he turned his attention back to his food since he wasn't making any progress otherwise. He could feel Valerie's gaze on him, but he stubbornly refused to look at her.

The silence that fell over the table felt dense and thick, entirely uncomfortable in the extreme. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gin set her spoon down and wring her hands, and he sighed inwardly. "You know, Mama," he said, hoping that he could at least lighten her mood a little, even if he wasn't really feeling it, "I used your recipe to make chowder a while back, and it just didn't taste the same. You sure you aren't holding back on me?"

She smiled wanly. "Of course not, Evan," she chided. "Maybe it was your clams. There's nothing better than the local ones."

Evan smiled, too. "That must be it," he decided.

Cain pushed his bowl away and hefted Bailey onto his lap. The boy had already decided that he was finished with dinner, but instead of bothering his father, who was still eating, he'd opted instead to go after his grandfather. "Maybe your mother just wanted to have her children home together, under one roof again," he pointed out dryly. "Did you ever stop to think about that, Evan?"

Evan snorted and shot his father a droll sort of look. "That's a crock of shit if I ever smelled one," he scoffed.

"Well, I _do_ love having you all here," Gin admitted rather sheepishly.

"Move to the city, Mama. You can live with me," Evan offered.

Gin giggled. "I'd miss your father," she said. "I mean, who would I get to do that thing for me if I lived with you?"

"Oh, don't go there, Evan," Bas warned.

Evan grinned. "Well, if I wasn't your son, I'd be more than happy to do _that thing_ for you, Mama."

"Damn it," Bas muttered, setting down his spoon and pushing away the bowl. "He went there, didn't he?"

Sydnie laughed. "He certainly did, puppy."

Bas heaved a sigh.

"I was talking about your father helping me with that book I've been working on," Gin complained, blinking in obvious confusion. "What did you think I meant?"

Cain sighed and slowly shook his head. "You're fine, baby girl. Your son is just a little pervert; that's all."

"As are you," Evan stated pleasantly.

"Never said I wasn't," Cain replied just as pleasantly.

"Wow," Valerie said, shifting her gaze between the two men. "You really _are_ just like your father."

"That's what I've said!" Gin exclaimed.

"The _hell!_ " Cain scoffed.

"As fucking _if!_ " Evan snorted.

Bas considered it for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Now that you mention it . . ."

"Hmm, yeah, I can see it," Jillian decided.

"You really just figured it out?" Gavin added.

"It's true," Sydnie said.

"Uncle Evan's like Grandpa?" Bailey said, eyes round as he stared up at Cain.

Cain snorted indelicately and stood up. "I'm going in the living room," he grumbled, carrying Bailey out of the dining room. "Bunch of freaks, anyway . . ."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Turning on the faucet, Valerie stuck her fingers under the running tap then adjusted the temperature accordingly.

Everyone else had followed Cain into the living room, but Valerie had hung back. After all, she wasn't family, and it was obvious enough that whatever they were going to talk about was fairly important. Even if the Zeligs had welcomed her warmly, she wasn't presumptuous enough to try to sit in on their family matters. Instead, she'd figured she could clear the table and wash the dishes to occupy herself while they had their discussion.

In truth, it only took a couple minutes to load the dishwasher, anyway, and she was in the middle of searching the cupboards for a smaller container for the leftover chowder when Gin hurried into the kitchen. "There you are!" she said brightly. "I thought maybe you'd gone up to your room, but you weren't there . . ."

Valerie turned around and set the glass bowl on the counter beside the soup pot. "Oh, uh, I just thought I'd take care of the leftovers," she said with a smile. "You were all going to have your talk, right?"

Gin blinked and tilted her head to the side. "Yes, so why are you hiding in here? Besides, I can get those later."

For some reason, the idea that Gin seemed to believe that Valerie's presence at the family meeting was a foregone conclusion pleased her, even if she wasn't truly family. Still, it seemed more than a little obtrusive, didn't it? "I just thought you'd want to have your talk alone; that's all," she said, unable to mask the hesitation in her voice. "I mean, I'm not—"

Gin giggled suddenly and grabbed Valerie's hand in hers. "Don't be silly, Valerie!" Gin insisted, tugging her toward the doorway. "I told you already, didn't I? You're dear to Evan, aren't you? That makes you family!"

She'd said it as though it was the most natural thing in the world, and though Valerie opened her mouth to protest, she didn't.

Even stranger, no one else seemed to be the least bit surprised by Valerie's sudden appearance, either, and as she slipped onto the sofa beside Evan, she had to wonder. The Zelig family just wasn't normal, were they? That wasn't a bad thing, at all, no. Valerie had never met people like them before—people who asked her nothing, but welcomed her fully, even to the point of including her in a discussion like this . . . She'd felt completely at ease with them from the start, hadn't she? She'd never actually felt that way before, not even when she'd first gone to live with the Dennings . . .

Glancing at Evan quickly, Valerie smiled to herself. No, she supposed it wasn't really as surprising as she had first thought. After all, Evan was just like that, too, wasn't he? Bad behavior aside, he hadn't really tried to hide a thing from her, even at the beginning. Maybe some things had taken longer for her to find out than others, but she couldn't say that she'd ever really felt as though he was hiding anything about himself, either.

Cain shifted his gaze around, like he was trying to decide whether or not everyone was there. Before he could speak, however, the telephone rang, and he grabbed the receiver before speaking to them. "Hello . . .? Oh, no, you're right on time . . . Yeah, but let me put you on speakerphone."

He fiddled with the phone for a minute, and then the television flickered to life. "Hi, everyone!" the woman who Valerie recognized from their trip to Hawaii said. "How are you all?"

"Not bad," Bas said with a somewhat bashful little smile. "Everything okay there?"

"Just fine," she assured him. "My goodness, Bastian . . . Did you grow some more?"

"Uh, n-no," Bas muttered, cheeks pinking slightly.

Bellaniece laughed as her gaze shifted to Jillian. "Jilli, I swear, you get prettier and prettier, every time I see you."

"Nah, it's just because Gavvie makes me so happy; that's all," Jillian insisted. 'Gavvie' snorted and buried his nose deeper into an electronics magazine.

"Gin! Is Daddy behaving himself? If he is, I'd be more than happy to have Kichiro give him pointers on misbehaving . . ."

Gin giggled and fluttered a hand quickly. "Oh, no, he's fine," she insisted.

Bellaniece laughed. "If you're sure."

"Something's wrong with him, too," Cain grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Hi, Valerie! Good to see you again," Bellaniece remarked pleasantly.

Valerie smiled a little self-consciously. "Hi," she replied. "You, too."

"Oh, I like that shirt, Evan," she remarked with a laugh. "Much better than the dress you were wearing the last time I saw you."

"I liked that dress," Evan remarked with a wolfish grin.

"Dress?" Cain echoed, arching an eyebrow dubiously.

"He was very pretty," Valerie added dryly.

"Damn straight, I was," Evan insisted.

Cain sighed and slowly shook his head. "Ass monkey," he muttered under his breath.

"Hey, Princess. Who are you talking to?"

Valerie blinked but smiled as Kichiro leaned into view and kissed Bellaniece's cheek.

"Don't you remember, lover? Daddy asked me to call . . . Say hi!"

Kichiro snorted and straightened up. "I'd rather run a marathon barefoot on broken glass, Belle. I'll be in my office if you need me."

She laughed and turned her head to watch him go. "So, what's up, Daddy?" she finally asked but only after the sound of a closing door thumped in the background.

Cain seemed to think about the question, but he finally nodded. "Well," he said, drawing a deep breath and glancing around almost nervously. "Your mother and I thought that it'd be . . . best . . . to tell you all at the same time. I mean, it's nothing to _worry_ about, but, uh . . ." Trailing off for a moment, he glanced at Gin and tried to smile. It looked more like a grimace, though, and then he sighed. "Your mom—err, Gin . . . She's pregnant."

Dead silence filled the room. Everyone looked just a little shocked. Jillian was the first to recover, and she uttered an unearthly high-pitched squeal and darted over to hug Gin. "Really? That's so great!" she exclaimed. "Congratulations, Mama!"

Gin giggled and hugged Jillian back. "Thank you, sweetie!"

" _That's_ what this was all about?" Evan blurted with a curious mix of chagrin and amusement on his face. "Hey, pass Mama over here."

Gin's laughter escalated as Evan tugged her down into his lap.

"Don't manhandle your mother," Cain grumbled.

Bas stood up and stepped over to kiss his mother's forehead. "Congratulations, Mom. Just don't have another one like him."

"Or twins like me," Evan added with a grin.

"Or triplets like him," Jillian quipped happily.

"Oh, my God! You're cursing them!" Bellaniece laughed. "Congratulations, Gin! Way to go, Daddy! It's so nice to see that your penis still works as it should!"

Cain rolled his eyes but managed a wry smile despite the heightened color in his cheeks. "Thanks, Belle," he replied.

Evan snorted. "Aw, hell . . . Don't you remember what I said last night about parental sex?" he grouched.

"Parental sex?" Bas echoed dubiously.

"Well, of course they still have sex!" Jillian piped up. "Didn't they prove that over Christmas?"

"Okay, conversation is veering off into the vastly uncomfortable zone," Bas remarked, raising his voice to be heard over his sisters' mad giggling.

Evan heaved a sigh. "It's not that having sex is a bad thing," he reasoned. "We just don't want the reminder, because reminders lead to mental images; that's all."

Cain grunted and narrowed his eyes on his children. "Well, if you really wanted me to, I could tell you exactly how I got your mother pregnant."

Gin twittered loudly, waving a hand to fan her flaming cheeks. "Now, Cain, I don't know that they need details . . ."

"If it'll disturb them, then it'd be worth it," he insisted, "and if they lost a night or two's worth of sleep, then that'd be even better."

Evan laughed. "You're going to have to try harder than that, Cain," he countered.

"Speak for yourself, Evan," Bas muttered. "I'm one more mental image away from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

Valerie rolled her eyes and slapped Evan's arm with the back of her hand. "Stop that, will you? You're completely ruining the beauty of the moment. After all, your parents are going to have a baby, and that's something special, don't you think?"

"Of course, I do," Evan replied, his grin broadening. "I think it's great that—" Cutting himself off abruptly, his smile disappeared, only to be replaced by a very suspicious frown that he turned on Cain. "You were already pregnant last night when we got here, right?" he asked dubiously.

Cain blinked and shook his head, obviously not really understanding what Evan was trying to get at. "W . . .? Yeah . . ."

" _How_ pregnant?" Evan pressed.

Cain snorted. "Pfft! What do you mean?"

Evan snorted, too. "Keh! I mean, you didn't just make that baby right before we got here, did you?"

"Don't be a jerk, Roka," Valerie interrupted. "Besides, how would they know for sure that they'd made a baby if they'd just done it last night?"

He made a face. "It's _entirely_ possible, woman," he insisted haughtily.

Gin giggled. "The baby was in there already," she told Evan.

Finally, he grinned, looking rather relieved, all things considered. "Hell, this calls for a toast . . . where's that ass-old bottle of scotch you refuse to open, Cain?"

"Your mother can't have scotch," Sydnie pointed out with a censuring shake of her head.

That did little to curb Evan's enthusiasm as he strode over to the liquor cabinet. "Yeah, but the rest of us can," he pointed out. "Mama can have milk or something."

Bas shook his head since he didn't miss the wrinkling of his mother's nose at the mention of 'milk'. "Hey, Dad . . . Didn't you have to bribe Mom when she was pregnant with Evan in order to get her to drink her milk?"

Cain sighed and nodded. "She ate a hell of a lot of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups back then . . . Probably explains a lot . . ."

Gin giggled and hurried over to kiss Cain's cheek. "It just made him extra-sweet."

Cain and Bas both snorted. Evan was too busy, rummaging around in the liquor cabinet.

"Drink one for me, too, Daddy," Bellaniece said. "I'm going to go tell Kichiro the good news! Maybe it'll inspire him!"

"God forbid," Cain muttered under his breath.

"I'll come visit soon, Gin, and we can go baby shopping together . . . or are you coming here for the duration?"

Gin glanced up at Cain and smiled. "No, I think we're okay to stay here for this one. After all, I've already done this a couple times already . . ."

"Okay . . . kisses all around! Kiss those babies for me, Sydnie!"

"Bye, Belle," Bas and Sydnie called. Evan blew her a kiss, and Cain waved. Bellaniece laughed and ended the connection.

"Just remember that you swore you'd be extra careful," Cain reminded Gin seriously.

Gin giggled again and gave her husband a reassuring squeeze around the waist.

Valerie stood up and wandered over to Evan. "So, it wasn't as bad as you thought," she mused, a little smile toying with the corners of her lips.

Evan spared a moment to smile at her, but then he grimaced as he glanced over his shoulder at his parents. "No, not bad," he ventured.

Valerie frowned at the strange undertone in his words. "Upset because you're not going to be your mama's baby anymore?"

Evan snorted. "Hell that . . . I'll always be Mama's baby . . . It ain't that . . ."

Valerie blinked. Evan rarely used that particular word. In fact, she didn't remember him actually having ever used it before. It came off almost as a show of mock bravado . . . "Then what is it?" she asked gently.

Letting out a deep breath, he straighten his back, holding a bottle of very old scotch in his hands. "I told you, didn't I? Cain's first wife died in childbirth. He gets worried—maybe stupidly so—or so I've heard. Even then, I can't say I blame him. Mama means more to him than his own life . . ."

She thought about that for a moment. Sure, she could understand what Evan said, and it made sense that Cain was more than a little worried when it came right down to it. Still, neither Gin nor Cain seemed to be the kind who would make a rash decision about something as important as this. "But they wouldn't take such an unnecessary risk, would they? I'm sure that they talked to doctors and stuff, don't you think?" she said.

Evan lifted his gaze, stared at her for a long moment. Finally, however, he smiled. "You're right," he said, the traces of worry vanishing fast. "He'll just drive her crazy the whole time; that's all."

Valerie nodded and gave Evan's arm a little squeeze. "It'll be fine; you'll see."

"It will be, won't it?"

Valerie's smile widened. "Absolutely."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _With_** **_Arms_** **_Wide_** **_Open_** ' _by_ _Creed_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1999_ _release_ , **_Human_** **_Clay_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Scott_ _Stapp_ , _and_ _Mark_ _Tremonti._
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Wait … pregnant …?_


	168. 167: It's All Relative

' _Lately, I've been talking in my sleep_...  
' _Can't imagine what I'd have to say_ …  
' _Except my world would be right_ …  
' _When love comes back your way_ ...'

 

-' _Running on Faith_ ' by Eric Clapton.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"So how about we draw straws to see who'll get to name the baby?"

"Oh, wow . . ." Bas remarked as he considered the idea.

Cain snorted. "And run the risk that you win? No way," he insisted.

"I swear, I'll pick a good name," Evan said.

"Pfft. Do you remember what you named that stuffed dog your mom gave you for your fifth birthday?"

Evan's grin widened as he stuffed a huge hunk of sausage into his mouth. "What was wrong with Poozer?"

Cain didn't answer, but he did snort again.

Leaning against the counter, Valerie sipped her coffee and opted to stand back and watch the unfolding debacle.

"Hmm, something tells me that this isn't going to end well," Sydnie remarked in an aside as she mimicked Valerie's stance, her gaze, also like Valerie's, trained on the men sitting in the breakfast nook.

"It'd be more of a situation if Evan were really serious," she said. "He's just being a dork."

Sydnie laughed. "He wouldn't be Evan if he didn't try to stir things up. As for being serious? I'd be surprised if he wasn't."

Valerie wrinkled her nose and sipped the coffee again. "The question is, will Bas side with Cain or Evan?"

Giving an offhanded shrug, Sydnie giggled softly. "More often than not, he sides with Cain, but sometimes he'll surprise you . . . Depends on Sebastian's mood . . ."

"And what's his mood today?"

Sydnie's smile took on a rather enigmatic little lilt. "I'm not entirely sure," she admitted.

"Don't be stupid, Evan," Bas muttered between bites of eggs. "That'd be as ridiculous as Sydnie and me letting you name one of our pups."

"Not really," Evan argued. "I mean, why would I want to name one of my nieces or nephews, anyway?"

Bas blinked and stared at him for a long moment, as though he were trying to decide whether or not Evan was being serious. "Well, that's true," he finally relented. "Sounds good to me, then."

"Oh, it looks like he's in the mood to humor Evan," Sydnie remarked.

"God help us," Valerie muttered, slowly shaking her head.

"Forget it," Cain stated flatly. "And don't suggest it to your mom, either."

"Suggest what to their mom?" Gin asked as she wandered into the kitchen with a book in hand. When she spotted the women standing near the counter, she smiled. "Oh, do you two want some breakfast?"

"No, thank you," Valerie quickly said. "Evan already made it."

Gin seemed surprised for a moment, then her smile widened. "Did he really? That's so sweet!"

Sydnie laughed. "Your sweetie is over there, trying to convince Cain to draw straws to see who gets to name the baby."

Retrieving a sausage patty out from under a clean white kitchen towel off the platter on the stove, Gin paused for a moment to blink at Sydnie. "Do we get to draw, too?"

Valerie refilled her coffee cup and hid her smile. Only Gin would ask something like that, she figured.

"Morning, Mama," Evan said, rounding the counter and giving her a noisy, obnoxious kiss. "Go sit down, and I'll make you a plate."

"Oh, I can get it," Gin said, patting Evan's cheek affectionately.

"Yeah, but I want to," Evan insisted.

Gin giggled and headed toward the breakfast nook. " _Such_ a sweetie!"

"You know, Dad, it's pretty remarkable that the two of you decided to have another baby," Bas ventured as he scooted over to make room for his mother.

"Why's that?" Cain asked, looking more than a little dubious.

Bas shrugged. "Wasn't that long ago that Mom was set to move in with me, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Evan added, peering up from the plate he was filling for his mother. "What was that all about, anyway? Did you ever figure it out, Bubby?"

"We don't need to talk about that," Cain insisted.

Evan crossed his arms over his chest and bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. "I kind of think we do."

"It was a misunderstanding," Cain grumbled. "Can we drop it now?"

"It kind of wasn't," Gin said slowly, her gaze cast down on the table. "I mean, I don't think I misunderstood what I saw at all."

Cain heaved a sigh. "Gin . . ."

Bas glanced from his mother to his father and back again. "What kind of misunderstanding, Dad?" he asked mildly despite the formidable scowl on his face.

Cain opened his mouth to speak. Gin was faster. "It's all right now," she said, her tone a lot more upbeat than the expression on her face would have led them to believe. "Your father apologized, and . . . and I know that he _really_ didn't mean it."

"What the hell does _that_ mean, Cain?" Evan demanded.

Cain sighed again. "I was working at the time, Gin," he reminded her. "I didn't actually realize that she was in the studio until—well, _seconds_ before I realized that _she_ wasn't _you!_ "

"She? She, who?" Evan pressed.

Cain grunted and shot him a fulminating glower. "What do you mean, 'she', who? The gypsy girl _you_ sent here—the one who apparently didn't understand when we told her that she couldn't go into my studio."

Bas sat back and slowly shook his head. "Uh, Dad . . .?"

"What?"

". . . Are you trying to say that you were unfaithful to Mom . . .?"

Cain grimaced then glowered across the table. "Hell, no," he growled.

Gin cleared her throat. "But . . . She was awfully close to unzipping your pants, Zelig-sensei," she murmured quietly, her cheeks erupting in a painful shade of red.

"I stopped her before she did anything!" Cain insisted. "Damn it, I—"

Evan whistled low. "Holy shit, Cain . . ."

He looked like he was ready to light into someone, but suddenly, Cain sighed. "As soon as I realized that it wasn't you, I stopped her," he said, his voice taking on a much gentler tone. "I was in the middle of working on that painting, and I wasn't paying attention. I'm sorry, Gin."

"I know," Gin squeaked, sniffling slightly as Bas slipped an arm around her shoulders protectively. "It's okay."

Cain sighed again. On the one hand, he _did_ look sorry. On the other, he also looked like he was considering giving his sons an earful since they were the ones who had dragged it up all over again, in the first place.

"I dunno, Bas," Evan drawled without taking his gaze off his father. From where she stood, Valerie couldn't rightfully see his face, but she didn't have to. The rigidity in his stance spoke volumes, as far as she was concerned. His tone held a hint of teasing, that was true, but there was an underlying sense of anger that she could sense. "I don't think that's nearly enough. Do you?"

Bas didn't reply right away, but he did continue to stare at his father.

"Where's your sword, Cain?" Evan went on.

"Sounds about right," Bas agreed.

"Now, boys . . ." Gin began but scooted out of the booth to let Bas out.

"Aw, don't worry, Mama," Evan said, stepping around the counter to kiss his mother's cheek. "We won't kill him, will we, Bubby?"

"Dead, no," Bas agreed. "But you've got to admit: if that were Evan or me, we'd be sitting through a few hours' worth of The Lecture, and we won't beat on him _that_ long."

Cain heaved a long, loud sigh, but he stood up, too. On some level, Valerie supposed, Cain still felt terrible about what had happened, and that was probably the main reason that he was going along with his sons' idea of retribution.

"Are they really going to fight?" Valerie leaned toward Sydnie to ask.

Sydnie frowned thoughtfully as she watched the men filing out of the room with Gin hurrying along behind them. "Oh, probably," she finally said. "Do you want to go watch?"

Valerie made a face, mostly because Sydnie sounded a little too pleased with the idea of bloodshed and mayhem. She'd seen them fight before while she was here over Christmas, so she wasn't nearly as worried as she might have otherwise been. Strange enough that the boys had so obviously been trained in the art of sword fighting. Such an archaic kind of thing, and yet, it seemed to fit the family on the whole, too . . .

Still, she had very little doubt that the whole thing might well upset Gin, and that wouldn't be all right in the least.

"Mommy," Bailey said, rubbing his eyes as he shuffled into the kitchen, his bronze hair sticking up in tufts all over his head. "Livvy's whinin'."

"Aww, is she?" Sydnie cooed, ruffling her son's hair affectionately. "I'll be right back, okay?"

Bailey nodded and yawned at the same time. Then he rubbed his eyes and slowly glanced around. "Where's Grandma?" he asked, blinking up at Valerie in a thoroughly confused sort of way.

Valerie smiled. Bas and Sydnie were here so late last night that they'd opted to stay over instead of driving home, and Evan had mentioned that he'd woken up to two little bodies, huddled against him under the blankets. At some point last night, Bailey had crept into Evan's room, and Olivia had followed her brother, not that Evan minded. If nothing else, he loved the children, and being a big kid himself, Valerie figured that it wasn't surprising in the least . . . "She's outside," she told him, kneeling down with her hands on her knees so that she was on Bailey's level. "Are you hungry?"

Bailey's eyes lit up. "Yeah, I'm hungry!" he yelled.

Valerie laughed and pushed herself to her feet to retrieve a plate off the counter. "Let's see . . . Uncle Evan made bacon, pancakes, sausage, and biscuits and gravy . . . What do you want?"

Bailey grabbed onto the counter and peered at the food on the stove as Valerie held up the towels so that he could see. "Yeah!"

"Yeah?" Valerie echoed quizzically. "You mean, you want all of it?"

"Yeah!" Bailey exclaimed again. "All of it!"

Valerie pulled a pancake out of the center of the stack since the top ones were a little cooler and split a biscuit in half. She had only eaten one of the pancakes with just a touch of honey, and she had felt more than satisfied, but she knew well enough that Bailey was what some might call a 'good eater'. In her estimation, that was a bit of an understatement, though. The boy could put away more food in one sitting than Valerie usually ate all day long, so she wasn't too concerned as she ladled gravy over the biscuit before slipping a sausage patty and a slice of bacon onto the plate, too. If anything, he'd probably be hollering that he wanted more before it was all said and done, but then, he had so much energy that he burned it all off in a matter of hours, anyway.

"Thank you!" Bailey said as he hopped over to the breakfast nook on Valerie's heels.

"You're welcome," she said, setting the plate down and stepping back so Bailey could climb onto the bench. "Do you want some juice? Milk?"

"Daddy says I should drink milk," Bailey garbled around a mouthful of syrup-soaked pancake.

Valerie laughed and hurried over to fill a glass for him. By the time she'd returned, the boy had already polished off the bacon, sausage, and most of the pancake, too. "I guess you were hungry," she said.

Bailey giggled. "Daddy says I'm always hungry," he told her. "That way, I can be big like him when I grow up!"

"Where the fuck _is_ everyone?"

Valerie turned, eyes widening, as a strange man strode into the kitchen with a very pretty Oriental woman in tow. He had the same silvery hair as Gin and Evan, and it hung loose to his waist—maybe a little lower—but the predatory way in which he shifted his gaze around the room was entirely unsettling, especially when it lit on Valerie and stayed there. "Who the hell are _you?_ " he growled without blinking.

Valerie could feel her mouth fall open and snapped it closed as her cheeks pinked slightly. Despite the gruffness in the man's voice as well as the harshness in his words, he seemed more curious than hostile, and the little head of a very small child that peeked over his shoulder only served to soften the image in her mind even more. "Hi," Valerie said a little uncertainly. They had to be related to the family. There were too many similarities in their looks not to be. Valerie just wasn't entirely sure how . . . "I'm Valerie—Valerie Denning. Evan's friend," she added, almost as an afterthought.

The man's face contorted as he scowled at her, but it was more like he was trying to make up his mind about her. For some reason, the expression reminded her of Evan—she wasn't sure why—and she had to press her lips together tightly to keep from laughing outright. There was just something inherently cute about him, even if she had the distinct feeling that he wouldn't appreciate hearing any such thing. "Evan's friend, huh?" he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. He spoke English well enough, it seemed, but he had a very thick accent, too. "That what they're calling it these days?"

"InuYasha!" the woman behind him hissed pleasantly. Then she said something in a language that Valerie didn't understand, but the man obviously did, because he grunted and rolled his eyes.

"Hello," the woman called, leaning to the side to see around the man. "I'm Kagome, and this is InuYasha . . . and this—" she said, peeling the little girl off InuYasha's back and setting her down on the floor, "—is Takara."

" _Hajimemashite_ _douzo yoroshiku_ ," the little girl said, her golden eyes wide, solemn as she bowed formally. When she straightened up, she cocked her head to the side, apparently content to stare at Valerie.

"Ah . . . Hello?" Valerie replied, unsure as to what the child had just said but fairly positive that it was some kind of greeting.

InuYasha snorted when Kagome gave him a little nudge with her elbow. "Keh! Whatever, wench!" Then he turned his attention back to Valerie once more. "So where _is_ everyone, anyway?"

"Jiijii!" Bailey hollered, scooting off the bench and dashing across the floor to bounce up and down in front of the new arrivals and ignoring Takara completely. "Baa-chan!"

"Oh, they're all outside in the back yard," she explained as Kagome scooped Bailey up and gave him a loud kiss on the cheek. Bailey giggled, and for a moment, Valerie had to wonder just how the diminutive woman kept a hold on a child as big as Bailey.

"Why the hell are they out there?" InuYasha grumbled as he scooped Takara up once more and pretty much slung her over his shoulder and onto his back.

"Uh . . ." Valerie hedged. "Evan and Bas kind of dragged Cain out there," she finally said.

To her surprise, InuYasha swung around to face Kagome. "See, wench? I _told_ you that we didn't need to fucking stop for breakfast!" he complained. "C'mon!"

"InuYasha, no!" Kagome insisted, hurrying after him with Bailey still in tow. She grabbed a blanket that lay over the back of a chair to wrap around the boy, but didn't say anything about the fuzzy little slippers on his feet. "Besides, you're forgetting that _that_ is still in your suitcase, anyway."

"Keh!" InuYasha snorted but didn't stop moving, either. "Like I need _that_ to take care of the likes of Zelig Cain," he scoffed.

Valerie wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but she followed along, anyway. What was ' _that_ '? And more importantly, was he Evan's uncle or something? But something else nagged at her, too. She'd heard those names before, hadn't she? Evan must've mentioned them before at some point, but at the moment, Valerie couldn't quite place them, either.

Sucking in a sharp breath as she stepped out of the mansion just behind InuYasha and Kagome, Valerie blinked and stared. Bas and Cain held each other back with the crossed blades of the wooden swords in their hands. Both were leaning heavily toward the other, but it was clear that Cain was at a disadvantage since he had to keep glancing over at Evan, who, at the moment, was simply prowling around the perimeter, watching his father and brother intently.

Bas grunted and gave a little shove right as Cain's head snapped to the side. Whether he'd heard the door open and close, Valerie didn't know, but she had the distinct feeling that he'd somehow sensed InuYasha and Kagome's arrival. Unfortunately, Bas' shove sent him stumbling back just as Evan dashed forward, swinging the wooden sword in his hands in a neat and controlled arc that caught Cain in the lower right ribs as he tried to spin away from it.

"Old man!" Evan called, tossing the sword into the air where it flipped, end over end a few times, before he caught it effortlessly, a silly grin surfacing on his features as he looked over at InuYasha. "What are you doing here?"

"Leave some for me, why don't you?" InuYasha complained, jerking his head in Cain's direction as he planted his hands on the low stone wall and neatly vaulted over it.

Gin squealed and fairly flew at the man, knocking him back a step as she caught him in a hug. "What are you doing here?" she asked happily.

"Keh!" InuYasha snorted, rolling his eyes as Kagome hurried down the steps to greet Gin, too. "That old bastard gets you pregnant then refuses to bring you home? You didn't think I'd leave you here alone with him, did you?"

Kagome rolled her eyes but pulled Gin away gently to hug her, too. "You're such a jerk, dog-boy," she said. "Gin told you that it was her choice, didn't she?"

"It was," Gin added, returning to InuYasha's side. "There's just so much going on around here that it's impractical to go to drop everything to go to Japan right now."

Evan gave Kagome a quick kiss on the cheek and spared a moment to grin goofily at InuYasha before swaggering over to the porch. He scooped Takara up and kissed her, too, before stopping beside Valerie. "Where were you? You missed the show," he complained. "Hey, Bailey! Leave some skin, will you?"

Bailey laughed as he scrambled up Evan's back. He managed to reach around and help the boy so that he didn't fall before he could lock his arms around Evan's neck. "Is Ji-chan gonna fight Grandpa?" he asked a little breathlessly.

Evan grinned. "Probably."

"Get him, Jiijii!" Bailey yelled. The excitement on his face dimmed somewhat, however, as he watched the two men who were busy, glowering at each other. "I mean, get him, Grandpa . . .!" The confusion seemed to heighten. "What if Daddy fights, too?" he suddenly asked, sounding even more distressed about that idea.

Evan laughed. "It's all right, Bailey. No one's really going to try to kill anyone . . . maybe."

Bailey whined just a little as Takara started to squirm in Evan's arms.

"What's that mean?" Valerie asked, frowning as she watched InuYasha lunge at Cain, who quickly hopped back to avoid the man's forward momentum.

"What's what mean?" Evan asked. She could tell from the tone of his voice that he was watching the two men, too.

"Jiijii," she said with a shake of her head.

"Jii . . .? Oh . . ." Evan drawled.

"'Cause he's my great-grandpa," Bailey said.

Valerie blinked and turned to face Evan. "Your . . .?"

"Uh-h-h," Evan hedged then broke into a wide grin. "Ah, well, that's just . . . a joke! A joke . . ."

"A joke?' she repeated, arching an eyebrow dubiously.

Evan nodded and set both the children on the porch. "Hey, Bailey. Why don't you show Takara that new game your daddy bought you?" he suggested.

Bailey's eyes widened, and he bounced up and down a little. "C'mon, Kara," Bailey said, grabbing the girl's hand and dragging her toward the door. She didn't look completely sure whether or not she ought to go with him, but she followed him anyway.

Valerie watched the children go before pinning Evan with a no-nonsense stare. "That guy isn't even close to being old enough to be a grandfather, let alone a great-grandfather," she pointed out calmly, wrapping her arms around herself since she hadn't had the foresight to grab her coat before venturing outside. For late February, it was unseasonably warm, or so she'd been told, which basically meant that it was still colder than Valerie liked, but not nearly as bad as it was around Christmas.

"W-Well," Evan said, pulling off the sweatshirt he must have grabbed before heading outside, "He is a little older than you think . . . The 'grandpa' thing is just kind of an inside joke, you could say . . ."

"Inside joke? What kind of joke is that?" she demanded.

Evan grinned. "A funny one?"

Rolling her eyes, Valerie took the sweatshirt and pulled it over her head. "Besides that, even if he is older than he looks, it can't be by much," she retorted. "So what how is he really related to you? Your uncle?"

"Uncle!" Evan exclaimed, snapping his fingers and bobbing his index finger under her nose. "Yes, my _uncle_ . . . isn't that right, Uncle InuYasha?"

InuYasha stomped up the steps and uttered a loud snort. "Uncle _what?_ "

Evan grinned. "Uncle InuYasha," he repeated. InuYasha snorted and reached over to slap Evan upside the head. Evan ducked to avoid it, but his grin widened a little more. "V, here, thinks your my uncle since there's no way in hell that you're old enough to be my grandfather."

InuYasha opened his mouth. Kagome slipped her hand up under his elbow. "And I'm _Aunt_ Kagome," she said brightly. "Come on, Uncle InuYasha . . . You promised you'd be on your best behavior around Cain, remember?"

InuYasha didn't look particularly impressed with Kagome's reminder, but they headed toward the doors, anyway. Valerie watched them go with a thoughtful frown and slowly shook her head. "Your family is so weird, Roka," she finally said, rubbing her forehead as she gave up trying to figure any of them out.

He chuckled and slipped an arm around her. "Want to go for a jog, V?" he asked.

Valerie leaned to the side so that she could look up into his face. "Okay," she agreed slowly, "but don't think I don't know that you're trying to change the subject."

His grin only widened. "You've got five minutes to change or I'll leave without you," he warned.

Rolling her eyes, Valerie shrugged his arm off of her. "Whatever, Roka," she tossed over her shoulder. "We'll see about that."

The sounds of his chuckles followed her inside, and she sighed. Then again, did it really matter? After all, as far as she could tell, they were some of the warmest people she'd ever met, and that had to account for something.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Hajimemashite_** **_douzo_** **_yoroshiku_** : _Basically_ , " _How_ _do_ _you_ _do?_ _Please_ _take_ _care_ _of_ _me_."  
>  ** _Jiijii_** : _Informal_ _address_ _for_ _'old man'. Bailey was taught to use this to refer to InuYasha because he's a boy_ …  
>  ** _Baa-chan_** : _Informal_ _address_ _for_ ' _grandma_ '.
> 
> ' ** _Running_** **_on_** **_Faith_** ' _by_ _Eric_ _Clapton_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1989_ _release_ , **_Journeyman_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Jerry_ _Lynn_ _Williams._
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_InuYasha_** :  
>  _Uncle, my ass!_


	169. 168: Brothers

' _Oh, Daniel my brother, you are older than me_...  
' _Do you still feel the pain of the scars that won't heal_ …?  
' _Your eyes have died, but you see more than I_ …  
' _Daniel, you're a star in the face of the sky_ ...'

 

-' _Daniel_ ' by Elton John.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"You wanted to talk to me about something?"

Evan smashed his hand against the strings of the acoustic guitar to staunch the notes he'd just been strumming as Bas pulled the door closed behind him. "Hey, Bubby," he said, setting the guitar aside and standing up to grab a couple beers out of the refrigerator. "Want one?"

Bas took the bottle Evan offered him and twisted the cap off. "Thanks," he said, tipping it to his lips.

Evan nodded and plopped down on the bed, eyeing his brother thoughtfully as Bas grabbed the desk chair and pulled it over. "So?"

Evan let out a deep breath and set the bottle on the nightstand. "I took V down to Kentucky. She got to talk to her family and all that."

Bas didn't look surprised. "Good."

"He's not doing too badly, her dad," Evan went on. "I mean, he's not doing well, but he's better off than I was afraid of."

"Yeah."

Leaning forward, Evan rested his elbows on his knees and scratched the back of his head. "V got tested," he said. "Unfortunately, her blood type's not even remotely compatible, so they didn't bother to check any further. The whole family's been tested. Not a damn one of them is a consideration for a transplant."

Bas considered that for a moment, and he nodded. "It happens," he said. "It's a damn shame, but there's not much you can do about it."

Evan shifted his gaze to the side and scowled at his brother. "Maybe there is," he ventured rather noncommittally. "I mean, you hear about it all the time, right? Talk to the right person, grease the right wheels . . . people get put on the national waiting list or bumped higher . . ."

Bas sighed. "I get what you're saying, Evan; I really do, but . . ."

Evan gritted his teeth. He knew damn well what was going through Bas' head. The same shit had been spinning around his own head for days, hadn't it?

"The people on the waiting list aren't there because of the choices that they made," Bas went on quietly. He didn't sound like he was trying to argue with Evan, exactly. No, it was as though he were actually arguing with himself . . . "Some of them have been on that list for years, waiting and hoping and praying . . ."

"I know that," Evan replied tersely, almost wearily. "Thing is, I'd agree with you without a second thought if he was still the same guy that he was back when he did all this shit to himself. For that matter, a part of me agrees with you even now. It's just . . ."

Bas stared at him for several moments, then slowly nodded. "It's just that he's Valerie's father," Bas supplied.

Letting out a deep breath, Evan rubbed his forehead, scowled at the floor. "Well, yeah," he agreed with a little shrug. "It's not just that, though . . . He could be _anyone_. People make idiotic choices sometimes, and they don't stop to think that those decisions might come back to bite them in the ass, decades down the road. Sure, they should, but hell . . . who does that?" Shaking his head, Evan met Bas' steady gaze. "He was dealt a shitty hand in life, and he tried to make it work, but it never really did for him, and I just keep thinking that maybe . . . maybe he _does_ deserve a second chance—not for Valerie, but for himself."

"Evan, you're barking up the wrong tree," Bas said. "I agree with you, but the rules are set for a reason, and you don't have a clue, whose ass you'd need to kiss in order to get him past the initial screening process."

"I know," Evan allowed, "but _you_ will, won't you?"

Bas didn't look entirely surprised at the direction of Evan's thoughts. "So that's the reason you wanted to talk to me," he concluded sagely. "You want me to ask around for you."

"I figured you'd have more luck than I would," he admitted. "I'll owe you one."

Bas barked out an incredulous little laugh as he slowly shook his head and slipped the beer in his hand. "Don't worry about it," he finally said. "If there was any way I could've helped Sydnie's dad, I would have."

Evan sighed and reached for the bottle he'd set on the nightstand, draining half of it before he bothered to speak again. "I thought for sure that he'd be a bastard," Evan remarked at length. "All that shit in those reports you gave me? Everything she told me . . .? Of course I thought he was, right?   But he isn't. He's always loved V, even when he was completely fucked up. He just didn't figure it out until it was almost too late."

"Mom says that she's your mate," Bas ventured, pushing himself to his feet and held out his hand for Evan's now-empty bottle.

"Maybe," Evan drawled.

Bas chuckled as he set the empty bottles into the empty crate beside the fridge and grabbed a couple more beers. "I don't know, Evan . . . She's a lot classier than you are."

Evan grinned and took the beer that his brother offered to him. "Well, yeah," he allowed. "That goes without saying."

"Pfft . . . You'd better do something about that ring on her finger," Bas went on mildly. "I mean, I'm right in assuming that you didn't put that there, aren't I?"

Wrinkling his nose at his brother's blunt statement, Evan didn't respond immediately.

Bas wasn't done. "Listen . . . I'm not going to give you the lecture about messing with another man's woman. The fact is, she seems like she's good for you, and that's got to mean something, right? So if you didn't put that ring on her finger, then it means that someone else did . . . She doesn't know how you feel about her, does she?"

"It's complicated," Evan said. "She's coming around."

"Do us all a favor and convince her sooner than later," Bas said dryly despite the rueful little smile on his face. "You're still my brother, even if you are a pain in my ass."

Evan chuckled. "Hell, Bubby . . . I didn't know you cared."

"Yeah, well, Mom kind of likes you, and you're not always so bad . . ." Bas' smile faltered as he sat back down again. "Does Valerie know what you're thinking about her dad?"

Bas' question was enough to sober Evan up fast. "No," he admitted. "I mean, she might not like the how of it, but she wants her father to live, too."

"Did she look into any of the legalities of it?" Bas went on.

"You kidding? It's V, right? I'm sure she thought it over. There's just nothing she can do. God only knows that she doesn't have enough money to get anyone's attention, and in this world, good intentions only get you so far."

Bas must've already come to the same conclusion because he didn't seem particularly surprised by Evan's matter-of-fact statement. "I can put out some inquiries," he said. "I'm not sure what'll come of it . . . Why didn't you ask Dad to do it, though? Dad's got more clout than I do."

Evan shook his head. "Maybe," he said with a shrug. "He's got enough going on all the time, doesn't he? Tai-youkai shit and whatnot . . ."

Bas didn't look like he completely bought into Evan's excuses, but he let it pass. "I'll ask Gunnar to give me a hand," he finally decided. "This kind of thing is closer to his area than mine. Give me a couple weeks, and I'll let you know what's going on."

"All right. Thanks."

"No problem . . ." Bas sighed and slowly shook his head. "Mom said you were leaving tomorrow morning? Is that right?"

Evan nodded. He was cutting things a bit close, as it was, and, while Mike didn't come out and say it directly, Evan knew damn well that his manager was starting to get a little antsy. Made sense, really, considering no arrangements had been made as yet to hire a bassist for the upcoming European dates . . . "Yeah, there are a few things I have to get done before we leave for Europe next month," he said.

"We? Valerie's going with you?"

Evan stood up and paced the length of the room and back as he sipped his beer and considered Bas' question. "Well, I haven't gotten around to asking her yet," he confessed with an offhanded shrug. "I'll convince her, though."

Bas rolled his eyes at Evan's show of cockiness, but grinned just a little. "Is it a full tour?"

"Nah," Evan replied. "Just a handful of shows to kick off the Global Fray Festival. Top spot."

"That's pretty big," Bas remarked. "Isn't that one of the largest rock festivals in Europe?"

Evan's cheeky grin widened. "Well, yeah," he said. "But I've already done it for years."

"Not as the headliner," Bas corrected him.

"That's true," Evan admitted. "Fucking wicked, right?"

Bas chuckled. "Not bad," he allowed. "Not bad at all."

Letting out a deep breath, Evan stared at Bas for a moment. "She doesn't love him," he said quietly. He wasn't sure why he was telling Bas anything of the sort, but for some reason, he almost felt compelled to do it. "In fact, I don't think she's _ever_ loved him. She just thinks he's safe and all that."

It took a moment for Bas to figure out what Evan was talking about. "Uh . . . You mean the guy that bought Valerie that ring?"

Evan nodded. "They're engaged," he allowed with a sigh. "They're engaged, but do you think she even mentioned going to reconcile with her parents to the little douche-bag? Because she didn't . . . She doesn't tell him anything, which is fine with me. Whatever. He's never around, anyway . . ."

He could tell from the expression on Bas' face that his brother was caught somewhere between disgust at what Evan had told him and the older-brother desire to point out that messing with someone else's woman was just not a good thing to do. "Sounds like he doesn't have his priorities quite right," Bas grumbled. "Damn, Evan . . ."

"I know," Evan cut in before Bas could get started. "If I had thought for even a second that she might really love him, I swear to God I wouldn't have messed with her, but . . ." Trailing off, he took his time, draining the rest of his beer bottle. "She doesn't . . . and I don't think she's ever really wanted to."

Bas scowled at him for several seconds, just like he used to when they were younger and Evan pestered him to play. More often than not, Bas gave in back in those days . . . "Be careful, Evan," Bas finally said. "I mean, you know . . ." Evan blinked when Bas' cheeks reddened slightly, as he watched his older brother scratch the back of his neck almost nervously. "I've only got one little brother."

For some reason, Bas' muttered statement gave Evan pause, and he grinned. "Eh, it's not like you'd get rid of me that easily," he assured him. "I'm tough—you know—like Mama."

Bas uttered a curt laugh and shook his head. "Can you believe she's pregnant? Well, that's not surprising. I just didn't realize she and Dad were even considering it again."

Evan laughed, too. "I don't know. I think it's pretty damn cool."

"Yeah," Bas agreed with a grin. "Me, too . . . me, too . . ."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"You have the strangest family I've ever met," Valerie said as the outline of New York City loomed closer on the horizon. "Nice as can be, but strange."

Evan grinned. "Oh? Why's that?"

She wrinkled her nose. "What do you mean, why? Your mother kept calling Kagome 'Mama', for starters . . ."

Chuckling as he fiddled with the car's temperature control, he winced inwardly. Even though she'd realized that trying to explain the family tree to Valerie would be a little tricky, given that Valerie knew nothing at all about youkai, she'd still slipped a number of times. Still, the one time she'd remembered and had called InuYasha by his given name had been simply priceless. Not only had Gin turned about ten shades of red, but InuYasha himself had looked fit to be tied. Of course Valerie had been too smart to miss the entire thing, but he supposed it could have been worse. Maybe.

"It's a family joke," Evan lied, figuring that trying to change the subject would only lead to more suspicion.

"Isn't that a weird thing to joke about?" Valerie pressed.

Evan shrugged. "I suppose," he agreed. "Then again, you did say that I have a strange family, right?"

"I've heard a lot of joking in my time, Roka, but I've never heard a sister call her brother, 'dad'."

"It's an inside joke, V," he said. "Anyway, she's done it for years, so . . ."

She snorted, digging a tube of lip balm out of her purse. "Well, then that'd make more sense as to why your niece and nephew called them 'Grandma' and 'Grandpa' . . ." she finally muttered, flipping down the sun visor and popping open the mirror affixed to the back of it. "But it's still strange."

"You've met me, and you're asking about strange?" Evan quipped.

She considered that then rolled her eyes, and while she still looked dubious, she also seemed like she might be ready to let it drop. "You know, I thought your mom was going to cry when you were saying goodbye to her."

"I know it," he said, his grin widening. "Should've seen it when I was younger and would go to Japan for the summer. She always tried not to cry, but the harder she tried, the harder she cried . . . Hey, that rhymed . . ."

Valerie snorted but giggled as she pushed the visor back up and dropped the lip balm into her purse again. "There's something so wrong with you . . ."

He shot her another grin but didn't argue with her. She fell silent, too, and when he glanced at her a moment later, he frowned at the concentration on her features. She was thinking about something awfully hard, wasn't she? "What's on your mind, V?" he asked gently.

Valerie blinked, her cheeks pinking, and she shot him a quick glance before purposefully looking straight ahead once more. "Uh, it's nothing," she said.

"I thought we were past all that crap," he told her. "You can tell me stuff; it's fine."

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie slowly shook her head. "It's not that," she finally said. "I was just thinking . . ."

"About . . .?" he prompted when she trailed off.

Forcing a little smile, she shrugged. "It's not important really," she insisted, flicking a hand as though the gesture could help to substantiate her claim.

"Okay," he allowed. "Then tell me."

"It's fine," she insisted. "Really."

"It's not if it's bothering you," he pointed out. "Out with it, woman."

She shook her head. "I . . . I just can't help worrying about your mom," she admitted quietly. "I mean, I'm sure that they talked to their doctor and all that . . ."

"Cain wouldn't let her take that big a risk, just like you said," Evan told her. "Besides, Mama's a lot tougher than she looks. Trust me."

"I know," she said. "I know . . . But there's so much stuff out there. You hear about it on the news all the time—and you were worried, too. I know you were."

Evan sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't," he said. "Of course, I am. It'll be fine."

He could feel her eyes on him, could feel the intensity in her gaze. It was as though she were trying to see inside his head. Maybe she was. "You're right," she finally said, the hint of a smile quirking her lips.

"I'm always right," he replied airily.

She settled back with a sigh. "I guess I should go in to work tomorrow," she mused. "It'll be a miracle if they haven't given my office to someone else."

"Are you kidding? You're the best damn attorney in that firm," Evan insisted. "Besides, you were off on official Roka-control, right?"

She snorted. "Technically speaking, I was on vacation," she reminded him. "Personal leave."

Evan chuckled. "Speaking of Roka-control . . . you're coming with me to Europe, right?"

Again, he could feel the intensity of her stare. "Europe?" she echoed, sounding just a little breathless.

"Eh, one date in England, two in France, and I forgot what comes after that . . . about three weeks."

"France . . .?"

He nodded. "That's right: France."

"O-O-Oh," she breathed.

"I could give ol' Xavier a call. I bet he'd be more than happy to give you the time off," he suggested.

For a moment, Evan thought that she was going to agree. He should have known better. "I can't," she said, although she sounded entirely remorseful. "I'd love to go to Europe . . . one day . . ."

"Why wait?" Evan countered. "C'mon, V, just think about it . . . You . . . me . . . the City of Lo _-o-o-o-ove_ . . ."

She snorted again and rolled her eyes but did break into a wan little smile. "As wonderful as that sounds," she said, somehow managing to make the entire thing sound like torture, "I'll have to pass."

"Why?" he demanded, only half-whining.

This time, she giggled. "Because _some_ of us have to work sometimes," she reminded him. "Now stop it before I get mad."

"Mad? Why would you get mad?"

That earned him a droll look. "Because I _want_ to go, Roka," she reminded him, "but I can't—and don't you _dare_ ask Xavier, either."

He heaved a long-suffering sign designed to let her know exactly what he thought of that. "Fine," he muttered, slowly shaking his head. "Just make me go alone, why don't you? Alone . . . with Mikey . . . in Paris . . . with _Mikey_ . . ."

"You could always ask Bugs to go along," she suggested dryly. "I'll bet he'd jump at the chance to spend time with you—alone—in the City of Love."

"No, thanks," Evan said, the pouting tone of his voice dissipating fast. "I'm good."

She laughed. "Maybe next time."

Evan sighed again despite the smile that still lingered on his lips. "Yeah," he agreed. "Definitely next time."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Daniel_** ' _by_ _Elton John_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1973_ _release_ , **_Don't_** **_Shoot_** **_Me,_** **_I'm_** **_Just_** **_the_** **_Piano_** **_Player_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Elton_ _John_ _and_ _Bernie_ _Taupin._
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Oh,_ _she'll_ _go_ , _all_ _right_ …


	170. 169: Status Quo

' _So come and tell me what my kiss tastes like_...  
' _Don't wanna miss it so turn off the lights_ …  
' _But I wonder if you know I hate sleeping alone_ ...'

 

-' _'The Sex is Good'_ by Saving Abel.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"You got laid."

Evan blinked and broke into a wolfish grin as Bitches stalked across the floor and planted herself directly in front of him, hands planted on her leopard-print, skin-tight, micro-mini skirt clad hips. "Hey," he greeted, "and no, I didn't."

She arched an eyebrow that disappeared under the thick fringe of her crazy-wild hair. "You did," she countered. "I know that aura. It's the, 'I-had-fantastic-sex-probably-with-multiple-women' aura."

He chuckled and shook his head. "I swear to God, I didn't."

Bitches wasn't buying, if the expression on her face meant anything at all. She opened her mouth to refute him, but gasped suddenly. "Oh, my God . . . Did you do that delicious little V?" she demanded.

"I wish," Evan replied. "No, I didn't—and I didn't do anyone else, either."

"Somehow, I just don't buy it," she insisted, "but if you don't want to 'fess up, then there's not much I can do about that, is there?"

"I'm sorry," he told her with a shake of his head. "So what are you out doing, anyway? Slumming?"

She laughed and perched on the edge of the sofa beside him. "Do I have to have a reason to want to stop by to see you? Besides, I haven't seen you in . . . weeks . . .? Months . . .? Since well before the holidays, anyway. How was your vacation down in the Bahamas?"

"It was good," Evan told her, his grin widening a few degrees. "Just what the doctor ordered."

"Excellent!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands happily. "You work too hard, you know. Dieter always said so, too."

"That's because my work isn't really work at all," he countered mildly. "Hell, I get to play for a living. Not too bad, if you ask me."

"I suppose," she allowed. "So tell me. What's going on with Zel Roka these days?"

"Zel Roka is good," he assured her with a cocky grin. "Better than good, actually."

"Oh, that's right . . . you're leaving for Europe soon, aren't you?"

Evan sighed, mostly because, in the two weeks since they'd been back from their unscheduled detour to Maine, he hadn't made any headway at all in convincing Valerie to go with him to Europe. "Yeah," he said, pasting on another grin and offering Bitches a little shrug. "Don't suppose I could talk my favorite Zen guru into going with me?"

Bitches pressed her palms against her heart melodramatically. "Oh, I'd love to go," she said, "but Keesha is dragging me off to meet her brother in Bloomberg." She made a face. "Bloomberg! Do you know where that is?"

Evan cocked an eyebrow. "What happened to Tess?"

"Tess? She went straight on me, right before this huge Christmas bash at The Cage!" she lamented.

"That right? A girl went straight? On you?"

"I _know!_ Bugsy couldn't believe it, either!"

Evan grinned. "That aside, I don't even know who 'Keesha' is," he pointed out.

Bitches gasped, eyes widening in shock. "I didn't get to tell you about her, did I? Oh, _bad_ Bitches!"

"Very," he agreed. "Why don't you bend over and let me spank you?"

She rolled her eyes but laughed. "Keesha's the girl I met at The Cage—I went anyway, you know? Just because Tess dumped me didn't mean I shouldn't have gone, right? So I did, and I'm so-o-o-o glad I did!" she told him. "There she was: this beautiful girl with this gorgeous caramel skin and chocolaty eyes and these big, lush lips that are as soft and smooth as butter cream pie! Well, I just had to have her, so I asked her to dance, and a minute later, she's got her hand up my skirt playing ' _Jingle Bells_ '—if you know what I mean."

"She sounds tasty," he teased.

Bitches gazed up through the thick fringe of her fake eyelashes at Evan with a coquettish smile. "Oh, she is, Roka, I promise you that."

"And she wants to drag you off to Bloomberg?" he reminded her. "Where the hell is Bloomberg?"

She heaved a sigh and nodded emphatically. "Can you imagine?" she breathed, turning to face him, planting her hands on his thighs and leaning in so that her nose was less than an inch from his. If he looked down, he figured he'd get a pretty good view of Bitches' bitches—if he was interested, that was . . . "Bloomberg, Tennessee! Bitches is going to be smack-dab in the middle of Bible Bangers' territory! And let me remind you, Roka. Bitches and Bibles? Well, they're not exactly synonymous, now are they?"

Evan chuckled. "So Keesha batted those chocolaty eyes at you, and you agreed to go with her, right?"

Bitches blinked and leaned away, looking both highly amused as well as properly appalled, all at the same time. "Of course not!" she insisted. "I have my standards, you know!"

"So how did she talk you into it?" he couldn't resist asking.

She laughed again and rolled her eyes. "Well, see, she has this trick that she does with her tongue. Kind of rolls it into a long tongue-tube, like this—" Bitches stuck out her tongue and rolled it inward as far as she could to show Evan exactly what she meant, "—and I swear to God that it's harder than any cock I've ever felt! So she takes her tongue and—"

"Hey, Roka, did you know that there's a hot pink motorcycle outside your—Oh, hi, Bitches," Valerie said as she breezed into the living room.

Bitches squealed and hopped up, dashing across the room far faster than anyone should really be able to do, given that she was wearing seven-inch heels. She grabbed Valerie into an exuberant hug, and Valerie froze, casting Evan a, 'Help Me' kind of look that he summarily ignored despite the widening grin on his face. "Just as scrumptious as ever, I see!" Bitches gushed as she leaned away far enough to give Valerie the once-over without actually letting go of her.

Valerie smiled weakly, and when she noticed Evan's leering grin, she narrowed her eyes for just a moment. "It's nice to see you again, too," she said.

Bitches giggled then heaved a melodramatic sigh. "Oh, I wish I could stay, but I promised Keesha I'd take her to the Bunny Hole tonight—she loves to pick on Bugs."

Evan laughed. "You'd better not keep her waiting, then."

She gave Valerie another good squeeze then finally let go, sparing a moment to hurry over to kiss Evan's cheek before careening around to face the doorway. "Bye, sweetie . . . bye, Zel!" she called over her shoulder. A moment later, he heard the sound of the front door opening and closing, and only then did Valerie breathe a sigh of relief.

"Somehow, I feel completely and utterly violated," she admitted.

Evan grinned at her. "She's good, right?'

Valerie snorted. "I take it that hot pink monstrosity outside was hers, then?"

"Absolutely," he told her. "So tell me . . . have you changed your mind about hanging out with me in Europe?"

This time, she sighed. "Sorry, Roka," she said, rubbing her forehead in an infinitely tired sort of way. "I just got three more cases dumped on me. Even if I wanted to, I can't get away right now."

"Well," he said, striving for a nonchalant tone of voice, "you could fly out for a day or two, couldn't you? I'll pay for it."

She gave him a long-suffering look chock full of 'pout', and he very nearly laughed out loud. "Don't tempt me."

"First class," he tried again. "And I know damn well that you love flying first class."

"Everyone loves flying first class," she retorted. Too bad the wistful expression on her face gave her away. "Anyway, I came over because I need you to sign this."

Evan blinked as Valerie pulled a blue backed court docket out of her attaché case and stuck it under his nose.

"What is this?" he asked, standing up and scanning over the first page.

"It's just an acknowledgment that you've been informed that the paternity case against you has been dismissed."

He snorted. "Because everyone thinks I'm fucking sterile," he grumbled.

"We have the reports to prove it," she reminded him though not entirely unkindly—mildly amused, yes. Unkind? No . . . "Read it over if you want, but I promise you, I've already gone over it, and it's just a formality."

Evan flipped through the pages, reading through them in record time. Sure, he trusted Valerie, but he'd learned long ago to read everything before he signed anything. Call it a lesson learned. But he did step over to the desk near the windows and grabbed the first pen he laid hands on, making quick work of signing the docket and thrusting it back at Valerie.

She took it without a word and carefully stowed it back in her attaché case. "I'll make sure you get a copy of it once the judge signs it and enters it into public record."

He snorted at her injudicious use of the word, 'public'.

Valerie sighed. "I'm going to go back to the office for a while," she told him, pulling a pair of expensive brown leather gloves out of her coat pockets. "Call me if you need anything."

Evan nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. "I think I'll be fine, woman," he grumbled. "My pride, maybe not, but me? Just fine, thanks."

She laughed and rolled her eyes at his surly claim. "I'll come by after work if you'll be here."

"Okay," he agreed.

"Try not to cry," she said, unable to help taking that final potshot at him as she headed for the door.

Evan watched her go and sighed. For ten bucks, he'd be more than happy to let her know just how 'sterile' he really was. As far as he was concerned, Madison was still going to pay for that comment. Even if she was trying to help him, Evan really wished that she'd come up with something a little less emasculating . . .

' _Quit your bitching_ ,' his youkai-voice told him. ' _Just consider it to be a good thing—which it is_.'

He grimaced. Okay, so it was. It didn't do a thing for his ego, but it was a good thing . . .

Evan brushed aside the irritation that still lingered and reached for the binder of demo shots that he'd promised Mike he'd look over. Wicked Soundsations was getting ready to release the fourth single from _V,_ and they'd narrowed down the cover shot to the ones they'd sent over for him to make the final selection, and while he wasn't in the mood to sit down and mull over pictures, he didn't really have a choice since he didn't necessarily trust them to pick the best one. He knew them well enough to know that they'd go for the least risqué one. It was strictly business; nothing personal about it.

They'd hired a new guy for the job; one that was rumored to be the newest, hottest rock photographer since Marty Keane, the undisputed best in the business, and Evan might have been more impressed with the man's work if the girls in the demos weren't so common. Hot, sure, he'd give them that, but nothing that hadn't already been seen before. He recognized one of the girls well enough. She'd done a few single covers for him in the past—and he'd fucked her on a few occasions, too. Lying flat on her back with her long legs straight in the air, parted just wide enough to form the enigmatic 'v' . . . breasts bared, nipples hard, her crotch strategically hidden from view by the swell of those fantastic breasts . . . Before he'd met Valerie, he'd probably have taken one look at that picture and tracked her down for a night or two of fun. All he could think now was that it would have been so much hotter if that woman lying there was Valerie instead . . . Another picture—same girl—this time, she was very obviously caught on film as she humped the hell out of a pillow . . . The third one, a profile shot of her naked body, her hands hidden between her legs, her face contorted in an intense orgasm . . .

Evan heaved a sigh and dropped the binder on the coffee table again. There really had to be something wrong with him. Provocative, yes, absolutely, but if his dick got the message, it putting on a damn good poker face . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Nine o'clock.

Heaving a sigh that was strong enough to lift the wisps that had escaped the knot she'd twisted her hair into this morning, Valerie took a moment to rub her right shoulder. Whoever said that sitting behind a desk all day couldn't be considered 'work' was wrong, as far as she was concerned. Having spent the better part of the day, reading through files and taking notes on the cases she'd been handed, she felt mentally drained.

Strangely enough, Evan hadn't called her all afternoon. She hadn't really remarked upon it at the time, but she did now. Usually, he called her at least once every couple hours, even if it was just to say hello—and it didn't bother her, which was more than a little surprising. She wasn't entirely sure why that was. After all, she never was one to check in with anyone that often, but Evan . . . Well, he made her smile, made her laugh, and that had to be worth something, right?

And maybe that was the real reason why she missed those calls . . .

She made a face as she stepped out of the car and pushed the button on the key ring to lock the doors. Maybe he hadn't eaten yet. She was famished, but she hadn't bothered to stop for food. That was a direct result of her trip to Kentucky as well as the one to Maine. She hadn't had the heart to tell her mother that she didn't really want to eat the mountains of food that she'd foist upon Valerie, and while Valerie hadn't eaten everything, she'd eaten far more than she normally did.

The night was mild. Not quite warm, but not frigid, either, which was nice, she thought as she shuffled up the walk and onto the porch.   Reaching for the door handle, she paused for just a moment, blinking as it suddenly occurred to her that she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt as though she needed to knock on Evan's door. When had things gotten so comfortable between them? she wondered. He'd seen her at her best; he'd seen her at her worst, and yet . . .

Smiling wanly as she opened the door, only to be instantly surrounded by a welcome sense of comfort that only Evan could manage, she stepped inside. It was the same sense that she felt whenever they entered the Zelig family home. Evan must have gotten it from his parents, she supposed. It was rare—and it was beautiful.

He wasn't in the living room. Valerie paused long enough to scratch Munchies behind the ear as she wandered through Evan's house. Strangely enough, he wasn't in his music room, either. The door was open, and the light was off, but somewhere in the distance, she could hear the sound of an acoustic guitar. "Where's Evan, Munchies?" she asked quietly, as though she were afraid to speak louder—afraid of breaking through the magic that he created.

As though he felt the same way, too, Munchies tilted his head and gazed up at her before sauntering a few steps away, before stopping to stare at her over his shoulder.

He led her up the stairs and down the hallway to the left: the one that she'd actually never gone down before. As far as she knew, those were only guest bedrooms. Obviously, she'd been mistaken. Munchies led the way to the cracked open doorway at the end: the one with the double doors that mirrored the other end of the hallway: Evan's bedroom.

She stopped just outside the door, though, leaning forward, peering through the crack. It looked like a smaller version of the recording studio where he'd laid down the tracks for _V_. ' _No_. . .' she realized with a slight shake of her head. This one was much rougher, and, while it did appear to have some recording and mixing equipment, it wasn't even close to the state-of-the art stuff in the studio, after all . . .

He was sitting on a nondescript, black, folding chair, and in front of him was a second chair with what looked to be a very small laptop computer situated on it. From where she stood, she couldn't rightfully see the screen, but there was just something about him that stopped her. Completely absorbed in the song he was playing, he had his eyes closed, his fingers seeming to move of their own accord.

She frowned. Someone else was playing, too. She hadn't really noticed that right away, likely because she was too caught up in watching Evan. But as the song ended, she pushed the door open, then leaned against the frame, arms crossed over her chest as a little smile tugged on the corners of her lips.

"Hey, V," he greeted, breaking into a wide grin of his own. "Lookin' hot, as usual."

She rolled her eyes despite the widening smile, and she pushed herself away from the door frame to wander over to him instead. "Hiding up here, are you?" she asked dryly. "Is this what you do on your days off?"

"That sounds like Valerie," a very familiar voice said.

Valerie froze in her tracks, her eyes widening as she pinned Evan with a questioning look. "Why do I hear my father in this room?" she demanded slowly.

Evan grinned. "Because, woman. We're jamming, that's why. Now be a good girl and get on out of here while the men do our thing, okay? Okay. See you later. Bye-bye."

She snorted and crossed the room in about three long strides despite the skirt that hindered her movements just a little. "Shut up, Roka," she retorted, kneeling down in front of the small laptop on the other chair. "Oh! Hi, Daddy. How's Mama?"

Jack chuckled. "She's doing just fine," he assured her.

"Whoa . . . V's head is _huge!_ "

Valerie blinked. "Garret?" she said, frowning since she didn't see him in the video feed.

She leaned back when Garret scooted into the frame beside his father. He waved. "Can you see me now?" he asked, grinning like a little dork—or a little Evan. Both fit.

"Yes," she said, wrinkling her nose when Evan scooped the laptop out of her hands and set it back on the chair once more. "Hey!" she complained. "You can't hog my family! You've got your own!"

"Yeah, but yours is way cooler," he told her with a wink. "Anyway, I told you already. We're jamming, and you're interrupting."

"Interrupting, nothing," she scoffed.

"Now, V, you look tired," Jack interjected before Evan could argue. "Why don't you go relax a while, and we'll just finish up here?"

Valerie snorted again. "Oh, you totally brainwashed them, didn't you?" she accused dryly.

Evan chuckled and looked entirely too smug.

"You should totally see this, V! We've got it hooked up to the TV, and Zel's head's _huge!_ Like, _huge_ , huge!"

"That's really not surprising," she muttered under her breath.

Evan grinned. "She already knows that," he told Garret. "She loves my big, fat head . . . It makes her scream every single night."

"He _wishes_ ," Valerie grumbled. "You're such an ass! Tell them that you're lying!"

"Aw, dude . . ." Garret half-groaned. "That's my _sister_ , remember?"

"And my daughter," Jack remarked with a sigh.

Evan didn't look even remotely sorry; not in the least. "It's not like I told them about the time you jacked me off on the tour bus!" he protested.

Valerie could feel the explosion of blood in her cheeks. "Roka, I swear to God, I'm going to—"

"Okay, be serious," Garret interrupted. "Besides, if you don't, she's really going to kill you."

Valerie shook her head while Evan, ass that he was, kept howling. "Forget it, Garret," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the din that Evan was creating all by himself. "He thinks he's hilarious."

"Well," Garret drawled just before he grinned, too. "He kind of is."

Valerie heaved another sigh. "Don't encourage him, Garret."

Her brother cleared his throat, and he did try to blank his features. He wasn't able to do it, but he did try . . . "Okay, V," he said, his tone entirely too indulgent for her liking.

She snorted and rolled her eyes, then turned on her heel and stomped out of the room.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Fuck!" Evan yelled, shoving the keyboard shelf of his desk in with an unsatisfying 'thud' as he flopped back in the chair and heaved a loud sigh. "Goddamned bastard! I hope he fucking chokes on it!"

Valerie glanced up from the magazine she'd been leafing through, one eyebrow raised in silent question as Evan stood up and stomped across the room to grab a beer out of the refrigerator under the bar.

"Goddamn cocksucking, needledicked, butt-fucking, come-stain—"

"Wow, Roka. That's quite the impressive list of swear words," Valerie interrupted dryly.

He snorted and downed half of the beer before turning a pouty look on her. "Well, he is," he grumbled.

"Who?"

"URGonLoze," he replied.

She shook her head and blinked a few times. "Who?" she repeated.

He snorted again. "I almost had it!" he went on as though he hadn't heard her at all. "I almost had it! Damn it, do you know how fucking long I've been trying to get my hands on that? And I was two seconds— _two seconds_ —away from owning it!"

Setting the magazine aside, Valerie stood up and sauntered over to him. "Okay, Roka . . . just what are you talking about?"

Plunking the now-empty beer bottle on the counter, he dragged his hands through his hair. "A second issue of _The Wall_ by Pink Floyd," he told her.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "And what's that?"

That question earned her a rather incredulous kind of look. "It's an album, V."

She nodded slowly. "Okay," she said. "You've got lots of money, right? Just go to the music store and buy it."

He snorted again. " _Album_ , V," he repeated. "As in, vinyl . . . and there hasn't been a real album pressed in . . . a hundred years or more."

"Oh, you mean an actual record album," she said, her tone indicating that she understood what he was talking about. "But don't you have it somewhere around here already?"

Plopping down on the sofa, he snatched up the magazine and tossed it onto the coffee table. "There's a certain sound that you only get from vinyl," he told her. "When you put it on the turntable, and you hear the little scratching sound as the needle touches it . . ." He made a face. "I had it! Then that little bastard pops in an snatches it, right out from under my nose!"

"You were trying to get it off that online auction site?"

"Keh!"

"Then you should have bid more for it?"

He grunted. "My max bid was ten grand more than what I was going to get it for," he told her, "and I would've paid more, too, but that little fucker outbid me, and I didn't have time to bid again."

She blinked and looked a little surprised. Okay, a _lot_ . . . "Ten grand more?" she echoed. "Just how much was the bid on it?"

"Thirty."

Valerie narrowed her gaze. "I'm going to assume you don't mean thirty bucks," she said dryly.

He scowled at her. "Well, hell, no . . . If I had bid thirty bucks, I'd have been outbid a long damn time ago."

She stared incredulously at him. "You bid thirty _thousand_ dollars on a record?"

Ne snorted loudly. "No, I bid _forty_ thousand on it, and that little peckerhead bid _more_."

Valerie sighed and shook her head. "That's insane," she told him flatly.

"I know," he pouted. "I'd have paid double that if I'd had to."

"That's even more insane," she said.

He heaved a sigh, too. "Well, I wanted a first edition, but the odds that I'd be able to get my hands on one of those is slim and none." Then he sighed again, this one more resigned. "Ah, well. Whatcha gonna do?"

Valerie still didn't look like she understood his desire to spend that much money on something like an old record album, but she let it go, wandering over to the desk and idly picking up some of the papers left on it. "You're not keeping these, are you?" she asked, holding up a copy of the _Wall Street Journal_ that he'd dropped there earlier.

Evan leaned over the side of the sofa to retrieve the guitar he'd left there. "Uh, nah," he told her. "I already read them."

She nodded and gathered up the rest of the papers for the recycling bin, but stopped and slowly reached for another sheet of paper. "What's this?" she finally asked without moving her eyes.

Evan glanced over to see what she was looking at and frowned. He couldn't see what was on the paper, but he had a feeling it might have been the one he'd scrawled some notes on earlier when Bas had called . . .

Setting the newspapers down in a neat stack, she shuffled over to the sofa and sat down beside him. "The national organ recipient waiting list . . .?" she read out loud. "Evan? What is this? Who is Neil MacPhee?"

He let the guitar lean against the arm of the sofa and turned to face her. "He's the guy I need to talk to about getting your father on the waiting list," he told her.

She shook her head, her eyes registering her confusion. "But he doesn't qualify, does he? I mean, that's what they said, right?"

Evan shrugged. "There are other ways to get him on the list," he said with calculated nonchalance. "I'm going to call him and talk to him about it."

She didn't respond right away. In fact, she looked like she was contemplating what he'd said. Then she slowly nodded. "You mean, paying to get him on the list?"

Evan met her gaze and didn't look away. "He needs a transplant," he stated flatly.

Valerie nodded. "I agree," she said quietly. "I've got that money from the pictures still . . ."

He shook his head. "Don't," he told her with a smile. "Let me take care of this one, V. Besides, I doubt that'd be enough."

She didn't look like she wanted to agree, mostly because of the idea that Evan would be paying for it, but she also seemed to understand what he was saying about her money, and for once, she didn't argue with him, and he blinked in surprise when she leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Thanks, Evan," she said quietly, her voice thick with emotion.

Evan slipped his arms around her and held her close. "Don't worry," he told her. "Your dad . . . I'll make sure he'll be fine."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _The_** **_Sex_** **_is_** **_Good_** ' _by_ _Saving_ _Abel_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2010_ _release_ , **_Miss_** **_America_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Jared_ _Weeks,_ _Scott_ _Mills,_ _and_ _Jason_ _Todd_ _Null_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _The_ _idiot_ …


	171. 170: Rush Job

' _It's time to forget about the past_...  
' _To wash away what happened last_ …  
' _Hide behind an empty face_ …  
' _Don't ask too much the same_...  
'' _Cause this is just a game_ ...'

 

-' _A Beautiful Lie_ ' by 30 Seconds to Mars.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Heaving a sigh, Valerie rubbed her forehead and jotted a few notes on the steno pad in front of her as she tried to push off the misplaced feelings of guilt that she'd opted to go to work today instead of taking Evan up on his offer to 'go do something fun'. She wasn't sure what he had in mind when he'd made that proposal, first thing this morning before her clock had even gone off. He'd called her no less than four times in a row to wake her up, and all because he was, in his cryptic words, bored.

It figured, didn't it? He was leaving tomorrow for his European stint, and here she sat, behind a desk, going over notes she'd already written days ago on a case that was just going to end with her client receiving what amounted to a slap on the wrist since it was his first offense, and a minor one, at that, when she could be out doing something fun—or at least, something morbidly entertaining, knowing Evan, but she'd declined, and why? Because she knew—just _knew_ —that he was simply going to try to get her to go with him.

Okay, to be completely honest, it wasn't that she was afraid that he was going to try to change her mind. If anything, she was banking on that. The real problem was her own. She really did need to stay here, to get things done, maybe even get a little ahead of the game. But she knew damn well that if he kept it up, she was in very real danger of giving in, and not just because he wanted to drag her along, either.

' _Stop it_ ,' she told herself firmly, resolving to concentrate on what she was doing. Besides, there'd be other opportunities to go to Europe, with or without Evan, right? Even then, it wasn't like he'd actually be able to get out and go exploring with her, anyway. Mike always kept Evan locked up tighter than the vaults in Fort Knox, or so it seemed. Maybe it was for his own good—after all, setting Zel Roka loose anywhere was just asking for trouble. Still, objectively speaking, Evan was an adult, and there were times when Mike tended to treat him like a child, even if it was to protect him.

The trill of her cell phone rang broke through her bleak thoughts, and she reached for it without looking up from her task. "Hello?" she greeted.

"Hey, V, just the lady I wanted to talk to."

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie pushed the notepad aside and sat back in her chair. "Why does that send shivers, straight up my spine?" she asked dryly.

Evan chuckled. The breathy quality of it was like a caress, and she rubbed her arm to dispel the goosebumps that rose to the surface of her skin. "Well, hell, I'll have to say that to you more often, huh?" he teased.

Valerie snorted. "Not in a good way," she informed him primly. "Anyway, I hesitate to ask, but what do you need?"

He chuckled again. "Know anything about who I'd contact for a rushed passport?"

"A rushed . . .? What are you up to, Roka?" she demanded, unable to control the suspicion thick in her voice.

"Nothing," he told her. If she could see his face, she figured he'd be making that wide-eyed, innocent expression that meant he definitely was up to something. "I just need a passport; that's all."

Stifling a snort, Valerie stood up and wandered over to the window. "Did yours suddenly expire or something?"

He laughed. "Of course not, baby; it's not for me."

She blinked and shifted her gaze to the hard-line gray of the city outside. "Oh . . . is it for the new bassist?"

"Uh, okay," he said. "Something like that."

She frowned. "Why isn't Mike taking care of it? Don't you have more important things to do than to call around for a rush on a passport?"

Evan coughed. "Mike's a little busy," he told her. "Anyway, I told him I'd call around . . . Ask for help from this hotter than hell attorney I know . . ."

She wasn't entirely sure she was buying whatever he was selling. "Just call their office and explain why you need a rushed passport. If he's a member of the band, even a temporary one, they should be able to get one issued pretty quickly if they don't have anything more important to do."

"Hmm, all right," he said. "I'll try that. Thanks, V. Later."

Valerie opened her mouth to ask him again why he needed such a thing, but the connection died before she could, and she sighed and wrinkled her nose. A rushed passport . . .? Okay, she supposed that it was possible that the guy they'd hired to fill in on bass could need one, but it was still a little weird that Evan himself was going out of his way to get it done. Then again, who knew? Evan's mind worked in such strange ways sometimes that it was hard to tell, and she supposed that it was entirely possible that Mike might have asked him to take care of it if he was busy.

She snorted suddenly and shook her head as she turned away from the window. It was another one of his ploys, wasn't it? He was trying to do something about her passport; she just knew it. Stupid, though, considering he ought to know that she had a valid one since they'd just flown down to the Bahamas, and she'd had it with her then.

Still, if it kept him out of trouble for the day, then she supposed that was fine, too.

Then she sighed. Reminding her in his not-so-subtle way that he really wanted her to go to Europe with him when he already knew that she wanted to? ' _The jerk_. . .'

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"What is it this time, Roka?"

Evan chuckled. "Hey, baby," he replied. "So, I called the clerk's office about getting a rush on a passport," he told her, "but they said that they're backlogged, and it can't be done till Monday, soonest."

Letting the pen drop from her fingertips, she frowned. "And that's too late," she said.

"A little, yeah," he complained.   "S,o then, I called the other places where it could be done, and they said basically the same thing or worse."

"When's your first show? If he has to wait, is that going to be a problem?" she asked reasonably.

Evan grunted. "First show is Friday night, V," he told her. "Monday's just not going to work."

"Well," she said, rubbing her forehead as she considered the predicament, "You could try calling around to different agencies that are a little further away . . . Even if he has to go out of state, they might be able to do more for you. The offices here in the city tend to be pretty busy, no matter what time of year it is, but with summer coming, it's not really surprising if they're swamped."

"A different state," Evan repeated thoughtfully. "I'll try that. Thanks."

The line went dead, and Valerie shook her head as she dropped her phone onto the desk once more. The more she thought about it, the stranger it seemed to her. After all, even if Mike was busy, he had other people employed under him to help him with stuff like this, didn't he? Evan hadn't ever really mentioned it before, but, given Mike's line of work, he had to, didn't he?

She reached for the phone, figuring that she'd call Mike and ask him what this was all about.

The office door opened, and she looked up, only to stop and do a classic double-take as Marvin peeked around the corner and smiled at her. "Uh . . . Marvin," she said, pushing herself to her feet to step around the desk. "Come in . . ."

His smile widened just a little as he stepped inside and closed the door again. "My plane just got in, but I wanted to come see you right away," he admitted as he stepped forward for a chaste kiss.

Valerie nodded as a weak little smile tugged on her lips. "If you wanted to surprise me, you did it," she told him. "How long are you staying?"

"Well," he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shuffling his feet almost nervously, "It depends on how long you want me to hang around . . . I figured I'd stay at least a couple weeks. I don't have anything else at the moment; not until the Thurigen Conference at the end of the month."

She nodded slowly. "The Thuringen Conference? They asked you to be a guest speaker, right?"

His smile widened, pleased that she remembered. "Yeah," he said. "It's not keynote or anything, but I've heard that a lot of people are interested in hearing my presentation."

"I'm glad."

Marvin glanced past her at her desk then winced just a little bit. "I'm interrupting your work, aren't I?" he asked.

Valerie smiled and quickly shook her head. "Of course not," she told him. "You know, I haven't had lunch yet . . . you feel like grabbing a quick bite, or would you rather go home and get some rest?"

"Lunch sounds good," he told her.

Valerie nodded and grabbed her phone off the desk. "Just let me get my purse," she said as she tugged on the heavy spring coat she'd opted to wear since the weather was warming up a little bit outside.

Marvin opened the door for her and stepped back to let her pass before following her out of the office. "I'm going out for lunch," she told the secretary. "I'll be back in an hour or so."

"Okay. Have a good time!"

Valerie waved in answer as Marvin escorted her to the elevator.

They didn't say much as they exited the building. Well, to be more precise, she didn't say much. Marvin, on the other hand, was telling her about his meeting with some executive or another. She wasn't paying a lot of attention as they stepped onto the street. The mid-March air was crisp and cool, and the sun had warmed the concrete and asphalt nicely despite the inherent haze that never seemed to completely evaporate from the city, mingling with the sounds of cars, of people, of the bustle that was everyday life that all combined to create a dull hum, broken only now and then by the louder, more insistent sounds of sirens or car horns somewhere in the distance.

They walked down the block to the small bistro where Valerie had first seen Evan all those months ago, and to her amusement, the waitress took them to the same table where she'd sat that day, too. Unconsciously, her gaze shifted to the table where he'd sat, bathed in the softened glow of a faux candle's flame. He hadn't seemed at all out of place, had he? He'd melted right in with the rest of the upscale clientele of the establishment, and who in their right minds would have ever suspected that there was a notorious rock-star right there . . .?

The restaurant seemed somehow darker today.

"Iced tea," Marvin told the waitress, pausing in his story long enough to order something to drink.

"I'll have the same," Valerie said. "Unsweetened, please, with a slice of lemon."

The waitress nodded and handed them each a menu before hurrying away to get their drinks.

Marvin took a deep breath, looking completely happy in a naïve sort of way.   "Listen to me, going on and on," he said almost apologetically. "You don't want to hear about all of this stuff, do you?"

It wasn't as much of a question as it sounded like, and Valerie grimaced inwardly. She hadn't meant to make him feel badly . . . "No, it's not that," she insisted, pasting on a bright smile to reassure him. "It's just . . . just been a long day."

He nodded and smiled compassionately. "It's okay," he told her. "So tell me what you've been up to."

"Oh, uh . . . Well, actually . . ."

Marvin was staring at her rather curiously. He seemed receptive enough, but that wasn't exactly the problem. He knew that she wasn't on the best of terms with her family. Considering that he knew she'd grown up in foster care, it wasn't a secret. She hadn't really told him the entire story, no, but then, he never seemed to want to press her on it. Having been lost in the shuffle, just like she was, he understood the situation better than anyone. She just wasn't sure if she was quite ready to try to put her thoughts into words . . .

"I went to Kentucky," she finally said, forcing a smile that was a lot more carefree than she was actually feeling. "I . . . I got to have a long talk with my parents."

She didn't know exactly what he had been expecting her to day, but it was pretty apparent from his expression that it was nothing that he'd heard. "You . . . You did . . .?" He couldn't hide the worry that furrowed his brow as he slowly shook his head. "Are you . . . okay . . .?"

"Oh, yeah," she hurried to say. "It was just something that I needed to do; that's all."

He wasn't reassured. "You should have called me, Val . . . I'd have been more than happy to go with you . . ." Trailing off with a shake of his head, his cheeks pinked the tiniest bit as he scowled at the table. "It's just . . . the idea of you, going down there alone . . ."

"I wasn't alone," she told him. "I mean, Evan went with me . . ."

He blinked and finally lifted his gaze, and the relief in his expression was obvious. "Oh . . . That was nice of him." He chuckled, but to Valerie, it almost sounded a little fake. "I'll have to thank him for taking such good care of you."

Why?

Why hadn't the idea of asking Marvin to go along ever even occur to her? It hadn't, but what was more, even if Evan wasn't able to go with her, she wouldn't have thought of asking Marvin, would she . . .?

"You were busy," she heard herself say, wondering to herself if her reply sounded as weak as she thought it did.

"Yeah, but that was a big deal, right? A huge deal, really . . ." he told her.

She bit her lip and shrugged in what she could only hope was an offhanded kind of way. "N-No," she lied. "Please don't feel bad."

"It's not that," he assured her with a smile. "I'm just glad that you didn't have to go alone, though . . ." He laughed suddenly. "Maybe I should see about sending him a fruit basket or something."

Valerie uttered a terse little laugh, too, but was sidetracked when her cell phone started to ring. Against her better judgment, she pulled it out of her purse and glanced at the screen, but wasn't at all surprised to see Evan's number registered. "Uh, just a moment," she said as she connected the call and turned toward the wall slightly. "Hello?"

"Hey, V. It seems the best anyone can do is Monday," Evan said. "There's got to be something else we can do, isn't there? I mean, it's just a passport."

Valerie frowned as she considered Evan's question. She knew someone who worked in the clerk's office that might be able to help him out, but even then, it was kind of a long shot. "Try calling the clerk's office, and ask for Jim," she said. "He might be able to do something but no guarantees."

"Jim at the clerk's office?" Evan repeated. "You mean, here in the city?"

"That's right . . ."

He sighed. "That won't help. He's not here, so . . . Ah, shit. There's no help for it. Guess I'll call Cain, after all . . ."

"Cain?" she echoed with a shake of her head. "What can he do?"

"He's got some connections," Evan told her. "I just hate like hell to ask him for a damn thing."

For some reason, his statement made her frown. Just what kind of connections could Cain Zelig have? At least, for something like this, anyway . . . Sure the family was wealthy, but to be able to get a passport rushed? Unless the person who needed the passport lived in Maine, and with Evan, that certainly was a possibility.

"I'd like the roast chicken panini with the zucchini chips," Marvin ordered, keeping his voice lowered since Valerie was still on the phone. He glanced over at Valerie, and she nodded. "Two of those, please," he amended. The waitress nodded and walked away again.

"Wha—? Wait . . . Is that fucking Mudwin?" Evan suddenly demanded.

"Bye, Roka," she said in a falsely pleasant tone that was in direct contradiction to the rumbly growl in Evan's voice. Then she hung up, ending the call before he could really get started. "Sorry about that," she muttered. "Thanks for ordering for me."

Marvin nodded. "Not a problem . . . Roka, you said? That rock-star guy?"

Valerie opened her mouth to answer when her phone rang again. She had a feeling she knew who it was without looking, but she did, anyway. "Not now, rocker-boy," she hissed in lieu of greeting when she connected the call.

"Is it?" he demanded again, the rumbly growl deepening into more of a hiss.

"I have to go now," she said, ignoring his question completely. "Have a good time on your tour."

"V—"

She hung up before he could launch into a full tirade. She didn't even get to look up at Marvin again before her phone started to ring. This time, however, she sent it straight to voicemail. "He's trying to hunt down someone who can help him get a passport fast."

Marvin simply smiled good-naturedly. "It's okay, Val. I mean, if you need to help him, then I understand."

"He's fine," she insisted, redirecting the next call to voicemail, too. "Besides, it's good for him to hear, ' _no_ ' every once in a while."

"Are you sure about that? I mean, you said yourself that he tends to get into trouble . . ." Marvin reminded her—as if she really needed that reminder . . . "Is the passport for him?"

"No," she replied, rubbing her forehead and wondering if she had some Tylenol in her purse. "He needs one for the fill-in bassist, he said. The problem is that he needs one ASAP."

"Really?" Marvin went on with a thoughtful frown. "Kind of short notice, isn't it?" Suddenly, he laughed. "Then again, when you have the kind of money he's got to have, then I suppose it's no big deal."

"What's that mean?" she asked, looking up from her task of rummaging around in her purse for the aforementioned Tylenol.

Marvin didn't notice. "You hear all the time about people with money. They get stuff done that ordinary people can't, all because they know who to pay, I guess."

Marvin's off the cuff statement reminded Valerie that Evan was planning on doing something just like that for her father, and she bit her lip. It bothered her; of course it did. Guidelines for the waiting list were created to ensure that the system worked for those who truly needed it, but . . . but who were those people to judge others; to decide on their own what people deserved to be helped? And more to the point, just what would Marvin think if she told him about that . . .?

Her phone rang for a fourth time before she could delve into it any further, and Valerie sighed. She was beyond ready to reach out and touch someone, and not in a way that he'd probably like, so with a snort, she connected the call.

"What the hell is that little shit doing there?" Evan demanded before Valerie got a chance to say anything.

"Because he _lives_ here," she informed him from between clenched teeth, turning away just enough so that Marvin couldn't hear her.

"Lives here, my ass," Evan complained. "Why don't you put him on the phone for a minute? I'll be fucking happy to remind him."

"Bye, Roka," she said, clicking off the phone once more before heaving a sigh as she slowly shook her head.

"Roka again?" Marvin asked with a thoughtful frown. "Are you sure he doesn't need your help?"

Valerie made a face. "There's nothing wrong with him," she insisted. "Well, nothing that a good beating wouldn't cure," she muttered under her breath.

The phone rang again, and Valerie couldn't help the little growl that erupted deep inside her as she connected the call and smashed the device against her ear. "For the last time, what the hell do you want, and it'd better be important, or I swear to God, I'll—"

"I-Is this a bad time, Valerie?"

Valerie's tirade died as quickly as it had begun, and she stifled a groan as she managed a sheepish little smile. "Uh, n-no, it's fine, Mom."

Rhonda gave a nervous kind of laugh. "You're sure? You sounded pretty upset . . ."

"No, it's fine," she assured her. "How are things down there? Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine. Better than fine, actually. Your father's been working on a couple songs, did you know? Evan says he's very talented."

"He is," Valerie agreed, though at the moment, agreeing with anything that Evan had to say wasn't high on her list of things she wanted to do. Then she sighed. Of course he wasn't going to be happy with Marvin's sudden arrival. If she stopped to think about it, it wasn't really surprising, after all. Still . . .

"Anyway, I was just calling to tell you that Kaci Lea's got the lead in the spring play, and, well, she said it wasn't a big deal, but I kind of thought it was. If you can't make it, then that's fine."

"When's the show?" Valerie asked, brushing off her mother's obvious reluctance. While she wasn't entirely sure whether or not Kaci Lea really would be happy if she showed up, but she'd never make any progress with the girl if she didn't try.

"Well, it isn't until the beginning of May. I was just so excited when she told me . . ."

Valerie smiled. "I didn't know she was interested in the theater," she admitted. "I mean, I've seen her blog and stuff, but she hadn't really mentioned anything about it.

Rhonda sighed. "The guidance counselor at the school—Mrs. Fuller—she said that Kaci Lea would have a better shot at some of the bigger scholarships later on if she had a more well-rounded curriculum, so she joined the drama club, and she mentioned playing softball over the summer, too . . ."

"Good, and she's right," Valerie agreed. "I'll be sure to plan on it. Just let me know the dates."

Rhonda smiled. Valerie could hear it in her mother's tone. "Oh, I will!" Then she sighed. "You sound pretty busy, so I'll let you go now."

"Okay. Give Daddy a kiss for me."

She hung up and dropped the phone into her purse just as the waitress set a plate before her.

"Your mother?" Marvin asked as he picked up his sandwich.

"Yeah," she replied.

Marvin smiled at her. "Good," he told her, his smile growing a little bashful. "I'm really happy for you. Being estranged from your family is hard."

Valerie smiled, too. "I'm happy, too," she told him, reaching for the glass of iced tea. "I am, too . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _A Beautiful Lie_** ' _by_ _30 Seconds to Mars_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2005_ _release_ , **_A_** **_Beautiful_** **_Lie_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Jared_ _Leto._
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Just what is that man up to …?_


	172. 171: Rockstar

' _Hey you – standing in the road, always doing what you're told_...  
' _Can you help me_ …?  
' _Hey you – out there beyond the wall breaking bottles in the hall_ …  
' _Can you help me_ …?  
' _Hey you – don't tell me there's no hope at all_ …  
' _Together we stand, divided we fall_ ...'

 

-' _Hey You_ ' by Pink Floyd.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"You know, I don't think he's blinked even once in the last couple hours."

Evan glanced up at Mike, grinning since he didn't have to look to know who Mike was talking about. One look verified what Evan suspected. Garret was sitting in a nearby chair with a pair of headphones in his ears, connected to the Aphex media player that Evan had been given a few months ago as part of a promo kit. He'd dug it out and gave it to the boy late last night when he'd arrived with Bone from the airport. He'd never used it. Hell, he never used any of the stuff that he tended to find in hotel rooms or that was delivered to him when he was on tour or that companies would send to Wicked Soundsations to give to him. He had an older one that he liked better than any of the new ones that they'd come out with since, especially after he'd hacked the OS and reprogrammed it the way he wanted it. Then he set Garret loose with his vast collection of digital music so that the kid could load it up with as many songs and videos as he wanted. In fact, there was a good chance that the kid wouldn't have to hear the same song twice in a month, unless he wanted to . . .

It was funny, really. A few days ago during one of their jam sessions via the video chat, Jack had mentioned that Garret was about to go on Spring Break from school, which had gotten Evan to thinking. In the end, he'd asked Garret if he wanted to go to Europe with him so he could see what being on the road and setting up for shows was like. Officially speaking, Garret had been hired as part of the road crew—something that had thrilled Garret to no end. When he was given his black crew shirts with the bold, white print, ' _The Crew did V with Zel Roka,_ ' on the back and his name screened onto the front, he was speechless. Jack had been more than happy to sign a statement, giving Evan permission to be Garret's temporary guardian for the duration of the tour, mostly in case the need for some kind of medical treatment arose, and they'd gotten it notarized at the same time they'd gone to get his passport.

In fact, Evan had actually offered to bring Kaci Lea along, too, but she had some sort of camp-thing going already, and Evan figured that was all right. After all, keeping an eye on her might have been a little harder to do with all the guys, and if he knew anything, it was that the road crew tended to be almost as popular with the women as the main attraction . . .

The kicker, however, had come this morning. Just after Evan had presented Garret with the five crew shirts he'd had made for him, he'd also set Garret down to fill out some paperwork—official crap for the payroll division so that Garret could be compensated for his efforts. Garret hadn't realized that Evan meant to pay him, too. Not bad for a quick job over spring break, as far as Evan could figure, and Garret seemed to agree wholeheartedly—after he finished blabbering about how he should be the one to pay Evan for letting him hang out.

The only real problem had been trying to get the kid's passport issued. Originally, Garret was supposed to fly in yesterday afternoon, but they'd spent so much time in trying to get someone to rush the passport that he'd ended up having to wait around.

In the end, Evan had broken down and had called Cain to ask for help. Cain had made a total of two phone calls—one to a friend who worked in the governor's office in the State of Kentucky who, in turn, was able to get Garret's passport issued within an hour—and the second one to Evan to let him know that it was a done deal. But Evan hated asking Cain for help, which was why he'd dragged his feet about calling him from the start.

It was all right now, though. Garret hadn't slept at all, as far as Evan could tell. He'd said that he felt a little weird about not telling Valerie what was going on, but it that wasn't their fault, either. At some point last night, Valerie must have shut off her phone, so they hadn't been able to get through. Then again, it was also nearly midnight by the time Garret had gotten there, and once Evan had gotten the kid some food and given him a tour of the house—they'd made a pit stop in the music room for a good hour and a half, just jamming and basically hanging out—it was nearly four in the morning, so Evan figured that might have been why she'd shut off her phone . . .

' _Right, Roka, right. You know the real reason you didn't tell her sooner was because you were all pissed off that Marvin showed up_.'

Evan snorted to himself. ' _Like I care! That little jerk can blow me_.'

' _Is it really such a good idea to leave her here alone with him for any length of time?_ '

' _I . . . I don't care about that guy_ ,' Evan maintained stubbornly, ignoring the irritation that lingered around the edges.

' _Yeah, say that if you want to. It's his ring that she keeps on her finger, though._ '

Evan snorted indelicately, refusing to comment on that bit of logic. That was stupid, wasn't it? Regardless of that pathetic bit of gold she wore, he knew that he was making progress with her. It wasn't that, at all.

No, the only thing he really worried about was the normal, day-to-day stuff, like her morning jogs. He never had been happy about that. It was all over the news all the time: women being attacked while they were out jogging, minding their own business, and while he knew that she always had a bottle of pepper spray on her as well as a GPS chip in her sports watch, it didn't really help when he'd rather that nothing happened to her, to start with . . .

"I think he's afraid he's going to miss something if he closes his eyes, even for a second," Mike went on with a chuckle.

Evan grinned, too. "Yeah," he agreed with a sage nod. "That's all right, though."

Mike chuckled again, then frowned as one of the stewardesses stopped beside Garret, only to lean down to whisper something to him. The kid's face darkened to a lovely shade of rose as he stared at the girl with the wide-eyed look of wonder that only Garret could manage without seeming almost stupid. Her breasts were mere inches from his face, and it seemed like he was having distinct trouble keeping himself from glancing down her shirt at what had to be a spectacular view. "Oh, that may not be good," Mike muttered, slowly shaking his head as the stewardess—her name was Bunni—touched his cheek with the back of her knuckles. "The groupies and such that follow you around are going to tear that boy up . . ."

Evan sighed. He'd kind of thought so, too. It wasn't that he thought he needed to tell Garret what he could or couldn't do, but he didn't have to be brilliant to know that the sixteen-year-old kid hadn't had any real experience with girls at all.

The thing was, on an international flight, there was a lot of time to blow, and Evan had figured that out a long time ago. One of the first things he had done when he'd bought the plane was to hire the hottest stewardesses he could find, and while he might not be as interested in seeing what kind of services they could provide these days, the same couldn't actually be said about Garret, if the expression on his face meant anything at all. Bunni, Evan knew from experience, gave a hell of a titty fuck. Caramel liked to suck dick, and Lana? Well, Lana liked it all . . .

Evan grinned and stood up, moving over to the vacant seat beside the boy. "Having fun?" he asked as he settled in.

Garret glanced at Evan then laughed. "Oh, yeah," he said, casting Evan a nervous little smile. He almost seemed like he was frightened that he was going to do something wrong or say something that might offend Evan. "This is so awesome."

"Well, this is pretty low-key at the moment," he told Garret. "Most of the crew's flying in tomorrow, but they're going commercial, and I've gotta tell you, there's nothing worse than a commercial international flight."

"I-I could've flown in tomorrow with them," he blurted quickly, cheeks pinking. He obviously worried that Evan might think that he was some sort of nuisance, which was entirely ridiculous.

Evan shook his head. "Nah, besides, V would've killed me if I had left you behind."

Garret nodded but didn't look any less anxious. "Your plane's really cool," he ventured. "Your own private plane . . . It's bad-ass!"

Evan chuckled. "You think the plane's cool? Just wait till we get to London," he told him.

Garret looked even more excited. All in all, he kind of reminded Evan of a puppy that just couldn't settle down to sleep. "It's gonna be so awesome," he said, his voice almost reverent. "I mean, I've been to some shows, but nothing like this, and I've never gotten to see you live . . ."

He grinned.   "It's all right," Evan reassured him. "We'll make sure that you've got front row seats and all that shit."

"Uh, no! I didn't mean—"

"Don't worry about it," Evan interrupted before Garret could protest further. "Anyway, you know that it'll be a few hours before we land, right?"

Garret blinked at the abrupt change of topics and nodded. "Yeah, that makes sense."

"Hey, Bunni . . ."

The woman turned to face Evan. She had been delivering a cup of coffee for Mike. "Yes, sir?"

Evan snorted, raking a hand through his now-brown hair. "Drop the 'sir' shit," he instructed.

Bunni giggled prettily, her cheeks blossoming in a very becoming shade of rose. "All right, Mr. Roka."

He snorted again, but let it go since it wasn't really worth the argument. "Why don't you take Garret, here, to the back so that he can get a little sleep . . . or whatever. Make sure he doesn't need anything, will you?"

Bunni spared a moment to look Garret over, and she nodded, her smile widening. For the briefest of moments, Evan almost— _almost_ —felt sorry for the kid. The way the woman was eyeing him, Garret could have been little more than a bit of meat on a stick, dangling in front of a hungry lioness . . .

"Garret . . ."

"Huh?" he said, only halfway paying attention to him since his gaze was still glued on Bunni.

Evan chuckled again and tapped Garret's arm until the kid finally looked at him. "Check the drawer in the nightstand," he said with a wink.

Garret looked utterly confused for about ten seconds. And then he blushed crimson. "W-I-Th—" he stammered.

"Take care of him, sweetheart," he said to Bunni.

She giggled again as Garret shot Evan a wild-eyed look, but he let Bunni take his hand and pull him out of his seat. Evan bit his lip as she led him away. A moment later, Mike dropped into the seat that Garret had just vacated. "You're going to burn in hell for that," he predicted with the finality of an executioner.

Evan shot him a shit-eating grin. "Better now than later," he insisted.

Mike snorted. "How do you figure?"

Giving a little shrug, Evan sat back in the overstuffed chair, making himself comfortable for the duration. "One stewardess or a bunch of groupies, Mikey. Which do you think would be worse for his first time?"

Mike heaved a sigh and shook his head. "You know that V's going to hang you up to dry when she finds out about this."

"He's not a baby," Evan countered. "V might wanna think that he is, but he's not."

"We'll see if you're still talking big when your balls are pinned to the wall, Roka," Mike predicted. "Damn, I'd hate to be you . . ."

"Nah, it'll be fine," Evan insisted. "You'll see, Mikey. You'll see . . ."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie stepped out of the bathroom, dabbing her face with a towel as she shuffled toward the living room with a sigh. There was no sound in the quiet apartment. Marvin sat at the desk, reading through a thick journal that she recognized. He'd carried it everywhere he went for longer than she'd known him, even though she knew that he had a perfectly good electronic jotter that would be simple to transfer onto his computer. He'd told her once that he didn't trust anything when the battery could easily die, so he jotted everything in that journal, from appointments to research notes, in the meticulous little shorthand that only he could read. He'd tried to explain it to her one time, but it hadn't made much sense to her. Besides, what did it matter as long as he knew what was there? At the moment, he was busy, transcribing his notes into his palmtop computer.

She stopped and folded the towel in half then carefully set it on the table next to the hallway before sinking down on the sofa and reaching for the television remote.

"Val, would you mind turning that down a little?" Marvin asked in a half-apologetic tone. "It's a little distracting for me."

Valerie glanced over at him and smiled. "Oh, sure," she said, hitting the volume down button a few times. "Sorry."

Marvin smiled back—that relieved kind of smile, as though he had expected her to yell at him or something like that. "Don't apologize," he told her quickly. "I'm just trying to go over these notes and stuff . . . I'm almost done. Just a few more minutes . . ."

Evan's plane was probably about halfway to London now. He had Mike fax over an itinerary earlier, complete with the travel log that they were planning on keeping. For some reason, the knowledge that Evan was so far away made her feel lonely, which was silly, all things considered, but worse than that was the rather stilted phone call just before he'd boarded the plane. Evan was being strangely formal, even when he assured her that he'd be on his best behavior while he was gone.

Heaving a sigh, Valerie blinked in surprise when her phone beeped. She reached for it and wasn't surprised to see that the message was from Evan.

There was nothing in the message but a url, and she frowned, somehow just knowing that whatever he was linking her to simply could not be good, but clicked on it, anyway.

She rolled her eyes as the webpage loaded. Some sort of fanfiction archive? Just what was he doing?

And then it occurred to her. It wasn't just a fanfiction archive; it was an archive for fanfiction about famous people, and the link he'd sent her was for a one-shot about Zel Roka, of course. The proper part of her told her to close the browser, but her curiosity forced her to read.

"Oh, good God," she muttered to herself. It was kind of like the proverbial train wreck: she knew that she shouldn't watch, but she just couldn't help herself. It wasn't just about Zel Roka, after all. No, it was about Zel Roka and Dieter, his closet gay lover . . .

Knowing Evan and how twisted he could be, he probably thought that this was fantastic. Valerie, on the other hand, felt the look of disgust that surfaced on her features as she continued to read, and as much as she wanted to stop reading, she just couldn't.

' _"Don't you think it'd be better if we just came out and told everyone about us?" Dieter asked, staring deeply into Zel's dusky orbs as his hand slipped torturously slowly down the rockstar's chest. Toying with the button at the waist of Zel's sinfully skin-tight leather pants, he nearly moaned as his knuckles brushed over the roughened hair—the sparse, narrow path that widened slightly as it disappeared below Zel's waistband. With trembling fingers, Dieter swallowed hard and unzipped his pants, hand burning as he pushed them down over Zel's buxom ass. His man-meat sprang free, bobbing up and down in front of him as he fell to his knees, staring lustfully as a drop of pre-come seeped out of Zel's member_.

' _"Shut the fuck up and suck my dick," Zel growled, grasping Dieter's head by the hair and slamming him down on his rock-hard tool so violently that Dieter gagged just before he greedily sucked_.

' _The feel of Dieter's tongue, bathing his manhood, was almost more than Zel could bear. But as hard as he tried to hold back, he knew that it wasn't possible. Dieter was damn good at sucking cock, after all. His stint in prison had assured his education. He'd told Zel once that he'd had an uber-hot affair with his cell mate, an ex-biker who liked to take it between the buns, he'd said. That had pissed Zel off to no end, and he'd dealt with the news by tying Dieter to his bed for a week. He'd shot more come down the bassist's throat and up his ass that week that it was hardly believable, but he had to admit, it turned him on to see his beloved Dieter, covered with his squirt. With a grunt, he shot his load down Dieter's throat but miraculously didn't lose his hard-on_.

' _"It's so big," Dieter groaned as he pumped Zel's cock. He leaned down and kissed the bulbous head then turned around, wiggling his quivering ass high in the air. "I want it—I want it now!_ "

'" _You want it, bitch? Do you want me to shove my throbbing member up your ass?" Zel growled, grasping Dieter's hips as he rested the tip of his steaming rod against the tight little hole. Then he yanked hard on Dieter's body, plunging his turgid, tumid love gun in all the way to his balls as Dieter screamed in absolute delight_ . . .'

Valerie snorted as the message box popped up on her screen, announcing that she'd just received a new message.

' _Awesome, right?_ ' was all it said.

Valerie giggled. ' _Your gay lover, huh?_ ' she sent back.

' _Damn straight . . . or gay, I guess_ ,' Evan responded.

' _Don't send me stuff like that_ ,' she chastised him. _'It's like really bad porn_.'

' _I always wanted to be in porn_ ,' he quipped back.

' _Because you're a weirdo_.'

' _Absolutely_ ,' he assured her. ' _You could be my porn queen_.'

' _In your dreams, Roka_.'

' _Admit it, woman. You want my throbbing member_.'

"Is . . . is something funny?"

Valerie blinked and glanced up at Marvin, her giggles dying in her throat. "Oh . . . Just Roka, being silly," she told him quickly.

Marvin broke into a wry smile and sat down next to her. "He left today, right? Those, uh . . . _gigs_ , right?" For some reason, the word 'gigs' out of Marvin's mouth just sounded wrong . . .

She laughed. "Yeah," she told him.

"That's got to be hard," he said at length. "Out on the road all the time? Never being at home? Guys like that probably never have any real relationships, you know? I mean, how could he? Sleeping around with women he won't even remember in the morning, and the risks that go with that . . ."

"What makes you think he's like that?" she asked, unable to control the clipped, brusque tone. It brought to mind the conversations she'd had with him in the past, only the words coming out of Marvin's mouth had come out of hers at the time . . . But something about the condemnations, no matter Marvin's tone of voice, bothered her . . . a lot . . .

Marvin didn't notice. "Oh, come on, Val. It's not really a secret, is it? Besides, who really wants to live like that? And who would really be crazy enough to want to be with someone like that, anyway?" he went on. "Women who like the idea that he's famous, maybe, but anyone with any real self-respect? No way . . ."

"Funny," she remarked, scooting over a little bit. "I don't remember you ever being so judgmental before."

"I don't think I'm being judgmental," Marvin mused with a thoughtful frown. He almost sounded philosophical, and that bothered her, too. "You hear the stories all the time, don't you? Famous people like that and their five minute marriages . . . It's a whole different lifestyle—a kind of sad one, at that."

It didn't sit well with her; not at all. Marvin's assumptions about Evan's lifestyle—about Evan himself—just wasn't all right. A tiny voice in the back of her mind asked her why. After all, she'd thought those same things, hadn't she? Time and again, she'd sold him short, too, but . . . She'd learned a hell of a lot about him, and while he was a rockstar, while he certainly had his moments . . .

"That's probably why so many of them end up in rehabs and stuff like that," Marvin went on, oblivious to Valerie's tell-tale silence. "People like that don't have a clue what real happiness is. They aren't like us."

"Not like us," Valerie echoed thoughtfully. Something about his words, about the absolute confidence in his tone amused her in a sick sort of way. It didn't make her want to laugh, exactly. Well, maybe it did—that hysterical kind of laughter that always left everyone else feeling just a little uncomfortable . . . "We're happy?"

Marvin laughed. "Of course we are," he said. "Oh, that reminds me . . .Since I'm going to be home for a little while, is there anything you need me to help you with?"

"Help me with?" she asked with a shake of her head, momentarily confused about what Marvin was talking about.

"Yeah, for the wedding," he reminded her. "I know you said before that everything was under control—Oh, would you mind if I added a few more people to the invitation list? Just a few—maybe thirty and their guests . . . I've gotten to be pretty good friends with them, and it'd be nice to have them there."

Valerie blinked at the blatant reminder. She'd forgotten all about that, hadn't she? She'd known on some level, sure, that their wedding date was little more than a few months away, but she'd been so busy lately that she hadn't even thought about double checking the arrangements that she'd already made, either, and adding another sixty people to the guest list . . .? She frowned. "Well . . . If you want to add that many people, then we're probably going to need to book a bigger place, and booking somewhere nice on such short notice probably won't be possible . . ."

Marvin looked a little surprised by the nonchalance in Valerie's tone. "Would it really be that hard to book somewhere else? I mean, they've done so much for me, it seems wrong not to invite them . . ."

She sighed. "The nicer places are always booked months in advance," she reminded him. "The best we could get would be six months from now—if we're lucky."

"Six months . . ." he echoed, sounding both thoughtful as well as disappointed.

Valerie blinked and stared at him. "You want to put off the wedding again?"

He made a face and hurriedly waved a hand. "N-N-No, of course not . . ."

She didn't miss the reluctance in his voice, but she had the feeling that he was more worried about the idea of upsetting her about the whole thing than he was about the thought of waiting another six months to get married, in the first place. "If you think that it's important to invite your . . . friends . . ." she said slowly, carefully. "I mean, I haven't finalized anything yet, anyway, so it won't be a big deal . . . except for the deposit I had to make on the hall . . ."

Marvin sighed and tried to smile, but his disappointment was evident. "Yeah, that was nothing to sneeze at."

"No, it wasn't," she agreed, biting her lip. "Then again . . . It's your wedding, too, and . . . and it'd be pretty selfish of me to tell you that you can't invite anyone else."

"But—"

"If it means that much to you, then it's . . . It's okay."

Marvin looked cautiously optimistic. "Are you sure, Val?"

She forced a little smile. "Of course," she told him. "That's the whole point, isn't it? To . . . To celebrate with . . . with your friends . . ."

Marvin's smile widened, and he hopped up, as though he suddenly had more energy than he knew what to do with. "This is wonderful!" he told her with an almost giddy little laugh. "I would have been okay with leaving things as they were, but, wow, you're such an fantastic girl! A peach, Val! A real peach! I know, not many women would be as understanding as you are. That's just one of the great things about you! You know what? I'm going to go open that bottle of wine we bought earlier . . . I feel like having a drink!"

She said nothing about Marvin's enthusiastic praise as he hurried out of the living room and into the kitchen.

' _Dodged the bullet, didn't you?_ ' the little voice in the back of her mind whispered.

Valerie sighed, her smile finally faltering and disappearing. It wasn't that, was it? Of course she was disappointed. That was normal. That sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach . . . But having his new acquaintances at the wedding was important to Marvin. If she denied him that, then what kind of person would she really be . . .?

" _You hear the stories all the time, don't you? Famous people like that and their five minute marriages . . . It's a whole different lifestyle—a kind of sad one, at that_."

Maybe Evan was different. Maybe he'd come from a family where marriage really did mean something, but she'd seen it herself, hadn't she? She'd seen the mayhem of Evan's life on the road. She'd seen the legions of girls who wouldn't think twice about sleeping with Zel Roka, regardless of whether he had a wife at home or not, and as much as Evan might think—really believe—that he wouldn't be like that, he certainly wasn't any more perfect than anyone else, was he? Even good intentions only got someone so far in life, and Valerie . . .

But maybe the real reason that she just couldn't reach out, just couldn't accept what Evan said so readily, was simpler than all of that. Somewhere along the line, Evan had become dear to her—maybe more precious to her than anyone else had ever been. If she took that kind of chance—if she opened herself up to that . . .

If he fell out of love with her, how in the hell would she ever survive . . .?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Hey_** **_You_** ' _by_ _Pink Floyd_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1979_ _release_ , **_The_** **_Wall_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Roger_ _Waters._
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _That fanfiction was awesome!_


	173. 172: Poet

' _Well, take it from the man_...  
' _Who's not afraid to come on strong_ …  
' _When there's magic in the music_ …  
' _It's the singer, not the song_ ...'

 

-' _It's the Singer, Not the Song_ ' by Survivor.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Damn, I didn't know it was going to be that much work."

Evan glanced up as Garret dropped onto the sofa beside the door. The crew had just finished setting Evan's stage that would be moved into the arena in a number of smaller pieces on the main set where the show was going to take place at midnight tonight. Garret hadn't been too sure about what he was doing, but he'd been put directly under Kink McCray, the production manager, and Kink had taken the time to let Evan know that the kid had caught on damn fast. He had a couple good things going for him. First off, he was bright, and he was a quick study. Secondly, and maybe more importantly, he wasn't afraid of asking questions instead of just assuming that he could figure something out on his own. All in all, Garret was enthusiastic about what he was doing, and if he'd actually managed to impress someone as hard-nosed as Kink, then Evan figured he'd do just fine.

"Kink said you did pretty well," he remarked, hiding his amusement as he ducked his chin and looked down at the guitar he was holding.

"That guy's a slave driver," Garret said with a groan. Then he sat up, looking just a little anxious. "I mean, I learned a lot, though. I'm not complaining."

"I didn't figure, and yeah, I've heard that before," Evan assured him with a grin. "Where's your guitar?"

"Oh, I left it in my room. I'll go get it."

Evan watched the kid hop up and hurry away. So much for being tired, he supposed. Mention music to the boy, and he was just fine, wasn't he?

There had been a little bit of a mix up in the reservations, and since Garret was a last minute addition to the plan, there wasn't enough hotel rooms reserved and no vacancies since there were a lot of people in town just for the show, Evan had suggested that Garret stay with him. After all, he'd been given a penthouse suite for the duration, provided by the festival as a perk since he was headlining.

' _Yeah, except you're forgetting one very crucial thing_ ,' Evan's youkai-voice piped up. ' _V's so gonna have your ass when she finds out about this._ '

' _Nah_ ,' he argued, brushing off his youkai's concerns. ' _Nothing bad's happened._ '

' _Keh!_ ' his youkai snorted. ' _What's that mean? You popped the kid's cherry, for God's sake!_ '

Evan couldn't help the stupid little grin that surfaced on his face. ' _I didn't_ ,' he retorted. ' _Bunni did . . . and it's not like Garret was bitching about that, either_.'

' _Ya think? Of course he wasn't! What sixteen year old kid would bitch about that?_ '

Which was true enough, as far as Evan figured. After all, how many kids could say that they were well and truly taken advantage of by a woman like that?

It was actually rather amusing. If Garret's blushing face hadn't given it away, no one would have known any different. Well, the grin he wore for hours afterward might have done him in. Still, _he_ hadn't admitted anything, even though Evan had given in and teased him for a while after the fact, and as far as Evan was concerned, he still felt that it was the lesser of the two evils. Considering Garret had disappeared for a few hours last night after Bone had spotted him not even twenty minutes after they'd checked into the hotel, talking to a couple groupies down in the lobby of the hotel, it wasn't like Evan had arranged a thing that wasn't bound to happen, anyway.

Objectively speaking, the kid was hot, and on top of that, he already had the look of a rockstar going—one of those pretty boys who would shine up the cover of any respectable industry magazine very nicely. Mikey had commented that Garret was the kind of kid that talent hawks were always looking for to add to the next boy-band that they hoped to catapult to super-stardom. Luckily, Garret wasn't the kind to take up a offer like that, anyway, but Evan also knew damn well that with a little more polish, Garret really would be able to stand on his own, even in the dog-eat-dog world of rock n' roll, if he wanted to, and Evan had very little doubt that Garret wanted to . . .

"I picked up some new strings at the store earlier," Garret said as he hurried back into the living room with the guitar Evan had given him in tow. "It's that new synthetic kind that are supposed to last longer than the regular ones."

Evan chuckled and slowly nodded. "They're supposed to," he agreed. "They don't always, but they're supposed to."

Garret sat down, sticking a pick between his lips as he strummed the instrument a few times and paused to loosen a string. "That kind of sucks," he muttered, pulling the pick out of his mouth and settling the guitar on his leg. "Dude, I ran into Faren Sage in the elevator," he said suddenly, once more taking on the excited puppy kind of air. "Oh, and Cruz Milbain, too . . ."

"I did, too," Evan remarked. Faren Sage was the guitarist from an up and coming band, Bridled, and Cruz Milbain was a living legend in the funkotic movement. Both were pretty cool guys, as far as Evan was concerned. "Saw them right after sound check," he went on. "They talk to you?"

Garret shook his head. "Ah, uh, no," he mumbled. "Faren was asking Cruz about some business stuff. I just listened. Figured maybe I'd learn something."

"Good plan," Evan told him with an approving nod. "So did you?"

This time, Garret sighed. "Not really," he admitted. "I mean, I listened and all, but it didn't really make sense to me. Maybe one day, if I can get a break . . ."

He had to admit, he liked the boy's outlook. "All in good time, Garret. Until then, just soak in what you can."

Garret nodded, then shrugged. "I'm not in a big hurry . . . I'm having a lot of fun, as it is . . . You know, it's kind of funny . . ."

"What is?" Evan asked a little vaguely since he was concentrating on the riff that had been rolling around in his head. It had taken root during sound-check earlier, and it was to the point that Evan knew it would drive him crazy if he didn't get it hammered out.

Garret frowned as he watched Evan's fingers. "Well, this," he said, waving at the hotel room at large. "I always figured you'd be out, doing shit everywhere you went. Uh . . . not that I mind. It's cool. Getting to jam with Zel Roka? That's just fucking cool . . ."

Evan grinned as Garret started strumming along with him. The kid had a damn good ear, no doubt about it. It had been a while since anyone had been able to keep up with Evan, let alone to be able to figure out exactly where he was going with something. Whether Garret realized it or not, it was a big deal, absolutely.

He played a modified version of Evan's riff, and Evan stopped. "Hold on," he said, reaching over to stop Garret. The kid jerked back, blinking furiously, as though Evan had broken him out of some sort of trance. "S-Sorry."

Garret shook his head, a late grin surfacing fast. "Nah, it's okay," he assured him.

"Play that riff again," Evan told him.

Garret looked confused for a second, then he nodded as he bent over his guitar again. The slight variation was there again, and Evan picked it up without any trouble. "I like that," Evan remarked. "Mind if I use that?"

Garret looked genuinely surprised, and he quickly shook his head again. "Wh . . . No way! Really?"

"Yeah, really. You've got a damn good ear, Garret."

For a moment, Evan had to wonder if Garret might cry or something, he looked so stunned at the offhanded compliment. "Go ahead, man," he blurted, his cheeks pinking in unabashed happiness.

"If this song goes anywhere, I'll give you co-author rights."

"Uh . . . You sure?" Garret breathed. "It's just a couple notes . . ."

"Yeah, but a couple notes can make or break a song. That should be one of the first things you learned," Evan pointed out. "I refuse to believe that your dad never told you that."

Garret laughed rather nervously. "Oh, well, he did," he admitted. "I remember, once he was playing that song—the one that you guys bought, right? So he played it a little different, and it just sounded—I don't know . . . complete, I guess?" He sighed and shook his head. "That ain't exactly what I meant . . ."

"That right?" Evan pressed. "Show me. Can you?"

"Oh, uh, okay," Garret said as he stooped forward to play. "This was the original version."

He played through the opening riff, and Evan heard what the kid was talking about. The original version was good, but the few extra notes that had been added afterward had really made it, as far as he was concerned. Garret, however, got caught up in the song easily enough, and Evan joined in, but it was the boy who started to sing.

 

 

"' _Don't look at me with those eyes so bright_ . . .  
' _When I know the pain you're tryin' to fight_ . . .  
' _I never meant to make you cry_. . .  
' _My mistakes, for you, I'd die_ . . .'"

 

 

The song was heavy, definitely metal, but the words sounded more like a ballad, yet it wasn't in the vein of the power ballads, either. It was one of the things that had initially struck Evan. It had the thick guitars, but the delivery of the lyrics . . . that was the thing that had worried Evan, to start with. To find someone who could deliver the words and even dominate the powerful song . . . To Evan's surprise, there was a certain soulfulness in Garret's voice, a softness that fell upon the ears like a gentle rain, even while an underlying gruffness added a rich sound, a resonant timbre. Evan had heard guys who had spent years taking vocal lessons who couldn't seem to grasp the innate quality that Garret seemed to possess naturally, and while he knew that Garret favored rock and roll, there wasn't a doubt in his head that he'd excel at singing the blues, if he really wanted to.

The song ended, and Evan grinned at Garret. Garret blushed slightly, but he looked pleased as he broke into a wolfish grin, too.

"That was nice."

Evan glanced over at Mike, who was standing just inside the door. "Hey, Mikey. What's up?"

Mike smiled. "Give me a second, Roka."

Evan stood up and strode over to Mike as Garret turned his attention back to the guitar again as he took up Evan's riff once more. "Yeah?"

"I just wanted to remind you that we're flying to Paris in the morning," Mike said. "We'll be cutting it close, though. I just got off the phone with Tellingier, and he said that there's a press conference scheduled not too long after we land."

"Franco Tellingier is a dickwad," Evan snorted. "If it had been up to him, I'd never be headlining this thing."

Mike nodded in agreement. "Be that as it may, as the headliner, you need to be at that press conference, okay?"

Evan snorted again and rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay . . ."

Mike relaxed just a little, his gaze shifting from Evan to Garret. "You know," he said at length, looking more thoughtful than he rightfully ought to, "I think it's pointless to try to shop Jack's song around."

"I thought you said it was a good song," Evan said, narrowing his eyes on his manager.

Mike nodded slowly. "I did," he allowed, "and it is."

"What are you thinking?" Evan asked suspiciously.

Mike chuckled and waved a hand at Garret, still bent over his guitar. "Well, who better to accurately capture the meaning of that song than the kid of the guy who wrote it?"

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"And you're an attorney?"

Valerie smiled politely and set the glass of wine on the table. "Yes," she said, stifling the desire to sigh. When Marvin had suggested dinner at the upscale restaurant, she'd been surprised. She ought to have known that there was a reason for it. Not five minutes after they'd arrived, so had the Intaras, a very wealthy couple that normally lived in the south of Spain, but were in the States on business. They had lost a son to the type of cancer that Marvin was researching, and he hoped to procure some of the funding he needed from them. They were friendly enough, Valerie supposed, but, like all of the glamorous people she'd met over time, they seemed to live in an entirely different universe than everyone else.

"She represents a lot of famous people," Marvin interjected. "You've heard of Dominick Stella, right? He's one of her current clients, right, Val?"

Valerie nodded. "Yes," she replied.

Migara Tatum-Intara's eyes widened. She was a Spanish beauty, once a world-famous model, who was still stubbornly clinging to the youth that was rapidly fading, she had already taken on the look of someone who had undergone numerous procedures in order to retain her appearance. To be honest, Valerie had to wonder if the woman would've looked better, had she not succumbed to the desire to nip and tuck her body, just as she had to wonder if her obviously devoted as well as indulgent husband would love her any less if she hadn't. "Is that right?" she asked, flicking her wrist to adjust her near-gaudy diamond bracelet. "The actor? Didn't we meet him once? At the Black and White Ball last year?"

Next to her, her husband smiled indulgently. "He was charming," Pelagro Intara intoned, his thick Spanish accent coloring his words. "He found you to be . . . what is the word?" He paused with an exaggerated scowl, opening and closing his hand as though he were grasping for the right word. "Ah, yes! Intriguing, no?"

Migara giggled prettily. "I think he was just being kind, darling."

He laughed. "He would be a fool if that was the case."

Migara patted his hand before turning her attention back to Valerie once more. She looked entirely appalled, and she leaned toward Valerie, as though she wanted to tell Valerie some sort of secret. "He was charged with drunk and disorderly conduct, wasn't he? Outrageous, isn't it? You'll prove that the accusations are ungrounded?"

Shifting slightly, Valerie's smile turned a bit taciturn. "I'm not at liberty to discuss his case," she said. "I hope you understand."

"Of course; of course," Migara insisted. Then she leaned in toward Valerie again. "They _are_ ungrounded, right?"

"Now, my pet, you heard her. She cannot discuss it," Pelagro interrupted with a wink at Valerie. "If you were being charged with something, you would not want her to discuss it with other people, would you?"

Migara blinked as she turned her wide-eyed stare on her husband. "Whatever would I be charged with, darling?"

Pelagro's tolerant smile broadened. "Why, for stealing my heart."

Valerie very nearly rolled her eyes as the middle-aged woman cooed and leaned in to kiss her husband. As it was, she had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing outright at the sickeningly sweet, cutesy display.

It couldn't be real, could it? The over-the-top show had to be for show. There was just no way in the world that it could possibly be genuine. Glancing over at Marvin, however, Valerie had to stifle a snort. He was watching the couple with a rather goofy smile on his face.

The soft chime of her cell phone was dulled by her purse, and Valerie shot Marvin an apologetic glance as she pulled the device out. "Just a moment," she said, holding the phone under the table as she sent the call to voicemail and fired off a text to Evan. ' _Out to dinner. Will call you back_.'

"Everything all right?" Marvin murmured, leaning toward Valerie. He didn't really have to. Pelagro and Migara were still too busy canodeling to pay any attention to them.

Valerie forced a wan smile. "Yes, just fine," she assured him. Then her phone rang again, and she frowned. If Evan just wanted to say hi, he would have been content to wait till she called him back; she knew it. If he was calling her again just after she'd sent that text, though . . .

She stifled a groan. For reasons that Valerie didn't want to contemplate, visions of Evan, sitting in a foreign jail, claiming to anyone who ventured past that 'it' wasn't his fault, assailed her, and she slowly shook her head.

"Excuse me," she said, standing up and addressing the others at the table. "I need to take this call. I'll be right back."

"Hello?" she said, answering the call as she walked toward the ladies' room.

"Hey, V! How's it going?"

Valerie stopped mid-stride, as though she'd just walked straight into an invisible wall. "Garret?" she said, her voice registering her surprise upon hearing his voice.

"Yeah," he said, then laughed. "Aw, it's so awesome! You'll never believe it! I mean, Mike said he'd talk to Dad about it, but holy shit! Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!"

Glancing over her shoulder, Valerie altered her path so that she could step outside instead. "What's awesome? Garret, why are you calling me from Evan's phone?"

Garret laughed again. "I'm gonna record that song!" he told her. "Dad's song! It's un-fucking-believable, right?"

She shook her head as the doorman opened the door for her. She nodded her thanks as she stepped outside and around the corner of the building, into the relative quiet of the opening of the alley. "You are?"

"Yeah. Mike came in yesterday while Zel and I were playing, and he said that he thinks I've got what it takes! Can you believe that?"

"Uh, that's great," she told him, shaking her head in confusion. To be honest, she had no idea just what was going on. Garret? He was going to record that song . . .? "Don't sign anything, and tell Dad not to sign anything until I look it over . . ."

"Well, yeah, I figured. That's what Mike said, too—that you'd want to look over everything," Garret said, as though he thought it was already a given. "But the best part is that Zel's going to play backup for me! I mean, I told him that just seemed wrong, you know? I mean, he's Zel-fucking-Roka, right? But he says that he wants to, and—"

"Garret," she cut in, rubbing her forehead since his babbling was leading her straight back to square one. "Why are you with Zel?"

Her question gave him pause, and he let out a breath like a balloon losing air. "Oh, well, because he invited me. I'm spending spring break working on Zel's road crew."

"What?"

He laughed. "I know! Awesome, right?"

"But you— _no-o-o-o_ . . ." she half-groaned, half-moaned as Evan's seemingly-innocent question echoed in her head.

" _Know anything about who I'd contact for a rushed passport?_ "

"Hey, Garret. We're boarding now," someone said in the background. She was pretty sure that it was Bone.

"O-Okay," he called back. "Hey, listen, V, I've gotta go. We're heading to Paris now. Cool, right? Fucking _Paris!_ "

"Wait, Garret! How are you— _Ah-h-h-h_ ," she sighed as the line went dead. Immediately, she dialed Evan's number back, growling under her breath as the call was routed directly to his voicemail.

Collapsing against the dingy stone wall behind her, completely unmindful of the expensive black dress she was wearing, not to mention the chill in the air, Valerie covered her eyes with a hand and tried to think. Evan had taken Garret with him to Europe? Why on earth would he have done that? Sure, she knew that Evan had taken a liking to the boy while they were down in Kentucky, but to drag him halfway around the world . . .?

Worse than that, Garret was only sixteen. Just who was responsible for him while he was off, traipsing all over Europe with Evan? She groaned and winced. Why, oh why, did she think that this had 'disaster' written all over it . . .?

Garret was going to record that song? But why . . .? When was that decided? She'd never heard Garret sing, no, and she hadn't actually realized that he could, to be honest. Still, the idea . . . It thrilled Garret, sure, and why wouldn't it? But Valerie couldn't help her concern. After all, if the song did well, just what would that mean to Garret's schooling?

He wanted to be a rockstar, just like Evan. She didn't have to be brilliant to know that. At sixteen, however, it'd be too much, too soon . . . Surely Evan knew that. He shouldn't be encouraging Garret to do it, should he . . .?

Letting out a deep breath as she wearily rubbed her face, Valerie shook her head. No, he probably didn't realize that. The world of rock and roll had been kind to him all along, and maybe he just assumed that it would be the same for Garret. Even still, Evan's family had made him finish school. They'd insisted that he go to college before he took up music, full time, so it made no sense that he was so willing to go along with everything . . .

Looking at her phone again, Valerie dialed Evan's number, just to make sure that it was really shut off. It was, and she sighed again.

" _Know anything about who I'd contact for a rushed passport?_ "

She groaned. She really ought to have known that he was up to something, but no, so convinced that he was just trying to mastermind a way to get her to go with him, she hadn't even considered that maybe he'd decide that dragging her brother around Europe would be just as good. She really ought to have known . . .

One thing was certain, though. Evan and Garret, alone in Paris . . .? Somehow, that just didn't sound like a good idea; not in the least . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _It's_** **_the_** **_Singer,_** **_Not_** **_the_** **_Song_** ' _by_ _Survivor_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1984_ _release_ , **_Vital Signs_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Jim_ _Peterik_ _and_ _Franky_ _Sulllivan._
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Just what does he think he's doing …?_


	174. 173: Explosion

' _They say I'm just a stupid kid, just a crazy radical_...  
' _Rock and roll is dead, I probably should've stayed in school_ ...  
' _Another Generation X who somehow slipped up through the crack_ …  
' _Oh, they'd love to see me fall but I'm already on my back_ ...'

 

-' _In One Ear_ ' by Cage the Elephant.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Lookin' good, V!"

Valerie shook her head and didn't even try to smile as Bone reached for her suitcase. "Does he know I'm here?" she asked, ignoring Bone's greeting since she wasn't exactly in the mood for small-talk.

Bone grinned. "Nope," he said, falling in step beside her as they headed for the exit of Paris International Airport.

"Good."

Bone chuckled, leaning toward her to buffer her against some of the thicker traffic near the entrance. "Figured you'd want to surprise him," he explained with a careless shrug. "Maybe not exactly the surprise he was hoping for, though, ya?"

"Just tell me he and Garret have been keeping out of trouble," Valerie said in a rather defeated tone of voice and a weary little sigh.

"Depends upon your definition of 'trouble'," Bone replied jovially.

Valerie heaved another sigh as he escorted her over to a black stretch limo waiting for them. Bone helped her get in, then poured a glass of sparkling water for her before settling back on the seat across from her for the trip to the hotel where the entourage was staying.

She was exhausted—beyond exhausted, actually. She hadn't really slept in closing in on twenty-four hours—not since she'd gotten that fateful phone call from Garret, anyway. She'd booked the first international flight she could get, and, fortunately, it was bound for Paris, then she'd called Bone from the plane to ask him to meet her at the airport.

To be honest, she wasn't even sure what she'd packed, not that it mattered. If she forgot anything, Evan could just pay for it, and considering she was reasonably sure that he'd dragged Garret along with him just because he knew that she'd fly over when she found out, she figured it would be a small price for him to pay.

At least Mike had assured her that so far, there had been no real problems stemming from Evan's uncanny ability to get into trouble. She'd called him shortly after booking her flight to give him an earful about the entire situation. Mike, however, had calmly told her that Jack had a signed and notarized affidavit, giving Evan temporary guardianship over Garret, should the kid end up needing any kind of medical attention, which really didn't do a thing to reassure Valerie. All Jack had said when she called him was that, since she wasn't going, Evan had seemed like a good choice for the job.

All in all, she was fairly sure that the world was going crazy around her. It had to be some weird, parallel universe in which anyone would willingly give Evan temporary guardianship over anything short of a lab rat . . .

She leaned back and closed her eyes for a moment. No doubt about it, Evan just really couldn't help himself, could he? He seriously lacked impulse control. She could only hope that he hadn't encouraged Garret to do anything too terrible . . .

The limo stopped much sooner than Valerie liked, but she opened her eyes, only to find Bone grinning at her. "Here," he said, handing Valerie a corded laminate.

She leaned forward and took it, only to stop and blink when she got a good look at the picture on the pass. "Is that Evan's ass?" she asked blankly without looking up at the head of security.

Bone chuckled. "Sure is," he told her. "That's what he gets for mooning the photographer, don't you think?"

She made a face but dropped the cord over her head and pulled her hair free, then took Bone's hand to allow him to help her out of the limo. The hiss of flashing cameras greeted her, and Bone quickly dropped his coat over her head and shoulders. "Nothin' to see here," he remarked rather broadly as he hurried Valerie up the walk that had been cordoned off at some point or another.

From under the makeshift cover of Bone's coat, Valerie heard the muffled voices of reporters, firing off questions, both in English and French, but there were so many of them that they all seemed to blend together into one static sound without discernible words. The screams and calls of the wash of fans who were pressing themselves against the barricades were much louder.

"Roka's got the penthouse, of course," he told her as he herded her toward the looming glass doors. Motioning for the nearby concierge, Bone stopped. "Have her luggage taken up to Zel Roka's suite, ya? She'll be staying with him."

The diminutive man's polite little smile seemed to take on a rather stagnant, decidedly indulgent air as his gaze flicked coolly over Valerie. He did seem momentarily surprised, but at last, he inclined his head, then motioned for one of the bellhops to come over. "Absolutely, Mr. Brauerton."

Valerie forced a tepid, almost insincere smile back at him and took the key card that he held out to her. "Thanks," she said as Bone started moving her toward the elevators. That man thought that she was just another groupie, didn't he? It was obvious on his face. About the moment that Bone had said that she'd be staying in Evan's suite, he'd gotten that look on his face: the condescending kind of expression reserved for the women unfortunate enough to be relegated to the roles of the playthings of the rich and famous . . .

The truly ironic thing was, as far as Valerie could figure, that the people who gave those looks tended to be completely oblivious to it, too. They honestly didn't realize that their thoughts were that transparent—or they didn't realize that the person on the receiving end of it would be smart enough to accurately interpret it. Those were the same people who waited until you turned your back to run off and whisper in the shadows, making jokes to their cohorts about the flavor of the week, looking down on those women with the snide commentary that she might last a week, maybe two, before she was tossed out for the next one. While it was true that Valerie hadn't gotten too many of those looks while out with Evan on his mini-tour, she had to wonder if that wasn't because he was standing beside her most of the time.

Pushing away those unwelcome thoughts, Valerie glanced over her shoulder at the kids camped outside the hotel. The glass wall at the front of the building was nothing but bodies, squashed shoulder to shoulder; a myriad of blurred faces as they stood, watching, waiting to catch a glimpse of Evan, she supposed. She'd seen this kind of thing before, but it wasn't any less daunting, and somehow, she had the feeling that it wouldn't matter how many times she saw that particular scene play out, she'd never, ever get used to it . . .

Off to the right near the doors that led to a small, cozy little bar, she caught the calculated stares of the women gathered there. They weren't ordinary groupies. Dressed in much more expensive clothing with impeccable makeup and very polished demeanors, Valerie wasn't sure who they were, but it was obvious to her, just what they were thinking.   After all, they'd overheard Bone telling the concierge that she was there with Zel Roka; they'd seen her being handed a key to his suite. Those women thought that she was the same as them, didn't they?

"Ignore them, ya?"

Valerie blinked and glanced up at Bone, who was staring lazily at the closed elevator doors. The walkie-talkie strapped to his belt beeped at him, and he pulled it out of the small leather holster. "Bone here," he said.

"Hey, Bone. Zel's in here, by the pool," the voice on the other end said. "He said that he wanted to talk to you."

"All right," he said, dropping the device into the holster again before taking Valerie's hand and pulling her down the hallway that curved around the huge marble staircase in the middle of the hotel foyer. "Anyway, those girls been trying to wheedle their way upstairs since we got here," he went on quietly. "I think it pissed 'em off that they weren't invited to the pool party."

Lifting her chin a notch, Valerie willed herself not to look back as she fell into step beside Bone. "Pool party?"

Bone grinned. "Suffice it to say that Zel got a little antsy last night," he replied mysteriously.

For some reason, his cryptic answer did little to reassure Valerie.

She stopped short as the two stepped out of the long hallway and into another, brighter hallway—it made perfect sense, she supposed, since the whole wall seemed to be fashioned completely of glass. From where she stood, she could see security guards flanking every door leading outside. In the courtyard that was completely enclosed by the hotel, rising up around it, was the pool, but that wasn't what had brought her up short. Oh, no, absolutely not. It was the sight of the huge, white cloth that stopped about ten feet over the center of the pool and extended up higher than she could see that did it—and the heart-dropping sight of Garret, wearing what looked to be a pair of black shorts—flying down that cloth, only to drop off of it with a whoop of laughter, abruptly cut short by the huge splash of water, followed in very quick succession by two very top-heavy looking girls. The geyser shot up a good fifteen feet in the air, and with a strangled cry, Valerie dashed forward, grabbing the doors and giving them a vicious yank in her effort to get outside. The security people stationed on either side of the door started to move in to stop her, and while she'd like to think that her glare was enough to put them off, it probably had more to do with the security laminate hanging around her neck—and Bone's presence, too.

There had to be at least fifty people relaxing around the pool, most of them doing things that shouldn't have been done in polite company. None of them seemed to care, however, that they could be seen by anyone coming or going from their rooms. Some of them were smoking things that Valerie was quite sure weren't cigarettes, many of them were faces that she recognized from different rockstar publications . . . Girls who didn't possess an ounce of shame, who willingly gave up their self respect in order to brag to her friends that she'd fucked a rockstar . . . It struck her once more, just how askew Evan's world really was—a world that didn't even bat an eye at excess, that balanced on the very precipice between what should and should not be acceptable. Things that ordinary people would get busted for, no questions asked, was all right for them, wasn't it? But it wasn't okay, not to her . . .

"V!" Evan exclaimed, hauling himself out of the pool with a huge grin on his face as he sauntered over to intercept her. Cut off jeans that hugged his hips just a little too well, and didn't that just figure? All the same, she couldn't quite help the dizzying way her belly flopped over as she watched him. There was an absolutely perfect symmetry in his body, an undeniable beauty in the sinfully animalistic way that he moved . . . The jeans shorts barely clung to his hips. She could discern the vale of muscles in his lower abdomen—the ones that narrowed as they descended. If his shorts were any lower-riding, she had little doubt that she'd be able to see the base of his penis, and for some bizarre reason, she kind of wished that they were. Zel Roka, caught in public in something as simple as swimming trunks? Of course not, and she made a face when he hauled her into a tight hug, conveniently forgetting the fact that he was still dripping wet. "I thought you said you couldn't make it."

"Can it, Roka," she said, wiggling her arms up between them and giving him a good shove that didn't do anything at all to move him. "What the hell is going on?"

He planted a noisy kiss on her cheek and laughed. "We're having a pool party," he said in a tone that indicated that she should be able to figure out as much. "Did you bring your bikini? That red one, maybe?"

Valerie snorted and shoved at him again, ignoring the hopefulness in his voice that he didn't even try to hide. "No, I didn't," she grumbled, giving him another shove. "Is that what you're calling it these days? A pool party?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as she stared past him at a couple—she thought that maybe the guy was Frankie, but she couldn't rightfully see his face since some big-boobed bimbo in what one might laughingly refer to as a bikini was trying to suck it off at the moment.   He had his hand on her breast while she had hers on his crotch, kneading the area like a contented cat. They weren't the worst ones, either. Across the misshapen pool, she saw a couple girls, kneeling on the ground in front of Tay, who was reclining rather comfortably with his head back and his eyes closed, very obviously enjoying a blow job. Scowling as she shifted her gaze around the pool, only to discover that those two were not the only ones either getting or giving sexual favors, it was all she could do to keep from finding her brother to get the hell out of there. "Where's Garret? So help me God, Roka, if you've done _anything_ to pervert my brother, I swear, I'll—"

"V! Hey!" Garret said as he climbed out of the pool and strode toward her. For a moment, she thought that he might just try to grab and hug her, too, but he didn't. Instead, he just grinned kind of dorkily at her. "Wow, Zel . . . you were right!"

"Right about what?" she countered.

Garret's grin widened. "Well, he said that you'd fly over as soon as you found out that I was here, and you did! Knows you pretty well, doesn't he?"

She sorted indelicately to let Garret know in no uncertain terms, just what she thought of that statement, then Valerie turned to glower at the rock star just in time to see him make a slicing motion across his throat with his prone hand. When she raised an eyebrow, he chuckled. "What are you doing here, Garret?" she demanded with what should have been a formidable scowl.

Garret laughed. "Well, we were a little bored," he began.

Her sigh was audible as she rubbed her forehead. "Not that," she muttered, wondering absently if she was too late to do anything about Evan's negative influence on her brother. "I want to know why you're here—in Paris—with _him_ ," she finished, waving a hand at Evan to emphasize her words.

"Oh, well, I work for him now," he told her proudly. "I'm part of the road crew."

"Oh, my God," she moaned, feeling as though the walls were closing in around her. "This has got to be a bad dream . . ."

"Are you going to try out the slide?"

Valerie blinked and stared at Garret in confusion. "The slide?"

Garret laughed and pointed upward.

It was only then that Valerie realized just what she really ought to have noticed before.

The cloth 'slide' that she'd watched Garret fly off of to drop into the pool. It extended up—way up—and seemed to be affixed to the safety railing around a balcony on the top floor, very likely Evan's room. There were staircases leading up to the decks of the different floors all the way around the enclosure, and as she looked around, she realized that the building itself was built on a subtle angle, likely to allow maximum sunshine to fall on the pool. From her vantage point, she could see something else that she hadn't before, either: the slide seemed to be fashioned out of bedsheets sewed end to end . . .

And as she watched, a couple more people that she didn't recognize vaulted over the top of the railing to land on the slide. The cloth buckled under their weight, creating a kind of tube around their descending bodies.

"You want to try it out?" Garret asked again, breaking through Valerie's almost dumbfounded stupor. "It's wicked-awesome!"

She snorted and leveled a no-nonsense scowl on her brother. "Absolutely not—and neither are you!"

To her unabashed chagrin, Garret laughed at her. "It's solid," he assured her as he headed toward the doors that led back into the hotel. "Roka figured all that out last night. Just watch. I'll show you!"

"Garret!" she hissed, her scowl darkening as the Barbie twins hurried after her brother. "Oh, I don't think—"

"Aww, relax, V," Evan drawled, wrapping his arms around her from behind to keep her from running after Garret. "He's fine—and he's having the time of his life."

"But that's not safe!" she insisted, struggling against Evan's grasp. "Let go of me, you oaf!" Damn him for being so strong, anyway . . . "And who the hell are those hussies?"

Evan's chuckle was like a caress on the back of her neck. "He likes them," Evan went on, wrapping his arms more securely around her, "and they like him—a lot. As for the slide? It's plenty safe."

That only served to wring a growl out of Valerie as she watched her brother hurry up the stairs with the girls in tow. One of them grabbed Garret's arm, and he leaned down, but shook his head at whatever she'd whispered to him. "Where the hell did you get that slide, anyway?" she demanded, tamping down the urge to stomp on the man's foot since he still refused to let go of her.

"We made it," he told her simply.

She blinked, craning her neck as she struggled to get a good look at his face. "You what?"

He grinned. "We made it," he stated once more.

Pivoting on her heel when he finally let his arms drop away from her, Valerie ducked her chin and glowered up at him though her eyelashes. "I am so going to regret asking this," she predicted in a completely nonplussed kind of way, "but . . . how did you make it?"

If he knew that she was irritated, he didn't show it. Breaking into a wide grin, he shrugged. "Well, see, we got to talking—Did you know that Garret got an A-plus in home economics? He said that the teacher was impressed with his sewing skills."

She stifled a groan. If it were anyone else, she would think that he was just trying to avoid answering her question, but it was Evan, and because it was Evan, she knew damn well that he really was getting around to the how of it . . .

"Anyway, I got this idea, you know, when I was looking at the sheets, right? I mean, I figured that if took enough sets of sheets, we could make a damn fine slide—and we totally did!"

Rubbing her temples in small circles, Valerie counted to twenty before she trusted herself to speak. "You got that—" she said, pointing at the fabric slide, "—out of Garret getting an A-plus in home economics?"

"Did you know that I got an A-plus in home economics?" Evan went on, completely missing her point.

"I don't care," she hissed, ready to find something to beat him over the head. "Just because you got an A-plus in home ec doesn't mean—"

"Don't sweat it, V," he insisted, his grin widening. "I took some engineering-type courses in college, too."

"Hey! V! Watch!"

Valerie gritted her teeth as her chin snapped up, as she watched in stunned silence as Garret vaulted over the railing where the sheet-slide was anchored. With a loud whoop, he fairly flew down the path, and Valerie's only real consolation was that they'd obviously sewed the longest sides of the sheets together, so Garret's weight pulled it down enough to create a makeshift tube. She grimaced as he flew off the end of the slide, only to crash down in the center of the pool seconds later.

Evan chuckled. Valerie sighed. Garret laughed as he surfaced in the pool. The girls hit the water behind Garret with happy shrieks. She started to step forward, ready to tell Garret that they were going back to the States right now. Evan caught her arm before she could take more than a couple steps, though. "Aw, V . . . He's having the time of his life," Evan murmured behind her.

"That is so dangerous, Roka," she told him with a stubborn shake of her head. "How would you feel if those sheets ripped? If someone were to fall off there, you'd be responsible for it!"

He stared at her for several moments, his expression almost serious, definitely inscrutable. "I like your brother," he said at length. "I like him a lot . . . and I swear to God, I wouldn't let him do something that I thought was really dangerous."

She opened her mouth and waved a hand at the makeshift slide. "I _know_ you wouldn't do anything on purpose," she told him with an exasperated shake of her head. "But you know as well as I do that accidents _do_ happen."

"Okay, V," he said, a hint of a smile quirking his lips.

She blinked. Something about what she'd just said to him . . . pleased him . . .? But why . . .? "Okay? What's okay?"

He chuckled and ambled past her, heading toward the side of the pool. "Hey! Tay! Frankie! Get the girls off your faces and get moving! It's about time for sound-check, anyway. Bone, can you yank down the slide?" he tossed over his shoulder.

"Not a problem," Bone allowed.

Evan held up a hand to indicate that he'd heard Bone. "Hey, Garret!"

Garret's head turned at the sound of Evan's voice, and he hurriedly swam over to the side of the pool.

"You want to hang out onstage during sound-check?"

Garret hauled himself out of the pool, a huge grin on his face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Evan said, swiping up a towel off a nearby chair and tossing it at him. "C'mon. It'll be cool."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _In_** **_One_** **_Ear_** ' _by_ _Cage_ _the_ _Elephant_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2008_ _release_ , **_Cage_** **_the_** **_Elephant_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Cage_ _the_ _Elephant_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** _**Valerie** :  
> … An A-plus in home ec …?_


	175. 174: Evan's Bassist

' _I'm your average ordinary everyday kid_...  
' _Happy to do nothin', in fact, that's what I did_ …  
' _I got a million ways to make my day, but Daddy don't agree_ …  
' _Cuz when I try to get away, he says he got plans for me_ ...'

 

-' _Let's Get Rocked_ ' by Def Leppard.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"One, two, three, four, five . . . One, two, three, four, five . . ."

"Give me a note, Roka," Daelyn Flug said over the intercom. In the distance, Evan could hear the cheering in the East Arena where the morning's concerts were being held. The West Arena was still silent, but that probably wouldn't last long. Crawdad was scheduled to play in there later on. In fact, that was one of the shows that Evan had been thinking about sneaking into . . .

Since he was headlining, though, they were the only ones setting up in the main arena. The main arena was only used for the headlining act during the festival since it was the only concert going on during the time slot, so once set, his equipment wouldn't need to be redone later. For the last few years, the sheer number of bands that wanted to participate in the festival had increased so much that it was necessary to double book time-slots, and since everyone's management tended to try to vie for the main arena that was easily twice as large as the branch ones, it had been decided that only the headliner would actually get to use it.

For the last few years, Evan had gotten snubbed by Franco Tellingier, mostly because he'd told the uppity Frenchman to get the dick out of his ass and grow the hell up during a discussion about some missing gear that had been seen in the holding area, only to disappear hours later when his guys went in to set the movable stage. This year, however, Tellingier hadn't had a choice. Evan was just too damn big a draw to stick him in one of the alternate arenas. Of course, when good ol' Franco had met him at the hotel yesterday, he'd been as nice as he could possibly be— _too_ nice, actually, greasy little bastard that he was.

Still, Evan had made nice to him, just the same. After all, Global Fray was, in Evan's estimation, the second best rock festival in the world, the first being Rocktoberfest, of course.

Strumming a note on the guitar, Evan waited.

"Okay, another one, please."

He hit the chord again.

"Nice. Now give me a level."

Evan did, spotting Valerie where she stood near the middle of the arena. She'd gone up to the hotel room to change clothes, and he couldn't help the grin on his face when he realized that she'd actually donned a cute little pink tank top with a slightly darker 'V' emblazoned on it, and even if the 'V' stood for Veradina, one of the hottest fashion designers out there, he had to wonder if she had bought the shirt with something entirely different in mind. Oversized smoky glasses, her hair falling over half of her face in a mysterious kind of way, the relaxed fit, low riding jeans she wore were appropriately rumpled and hugged those incredible legs of hers in all the right places, allowing her the overall look of the quintessential rock n' roll girlfriend.

"The left spotlight is off," Kink McCray hollered. "Hey! Duyer! Get your skinny ass up there and give it a pop to the right about ten degrees!"

"Uh, okay!" Garret replied, setting aside the palmcam he'd bought in London and striding over to climb the metal chain ladder that was affixed to the rigging.

" _Garret!_ Oh, my _God!_ "

Evan blinked as Valerie heaved herself onto the stage and stomped over to him, arms crossed over her chest as she frowned at him. "What is he doing up there?" she demanded.

"Aw, relax, baby. He's got it covered. He's part of the lighting crew."

She didn't look impressed. "He's part of the—? _No!_ Absolutely _not!_ Roka, I swear to God, if he—"

"Take it easy, V," Evan chided with a grin. "He's hooked up."

She snorted. "Hooked up? What the hell does that mean? Do you know how dangerous that is? Those things aren't meant to be walked on, and—"

He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "He's harnessed," Evan told her simply. "Even if he falls, the harness would catch him."

She snorted again, but lifted her hand to shield the sun from her eyes as she turned her gaze upward. "All right," she allowed, finally noticing that Garret was, indeed, wearing a safety harness. From his vantage point, Evan could see her eyes moving slowly as they traced the thin cable straight up to the solid iron lattice frame that stood a good six and a half feet over the actual rigging. She had to have seen that before when she was with him on his mini-tour, but she hadn't stopped to consider exactly what that frame was for. It was the security frame that was built and tested to withstand the weight of fifty full grown men, should someone slip off the lighting rigging or, in worst case, should the lighting rigging collapse. There were never fifty guys up there—usually only three, at most—so it was safe enough—almost as safe as being on the ground.

Each of the cables retracted into an enclosed spindle, and Evan had been told that the cables were purposefully fashioned stop about seven feet above the stage so that it was technically impossible to actually hit bottom. During shows, there was always at least one, though usually more like two or three, guys up there, constantly adjusting the lights and keeping an eye on things. Once during a show in Baltimore, an electrical surge during a lightning storm had made one of the spots to throw sparks and catch fire. Had it not been for the guys up there, the whole thing would've been a lot more serious than it turned out to be. The audience had no idea what was going on. The only people who saw anything were the members of the band.

"He could still slip," Valerie muttered, not quite ready to give up the fight.

Evan gave her a quick squeeze despite the way she shoved against him, but it was more like token resistance than an actual attempt to push him away. "You're acting more like his mama than you ought to," he pointed out.

That comment earned him a scowl, and she gave him another good shove then stomped over to the bottom of the chain ladder. "Garret, get back down here!" she called, much to the amusement of the rest of the crew, who all started sniggering and whispering behind her. "Right now!"

"Almost got it," he told her. "Just a minute, okay?"

Kink loped over to Evan with a no-nonsense scowl on his face as he frowned at Valerie, who looked like she was considering going up after her brother. "What the hell is she doing?" he demanded without preamble.

Evan chuckled. "He's her brother. I mean, can't you tell?"

Kink snorted. "Yeah? Well, right now, he's not. Right now, he's part of _my_ crew, goddamn it."

He started to stomp away, apparently deciding that telling Valerie a thing or two would be a good idea. Evan made a face and caught the tech's arm. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned lightly.

Reaching up to scrub at his ratted mop of yellow hair, the old guy popped a wad of chewing gum into his mouth. He'd been trying to quit smoking for a while now, but it wasn't going well. Instead of quitting, he'd picked up a gum-habit, too . . . "She ain't crew. She can get off the fucking stage."

"I _really_ wouldn't tell her that," Evan added with a shake of his head.

Kink rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Jesus God," he grouched, altering his path as he pushed the button on his headset. "Farley, when the kid gets that light set, tell 'em to get his fucking pussy-ass down before his damn sister has a fucking baby."

Evan chuckled.

"Okay, thanks, Garret," Farley, the assistant lighting tech, yelled. "Come on down."

Garret nodded and carefully made his way back over to the ladder. He handled himself well, considering he'd only been up on the rigging a few times, Evan mused as he swung himself onto the ladder in much the same way as he'd seen the other lighting guys do before.

Valerie still didn't look appeased. If anything, she looked just a touch more concerned as she watched her brother climb down. When he reached the end of his tether, he unhooked the cable from the harness and latched it onto the ladder chain before dropping the rest of the way onto the stage and landing in a crouch.

"It's all good, V," he said with a grin as he straightened up.

She was having none of that. "You know, I'm pretty sure that Mom and Dad didn't give you permission to do stuff like that," she pointed out.

Garret's grin widened. "I told Dad about it on the phone. Said it sounded cool as fuck."

Valerie's mouth dropped open for a long moment before she snapped it shut and pivoted on her heel to stomp away from him. "Whatever," she grumbled, looking entirely exasperated. "Not a whit of common sense . . ."

"Can we get back to the damn sound check, _ladies?_ " Daelyn complained as Valerie scooted off the stage to stand beside Bone once more, completely nonplussed by Valerie's unceremonious interruption. She still didn't look happy, and Evan figured he'd hear about it later.

Evan grabbed his crotch and shook it in the general direction of the sound booth.

"Play something," he said, ignoring Evan's unspoken opinion.

"Yeah, yeah, all ri . . ." Cutting himself off as he narrowed his eyes, he slowly shook his head. "Where the hell is Ordin?"

Tay shifted his gaze around as he continued to swig a bottle of water. "Damn, I dunno . . . He knew about sound-check, right?"

Tamping down the few choice words that shot to the fore, Evan strode over to the side of the stage. "Mike! Mikey!"

"Take it easy, Roka," Mike said, covering his cell with one hand as he shot Evan a quelling kind of look. "I already sent someone up to his room. Maybe he fell asleep or something. Just go on without him. It's not like the first time you've had to do sound-check without your bassist."

It was on the tip of Evan's tongue to tell Mike exactly what he thought of that, but he rolled his eyes and stomped back onto the stage instead. As much as he hated to admit it, there was a measure of truth in what Mike had said. How many times during the worst of it had Dieter passed out during sound-check . . .? Evan had just laughed it off back then. Doing that now would be a better choice than throwing a hissy fit, he supposed. After all, Ordin filled in during the Germany gig, and everything had gone smoothly then, so it wasn't nearly as alarming as it would have been had they never worked together before. Mike was right. They might as well get on with it and get a few rehearsal songs in, just to make sure that the instruments were tuned and ready to go.

"Here," he said, swiping up the bass as he strode toward Garret. "Fill in for Ordin, will you?"

Garret blinked but hesitantly took the bass. "B-B-But—"

Evan shot him a grin over his shoulder. "But, what? You said before, you know the songs, right? Besides, it's just sound-check."

Garret glanced around a little self-consciously. "Y-Y-Yeah, I know, but . . ."

"Show 'em what you've got, kid," Evan prompted with a wink. "It's okay with you guys, right?"

It took a moment for the kid to comply. Glancing around with a scared shitless expression on his face, he must've gotten the go-ahead from the rest of the guys, because he finally gave a little nod and carefully slug the bass over his shoulder. "Wh . . . What song?" he asked breathlessly.

"What one you wanna do?" Evan countered.

Garret didn't expect Evan to let him choose, and when he did, it took him a moment to consider it. "How about, ' _She's Gone Down_ '?"

Evan nodded slowly and clapped Garret on the shoulder. "Hey, guys. ' _She's Gone Down_ ', all right?" he called.

Frankie and Tay nodded, and he could see the questions just below the surface, but neither one of them said anything as Garret hurried over to the vacant bassist spot on the stage.

It only took Garret about ten seconds to get over his initial reluctance, and Evan grinned as Frankie counted off the song. He launched into the bass strong, and, while he didn't reproduce Dieter's particular sound, what he did have was a very distinctive groove of his own. The lines were fundamentally sound, but the way he played them . . . Well, maybe it did sound the same to someone with an untrained ear, but Evan could feel it, and, more curiously, as the song moved on, he could feel the energy from both Tay as well as Frankie rising, too.

"Hold up, guys," Mike said, jogging out onto the stage in the middle of the song. He didn't look entirely happy—not surprising, considering who it was. When the song cut off abruptly, Evan made a face at the unintentional sour note that filled the arena before finally fading out.

"What's up?" he asked, turning to face Mike with his hands on his hips and a raised eyebrow at the impromptu interruption.

Mike slipped the tablet from one hand to the other and rubbed his face wearily. "Ordin's out," he blurted. "Got into some kind of brawl with Mysti Gregg. Broke the middle finger on his left hand."

"What?" Evan growled, eyeing the manager like he thought that maybe he was pulling his leg. "Gregg? That guy from that band? Corpusina?"

Mike nodded. "Yeah, that's him. Ordin's girl said something about Gregg grabbing her ass. Anyway, that's piss-irrelevant now. I've got some people looking into the schedule to see who's playing and when. Maybe we can have someone fill in for the other shows, but the one tonight . . ."

Evan nodded, understanding exactly what Mike was talking about. If it was just a club gig or something, then it wouldn't be a big deal to ask around, but at a festival this size when bands played at odd hours and in different arenas, finding someone who wasn't going to be booked at some point was going to be damn near impossible. Add to that the difficulties in drawing up a contract before the show tonight, and, well, it was the main problem. " _Fu-u-u-uck_ ," he sighed.

"What's up?" Tay asked.

Evan shook his head and turned away from Mike, irritated in the extreme despite the small part of him that whispered that he'd have done the same damn thing if anyone had dared to touch Valerie.

"Ordin broke his finger," Mike replied, this time, loudly enough for everyone to hear him.

"Aw, shit," Frankie muttered. "What are we going to do then?"

Tay snorted and shook his head. "All right, so we just find someone else to fill in. No big deal, right?"

Mike heaved a sigh at Tay's logic, likely because it kind of was a big deal. After all, the business side of things never was as cut and dried as anyone might have liked. Even if they could find someone to step in at the last minute, haggling over appearance fees, stage presence, and all the bullshit that went along with it was always a potential headache. "It's not that simple, Tay," he grumbled. His cell phone rang, and he turned away to answer it.

Tay loped over to Evan. "Can't find anyone?"

Letting out a deep breath, Evan raked his hair off of his forehead, burying his hand in the top of his hair. "I don't know. He's trying."

Tay nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as he shifted his gaze over the stage. "Well . . . Why?"

Evan blinked and scowled at the rhythm guitarist. "What do you mean, why?" he countered.

Tay shrugged then jerked his head toward the other side of the stage. "I mean, why are we looking when that kid's got the chops?"

Following the direction of Tay's gaze, his eyes lit on Garret, who was fingering bass chords as though he were playing air guitar along to a song that only he could hear. Head bent down so that his hair was falling over his face, he seemed completely oblivious to everything going on around him, and Evan slowly shook his head. "I don't know, man," he said at length. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that Garret could do it, but it was a whole other animal when one factored in a screaming crowd of thousands. The maximum capacity of the main arena was about a hundred thousand, and as far as he knew, the show had been sold out since shortly after the tickets had gone on sale. Sure, Garret had said he'd done a few gigs with his band back home, but whatever he'd done had to be a far cry from this. "He's good, sure, but he's never played in front of this kind of number."

"So what are we gonna do?" Frankie asked as he strode over to join them.

"Seems to me that he's made of stronger stuff than that," Tay went on, ignoring Frankie's question.

Evan frowned. Maybe Garret was, but that didn't mean he wouldn't freeze up when he saw the reality of it, either. It was one thing to perform in front of smaller crowds that grew into larger ones the more successful one became. It was entirely different to consider tossing someone like Garret into the thick of it, especially when Garret wasn't really prepped for it, either. If he choked, even for a moment . . .

"Who? Garret?" Frankie added, tapping his drum sticks against his thigh.

"If he chokes, it could ruin him," Evan reminded them. "This isn't like playing at a high school dance."

Frankie scratched his chin, staring thoughtfully at the boy in question. "But if he doesn't . . ."

"Damned if he don't remind me a little of Dieter," Tay remarked in a tone that made Evan wonder whether he even realized that he'd spoken out loud or not.

That was the thing, wasn't it? Maybe it was something that Evan had sensed before, too—something that he was drawn to. Oh, no, he didn't delude himself into trying to believe that Garret was anything like Dieter, not really. Quirky, sure, but Dieter was a lot darker than Garret. Vastly different personalities, but there was something about both of them—an inner artist that Evan related to . . .

There wasn't a doubt in Evan's mind that the kid would be huge one day. That wasn't the issue. No, the real problem was that Garret was about as unprepared for that kind of exposure as he could possibly be. One false step with him could impact him for years to come. In worst case, if Garret froze up, it could be hard for him to get over. The press would rip him to shreds, and that kind of thing was ugly as hell, and, while Evan liked to think that Garret was made of stronger stuff than that, the truth of it was that he didn't really know. No one ever did until they were forced to deal with something, did they?

As if the two could read his mind, Tay heaved a sigh and clapped Evan on the shoulder, giving him a hearty shake. "Or he could do just fine," he said, a broad grin surfacing on his face.

"That kid looks like he's got it," Frankie added just as thoughtfully.

"No luck yet," Mike said as he approached the group. "They're still asking around though." He sounded far more upbeat than he looked.

Evan didn't glance at his manager. "Mike, you think he could do it?" he asked quietly.

Mike shot Evan a cursory look, then shifted his eyes to Garret, and he didn't answer right away as he considered Evan's question. He understood what Evan was asking. It had nothing at all to do with Garret's abilities. "It's a damn big risk," he ventured at last.

"Yeah," Evan allowed with a sigh. "Yeah . . ."

"But," Mike went on, still staring at Garret, "I kind of wonder . . ."

"What if he chokes?"

Mike considered that then gave a little shrug. "What if he does? Doesn't everyone choke at least once? Besides, it's not like he'd be out there in the front, right? You will be, and you can keep an eye on him."

Evan considered that for a moment before cracking a rather cocky grin. "Well, there _is_ that," he allowed. "Call around, can you? The kid needs his own bass for the show—and probably some clothes, too."

"Not a problem. I'll give Jack a call, too," Mike said.

"Evan, wait," Valerie said, grabbing his arm before he could do anything else. He hadn't even heard her scramble back onto the stage. "He's too young," she insisted. "He can't—"

"V," Evan interrupted, inclining his head to the side as he lowered his voice so that only she could hear him, "you trust me, don't you?"

Eyebrows drawn together in a marked frown, Valerie stared at him long and hard before slowly, slowly nodding. "Of course I do, but—"

He smiled tenderly and gave her a quick squeeze. "I wouldn't do a thing to hurt your brother; I swear it. Do you believe that?"

"Yes," she hesitated but said quietly. "I know that. It's just . . ."

Reaching out, rubbing her cheek with his knuckles, Evan's smile took on a gentle lilt. "Let's just see how he does tonight. Then we'll figure it out from there."

She heaved a sigh, those brilliant eyes of hers so solemn, so probing. Finally, though, she jerked her head once and let go of his arm. "All . . . All right . . ."

He shot her another grin designed to reassure her. Then he started forward. "Hey, Garret!"

Garret stopped and looked up a little guiltily as he pulled the bass over his head and carefully set it back in the stand. "Uh, yeah?"

"So how do you feel about the idea of filling in on bass for me?"

"Oh, it was damn cool," Garret said with a shy little smile. "Man, I can't believe I got to play onstage with you, even if it was just sound-check!"

Evan chuckled and cleared his throat. "No, what I mean is, you think you can do that tonight?"

"T-T-Tonight . . .?" Garret managed to sort of squeak out, his voice breaking slightly, attesting to the idea that he was still only sixteen years old.

"Yeah, tonight," Evan reiterated.

"W . . . I . . .Y-You . . . You think I can . . .?" he asked, glancing around from Evan to Tay and Frankie then back again.

Evan chuckled. "Yeah, but let's run through the set list, just to make sure."

Only then did Garret break into a wide grin, and he laughed. "O-O-Okay," he stammered, cheeks pinking as the idea started to sink in. "I won't let you down!"

"I know," Evan told him. "So let's do this."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Let's Get Rocked_** ' _by_ _Def Leppard_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1992_ _release_ , **_Adrenalize_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Joe_ _Elliot_ , _Phil_ _Collen_ , _Rick_ _Savage_ , _and_ _Robert_ _John_ " _Mutt_ " _Lange._
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Just one show … right …?_


	176. 175: Demons

' _You're the only hell your mama ever raised_...  
' _She tried to tell you, but you gotta do things your own way_ …  
' _Says you're a good boy and that you must be goin' through some phase_ …  
' _You're the only hell your mama ever, your mama ever raised_ ...'

 

-' _You're the Only Hell Your Mama Ever Raised_ ' by Warrant.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie sighed as she stepped into the lobby, disoriented for a moment by the relative silence, a far cry from the bedlam of the concert arena and the frenetic trip between the venue and the hotel. Bone had brought her back seconds before rushing outside to deal with security since he'd gotten a call from the contingent traveling with Evan, informing him that the errant rockstar wanted to hang out with the kids gathered outside for a little while. She was a little alarmed by the idea, but Bone seemed to think that it was safe enough. Evan just wanted take his time, walking up the long path to the hotel so that he could stop and chat with his fans. They were all pushed back by the blockades that had been in place since their arrival, and the security detail was tight enough to keep them at bay. On the one hand, it really was sweet of him to take time out for fans that weren't able to see him live. On the other hand, however, even Bone's reassurances were not easy for her to take at face value.

"Did you see it, V? You did, right? I was all right, wasn't I?"

Valerie started and glanced up at Garret as he slung an arm around her shoulders despite the waves of nervous energy that radiated off of him. She'd felt the same kind of thing before when Evan had come offstage. It must be something about the adrenaline rush, she supposed, and she smiled, albeit wanly, unable to completely mask the hint of worry in the depths of her gaze. "Are you kidding? Of course I did," she told him.

"I-I think I did okay," he went on, looking a little anxious. "I mean, Zel said I did, and the guys said that the groove was there and all that . . . Th-They wouldn't lie about that, you know?" Then he grimaced. "I messed up a couple times," he admitted. "Nerves, I guess . . ."

She couldn't stop herself from smiling at the anxiety in his tone. "The show was excellent," Valerie assured him, "and you were fantastic."

He laughed and opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly, he jammed his index finger under Valerie's nose, and she leaned back in surprise. "Oh! I swore I'd call Dad! I'll catch you later, V!"

"Uh, Garret, wait!" Valerie called. She heaved a sigh when he waved over his shoulder and dashed off toward the stairs. For a split second, she started to go after him, but she stopped just as quickly. Concerned, sure, but, remembering the look on Garret's face as the lights came up while he stood on that stage with the man who had been his idol for years, she somehow felt like the proverbial evil sister from fairy tales.

Letting out a deep breath, she turned, instead, wandering off toward the hotel bar. Maybe what she really needed was a glass of wine and a little relative quiet to think.

The place wasn't as busy as she thought it might be, and the darkened, hazy atmosphere of the place suited Valerie's mood just fine. Near the highly polished bar stood a baby grand piano, and the tuxedo-wearing man sitting behind it was doing his best to play soft, unobtrusive music.

"Hi, what can I get for you tonight?"

Valerie pasted on a smile for the waiter that felt entirely wooden. "Just a glass of white wine, please," she said.

"Anything in particular?"

She shook her head. "Something on the mellow side."

"Mellow. Got it." He smiled at her and gave a quick nod before hurrying away toward the bar.

It was too much.

Wasn't it enough that Evan had dragged Garret halfway around the world? Put him to work on his crew, all to give Garret a little extra spending money—that's what Evan had told her while he got ready for his show. After all, how many of his friends would have a story like that when they went back to school, right? When she'd seen Garret, climbing around on the light rig, she'd thought for sure that she was going to have a heart attack. Maybe everyone else thought that she was being ridiculously overprotective, but . . .

But the real trouble had started when Evan had invited Garret to stand in for the missing replacement bassist. It took Garret all of ten seconds to shake off the jitters brought on by the idea of being onstage and playing with one of the most famous men in the world. There he was—her baby brother—decked out in a pair of skin tight black leather pants and a black tour shirt that had been cut around the neck and the sleeves removed. She wasn't sure where he'd gotten the pants on such short notice, but it shouldn't have surprised her. After all, if Zel Roka wanted something, the entire world seemed to clamor to provide whatever it was.

He'd done a good job of it, given that he'd barely had time to practice with the band. Yes, they'd managed to do a run-through of the set list during sound-check, but that was hardly enough time to iron out anything that might be a problem later on. Luckily, Garret hadn't actually had too much trouble—undoubtedly thanks to his having memorized all those songs, and the rough spots had been few and far between.   Unfortunately, Evan's set had started early enough that there was still some daylight in the open-air arena, enough so that Garret could see the massive crowd, and even if he couldn't see them, he could feel them, right? Evan had said as much before, hadn't he? Still, Garret had handled himself much better than Valerie had expected. Of course, much of the time, he'd kept his head down, concentrating on the bass guitar, and that might have had a lot to do with it.

 _The late afternoon sunshine, weak and thready, spilled over Garret as he strode out onto that stage. About the moment that he had appeared, a strange kind of half-buzz seemed to erupt from the crowd. They had no idea who he was or what he was doing up there. He glanced out at the audience one time, only to falter in his step. Tay grasped his shoulder, leaned in to say something to him. Garret nodded and started moving again. Turning away from the crowd as he pulled the bass strap over his head, he took his time, hammering out a couple notes as he got his bearings_.

 _He slowly pivoted on his heel, chin lowered as though he were concentrating on the instrument, and maybe he was. The torn up tee-shirt and leather pants, the black leather combat boots that looked almost comically large on his feet at the bottom of his spindly legs . . . He already had the rockstar look down, and maybe the crowd couldn't feel the nerves that had to be running rampant through him, but she could. It was his dream; she knew that. It didn't make it any easier for her to remember to breathe_ . . .

 _The speculation seemed to erupt in a dulled rumble, running through the arena. It was a viable thing, and even as Evan stepped onto the stage, even as the crowd seemed to come alive with the catcalls and whistles, as thousands of voices merged into one insane roar, the questions only seemed to grow larger, to loom higher_ . . .

Still, from her vantage point up in one of the sky boxes, she'd heard a couple of the reporters who were covering the show talking, asking one another if they had any idea who 'the kid' on bass was. Valerie had remained silent. Ordinarily, there was no press allowed in the box that she was in, but the festival was so big this year that allowances had to be made, or so she'd been told. It was all right, in her estimation. The reporters didn't seem to think much of her—at least, they hadn't approached her to ask any questions. Maybe they'd been warned not to do so; Valerie didn't know.

' _One show,_ ' she reminded herself, smiling absently at the waiter as he slipped a glass of wine onto the table but said nothing as he nodded at her. ' _One show, and now it'll all be okay_. . .'

Biting her lip, Valerie slowly shook her head. Was it okay? Was it, really? One show? Why did she have the feeling that there was more to it than that? There had been an intangible sort of quality on that stage. Even she had felt it. There was a level of comfort that had been missing from Evan's shows of late. There had been countless articles written about that very thing. Evan was comfortable with Garret's presence. It was the same kind of camaraderie that she'd felt when Evan and Dieter had shared the stage, too.

Maybe it was stupid of her to be so worried about it all, but damned if she could help it. She'd seen enough to know that the music business wasn't pretty, and even if it was ultimately what Garret wanted, she couldn't forget the fact that he was still only sixteen. There were still so many things that he had yet to learn, that he had yet to discover, and the mayhem of a rockstar's life could be so brutal. There was a whole side of it that Garret didn't know about, and maybe he hadn't stopped to think about it, never mind the idea that he really did need to finish high school, too. If she had her way about it, he'd go to college, as well, just like Evan had, but it wasn't really her call—unfortunately.

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie sipped the wine and blinked when her cell phone buzzed against her hip. She'd forgotten that she'd put it in her pocket before leaving for the venue. She hadn't taken much with her other than some money, just in case, and she shifted her weight to the side so she could fish out her phone. It was Jack. "Hello?"

"Hey, Tigger. How's Europe?" he asked. Maybe it was her imagination, but he sounded a little tired.

"It's fine, Daddy," she replied, setting the glass down and leaning back in the booth. "Everything okay there?"

"Yeah, it's good," he told her. "Garret said he did all right. That so?"

"He did a great job," Valerie assured him.

"That's good," Jack mused. "That's pretty awesome."

She drew a deep breath and bit her lip for a moment. "Daddy . . . Do you really think it's okay?" she finally asked, careful to keep her tone neutral. "It's a big deal—a _huge_ deal . . . Do you really think he can handle all of this?"

"Well, I doubt that anyone is ever really ready for anything, are they?" Jack replied. "Don't worry. Roka's looking out for him, right?"

Rubbing her forehead, she grimaced. "And you barely know him. Why on earth did you trust him with Garret so easily?" she couldn't help but ask. To be honest, that question had been running through her head ever since she'd found out that Garret was here with Evan, to start with.

"Well, you trust him, don't you?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah . . . Of course I do," she said, her frown taking on a confused sort of tilt.

Jack chuckled. "If you do, then I do," he replied as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

Valerie sighed. "You trust him because I do . . ." she mused.

"He's smart, that one. Garret'll learn a lot from him."

"Maybe," she said with a grimace. "Probably stuff he doesn't need to know."

"Anyway, he's been around. He can show Garret a thing or two, and he promised that he'd watch out for him."

Valerie sighed again. "So am I, but that's not what I mean . . . I love that he's going to record your song, but can't it wait? Can't all of this wait until after he's at least finished high school?"

"Don't worry about that," he told her. "I already told him that he's still gonna finish school."

Valerie paused for a moment, mildly surprised that he would have told Garret that. "You did?"

"Sure, I did," Jack went on. "Anyway, your mama insisted, and I agree. Besides, I know you mean well by your brother, but he's your mama and my responsibility."

Jack's reassurance helped a little. At least her parents weren't so star-struck that they'd lost sight of the things that should be most important. She ought to have realized that sooner, and she shifted just a little guiltily. "I wasn't trying to imply that you didn't know what's best for him," she said quietly.

"I know," Jack said. "It's all right. It's in your brother's blood. Ever since he was a little shit, he's carried around guitars and wanted to be a rockstar. I took him with me a few times when I did little gigs around town. He loved every minute of it, and he'd just sit back and drink it all in. It's all he's ever wanted."

Valerie rubbed her forehead and sipped the wine again. "He's just so young," she mused.

Jack chuckled. "Can't plan for this kind of thing, Valene. It only comes around once, if it comes around at all, and if you don't take that chance when it does, you spend the rest of your life wondering."

He spoke from experience, she knew. That didn't make her feel any better about it.

"But that's not really why I called," Jack said, cutting though the thoughtful silence.

Something about his tone of voice . . . "Daddy, you said everything's fine there, right?" she couldn't help asking.

He sighed. "It is," he said slowly. "So, I . . . I got a call yesterday."

She wasn't sure what he trying to get around to saying, but she went along with it. "Oh?"

"Mmm . . . said that I'd been added to the national waiting list. Said that they'd re-reviewed my case and that I qualified, after all. Put me up pretty high, they said."

"You . . . You don't sound very happy about it," Valerie ventured, pressing her hand against her chest to quell the fluttering that had taken hold the moment he'd mentioned the waiting list. In all honesty, she hadn't realized that Evan had already called around. She should've known that he would. Evan cared too much, didn't he? Whatever he could do . . .

He sighed again. "It was that boyfriend of yours, wasn't it?" he asked, point-blank. "How much did he have to pay them to get me on that list?"

She sighed, too. Her father wasn't a fool. She'd been stupid to think that he wouldn't have figured it out. "Daddy—"

"I told them to remove me."

It was as though time stopped. Valerie could feel her chest constrict painfully as she forgot to breathe. An irrational surge of panic shot through her, the implications of what he'd said closing in fast. "Why?" she whispered, clutching the phone so tightly that her fingertips turned white. "You need the transplant! Why would you—?"

"Valene, it's okay," he interrupted gruffly. "I made my peace with it a long time ago."

"But—"

"No 'buts'," he told her firmly. Then he sighed—a long, tired sort of sigh. Did he sense her unhappiness at his decision? Maybe he did, because his next words were softer, gentler. "You know what I see when I go in for dialysis?"

She didn't answer. Struggling to breathe in such a way that he wouldn't hear the hitch that choked her, she wiped a tear off her cheek and tried not to sniffle.

"Sometimes there's a little girl in there," he went on when she didn't respond. "Can't be more 'n five or six . . . Just sits in the waiting room while her mama goes back to get her treatment. She sits there and draws these pictures: her mama and her. She said that she don't know where her daddy is. She ain't got no family—no grandma or grandpa or anything . . . and for every one of her, I've seen others, too. If I took that place on the list, where do you suppose her mama would end up? Or the boy I met last week? Born with bad kidneys . . . He's been in and out of hospitals for it all his life." He let out a deep breath, gave a rattling cough. "I made my choices, little girl, and even if I wanted to live, I can't do it at the expense of the ones who never did nothing wrong but were born on the short side of it."

Valerie opened her mouth to argue with him, to tell him that he was wrong. The words wouldn't come, though, and the worst of it was the feeling of being absolutely helpless, the inability to do a damn thing.

Jack sighed. "Anyway, you tell that boyfriend of yours, thanks, but no thanks. I appreciate that he wanted to help, but he needs to keep his money and not waste it on someone like me."

"Daddy . . ."

"Anyway, your mama's home now, so I'll let you go. Have yourself some fun over there, and stop worrying about everyone else, you hear me?"

Valerie managed a weak smile that she was far from feeling. "Okay," she agreed. "But I'm going to talk to Mike and see what he has to say about Garret's contracts."

"Yeah, that'll be fine," Jack allowed. "I'll sign 'em after you do."

Valerie sighed, a sound designed to let her father know that she wasn't exactly pleased with this idea, but he was right: Garret really was his responsibility, not hers—even if she didn't like to hear that.

"Here you are! I've been all over this place, looking for you," Evan remarked as he set another glass of wine down and slipped into the booth across from her. Showered, changed, and looking a little unsettling to her, given that he was currently sporting muddy brown hair and brown contact lenses, she had to stare at him for a moment to acquaint herself with his current look.

"Thanks," she said, nodding at the fresh glass. "How'd you know what I was drinking?"

He tipped the bottle of beer to his lips before answering. "I asked," he said simply. "So why you hanging out in here? I figured you'd be up in the room or something."

She didn't even try to smile as a group of girls approached the table.

"Hey, Zel. Can I get your autograph?" the one in the front asked in a sticky-syrupy tone as she leaned over to plant her hands on the table, effectively giving the man a very blatant view right down the low cut tank top she wore.

He grinned and grabbed a napkin off the table. "Got a pen, honey?"

She giggled prettily and made an overly dramatic show of pulling one out from between her breasts. "Amazing, right?"

"Absolutely," he agreed, taking the pen and uncapping it. "What's your name?"

"My friends call me V," she replied with a wink.

"Is that right?" he drawled, looking entirely too amused about something. Valerie reigned in the urge to kick him soundly in the shin.

The imposter giggled again, and when she did, her breasts shook, too—entirely obvious, given that they were pretty well shoved, right in Evan's face . . . "They say that I'm just like the one from your record," she whispered breathily—Valerie still heard her—and rolled her eyes.

To his credit, Evan didn't even bat an eyelash though he did cast Valerie a quick glance. She narrowed her eyes, but remained silent as he quickly scrawled his signature onto the napkin and handed it to the girl along with the pen. "There you go," he said.

The girl gave a delighted little squeal and threw her arms around Evan's neck, smashing her breasts against him as she planted an obnoxiously loud kiss on his lips. "You're so hot," she babbled. "My friends and I just love you!" Then she finally shot a quick glance at Valerie, but dismissed her just as fast. "You like to party, right?" she said, turning her back on Valerie and addressing Evan alone as she dragged her talon-like fingernails up and down his chest. "We've got some . . . _favors_ up in our room . . . if you're interested . . ."

"Ah, I'm sorry," Evan replied, looking a little more contrite than he ought to have, all things considered, "but I've got a few interviews and shit lined up tonight."

The girls made no bones about being highly disappointed, but when they finally walked away, Valerie snorted loudly and downed the rest of the first glass of wine. "Shouldn't you go find your interviewer?" she asked pointedly.

Evan chuckled. "That was a lie," he replied off-handedly.

Valerie stared at him for a long moment before rolling her eyes. "I don't know whether I should be impressed or horrified that you can lie without even batting an eye."

His chuckle escalated into a very warm laugh. "I prefer to think of it as being politically correct."

"I guess you would," she shot back. "Politics and lying go hand in hand, don't they?"

He gave her an unrepentant grin. "Wouldn't know, baby. I'm not really a politician."

She wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily; not by a long shot. "They call her V, my ass," she muttered, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice.

Evan chuckled again, ass that he was. "There's only one V for me, you know," he assured her.

"Of course there is," she scoffed, reaching for the other glass of wine. "Don't you forget it."

"As if I could," he retorted good-naturedly. "Anyway, how was the show?"

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie tried to smile since she figured that was what he wanted to see. It didn't work too well. "It was good," she told him noncommittally.

"Hmm . . . That didn't sound 'good'," he pointed out. "Garret was pretty damn awesome, don't you think?"

Heaving a sigh, Valerie pinned him with a very direct stare. "Yeah, he was," she said with a shake of her head. "He . . . He was . . ."

Evan returned her gaze for several seconds before scratching his head and frowning at her. "And it scares you, right?"

She considered what he said and slowly shook her head. "N-No," she drawled thoughtfully. "Not scared, really . . . But it does worry me. He's so young, and . . . and okay, maybe we're not as close as I'd like, but . . . but he's just small-town. All of this is so far beyond him, Evan. It could go to his head or make him forget that he's still just a kid . . ."

Evan's chuckle was warm, intimate, and he leaned forward, as though he was about to tell her a secret. "I don't think that a sixteen year-old kid can forget to be a sixteen year-old kid," he said. "Besides, Garret's got a good head on his shoulders, and he knows how to work hard for what he wants. He's not some spoiled brat who's expecting things to be handed to him."

"I know that," she replied. "That's not the point . . . Your world can be so crazy. You're used to it, and you can handle it, but Garret . . ."

Sitting back, he stared at her under his lashes, his eyes half-closed, and she had to wonder just what he was thinking. He probably thought that she was being too worried about nothing, but that wasn't the case, and she knew it. "I just . . ."

"V, your brother's got talent—a lot of it. In fact, he kind of reminds me of me when I was his age," Evan said, leaning forward, elbows on the table as he continued to gaze at her. "But in this business, talent's secondary. Luck and timing . . . If you don't have those two things, then you're fucked before you ever begin. I could take a step back and let him be, but what makes you think that someone else isn't gonna come along—someone who isn't as interested in helping him out as they might be in exploiting him because he's exactly what you said: a small-town kid?"

Valerie sat back, considering what Evan had just said. She hadn't thought about that, no, and to be honest, she was more than a little surprised that Evan had. Was that what he was doing? In taking Garret under his wing, so to speak, was he trying to shield him in his own way?

And somehow, Valerie knew that was exactly what he was doing. Misguided and sometimes irritating in the extreme, he might not be the best role model in the world, but he certainly wasn't the worst, either . . .

"You know, right? Excess in this business is second nature." Letting his gaze shift to the side, he seemed to be thinking hard. "I promised your dad," he finally went on, "that I'd keep Garret away from that kind of shit—the kind of shit that could ruin him. The drugs . . . the hard partying . . . If someone else came along and offered Garret a deal, do you think they'd give a great goddamn about what your father wants?"

"You . . . You promised him," she murmured, shaking her head as she tried to understand what Evan was telling her. "Because Daddy doesn't want Garret to repeat his mistakes."

Evan smiled wanly and gave a half-hearted shrug. "Think of it this way, V. At least you can still keep an eye on him, too, right?"

"Small consolation," she muttered.

"He's a good kid," Evan told her. "A good kid with a sister who loves the fuck outta him."

Letting out a terse laugh, Valerie shook her head. "You really need to work on the way you say things, you know," she pointed out despite the smile on her face that was warming by degrees.

Evan laughed, too, and waved at the waiter to get another round of drinks as he stood up and moved over to her side of the booth. "Speaking of fucking . . ."

She snorted as he bumped her over with his hip. "We weren't," she stated, planting a hand in the middle of his face when he leaned in for a kiss.

"Damn . . . So, how many more glasses of wine you figure you need before you start thinking I'm sexy?"

"Oh, well, there's not enough wine in France to make that happen," she scoffed. "Go back over there, will you?"

"But you so _se-e-e-ex-xa-a-a-ay_ ," he drawled in a horrible impersonation of a French accent.

Valerie giggled despite herself and tried to shove him away again. He chuckled but finally sat back, nodding at the waiter as he slipped the drinks onto the table and hurried off again after taking the empty bottle and glasses.

"Something else is bothering you; I can tell," Evan said. Though he'd spoken in a light and teasing kind of way, she could discern the underlying gravity in his statement.

She sighed and let her head fall against his shoulder just for a moment. "Daddy . . . He told me that he was added to the transplant list," she finally ventured.

"Oh, yeah? That's great! It'll just be a matter of time before they find a matching donor, and—"

"He told them to take his name off," she cut him off. "He says he's all right with it; that he doesn't want to bump people who are already on it."

She felt him sigh, but it wasn't a sound as much as it was a hitch of his shoulders as he slipped his arm around her. "I . . . I kind of figured he'd do something like that," Evan admitted. "But, damn, it was worth a try."

"It's not fair," she muttered quietly, closing her eyes as she stubbornly willed herself not to cry. "Okay, he's made some mistakes. Everyone does. But it's not f air . . ."

Evan kissed her forehead, gave her a gentle squeeze. "I know, baby," he said quietly. "That's what I thought, too."

She heaved a shaky sigh and leaned away so that she could look at Evan. He looked sad, didn't he? So very sad . . . "Is it so wrong that I want him to be around for a while?" she asked—demanded.

"It's not," he told her, and he tried to smile. It didn't quite work, but he tried. "I wish . . ."

Valerie nodded, understanding what he was trying to tell her, even though he couldn't seem to find the right words, either. "I know," she said, reaching for the glass of wine. "I . . . I know . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _You're_** **_the_** **_Only_** **_Hell_** **_Your_** **_Mama_** **_Ever_** **_Raised_** ' _by_ _Warrant_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1990_ _release_ , **_Cherry_** **_Pie_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Jani_ _Lane._
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
> … _damn_ _it_...


	177. 176: Mischief

' _All the girls my own age_...  
' _They never really did for me_ …  
' _I needed someone more sophisticated_ …  
' _And I found her in a magazine_ ...'

 

-' _The Devil Made Me Do It_ ' by Thunder.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Why do you keep doing that?"

Evan squeezed his right eye closed and peered at Valerie out of his left one. "Doing what?"

She wrinkled her nose. "That," she said, waving a hand at him.

Blinking rapidly, he shrugged and lowered his chin, putting on a show of concentrating on the guitar on his lap. "Dunno what you're talking about, woman," he scoffed.

Leaning forward and dropping the newspaper she was reading on the coffee table, Valerie rested her elbows on her knees and narrowed her gaze on him. "Do you have something in your eye?" she asked at length when he refused to say anything more.

"Something in my—? Keh! No."

She stood up and stepped around the table, only to plop down beside him. Evan grunted when she grabbed a handful of hair and tugged his head up. "Look at me," she commanded in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

"There's nothing wrong," he argued, trying his damndest to keep his eye from twitching.

Her frown deepened as she studied him carefully. "I don't know," she ventured. "Your eye is completely bloodshot . . ."

"It's fine," he insisted again, inflicting just enough boredom into his tone to get his point across.

Too bad Valerie wasn't buying. "It's not fine . . . Did you get something in it?" she went on, ignoring his claims to the contrary.

"I don't think so," he said with a sigh. "It was like that when I woke up."

"Did you get poked in the eye?" she demanded.

"Not that I know of," he replied. "It's fine. Besides, Bone went out to get me some eye drops, so I'll be as good as new."

"Look to the left," she told him. "It doesn't hurt to check if there's something you just didn't see."

He heaved a sigh but did as she instructed. Valerie let go of his hair in favor of pulling his eye open as wide as she could, which only made his eye sting a little more. "I already looked," he pointed out. "It's nothing, I'm sure."

"I don't know . . . Maybe I should call down to the receptionist and see if they've got a nurse or someone on staff . . ." Valerie mused, more to herself than to Evan.

"Forget it," he insisted stubbornly. "I don't need a stupid nurse."

Valerie snorted. "You do," she argued, slinging her right leg over his so that she was effectively straddling him. "Now be still while I look at your eye."

"I told you to forget it," he grumbled, bucking his hips in an effort to unseat her.

"I'm not going to forget it," she countered mildly. "Now suck it up and act like a man."

"I _am_ acting like a man," he parried grumpily, "a man who doesn't want some woman poking around in his eye."

"Oh, get a grip! I—A _ha!_ You do have something in here . . . It looks like an eyelash . . ."

Evan grunted something unintelligible and tried to push her off his lap. "That's nice," he retorted sarcastically. "I'll flush it out when Bone gets back with the eye drops."

"Hold still," she said, knocking his hands away. "It'll just take a second for me to get it."

"With what? Your fucking fingers? Hell, no! Get the fuck off me!"

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Grow up, Roka! You're freaking out over nothing!"

"Fat lot you know, woman," he shot back. "Stick your finger in your own eye and see how you like it."

She blinked and leaned back far enough to stare at him. Then her lip twitched. "You're afraid of me touching your eyeball? Is that what this is all about?"

"Keh!" he scoffed. "Hell, no! I'm not scared of any-fucking-thing!"

"Then let me get the eyelash out of your eye."

"No, and when's the last time you washed your hands, anyway?"

"For God's sake, Roka! I just washed my hands a few minutes ago! Now stop being a baby, and—"

"Yeah—and then you were touching that germ-infested magazine! Forget it!"

"Oh, grow a pair!" she scoffed.

"You know, V, I honestly never thought I'd say this, and you'll never hear me ever say it again, but . . . get the fuck off me, woman!" he complained, trying to unseat her yet again.

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie easily caught his hands and pinned them down on either side of him with her knees. "You wear contact lenses, you know," she reminded him dryly.

"So?"

" _So_ that means you touch your eye every day."

"Not really," he countered sullenly. "I touch the _lens_ , not my _eyeball_."

"Oh, I can't believe you're being such a baby!" Valerie complained.

"Yeah? Well, I can't believe you're being such a pain in my baby!" he shot back.

"And just what does that mean?" she demanded, leaning up on her knees to secure his arms in place a little more.

Evan snorted. "Forget it, woman! I'm onto your wicked, wicked ways!"

She snorted out a laugh and leaned back for a moment. "My what?"

He rolled his eyes, then blinked rapidly as a few tears slipped out of the reddened one. "Wicked ways," he stated once more. "You think you're so slick, V, but I know better. You're trying to use your body to get me to let you touch my eye, but it's not happenin'."

"Oh, my God . . . who would've thought that Zel Roka was such a damn wuss?" she goaded. "Suck it up and be a man, will you?"

"Don't touch it!" he hollered, jerking his head back and forth in an effort to elude Valerie's hands.

"Shut up and deal with it, rocker-boy! It won't hurt—long."

He grunted at her injudicious choice of words. "Ow! Get off! You're squishing my nuts!"

"I am not," she retorted. "I'm not even touching your nuts!"

"Says you!" he grumbled. "If you're gonna touch something, then touch something a little further north of the nuts!"

"I'm not touching anything _anywhere_ else," she shot back. "Now hold still so I can do this!"

"You know, this would be a lot more erotic if you weren't trying to blind me," he pointed out.

She snorted again and grasped his head in both hands to hold him still. "I'm not trying to blind you, you big baby," she insisted. "I tell you what. If you let me get the hair out of your eye, I'll buy you a big, fat ice cream sundae from room service."

That earned her a snort not unlike the one that she'd just tossed at him. "Big fucking deal," he muttered, shaking his head in an effort to dislodge her hands. "I could get one of those, anyway, and neither one of us would have to pay for it."

"Don't make me call your mama," she threatened.

Evan stopped struggling for a moment and blinked at her. "Would you really do that?" he asked incredulously.

"Oh, I think I would," she agreed.

He whistled low and slowly shook his head. "You're really evil, aren't you?"

"If it works . . ."

He wrinkled his nose and leaned to the side to wipe his cheek on his shoulder. ". . . I'm not scared of you."

Rolling her eyes, she started to shift her weight to get more leverage. Evan tried to pull his hand out from under her knee, and it threw her off balance. With a little squeak, she fell against him, smashing her hands against his chest in an instant reaction. Blinking slowly, he swallowed hard. She was entirely too close to him, wasn't she? So close that he could feel the erratic beat of her heart, so close that he could see the quiver of her lips with every breath she drew . . . eyes locking on those full, soft lips, he couldn't quite help the surge of liquid heat that seared through his veins, and even though he knew damn well that there wasn't a thing he could do at the moment, it didn't stop him from wanting her desperately, terribly, insanely . . .

Time seemed to slow to an agonizing crawl, and if Valerie realized just how precarious her position really was, she gave no indication. Just as well, that, wasn't it? Given their proximity, Evan couldn't really think too well himself. The tip of her tongue flicked out, as though she needed the moisture on her lips. Maybe she did, but he couldn't help the soft little groan that slipped out of him, either, as the burn ignited into a full-on blaze.

Slowly lifting her gaze, her eyes taking on a rampant glow that he understood, Valerie shook her head slightly. Refuting her feelings . . .? Was it confusion? Maybe a late realization that she wanted him as desperately as he wanted her . . .?

With a soft exhalation, she leaned in closer, her lips brushing over his, hesitantly at first, only to return as a breathy little sigh slipped from her. She didn't notice when he pulled his arms loose, when he wrapped them around her to keep her from retreating, and she moved in just a little closer as her arms slipped up around his neck, as her fingers sank deep into his hair . . .

There was something inherently innocent about her kiss, as though she was reveling in some sort of discovery that escaped Evan completely, gone long before it ever shifted into a more cognizant thought.   The brush of her lips, the reluctant sense of wonder—as though a part of her had suddenly awakened for him—only for him . . .

"Hey, Zel, Bone asked me to bring this up with . . . Oh, sorry . . ."

With a groan followed in quick succession by a heartfelt sigh, Evan slowly shook his head as Valerie jerked upright, cheeks flaming as she peered over his shoulder—over the back of the sofa—at her younger brother. "G-G-Garret," she stammered, quickly running her hands through her hair as her skin deepened to a rather impressive shade of scarlet.

Garret chuckled nervously. "S-Sorry," he muttered, hurrying around the sofa to set a bottle of eye-wash on the coffee table. "I'll get out of here so, you guys can, err, you know . . ."

"It wasn't what it looked like," Valerie blurted quickly. "Evan had—had something in his eye . . ."

Garret nodded slowly, but the grin on his face widened. "Oh, uh, yeah," he agreed. "I get you."

Valerie grimaced since the kid didn't sound at all like he believed her excuse. "I was just trying to get a better look at it."

Rubbing his still-watering eye, Evan let out another deep breath, but coming up with the bravado to laugh was damn-near impossible. "Thanks," he said, leaning around Valerie, who had apparently forgotten that she was still straddling his lap, to reach for the eye-wash.

"No problem," Garret said. "Anyway, the guys wanted me to practice with them a while. They wanted to go over the song." He frowned suddenly, scratching the side of his head as he stared at Evan. "Hey, are you sure you want to do that one tonight?"

He tried to smile; he really did. It wasn't working out too well for him, all things considered. "Yeah," he said instead. "Let me wash out my eye, then I'll come down and practice with you guys."

Garret nodded, then backed toward the door. "Take your time," he said as he reached behind himself for the door knob. "I mean, I think it's cool as fuck that you and my sister are hooked up."

"We're not—" Valerie began.

Garret chuckled and slipped out of the room. "Zel Roka's doing my sister!" he muttered happily, more to himself than to either of them.

"Garret, I— _Oh-h-h_ . . ." Heaving a sigh as the door closed, Valerie shook her head and flopped to the side with a groan as she covered her face with her hands. "I can't believe he saw that . . ."

"Me, too," Evan allowed, struggling to read the directions on the box with his one good eye. "I mean, he could have at least waited until I got to cop a feel, right?"

She heaved another sigh. "Shut up, Roka," she grumbled. She sounded more petulant than irritated, though. "That was all your fault, you know."

"How do you figure?" he challenged absently. "You're the one who couldn't keep her lips to herself."

"It was temporary insanity," she grouched, pushing herself up and yanking the box out of his hands.

"Give that back," he said, reaching for the box, only to be thwarted when she leaned away from him. "Besides, that wasn't temporary insanity. Temporary insanity would be you, passing out after I make you come."

She snorted indelicately as she broke the plastic seal on the package and tore open the top. "There are two ways to do this, but I don't think you'd be able to do the one since you'd have to open your eye while and move it around while you're holding the eyecup flush against it." She tried for a brusque, business-like tone, but it was completely undermined by the rosy flush in her cheeks.

He tried to shoot her a droll sort of look. He figured it probably looked a little pathetic since he was also blinking as a few tears streaked down his cheek. It didn't help, either, that she was wasn't paying the least bit of attention to him.

"I can to it myself," he pointed out as she set the curved eyecup aside and tore the plastic seal on the bottle.

"You won't do it yourself," she countered mildly. "You can't even stand the idea of touching your eyeball." Then she stood up. "I'm going to go get a towel, and you'd better still be right here when I get back.

Evan snorted to let her know what he thought of her orders, but he didn't move when she hurried off toward the bathroom.

' _Well, look at the bright side_ ,' his youkai-voice mused.

' _There's a bright side?_ ' he countered.

' _Sure there is. At least she didn't freak out on you. That's at least a little progress_.'

Evan made a face, wondering for about half a second how far he'd get if he tried to escape before she returned. With his eyes at the moment, though, he doubted he'd get far enough.

' _That's true,_ ' he allowed thoughtfully. ' _Some is better than none, right?_ '

His youkai sighed. ' _Garret's got damn rotten timing though, doesn't he?_ '

Heaving another longsuffering sigh, Evan slumped back against the sofa once more. ' _Yeah_ ,' he had to agree ruefully, ' _yeah, he really, really does_ . . .'

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Raising her fist high in the air, pumping it in time with the heavy beat of the drum, Valerie cupped her other hand around her mouth and hollered, leaning a little further over the safety rail than she likely should have. The electrifying feel of the crowd was so much more palpable. Unlike the other three concerts, she wasn't in one of the skyboxes, and if Evan found out about it, he'd probably have a fit, but she really wanted to experience the entire thing as it should be.   Besides, she had Bone with her, and she figured that was as safe as she could possibly be.

Mike, of course, wasn't pleased with Valerie's decision to join the audience, but he'd get over it. She wanted to know what Evan felt whenever he hit the stage. She'd seen the uglier side of things. She'd seen a lot of that, and it had occurred to her that there was so much more to it. The bottom line was that she wanted to know why he got so excited just before a show. She wanted to see it for herself—she wanted to experience it for herself . . . The arena was electric: thousands of voices singing along to the songs that he'd written. She wasn't anywhere near the stage, but she could feel it all.

As the song ended, the lights dimmed and Evan bounded over to Garret, slinging an arm around the kid's shoulders and leaning in to say something that was lost under the din of the screaming crowd as he pushed the headset mic up out of the way. Considering his mic was set louder than anyone else's, she had to wonder just what they were doing as she bit her lip and tried to hold in the nervous desire to rush the stage and demand that Garret get the hell off of it. Instead, Valerie narrowed her eyes slightly as she watched Evan shake the scraggly blonde hair out of his eyes and stepped into the space where her brother had just been standing, while Garret nodded and glanced back at Frankie for the count-off.

"Daddy's song . . ." Valerie murmured as a slight hush fell over the crowd, as the first notes of the song echoed through the arena. She hadn't realized that they were planning on playing that one, and yet, it didn't really surprise her, either.

Beside her, Bone chuckled. "Kid looks like he might just shit his pants," he remarked, leaning down so that Valerie could hear him.

Biting her lip, Valerie didn't respond. He did look a little freaked out, she had to admit. Pale skin that seemed to be even more pale under the harshness of the bluish spotlight that left the rest of the stage in smoky shadows, he didn't miss a beat as he stepped up to the microphone that had been set up while Evan was over talking to him.

The initial stiffness in Garret's stance seemed to lessen as the song unfolded. They'd lengthened the intro, and the bass guitar had picked up some of the harmony that had been achieved in the use of two guitars before, and as he concentrated on the song he was playing, Garret's body relaxed as his bout of nerves subsided.

She could hear the noise of the audience, could feel their curiosity peaking. It wasn't an unkind feeling, no, but it was clear to her that they weren't sure just what was happening. ' _Please_ ,' she thought wildly as she leaned forward, cupping her hands around her mouth to yell at her brother, to offer her encouragement, even if he couldn't rightfully hear her. Just let the crowd react favorably. After all, they were Zel Roka's fans, and even if Evan was very obviously showing Garret his complete and utter support, the same fans could be unpredictable . . .

Then Garret opened his mouth to sing, and it seemed to Valerie that the strangest thing happened. A sudden quiet fell over the audience, and while she could hear them murmuring together, they also seemed to be listening, too.

When Evan joined in, singing harmony during the chorus, Valerie rubbed her arms to chase away the gooseflesh that ran rampant through her. She was watching something beautiful, wasn't she? And the audience could feel it, too. It didn't matter to anyone that they didn't know the song, and it didn't matter that they'd never heard of Garret before, either. The spotlight that came up on Evan during the guitar solo was centered on the instrument and his hands, leaving his face in shadows, and when the solo died away, only to be shifted into a short bass solo, the audience cheered for Garret.

Bone chuckled again, and Valerie shot him a questioning glance, but blinked when she realized that he was holding a micro-corder in his hand. As though he could sense her silent curiosity, he glanced at her, grin widening. "Roka wanted to record it for your daddy," he explained.

Somehow, that wasn't at all surprising, either.

"He's good," Bone went on, shifting his attention back to the stage once more. "That kid brother of yours is gonna be big one day, V."

Smiling wanly when Garret shot Evan a broad grin, Valerie sighed. "He is, isn't he?" she murmured, and this time, the idea didn't scare the hell out of her . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _The_** **_Devil_** **_Made_** **_Me_** **_Do_** **_It_** ' _by_ _Thunder_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2006_ _release_ , **_Robert_** **_Johnson's_** **_Tombstone_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Thunder._
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Big,_ _huh_ …


	178. 177: Bright Lights

' _Baby, baby, baby_...  
' _When all your love is gone_ …  
' _Who will save me_ …  
' _From all I'm up against out in this world_ …?'

 

-' _Bright Lights_ ' by Matchbox Twenty.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

' _H . . . How the hell did he talk me into this . . .?_ '

Scowling at her reflection in the mirror, Valerie took her time as she fiddled with the illuminated compact in her hand as she dabbed at the matte gloss on her ruby-red stained lips. It rather matched the rest of the powder-over-polished look of her, she figured, right down to the little red tease of a dress that barely covered anything, and never mind that she'd been told it was a one-of-a-kind done by Larissa Larauent, one of the most cutting-edge designers in all of Europe. Where Evan had come up with that at a moment's notice was far beyond her. When she'd asked how he had managed to pull it off, he'd given her that cocky, almost contrite, grin and said that she probably didn't want to know, which, in Valerie's mind, meant that he knew the woman a little better than he was willing to admit to her, and that really just figured.

And that was kind of the reason that she had allowed herself to be talked into this. Well, sort of. Since it was the last festival show in Paris, Franco Tellingier had arranged an after-closing bash at his estate, which was where they were headed now. All of the performers were going to be there along with their entourages and whoever else they dragged along. Bone had mentioned earlier that the estate was well known as the House of Sin amongst those in the know, and while Evan hadn't seemed all that anxious to put in an appearance, he hadn't put up too much of a fuss about going, either.

In fact, Valerie had considered staying at the hotel to look over some files that had been delivered via courier earlier in the day before calling it a night—until she'd caught Evan, slapping a handful of condoms into Garret's hand, anyway.

So that was the long and short of it, really. Garret had grinned and waved off her concerns that he'd be dead-tired when he was taken to the airport in the morning to fly back home, and Evan? Well, he certainly hadn't wanted to let her check his pockets, either, and as far as she was concerned, that only meant one thing: trouble.

"Damn, I can't get over how hot you are," Garret remarked from the shadows on the other side of the limo. Eyes catching the glow of the running lights that weren't quite bright enough to really make out anything, he looked somehow different from the gangly kid she knew him to be. Decked out in faded jeans and a slightly oversized navy blue dress shirt—she thought it might be brushed silk—and wearing a jacket that still smelled like new leather, Garret looked every bit the part of the rockstar-in-training, but his words made her sigh.

"Considering you're my brother? That sounds more twisted than it should."

Evan pulled her a little closer against his side with a soft chuckle and a rather disturbing crunch as his leather jacket protested the motion. He was dressed in normal Zel Roka attire, which meant that the jeans he wore were held together by a series of knots and an oversized black linen shirt that was, of course, completely unbuttoned under the leather jacket. "Nah, he's right," he agreed, his voice taking on that caressing sort of lilt, "hotter than fuck, V."

Garret rolled his eyes. "What? Is it really so bad that I think my sister's pretty?" he argued logically.

Valerie heaved a sigh and tried to shrug off Evan's arm. It didn't work. "Thank you, Garret," she replied primly enough. Then she turned to look at Evan. "Tell me, rocker-boy. Just what goes on at these parties? Do I want to know?"

He grinned at the heavy dose of reticence in her voice and quickly kissed her temple. "Well, a little bit of this, a little bit of that . . ." he drawled.

Letting out a deep breath as she slowly shook her head, Valerie figured that it was the best she was going to get out of him, and besides, she had a fair guess as to what, exactly, this party would entail, and as much as she hated to admit it, this part of Evan's world was a little intimidating to her. The glitz and the glam and the excess . . . she'd seen parts of it already, but she was also quite sure that she hadn't even begun to scratch the surface.

"Oh, do you remember last year's party?" Frankie's girlfriend, Janie piped up. She'd flown in for this show, and to be honest, Valerie was more than a little surprised when Evan had told her that the two had been dating for the last five years. She'd seen Frankie with more than his fair share of women, and the knowledge that he had a steady girlfriend just didn't sit well with her; not at all. "Talk about crazy," she went on with a giggle as she wiggled her shoulders then leaned forward to adjust her breasts in the skin-tight black tank-dress that barely covered her. "Zel hooked up with that _Playboy_ model, right? Damn, _she_ was hot . . . Oh! Am I straight?" she added, gesturing at her chest.

"You're fine, Janie, I don't know that Zel really wants to stroll down Memory Lane at the moment," Frankie pointed out in what could only be described as an indulgent tone of voice.

Janie twittered again. "That's right; that's right . . . _Valerie_ , wasn't it?"

Ignoring the slightly condescending undertone in the woman's voice, Valerie smiled politely and gave one slow nod. "That's right," she replied, brushing off Janie's not-so-subtle attempt to establish some sort of unspoken pecking-order. Maybe that was the way of it. Janie saw herself as having some kind of illusory superiority since she had been around for a few years? Well, if she actually thought that Valerie was just another one of Evan's hussies, then she had another thing coming . . .

Janie shot her one of those practiced little smiles—the kind that didn't show enough teeth to be considered raucous—the kind the fooled most men into thinking that the giver was being sincere. It seemed to Valerie that most girls learned early on, how to use expressions like that to cover up their catty behavior, and while she'd like to think otherwise, she figured she probably did it, too, just maybe not as blatantly as Janie did.

Janie giggled again, waving a carefully manicured hand dismissively. "Well, you know, Zel's girls come and go so fast that it can be hard to remember the names."

"Oh, I don't think V's going anywhere, any time soon," Evan remarked before Valerie could.

Janie's smile took on an even more polite tilt. "Of course not," she agreed quickly before turning her attention more fully on Valerie again. "So you work, right?"

"Sure," Valerie replied, her tone just as sweet as Janie's. "Don't we all?"

"What all have you done?"

Janie's candid question caught her off-guard. "Done?"

Sipping a glass of champagne, Janie nodded. "I've done a few things—mostly swimsuit ads and the like, but my manager said that one of the reps from _Playboy's_ been hinting around . . . That would be _so_ huge, right?" Then she turned to Frankie, pinning him with the big-eyed, doe look. "You wouldn't mind, would you, baby?"

"Why would Frankie mind? Hasn't everyone already seen your tits?" Tay piped up. Valerie bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing outright.

"Shut up, Tay," Frankie said with a good-natured smile, "and no, Janie. You should do whatever you think is best for you."

She squealed and kissed him quickly. Evan figured that Valerie could to do to keep from rolling her eyes—not that anyone would notice. Nope, Garret was doing his damndest to keep from staring at Janie's overinflated boobs, and knowing Evan, he wasn't even trying not to look . . .

Evan chuckled. "V isn't a model," he clarified. "She's an attorney."

He could have just as easily said that she was an astronaut, and the reaction would have been the same. For one glorious moment, dear little Janie seemed genuinely tongue-tied as she glanced around, as though she were trying to figure out the punchline of some joke. "You're not _serious!_ " she finally blurted. "You didn't have the right look or something? Maybe it's your hair. Blondes are so 'out' lately with photographers . . ."

"I'm not really interested in doing any modeling," Valerie said.

Janie looked like she just might pass out, and Valerie almost laughed out loud. Fortunately, though, the limo stopped, and Frankie shot Valerie a rather apologetic kind of look as he reached for the door handle.

"Did she _really_ just go there?" Valerie hissed, grabbing Evan's hand to stop him after Janie had climbed out of the car behind Frankie.

Pulling her over, he kissed her temple again. "Take it easy, V. There's not a thing on that girl that isn't lifted, dropped, taken in, let out, inflated, or deflated in some way. Not everyone is born hot like you," he chuckled.

She wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes as Garret climbed out of the limo and reached back in for her hand. There were a few choice things she'd dearly love to say, but with a sigh, she let it go, deciding in the end that it just wasn't worth it. "Come on," Garret coaxed with a lopsided smile. "It sounds like the party's already started."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"I hear Zel's just arrived."

"That right? Did he bring that little cutie that was playing bass earlier?"

"Hmm, don't know . . ."

Valerie kept moving, ignoring the snippets of conversations she heard as she wandered through the immense mansion in search of a certain notorious rockstar. She'd followed the older man who had quietly opened the door through the foyer and into the main hall in search of a bathroom. He hadn't said a word and had just bowed his head in greeting.

That was after some big-haired brunette with equally huge breasts had grabbed Evan's hand and fairly dragged him away. Evan had looked back at her and told her that he'd find her in a minute, and she was ready to go after him, but Tay slipped an arm around her shoulders and held her back, telling her that Evan and that woman were just friends. She wasn't sure if she believed Tay or not, but he'd seemed serious enough . . .

It was insane, wasn't it? People everywhere . . . In the first room she'd peeked into, she'd spotted a couple guys that she recognized from one of the bands that had opened for Evan during his mini-tour. They were hammering away on acoustic guitars as a small crowd gathered around. Women turned out in the hottest fashions straight off the runways, completely polished, looking absolutely fabulous, dah-link, really . . . and the men? Valerie shook her head. There were two kinds of men, or so it seemed. There were the rockstars—the ones who did their level best to look like they'd just tumbled out of someone's bed—and the panderers—the ones who catered to the brooding artists—who looked more like the shinier versions of those elusive creatures—the demi-gods who stood atop their own empires, looking down at the little people and laughing derisively.

"Excuse me," she murmured, weaving through the milling crowds. It was worse than intermission at the theater, and she winced when a man clad in black leather from head to foot, stormed out of a small room off to the right and smacked right into her.

"Watch where the fuck you're going, bitch," he growled, putting a hand out to catch himself on the wall with one hand and yanking a pair of chrome rimmed, smoked lens sunglasses off his angular face.

Valerie stumbled but managed to steady herself before she fell flat on her ass, but she stepped back in retreat, not because she was frightened of him, but because he stank horribly. "Me?" she growled indignantly. "You're the one who ran into me!"

He glared at her, his eyes puffy and bloodshot. Before he could lay into her again, though, another guy stepped up behind him and grabbed his arm. "Calm down, man," he said, hanging on when his friend tried to shake him off. "It was an accident, right, sweetheart?"

"No way," he grouched, turning to glower at his buddy. "She ran the fuck into me!"

The other guy glanced at Valerie and jerked his head, his meaning clear: get the hell out of there while he sidetracked his friend. She did, but she held her head high, refusing to even offer the 'good Samaritan' a thank you. Considering his friend had run into her, she didn't figure that she owed him a damn thing.

But her bravado waned slightly as she peered into a few more rooms. The living room was packed with women laughing loudly as they posed provocatively in the guise of chatting with one another. She didn't miss the way their eyes kept darting around, likely to see if any of the men noticed them. There was a group of people on the sofa and gathered around the coffee table, and Valerie realized a moment too late that there were a kaleidoscope of various pills in a bowl in the center of the table. She had no idea what any of them were, and she didn't really want to find out. Ducking out of that room, she bit her lip and suppressed the slight surge of panic that welled up in her. She needed to find Evan . . .

It just reinforced her resolve, didn't it? Seeing the nonchalance that seemed to ooze from every inch of the mansion, the _laissez faire_ feeling that seemed to mingle with the off-the-cuff feeling of entitlement, she was getting a really good look at the lifestyle that he'd alluded to—the side of things that she hadn't gotten a good, close look at before. Every excess was readily available. All one had to do was want it . . .

She sighed and kept moving, scanning the throngs as she searched for him.

It was exactly what she was afraid of, wasn't it? As much as she didn't want to admit it, she didn't want Evan coming here alone. She knew well enough that women tended to gravitate to him. She'd seen it, and whether it was the rockstar mystique or Evan himself, she wasn't sure, and, quite frankly, she didn't care, either. All she knew was that she did not want those women hanging all over him, and she wasn't about to let them think that they'd be able to drag him off for their own sordid purposes, not if she could help it, and if she were truly honest with herself, that was the real reason she'd allowed herself to be talked into this. She was worried about Garret, of course, but Evan . . .

"Speak of the devil," she muttered to herself, spotting Garret, standing just inside the dining room. It had huge sliding doors that had been drawn back to make the living room larger. As she drew in closer, she stopped short with a frown. Some guy she didn't recognize was talking to him, and as they spoke, he leaned to the side to stop a girl wearing nothing but a frilly black lace miniskirt with black stockings and impossibly high stiletto heels as she passed by with a silver tray. The guy picked up a silver straw and plugged one nostril before inhaling deeply. Then he held the straw out to Garret as he sniffled a few times and wiped his nose.

Garret shook his head and held up a hand. "N-No, thanks," he mumbled.

The man looked vaguely amused by Garret's response. "You don't do coke?" he asked.

Garret shook his head again. "That shit'll fuck you up," he replied simply.

"That right?" the guy said, a hint of derision entering his tone.

From her vantage point, she saw Garret smile a little shyly. "Y-Yeah . . ."

"I think it's cool," a very pretty red-head piped up as she slipped her hand under Garret's elbow and pinned him with a very friendly smile.

Garret blushed about twenty shades of red, and his smile widened dramatically—and took on an even more bashful lilt. "Th-Thanks."

She giggled as the guy wandered away, and Valerie stepped forward to tap Garret on the arm.

"Hey, V," he greeted happily. He could barely stand still. Feeding off the energy of the place, his eyes were brighter than normal; his body nearly trembling with excitement that he could barely contain. "It's surreal, isn't it?"

The girl beside him giggled. "V? Like Zel Roka's album?" she quipped.

"Something like that," Valerie replied with a wan smile, "and yeah, it's different, all right."

Garret's grin widened. "You wouldn't believe how many people caught the show," he leaned in to tell her. "Morris Davies—y'know, from Dreamare? He said that Dad's song was killer! _Morris fucking Davies!_ "

If it were possible for Garret to have stars in his eyes, he would have, and Valerie's smile widened. "Well, of course he did," she told him, "because it was."

"Garret! There you are!" Frankie exclaimed as he hurried toward them. He looked sober enough, which was a small relief, and he'd apparently shaken Janie off for the moment, and he nodded quickly at Valerie as he grabbed Garret's arm to drag him off. "There's a guy over here I want you to meet," he went on.

"Uh, I'll catch you later, V," he called as he glanced back over his shoulder at her. The girl happily allowed herself to be tugged along, too, since she still had a hold of his other arm.

Valerie heaved a sigh and slowly shook her head. She'd wanted to ask Frankie if he knew where Evan was, but he'd taken off too quickly for that to be possible. Then she smiled just a little. At least her brother hadn't lost his mind in all the excitement.

" _That shit'll fuck you up_ . . ."

But as she turned to restart her search for a certain rockstar, that smile faded. She had to wonder, didn't she? It made sense, of course. Garret wasn't stupid. He knew about Jack's excesses, and he knew what had come of it all—and he knew what was inevitable, too, like she did. It was ugly, and it was stupid, and, ultimately, it could have been avoided. Maybe it didn't do any good to relive the past or to cast aspersions, but at least it seemed like he was dead set against repeating their father's mistakes, and that had to account for something. At sixteen, just how much had Garret already seen . . .?

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Hey, Roka. Lookin' good, as always."

Evan turned to see who was speaking to him, only to be brought up short when a very buxom brunette wrapped her arms around his neck and smashed her lips against his. Moments later, her hand intentionally rubbed against his crotch, only to return to give him a very direct squeeze.

"Ah, Astrid . . . that was one hell of a greeting," he replied, turning his head away when the bartender set two glasses down beside him.

She giggled and fiddled with the zipper of his fly. Evan chuckled but grasped her wrist gently yet firmly, and pulled it away. "Sorry, sweetheart," he drawled, struggling to come up with a good balance between what he didn't want and what Zel Roka could allow. It wasn't easy. "I mean, I did just get here . . ."

Astrid—he didn't know her last name, only knew that she worked for Franco Tellingier in some capacity or other—giggled and slipped her arms around his waist, snuggling up against his shoulder. She barely reached his chin even with the six-inch heels she wore, and as she peered up through the mysterious depths of her deep auburn hair, she sucked in her cheeks slightly, pursing her deep pink lips prettily. The girl knew how to give head with the best of them, he had to admit. She gave the term 'French kissing' a whole new meaning, that was for sure . . . "I can't believe you didn't even call me, and you've been here all week, yes?" she pouted prettily.

"Eh, you know how it goes," he hedged with a grin. "Been pretty busy."

She leveled a cattish look at him. "Rumor has it that you are here with a woman, no?"

He chuckled. "Aren't I always with a woman?"

She smiled—one of those secretive little smiles that he understood all too well. "And are you free tonight . . .?"

"Well," he drawled, trying not to be obvious as he scanned the room for Valerie. He was going to go look for her as soon as he'd gotten the drinks if he hadn't been waylaid by Astrid. "As much as I'd love to—"

"There you are, _baby!_ You weren't trying to get rid of me, were you?" Evan's grin widened as Valerie hurried over to him. She didn't even glance at Astrid as she grasped the front of Evan's shirt and pulled him down for a kiss. "Did you miss me?" she asked in a sultry tone that he certainly hadn't ever heard from her before. "I didn't mean to take so long . . ." She leaned back and blinked when she finally glanced at Astrid. "Oh, is this a friend of yours?"

' _She called me 'baby'!_ ' he thought to himself as the slow daze brought on by the woman's uncharacteristic behavior loosened.

' _Shut up and focus, rocker-boy . . . but yeah, she totally did!_ ' his youkai-voice growled.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he reached out and snagged Valerie around her waist, dragging her against him a little roughly and kissing her before she had a chance to protest—if she had a mind to, anyway . . .

She seemed surprised for all of ten seconds before she slid her hands up his chest, locking them behind his neck, her body seeming to melt against his in an entirely stunning kind of way: the kind of way that made him want to take her off somewhere to be alone. Still, the lingering reminder of the ongoing party was enough to quell the need that surged through him—barely. All he wanted to do was to hold onto her forever, and yet the moment ended way too soon as his youkai-voice reminded him that he was taking unfair advantage of the situation.

"Fucking hell," he muttered a little huskily, letting his head fall back in a last-ditch effort to save himself. Bad enough that he'd effectively put on a decent little show for everyone in the vicinity, but if he kept going, she'd have more than enough reason to be seriously peeved at him later. At least she'd accomplished the thing that he had little doubt she was trying to do with that grand display: Astrid was nowhere to be seen, as far as he could tell.

"Give you an inch," Valerie muttered, but her voice sounded as shaky as her hands.

He grinned half-heartedly as she leaned heavily against him, and he had to wonder if she realized that she was doing it, in the first place. "Yeah, but you called me 'baby'," he pointed out.

She tried to snort but the sound wasn't quite right. He could feel her heart, hammering against his chest. "Jerk," she grumbled, though she wasn't at all able to inflict any real derision into her tone.

"Sorry, V," he murmured, sparing a moment to kiss the top of her head. "Occupational hazard."

She snorted, but finally managed to push herself away from him, despite the still-apparent fluster that lingered. "So were you going to say no before or after she got you out of your pants?" Valerie asked in a deceptively neutral tone.

"Don't you trust me?" he asked, giving her a wide-eyed look. "That hurts, V, really."

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "You? Yes. Them? Not any further than I could throw them."

He didn't comment when she reached over and nabbed his glass of whiskey and carelessly tipped it to her lips, but her words weren't lost on him. She really was starting to trust him, wasn't she? And that thought made his grin widen. "Is that why you came along tonight?"

Making a face as the whiskey burned its way down her throat and into her belly, Valerie shook her head. "Of course not," she scoffed after clearing her throat a few times for good measure. "I just thought it'd be best to keep an eye on Garret; that's all."

"Oh, is _that_ why?" Evan intoned, leaning on the bar as he sipped the glass of wine he'd originally gotten for her. Her words made sense. Too bad they were just a little too haughty, too readily available. "He's fine, you know. He's a good kid."

She didn't look entirely convinced, but she did let him slip an arm around her and escort her through the living room and out the huge doors that led to the back yard and the pool. "Was she another one of your conquests?"

He wasn't fooled by her tone, and he didn't miss the way she kept blinking as her eyes shifted from one side to the other. Leaning against him to avoid being knocked around by the milling crowd, she somehow seemed smaller than the Valerie that he knew and adored. "She was," he admitted, figuring that it wouldn't do him a damn bit of good to try to hide it from her. After all, she knew better than anyone that he wasn't even close to being a saint. Nodding at a few of the party-goers who called out to him in passing, he didn't stop since he wasn't entirely sure how Valerie was going to react. Spotting an empty table, Evan steered Valerie toward it.

"She's pretty," Valerie replied, slipping into a chair with a soft sigh. He had to wonder if she knew how grudging her tone really was, but he didn't comment on it.

Sitting down next to her, he leaned in closer so that she could hear him over the buzz of the crowd. "She is," he allowed. She leaned her elbow on the table, rested her chin on her balled-up fist as she turned her face to the side, staring out over the pool. Quite a few people were in that pool, many of them making out and completely ignoring everything going on around them. All in all, though, it was pretty tame, at least for now. As he stared at her, he could tell that she wasn't really seeing any of it. "Whatcha thinking about, beautiful?" he murmured, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

She heaved a sigh and slowly turned to look at him, her eyes dark, mysterious, reflecting the glow of the candle light in the center of the table. "Is that what it's always going to be like?" she asked quietly. "If I—" Cutting herself off to clear her throat again, her gaze dropped to the candle for a moment before she raised it to meet his once more. "If _someone_ wanted to be with you . . .? Running into women you know intimately—who know _you_ intimately . . .?"

He didn't miss her slip-up, but he didn't remark upon it since there really wasn't a thing he could say, given the current topic of conversation. "Because I've fucked them? Do you really think it means that they know me? Aren't you the one who told me before that not one of them really knows me? That was what you said before, wasn't it?"

Shaking her head slowly, she didn't look like she wanted to agree with him. Garret hurried over, though, slipping an arm around his sister as he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "Holy shit! Everyone's here!" he said, slipping into a chair on Valerie's other side. "I can't fucking believe _I'm_ here!"

Valerie smiled at her star-struck brother. Evan figured that it was hard for her not to, all things considered.   Garret reminded Evan of his younger days, when he'd first started to really make the rounds. He'd been just as starry-eyed as Garret was, and there were still moments when he felt that way even now. Granted, it was a lot different these days, but that didn't mean a thing when he came face to face with people he'd grown up listening to or seeing on television or, better yet, in concert . . .

"What are you drinking?" Valerie asked, nodding at the glass that Garret sat on the table as she reached for the glass of wine in front of Evan.

"This? Oh, it's sparkling apple juice," Garret admitted. Evan wasn't sure whether it was intentional or not, but it was still rather amusing when the kid leaned in closer to her when he spoke.

Valerie nodded, but she didn't smile despite the heightened sparkle that ignited in her gaze. Sure, he was old enough to drink in France. That he wasn't spoke volumes, as far as Valerie was concerned. "At least you haven't lost your mind completely," she mused.

Garret grinned at her. "No way," he insisted with a shake of his head. "But you know, I was thinking . . ."

"About what?"

He shrugged. "Well, it just seems like a waste of money to fly me home then fly me back for Saturday's show," he ventured carefully. "I mean, it's not like I can't skip a few days of school."

"And the next time something comes up? You can't just skip school all the time," Valerie pointed out. They'd already had this conversation once. Valerie had won that round, which was not surprising in the least.

Scratching the side of his head, Garret looked thoughtful for a long moment. Then he gave a little shrug and hunched forward, resting most of his weight on his arms atop the table. "It's not like I'm that good in school," he slowly said. He didn't seem at all upset about it. "I'm not like you or Kase. You guys are book-smart, like Mom. I'm more like Dad, you know?"

Valerie stared at her brother for a minute before reaching over and patting his hand. "It's not about being book-smart," she told him. "It's about doing what you have to do. If I had my way, you'd finish high school and then go to college, but it's not my choice. You _will_ promise me, though, that you'll get your high school diploma, because even though things look good for you now, if something should happen—if it all falls apart—you have to have that, at least."

"Yeah, I know," Garret replied. "Dad already told me all that shit."

"Good," she insisted. "As long as we're clear."

He finally shot her a lopsided grin. "Damn, you're kind of tough."

The smile that surfaced on Valerie's face was bright. "I have to be," she assured him, waving a hand at Evan.

"Excuse me."

Evan smiled at the girl who approached the table. Cheeks pinking as she stopped beside Garret, she smiled a little shyly. " _Bonjour_ ," she stammered, her shy smile faltering for just a moment. "I-I just wanted to tell you that you were really good tonight . . . I saw the show. I am Celine Tellingier."

"Garret. Garret Duyer . . ." Garret said as he pushed himself to his feet. "Uh . . . Y-You think so?"

The girl nodded, her smile widening, and she glanced around the table. Upon spotting, Evan, however, that smile brightened as she hurried around to kiss Evan on both cheeks.

"He is with you, no?" she asked in her native French.

Evan chuckled, and he nodded at Garret. "Yes, he is."

She glanced over at Garret again, and she bit her lip as her cheeks pinked a little more. "He is . . . available . . .?"

"Sure," he replied, intercepting the chagrined scowl that Valerie shot him since she wasn't able to follow the conversation. He winked at her, but didn't explain as he looked back at Celine once more. "This is V, Garret's sister."

She giggled and nodded at Valerie, who was still watching her with avid curiosity. "I am pleased to meet you," she said.

"Likewise," Valerie replied. Evan could tell from the expression on Valerie's face that she wasn't quite sure what to make of the entire situation. That Celine was young was a given, though Evan figured she looked a little older than she was. Still . . .

Celine smiled at Garret once more. "Ah, Tay asked me to tell you that he has some people he would like for you to meet," she said.

"Oh, uh, okay . . . Do you know where he is?"

She nodded. "I can take you to him," she offered, eyes widening as she gazed up at Garret in a wholly worshipful way.

Garret smiled. "S-Sure . . ."

Valerie watched him go and heaved a sigh. "Should I be worried?" she asked, only half-joking.

Evan chuckled. "Nah . . . Celine's a nice girl—surprising, considering who her father is."

She rolled her eyes when Evan made a gesture like he was jacking off. "Tellingier, you mean? Why the hell is he letting her attend this party?"

This time, Evan snorted. Franco Tellingier was never his favorite topic of conversation, and now was no different, especially when it came to his daughter. "Unfortunately, she's seen all this before. He never has seen anything wrong with letting her attend his parties, as far as I know. Last year, she fucked a couple guys, and he didn't give a shit."

Valerie frowned. "How old is she?"

Evan shrugged. "I dunno . . . Fifteen? Sixteen? Not much more than that."

"But that's . . ." Trailing off with a frown, Valerie slowly shook her head. "That's just wrong."

Evan didn't answer, but he didn't look like he disagreed with her, either.

Heaving a sigh, she shook her head again, but let the subject drop. "So who does Tay want to introduce Garret to?" she asked instead.

Evan shrugged. "Hard telling. The guys really like him, though."

"I think Tay and Frankie like him a little _too_ much," she muttered.

"Nah, it's great," Evan countered mildly. "Besides, I think they're considering asking him to be their permanent bassist."

Sipping her wine as she slowly regarded him, Evan wasn't at all surprised when she set the glass down and frowned. "And you'd be okay with that?" she asked quietly.

Evan grinned. "Yeah, I think I would be," he allowed with a shrug. "How about you?"

"Me? Do I have a say in it?" she asked in a teasing sort of tone. He could hear the underlying gravity, though.

"You want him to finish school. I get you," he replied. "I agree with you, too."

Raising an eyebrow, she smiled just a little. "You do?"

"Sure. Don't know if he'd agree to go to college, and you can't really make him want to do that if he doesn't already have a mind to, but getting his diploma should be a no-brainer."

Tilting her head to the side as a slow smile spread over her features, she stared at him with her heart glowing in her eyes. "You have your moments, don't you, Roka?" she mused.

Evan chuckled and shot Valerie a cheesy grin. "I do, don't I? And you called me 'baby'."

Valerie snorted and rolled her eyes. "Don't let it go to your head, rocker-boy," she insisted.

His answer was another laugh and a quick wink as he reached for the glass of whiskey.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Bright_** **_Lights_** ' _by_ _Matchbox_ _Twenty_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2002_ _release_ , **_More_** **_Than_** **_You_** **_Think_** **_You_** **_Are_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Rob_ _Thomas._
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _A_ _rock_ _'n_ _roll_ _party_...


	179. 178: Midnight

' _Babe, you know you're growing up so fast_...  
' _And Mama's worryin' that you won't last_ …  
' _To say_ …  
' _Let's play_ ...'

 

-' _Sister Christian_ ' by Night Ranger.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"So, we meet again . . ."

Blinking slowly as Valerie watched a very gangly-looking fellow slip into the chair that Evan had abandoned just a few minutes prior, she regarded the man coolly as she slowly turned to face the man who had very obviously been talking to her. Standing off to the side near the steps that led down to a very picturesque garden, she couldn't see him very well in the diminished glow of the bluish mini-bulb lights that adored the columns spaced along the perimeter of the area.

It was the guy from earlier: the one who had stopped his idiot friend from causing more of a scene than he had by running into her, and she smiled just a little. "I don't recall properly meeting you the first time," she pointed out evenly, just a little bemused by the man's very proper British accent.

He shrugged offhandedly but uttered a soft laugh. "True enough," he gave in with a slow nod. "Please forgive Haze. He's been a bit out of sorts of late."

"Haze?" she echoed with a slight shake of her head to accompany the frown of confusion marring her brow.

"Haze," he repeated in a tone that indicated that he figured she ought to know who he was talking about. "Brent Hazlett—I've called him 'Haze' since we were young. He's the drummer in Bane Crusher."

"Oh, you mean the guy that almost ran me over in the hallway?" she asked pointedly.

"That would be him," he replied with a slight grimace at the very blatant reminder. "He's normally not like that," he explained quickly. "He's had a bit of a rough go of it in his personal life of late."

She schooled her features to keep her distaste from showing as the memory of the incident flashed through her head again. "That's too bad," she murmured, turning away, shifting her gaze out over the sprawling garden.

"I'll be clear: that doesn't excuse his boorish behavior," he reiterated.

"Thanks for distracting him," she said, figuring that she did owe him at least that much. After all, she hadn't wanted to cause a scene, and if things had progressed, she had little doubt that it would have become one. "And you are . . .?"

He grinned, brushing back a long lock of scraggly dirty-blonde hair that had fallen into his eyes, leaning on the patio railing casually, his lanky frame seeming to settle into a boneless sort of casualness that she'd only really seen Evan be able to attain before. "Cade Warren," he said with a good-natured chuckle, his eyes dark, mysterious, impossible to discern in the half-light. "I take it you've never heard of me."

"No, sorry," she admitted. "Can't say that I have. Valerie Denning." She held out her hand to shake his. He chuckled and turned it over and kissed the back of it instead.

"A lovely name for a stunning woman," he said, letting go of her hand as he shook his head. "It's quite all right. I'm pretty new—well, not _new_ ," he amended. "Been playing all my life, but it's the first year I ranked high enough to be invited here."

"Are you in a band?"

Digging a mangled cigarette out of a smashed softpack, he straightened up to pat his pockets for a lighter. "Nah," he said, his voice slightly muffled by the unlit cigarette dangling from his lip. "Was in a band years ago, but it was just too much damn drama."

She nodded slowly. "I see."

He found his lighter and hunched forward, cupping his hands around the end of the cigarette as he clicked the device. The sudden flare of light cast his face in a warm glow that somehow managed to soften his appearance. He was better looking than Valerie had first thought. Hair dangling in his face as the flame flickered and stuttered, the light was kind to him, illuminating the planes and hollows in a much more complimentary kind of way than the cold blue light had. She couldn't see his eyes, cast down as they were, paying attention to what he was doing, but to her surprise, he didn't extinguish the flame right away, either, and instead, he leaned forward slightly, extending the lighter as he held it up, his expression quite candid as he examined her face.

His eyes were a strange color: ringed in a bright, almost jewel-like green around the edges, only to fade into a bright sherry gold around the pupil. If she had to describe it, she might have called it 'hazel', but somehow, that didn't seem right, either. Very high cheekbones—she figured that was why he'd had an almost gaunt sort of appearance at first—a slightly pouting mouth . . . He'd forever look just a little younger than he should, she figured, all because of the bone structure of his face, yet there was still something about him that set Valerie on her guard, even if she was loathe to pinpoint why that was . . .

He looked her over for several long seconds before resuming his casual stance after he lit the cigarette and stashed the lighter in his pocket once more, he narrowed his gaze, as though he were trying to make sense of something. "So tell me what a pretty lady like you are doing out here alone?"

"I was just catching my breath," she replied, shifting her gaze to the side, scanning the milling crowd for Evan. He'd stepped away to grab another drink, and she wasn't worried, exactly, but there was something slightly intimidating about Cade despite his overall boyish appearance. The word _predatory_ came to mind though Valerie wasn't sure why, and then she snorted inwardly and waved off that stupid notion.

"I assume you're here with someone?" he queried, arching a thick yet articulated sandy brown eyebrow to underline his question.

"Yeah," she replied, a little distracted as she continued to look for Evan. "Ev—Zel . . . Zel Roka."

If he caught her blunder, he didn't comment on it, but he did nod, his expression shifting into something a little more knowing. "Can't say that I've had the pleasure of meeting him," he remarked.

She laughed suddenly, a soft, little giggle, and when she caught the quizzical look on Cade's face, she quickly waved a limp hand. "Sorry," she apologized though the laughter persisted. "I guess I just thought that he knew everyone. Seems like it sometimes."

Cade laughed, too. "Our circles don't exactly meet," he told her. "At least, they hadn't before tonight. It's a pity, though . . ."

"What is?" she prompted when he trailed off.

He shrugged, a sardonic little smile tugging at his lips as he drew a deep drag on the cigarette and stuffed his free hand into his pocket. "That you're caught up with Roka, o'course," he went on with a chuckle. "Must admit, I didn't actually expect that you were available. Damn lucky, if you ask me," he concluded, making no bones about letting his gaze roam up and down her frame at a very leisurely pace.

She opened her mouth to tell Cade that she wasn't actually involved with Evan, but thought better of it before she did. Life was complicated enough with one rockstar to deal with. Besides, she couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was something almost dangerous about the man she'd just met.

"Cade! Cade Warren!"

Valerie blinked and shifted her gaze in time to see the tall, skinny scarecrow of a man who came, stumbling out of the crowd, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a suspect-looking cigarette in the other. She recognized him vaguely. Maybe he had performed at Rocktoberfest . . .

"Evening, Nate," Cade greeted lazily.

Nate stopped in front of them and barked out an obnoxious laugh, and Valerie had to fight the urge to lean away at the absolute reek of booze on the man. "Caught yer show, when was it? Yesterday? Some good shit right there," he slurred.

"Thank you," Cade replied, his smile taking on an entirely indulgent edge. "I'm flattered."

Nate burped then made a face as he sloppily tipped the bottle to his lips. "Eh, I didn't have nothin' better t' do . . . Oh, hello, honey," he leered, having finally noticed Valerie. Then he leaned in toward Cade. "She your piece?"

"Unfortunately, no," Cade drawled.

Nate's grin widened. In Valerie's opinion, he looked rather stupid: drunk off his ass and very likely high on something or other . . . Oh, maybe he could have been considered good-looking in some warped way, but in her estimation, his face was too gaunt, his eyes bulged out just a little too much in a wholly unnatural kind of way: the kind of way that a junkie's eyes tended to look after so much excess.

"I'm going to go look for him," she murmured, more to Cade than to Nate.

"Hold on; hold on," Nate said, tossing his cigarette butt over the railing and grabbing her arm before Valerie could make her escape. "You don't really gotta go runnin' off now, do you?" he coaxed. "Don'cha wanna stay and party with me?"

Yanking her arm out of the man's grasp, she pasted on a tolerant smile, reminding herself that he was very obviously drunk, and shook her head. "I really have to go," she said, careful to keep her tone light.

Nate wasn't having any of it, though, and he grabbed her wrist as his grin widened. "Hard to get, huh? Swe-e-e-eet."

"Nate, I wouldn't if I were you," Cade drawled in a casual tone.

"'Course you wouldn't, you limey pussy—you know what a pussy is, don'cha?" Nate laughed suddenly, like he'd just told the best joke in the world. "It's what you don't get, faggot." Then he turned to grin at Valerie. "C'mon, honey. Dance with a real man."

"No, thanks," Valerie said, tugging on her arm, trying to get away from him. "I'm waiting for someone . . ."

Nate laughed. "And you found me, right? See? It all works out."

"Really, I wouldn't if I were you," Cade remarked once more.

"Good fuckin' thing I'm not you, then, huh?" Nate shot back.

Cade heaved a sigh and slowly shook his head. "Have it your way then."

Gritting her teeth, Valerie glanced over her shoulder as Nate dragged her off toward the area near the pool where some other people were dancing. She wasn't sure exactly what she expected, but she blinked when the man was nowhere to be seen.

"I don't . . . I don't like dancing," she tried again, struggling to keep her tone calm, even. Her level of irritation was rising fast, and she furiously reminded herself that she really didn't want to cause a scene, but if this guy thought that he could just manhandle her, well . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Roka, a moment?"

Evan glanced at the youkai who had stopped beside him and nodded quickly as he tried to extricate himself from the very rapt attention of five women he couldn't name. He was certain that he'd never met them before in his life, but that didn't stop them from grabbing his arm and dragging him over, acting as though they were long-lost pals. It was normal enough, and in years past, he might have been more inclined to stay and hang out for a little while. Tonight, however, he had other things on his mind, not the least of which was a certain sexy attorney who was probably starting to wonder just where the hell he'd disappeared to . . .

"Excuse me, ladies," he said, taking the convenient out to get away from the girls without seeming to be rude. True enough, he had no idea who the guy was, but did that really matter?   "Duty calls."

"Sorry to interrupt," he said in a low tone—a tone that Evan knew damn well no one else could hear. The only reason he did was because of what he was, and the guy knew that, too, he had no doubt.

"No problem," he said with a shake of his head. "Did you want something?"

"Not particularly," the man replied with an offhanded shrug.

"Okay," Evan drawled slowly. Something about the guy . . . He had something to say, Evan could tell. He just wished that he'd get around to it sooner rather than later. "So who are you, anyway?"

He chuckled and gave another half-hearted shrug. "Cade Warren," he finally supplied.

Evan stopped for just a moment, his eyes flaring wide as he shot the man another glance. "The blues-rock wonderboy," he intoned, falling into step again as the two negotiated the crowded hallway. "I've heard good things about you."

"You flatter me," Cade replied. "In any case, that's not really why I sought you out."

Evan grinned. "So there really was a reason?"

"Isn't there usually?"

"You speak in more riddles than my great-uncle," Evan muttered.

Cade chuckled again, but the apparent amusement behind the sound never reached his eyes. "I apologize," he said, sounding anything but contrite.

"Is there something I can do for you?" Evan asked, frowning as he scanned the milling guests as he tried to find Valerie in case she followed him into the house. Ordinarily, it wouldn't be a problem, but he had to admit that it was slightly tougher tonight. Too many people smoking too many different things, and the residual smog was far thicker than Valerie's more delicate scent . . .

"On the contrary," Cade remarked with an enigmatic little grin, "it's actually what I can do for you."

Evan barked out a terse laugh. "What you can do for me?" he echoed almost incredulously. "Is that right?"

"Your father is the North American tai-youkai, correct?"

Evan's laughter died out, and he glanced around to make sure no one else was listening. He didn't figure that they were. After all, the party had been going on for a few hours now, which meant that most of the merrymakers were well on their way to being completely and utterly fucked up in one way or another. "You want something from Cain?" he muttered dubiously.

Cade smirked slightly. "Not at the moment," he said casually, "but it doesn't hurt to collect favors, now does it?"

"Is that what you're doing? And just why would I owe you a favor?" Evan asked, more curious than irritated.

The cocky smirk widened. "The woman you brought with you . . . Your mate . . .?"

"What about her?" Evan asked, unable to keep the hint of warning out of his tone. Deciding that it wasn't worth waiting for an answer, he pushed past Cade and headed for the opened glass doors, weaving around people, barely bothering to mutter an apology when he inadvertently bumped a girl in passing. At the moment, he didn't care what Cade had to say. No, the only thing that mattered was Valerie. He'd left her alone too long, hadn't he . . .?

"So she _is_ your mate."

Evan grunted something entirely unintelligible as he stepped outside and scanned the area. He didn't spot her right away, but when he started to step forward again, Cade caught his shoulder to stay him. "You're not really considering storming in there and causing a scene, are you?"

"Oh, I don't know," he muttered and tried to shrug off Cade's hand. "I might."

Cade clucked his tongue. "How terribly domestic—not at all what I'd have expected from _the_ Zel Roka, don't you think?"

"Don't worry," Evan growled, sparing a moment to glower at the Englishman. "If I get arrested, it'll absolutely be 'Zel Roka'."

Cade let out a deep breath and slowly let his hand fall away. "Touché," he allowed. "How ignorant of me."

Evan didn't wait to hear more. Striding forward a few steps, he finally located Valerie, dancing with some upstart kid he recognized—Nate, he thought his name was. He didn't rightfully know him, not that it mattered. It was blatantly obvious from the stilted way that Valerie was moving that she wasn't dancing with the guy because she wanted to. Narrowing his gaze at the overly familiar way that Nate was holding onto Valerie, Evan had to restrain the desire to march over and flatten the guy. If his hands drifted any further south, there was a good chance that Evan would have no issue at all in breaking them for him . . . At the moment, however, Nate seemed to be more interested in telling her something, and with an inward snort, Evan stalked over to the dancing couple and loudly cleared his throat. "All right," he said, striving for a calmer tone than he was feeling. "Playtime's over."

The instantaneous look of sheer relief on Valerie's face was enough to make him grimace inwardly. She might not have been in immediate trouble, but it was quite obvious that she didn't want anything to do with the guy who apparently thought it would be all right to drag her off with him. Well, it wasn't all right; not by a long shot, as far as Evan was concerned. Too bad that he really shouldn't cause a scene, but he doubted that Valerie would approve, no matter what the reason, and as far as he could tell, the kid hadn't pushed his luck too far—yet, anyway.

The expression on Nate's face, however, was a lot more laughable—if Evan were in a mind to laugh, that was. He wasn't; not really. Go figure. The kid looked like he was caught somewhere between belligerence and surprise, maybe a little awe.

"Miss me, baby?" he asked, casually slipping an arm around Valerie's waist and pulling her away from Nate's grasp.

He could feel the relief flooding through her, and he wrapped his arm a little tighter around her, offering a silent sense of reassurance that she welcomed, whether she realized it or not. She wasn't scared, he could tell, but she was plenty pissed off, and no wonder. A woman like her wasn't keen on being dragged off to dance against her will. All in all, he figured that she'd demonstrated remarkable restraint in not laying into Nate in front of God and sundry . . . "Sorry, kid," he couldn't resist saying with a cocky grin,. "She's way out of your league."

"H-Hold on," Nate demanded, stumbling after them when Evan turned around to leave. "We were dancing, damn it! You can't—"

Letting go of Valerie, he whipped around to pin the upstart with a narrow look. "I think I just did," he replied coldly, quietly. "I'm guessing she told you that she wasn't interested, right? And you, Rockstar Wannabe, you just told yourself that she was playing hard to get? Pretty accurate?"

Nate snorted, trying to puff himself up in an idiotic show of bravado, but failed miserably, considering he was having distinct trouble standing up straight. Evan shook his head and turned around again, figuring that the brat wasn't worth his trouble.

Valerie didn't complain when Evan slipped his arm around her again. He could feel her irritation simmering just below the calm facade. "You all right?" he asked as he plopped into a chair at the table where they'd been sitting most of the evening.

She sat next to him and shrugged. "Fine," she said. She sounded a lot more normal than she looked, though. "Thanks."

He didn't reply, but he did reach over and pulled her chair closer so that he could slip an arm around her shoulders. "Next time, just tell them you're with me," he suggested. "They'll leave you alone if you do."

"He was just a stupid, drunk idiot," she maintained with a shake of her head. "I . . . I could handle him."

"I know," Evan replied, leaning over to kiss her temple as he gave her a little squeeze. "I just don't want you to have to. That's all."

"That's all, huh?" she contended with a quirked eyebrow.

Evan forced a grin. "Yeah," he said. "That's right."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"So I tell the crazy bitch to get her shit and get the hell out, and then she starts sobbing and trying to grab onto me to keep me from tossing her lying-ass out the door, so by the time all's said and done, the house is fucking trashed, she's selling her story to the cops, and they haul _me_ off to jail, even though she ain't got a damn mark on her while I look like I've gone ten rounds with a great white shark and lost!"

"Damn," Evan said, shaking his head as he tightened his arms around Valerie's waist, securely holding her in place, lest she try to get off of his lap. She had tried to for a little while, but she'd given up when she'd figured out that the women didn't hit on him as much if she stayed where she was. Oh, they still hit on him, sure—Valerie was starting to wonder if they just couldn't quite help themselves—but it wasn't _as_ bad, comparably speaking. "Domestic violence, huh? That's just not even something to fuck around with."

Marc Flynn, an older rocker from the apparently-legendary band, Raunchy Little Fuckers, shook his head and drained the beer in his hand before he went on. "Fuck that," he grumbled. "She had these bruises on her upper arms, right? So she told the fuzz that I grabbed her and shook her— _shook_ her, goddamn it! Talk about a fucking joke! All I did was hold onto her so she couldn't scratch my damn eyes out, but you know how it goes. Ever since that one fight I got into with that guy in the bar, what? Ten years ago? Fifteen? I've been labeled as _violent_ because of my _record_. _She-yi-it_. . ."

"Sounds like you needed a better attorney," Evan said.

Marc snorted and grabbed a beer out of someone's hand as he was passing the table. The guy laughed and handed Marc a half-smoked joint before slapping him on the back and stumbling off again. "Hell, I've been called a million fucking things in my lifetime, but I ain't never been called no goddamn wife beater before," he muttered, taking a deep drag off the joint. "Fuck if I wasn't good to her. Let her get away with every-fucking-thing, bought her every-fucking-thing she ever needed or wanted, and this is the thanks I get? I get home from the last show in Basting's Hollow— _Basting's Hollow_ , for fuck's sake! And I find the bitch in bed with that personal trainer I hired for her before I left on tour, just a-goin' to town on him like he's some kind of fucked-up ride in a goddamn amusement park—Titty World or some such, I guess . . . Then she says to me that it wasn't like she was _really_ cheating on me. Never let him do her pussy, just her ass, she said."

Valerie bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing that the poor guy's misfortune. Considering he'd just gotten done telling Evan about a gang-bang he'd had with, in his words, a shitload of groupies, after that same show in Basting's Hollow, North Dakota, she wasn't entirely sure that she was ready to buy into his whole cock-and-bull story.

"Anyway, the moral of the story? Don't get married—that's what I say," Marc concluded with all the self-righteousness of a half-drunk, half-stoned, over-the-hill rockstar. "Fuck 'em and send 'em on their merry ways . . . Fuck 'em all, goddamn it!"

Evan laughed. "Is that right?"

Marc nodded sagely and handed the joint over to Evan, who took it and drew a deep breath before handing it back. "Yeah, like this pretty little thing here," he went on, reaching over to touch Valerie's cheek. "Go find a nice, quiet little corner, bend her over, and drop her off somewhere nice before you go home. Hey, sweetheart, do you suck dick?"

Valerie blinked and struggled to paste on a polite little smile while plotting about a million interesting ways to kill the man without being caught. Evan had told her once before that the man's band was one of his favorites growing up. It did nothing to endear him to her at the moment, however.

"V's not exactly that kind of woman," Evan said before she could rake Marc over the coals. "Besides, she's here with me tonight."

"Yeah, that's what they all say," Marc insisted. "Say it over 'n over again, they do, so you marry it, and then look where you end up: paying out the ass for a woman you weren't married to for five years." With a grunt, he planted his hands on the table top to push himself to his feet. "I'll catch you later, Roka."

Evan chuckled as they watched Marc lumber away. Then she tried to stand up, only to be thwarted when Evan's arms tightened a little bit more. "Ignore him, V," he murmured into her ear, his breath sending an eruption of tiny tremors coursing through her. "He's always been jaded, and it's not like he's ever really been faithful to _any_ of his wives."

She wrinkled her nose but gave up trying to get away from him. "And just how many wives has he had?" she challenged mildly.

Evan sighed. "I lost count around Wife-Number-Four."

"Charming," she grumbled, refraining from the urge to wipe her cheek where the man had touched her. "He's not faithful, but he expects his wife to be?"

"Yeah, I know," Evan agreed with a shrug. "It happens."

She snorted to let him know exactly what she thought of that.

"Zel!"

Glancing over just in time to spot a very curvaceous blonde come barreling at them, Valerie wasn't at all surprised when the woman threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly, completely ignoring Valerie as well as the fact that she was sitting quite comfortably on his lap.

"Hey, Ingrid. Lookin' fantastic, like always," he said with the smoothness of a greasy used car salesman when she finally let go of him.

Pulling a chair closer so that she could impose herself as near to him as she possibly could, Ingrid giggled prettily and batted her thick, fake eyelashes at the errant rockstar. "The girls told me you'd brought a friend with you," she said, leaning in even closer. "Cute," she finally stated with a curt nod in Valerie's direction. "Didn't I see you before? Oh!" she suddenly exclaimed, snapping her fingers as a little light popped on over her head—or at least, it would have if they existed inside whatever cartoon this woman had crawled out of. "Wait . . . you used to date Nick Whittaker from Floris, right? Well, they were Floris back then. Now they're, what? Leather-n-Chains?" She leaned in closer, but this time, her full attention was on Valerie. "I've heard he has a huge dick. Is that right?"

Pasting on a tepid little smile, Valerie slowly shook her head. "I wouldn't know," she said. "I've never met Nick Whittaker in my life."

Ingrid didn't look like she believed Valerie. "Really? But you look just like his ex . . ."

"Ah, is this something you've never told me about, baby? Some kind of jaded affair from your past?" Evan teased. "C'mon, you call tell us. _Does_ he have a monster-sized dick?"

Narrowing her eyes just enough to let Evan know exactly what she thought of his brand of teasing, Valerie forced her insincere smile to widen. "Big and fat and hard as steel—just how I like 'em," she replied sweetly.

Evan very nearly choked, but the admiration in his grin was entirely real. "Oh, yeah? But mine's bigger, of course."

"Actually, it's not," she retorted, injecting even more syrup into her words. "I just didn't want to hurt your feelings since you're so proud of yours, after all."

"Aww, baby, so cold, so cold . . ." he groaned. "But you know, it ain't the size of the guitar but how well you _string_ it."

"Comparing your penis to a musical instrument?" she challenged mildly. "Hmm, you should consider taking some lessons . . ."

Evan laughed outright at that while Ingrid just looked a little confused.

"You did that on purpose," Valerie accused, tugging lightly on a lock of Evan's hair as Ingrid wandered away.

"Couldn't resist," he said, sounding anything but contrite. "Hey, V?"

"Hmm?" she drawled, reaching for the very fruity drink that Garret had brought her earlier.

Evan chuckled and gave her a quick squeeze. "I'm glad you came with me tonight."

She shot him a no-nonsense look as she sipped the cocktail. "Sure you are," she said, slowly shaking her head as she glanced around at the crowd. It hadn't taken long for the excesses to come out. Couples having sex in the pool, a haze of smoke that wasn't all from cigarettes lingering in the air, though where they sat, it wasn't as bad. From the couple strolls she'd had through the mansion, she figured that there had to be at least a five hundred people there, easily, and every last one of them seemed to be thoroughly absorbed in the rock 'n roll lifestyle that they wore so easily.

Not for the first time, it struck her that maybe those living this kind of existence were more trapped than they'd like to believe. Drugs of all kinds were everywhere, presented neatly in the house's best crystal and sterling silver, laid out like candy in bowls, like a macabre sort of buffet. The staff was bustling about with every manner of things, from drinks to full meals, and to Valerie's dismay, she'd even seen a few of them, delivering condoms and sex toys like they were nothing at all. Naked girls floated around the pool on crushed velvet covered air mattresses, adored with flowers and body paint—living artwork, someone had said. There was something altogether frightening about the entire affair. The party had morphed into a surreal kind of nightmare, and the scariest aspect of it all was that she had to admit, at least to herself, that it would be entirely too easy to be sucked into this kind of life, but the ugliness hidden underneath all of it . . . well, it was absolutely terrifying.

The truth of it was that she wasn't sure if it bothered her more that the people didn't seem to find anything wrong with it all or that Evan himself didn't seem affected by it in the least. Just how much had he seen and done during his years at the top of the music world?

And maybe that was a question she didn't really want an answer to . . .

For the first time, ever, she was starting to gain a better understanding as to how people could get caught up in the glitz and glamor of the so-called beautiful life. She'd been arrogant before, hadn't she? Yes, she'd seen the ugliness of addiction early on in life, and she'd thought that she understood, but as she sat there, watching everything unfold, she knew deep down that she was seeing it all in a wholly different light. The same women who liked to think that they were making the decisions, that they were calling the shots—wives, girlfriends, groupies, and hangers-on—they were all the same, weren't they? Thousand dollar hair styles, ruined . . . designer clothes strewn all over without regrets . . . Those women were reduced to little more than sex toys—living dolls, performing the ugly side of their duties.

It was sad, wasn't it? Sad and pathetic and pitiful . . . She felt Evan heave a sigh as he unconsciously rocked her much like he might a small child. In that moment, she knew that he understood the absolute horror that she couldn't help feeling. Understood . . . and maybe even agreed . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Sister_** **_Christian_** ' _by_ _Night_ _Ranger_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1983_ _release_ , **_Midnight_** **_Madness_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Kelly_ _Keagy._
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :
> 
>  _So_ _that_ _was_ _a_ _rock_ _'n_ _roll_ _party_...


	180. 179: Runaway

' _The jig is up, the news is out, they've finally found me_...  
' _The renegade who had it made, retrieved for the bounty_ …  
' _Never more to go astray_ …  
' _This will be the end today of the wanted man_ ...'

 

-' _Renegade_ ' by Styx.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Look! Over there!"

Valerie stopped and looked up in the direction that Evan was pointing in time to see a rabbit, bounding off into the cover of the trees. She giggled and watched as it stopped for a moment and glanced back at them before resuming its escape. With a chuckle, Evan took her hand and started walking again, well off the road, but close enough to see it.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Valerie couldn't help teasing as they moved. "You're not going to get us lost, are you?"

"Are you kidding? I have a compass built into my head!" he scoffed.

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head but kept moving. When he'd first suggested that they hike to Madrid, Valerie wasn't entirely sure whether or not to take him seriously. Oh, he looked serious enough, but honestly, she hadn't actually believed that he wanted to do any such thing.

He was dead serious, as she had found out while they were driving Garret to the airport. They'd just watched as the boy disappeared into the terminal after hugs and kisses that Garret would have likely rather foregone, when Evan grinned and her and tugged her out of the limo. He'd already taken the liberty of packing two very large backpacks—one, black leather. The other, a smaller, tan version that he'd bought for her. She'd laughed when she saw his backpack, though. That sucker was huge—really huge, and he'd since told her that it was because he was carrying their tent, strapped to the underside of it.

"So how mad do you figure Mike is about now?"

Evan snorted. "Who the fuck cares?" he countered, looking rather irritated at the reminder that Mike probably was plenty pissed off, all things considered. Evan had sent a note to the manager's room last night that he was going to sleep in until the last possible moment and that if anyone disturbed him, there would be hell to pay. Of course, that was the only way to get a good head start—at least, that's what he'd said, anyway.

"You're sure Bone won't tell him where we went?"

This time, Evan shot her a shit-eating grin, instead. "Bone? Fuck . . . he works for _me_ , not Mikey, remember? 'Sides, he likes yanking ol' Mikey's chain just as much as the next guy."

She didn't remark on that since Evan likely wouldn't be pleased with the reminder that, while Bone did work for Evan, he also didn't like to see Evan get himself into trouble, either. The big man had said that he'd keep things on the down-low last night when they'd dropped Garret off at the airport after having spent a good two hours, trying to lose the few members of the press who had spotted them, leaving the hotel. Evan and Valerie had then hailed a cab and told Bone that they'd see him again in Madrid for the next show. Bone had laughed, gave Evan all the money he had on hand, and had waved as they drove away. An hour later, they were aboard a train that would take them from Paris to Lourdes, and now they were heading toward the border of Spain. Evan had said that they could walk the entire way, but he'd also wanted to put a bit of distance between Paris and themselves, so he'd used the money he'd gotten off of Bone to buy tickets on the train. Then he'd yanked her into a very small bathroom where he'd managed to talk her into helping him wash the color out of his hair using only a small plastic cup that she'd had coffee in and the service sink. Then he'd clubbed his hair back into a ponytail that he tucked up under a goofy straw hat—she had no idea where he'd gotten that—and they hadn't gotten even one curious look since.

"Why did you take Bone's money, anyway?" she asked Evan veered a little further away from the road.

"Knowing Mikey, he's probably already put some kind of trace on my accounts," he told her in an almost distracted kind of way.

"Can he do that?"

He shrugged, more interested in where they were going than he was in answering her questions. "Let's just say that he has some connections," Evan muttered.

"You make him sound like he's part of the mafia," she pointed out dryly.

Evan laughed and tugged on her hand to speed her up a little as he pulled a small GPS tracker out of his pocket to make sure that they were headed in the right direction.

"Eh, kind of."

She snorted then giggled. It was incredibly hard to be stern with the man when she was having such a good time. Back in the days when she was in college, she had some friends who had done this very thing in the summer between their junior and senior years. She hadn't had the money to go along even though they had invited her. One of her friends had offered to help her pay for it, but Valerie's pride wouldn't allow it. There were a few times over the years when she'd regretted that she hadn't. This made up for it, didn't it? After all, how many people could say that they backpacked to Spain with _the_ Zel Roka?

That thought made her laugh a little harder, drawing a questioning glance from Evan. "What's so funny?" he asked.

It took a moment for her to stop laughing long enough to tell him. "I was just thinking," she finally said. "Back in college, some of my friends went backpacking through Europe, but I didn't get to go. Now I'm here, backpacking through Europe with Zel Roka . . ."

"And that's funny?" he countered despite the grin on his face.

She smiled. "Not funny as much as it is ironic," she said. "Think about it. First off, who on earth would believe that _the_ Zel Roka would actually want to do something as ordinary as hiking? And secondly, how many girls do you figure would give anything to trade places with me right now?"

Evan grunted and rolled his eyes, but Valerie didn't miss the hint of pink that seeped into his cheeks, either. "You're kind of bent, woman," he complained, pushing a low-hanging branch out of the way as they moved a little deeper into the forest.

"As if you don't know that," she insisted, ducking to the side to avoid the branch even though he was still holding onto it. "If that many women came on to you at that party when I was sitting right there, how many more hit on you while I was out of earshot?"

"Oh, not that many," Evan quipped. "Only another ten or so."

She snorted to let him know exactly what she thought of that.

He chuckled. "Don't worry about it, baby," he said, turning to wink at her without breaking his stride. "You're the only one for me."

She faltered for a moment, her smile disappearing as she frowned at the back of his head. He really sounded sincere when he said that, didn't he? For some reason, the idea that he might actually mean it made her belly flop over, and she quickly shook her head. It was becoming harder and harder for her to separate herself from Evan, and the most frightening thing about it was that it didn't scare her nearly as much as it ought to.

The memory of his lips against hers was enough to bring a rosy flush to her face, and she concentrated on the ground under her feet. She couldn't decide if the overwhelming wealth of emotion she'd felt at the time was all in her imagination or not, but she wanted to think that it wasn't. If it was . . .

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie tried to push it all out of her mind. God only knew that she didn't have any answers; just more questions that she was more than a little reluctant to ask herself. Concentrate instead on the beauty of the scenery they were trekking through—that was what she tried to do.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Check it out, woman," Evan declared proudly as Valerie straightened up and brushed off her hands, staring in complete satisfaction at the fire she'd just started. Taking another moment to survey her handiwork, she slowly pivoted to face him.

"I'd be more impressed with that," she began slowly, "if you'd actually had to _pitch_ that tent."

He shot her a cheesy grin. "What are you talking about? This was hard work!"

She didn't look like she was buying it. "All you had to do was push a button, Roka," she pointed out with a shake of her head. "Unlike starting that fire, you know. I had to _work_ to start that fire."

"Yeah," he agreed with an all-knowing nod, "because it's _so_ hard to strike a match, right?"

Her lips twitched. "That's right," she intoned.

"Yeah, well, you'll be glad for my button-pressing abilities later on," he predicted arrogantly. "After all, it might be warm enough during the day, but it still gets plenty chilly at night."

Rubbing her arms through the thick sweatshirt she'd pulled on about an hour ago, Valerie arched an eyebrow at him and slowly shook her head. "You know, I don't mind camping," she said, "but I wouldn't have objected if you'd planned this out a little better—you know, so that we could spend the nights in hotels along the way . . ."

"Sorry, baby. Unless you can figure out a way to move the towns around a little . . ." he apologized without sounding at all contrite.

She snorted. "Well, you packed everything else. What's for dinner?"

Evan laughed and headed off toward the stream near the campsite. "Fish, if I can catch 'em," he called over his shoulder.

"You're going fishing?" she said, sounding more than a little dubious.

"That's right. Don't follow me. You'll scare away the fish."

She snorted again, and when he glanced back at her, he chuckled. She wasn't following him, which was just a well, really. Even though he doubted that she'd be too worried about his methods, she might find it a little odd that he chose to fish with his bare hands. Instead, she was gathering fallen branches and stacking them neatly by the tent.

They'd made good time today. As far as Evan could figure, they'd walked a good fifty, maybe fifty-five miles, give or take a few. Valerie had even said that she could walk a bit longer, just before they'd set up camp, but it was late afternoon already, and Evan figured that they weren't in that much of a hurry.

It was nice, he had to admit. There was such a stark contrast between the insanity of his existence as Zel Roka and trekking through Spain. That he was with Valerie? Well, there was certainly something to be said about having good company . . .

' _Kind of amusing_ ,' he thought as he stripped off his shirt, followed by his shoes and socks and let them drop in a careless heap beside the water. He hadn't actually considered doing any such thing before. It wasn't that he disliked being out of doors. No, he just never really had the time. Funny how he realized now, just how much of his life had been nothing but work. Granted, his work was a far cry from other people's ideas of normal. Still, that didn't change the facts, either. Between composing, public appearances, doing gigs, and everything else under the sun, he hadn't taken as much time to do things for the sheer enjoyment of it as he had since Valerie had entered his life. She was good for him, wasn't she? Now all he had to do was to convince the stubborn woman that he was just as good for her, too . . .

' _Eh, she's coming around. Slowly, sure, but that's all right_ ,' his youkai voice insisted as he waded into the frigid stream.

' _She is_ ,' he agreed philosophically as he scanned the water for fish. Then he grinned stupidly. ' _She called me 'baby'_ ,' he couldn't help adding.

' _Hell, yeah, she did!_ ' his youkai said. ' _She really is coming around! Oh, fuck! You missed that one!_ '

Evan blinked and slowly shook his head as a big, fat fish darted away from him. It was big enough to be a good meal for both of them—if he hadn't been daydreaming. ' _Ah, well . . . What can you do?_ '

Even as he stood, frowning over the lost opportunity, another good sized fish swam over to nibble on Evan's toes, and a few moments later, he straightened up, holding the flopping, struggling to break free. It wasn't as big as the one that had gotten away, but it'd do. Now, if he could catch another one, he'd be ahead of the game . . .

' _Uh, Roka_ . . .'

' _Not now_ ,' he grumbled absently as he held onto the squirming fish with one hand and reached behind himself to grab the fish line he'd grabbed out of his bag at the campsite. It only took him a few moments to hook the catch on one of the hooks, and he let the line drop back into the water satisfied that it was secured to his belt before turning his attention back to the water once more.

' _But_ —'

' _Shut the hell up, will you? Oh! There's a big one!_ '

His youkai snorted loudly. ' _Fuck the fish, damn it! There's something I wanna tell_ —'

' _Not . . . now_. . .' Evan growled, his hand shooting down to catch the fish he was eyeing.

' _Fine, fine! You're a dick; did you know that?_ '

He ignored the irritating voice and hooked the fish on the line. One more ought to do it, he figured. Valerie would only eat one of those—maybe—but he was damn hungry after hiking all day . . .

' _So you really don't want to know that you've got an audience?_ ' his youkai-voice remarked dryly.

' _I do?_ '

His youkai grunted. ' _Over by those trees—don't look!_ '

Resisting the urge to turn around and peek, Evan kept his gaze trained on the water. He would have figured it out himself eventually. After all, he was too in-tuned with her not to know roughly where she was most all of the time.

That thought made him grin rather stupidly. He wasn't sure when that had happened, and it didn't bother him in the least. It was more like he just knew, wasn't it? Everything about her . . .

She was there, by the trees. Peeking around them, maybe? It wasn't like her, lurking in the shadows, hesitating when she normally plunged right in . . . Still, it made his grin widen by degrees. Whatever she was doing was fine by him as long as he was the one holding her attention . . .

' _Maybe you should flex your muscles_ ,' his youkai suggested baldly.

Evan chuckled. ' _Give it a minute. I'll pop a fucking woody and really give her something to gawk at._ '

' _Such a damn moron_ ,' his youkai grumbled. ' _First off, it's not like she'd see it, considering you're nearly waist-deep in water_ and _facing away from her, and secondly, that'd be a little counterproductive, now wouldn't it?_ '

' _How could that possibly be counterproductive?'_ he challenged. ' _I'll have you know, girls think that my boners are quite impressive, remember?_ '

' _Yeah, but you know damn well that if you did that, she'd turn-tail and get the hell outta Dodge_.'

He grunted, mostly because he hated to admit that his youkai might be right about anything, but as much as he hated to say it, that was true enough.

' _You're just jealous because she kissed me and not you_ ,' he tossed back instead.

His youkai didn't respond right away. ' _Did I mention that you're an idiot?_ ' it finally asked, which only served to amuse Evan a little more.

' _Maybe_ ,' he allowed smugly. ' _Then again, it's_ my _ass she's staring at, ain't it?_ '

' _You're_ all _ass, Roka. All. Ass_.'

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

' _Fishing, huh . . .?_ '

Dropping the rest of the firewood onto the neat pile she'd built up, Valerie dusted her hands off and slowly pivoted on her heels to stare in the direction that the man had gone. Fishing, sure, but he hadn't taken a pole with him; she knew that he hadn't, but he had grabbed a sturdy nylon rope to string the catch on. Of course, it wouldn't matter in the least if he couldn't catch the fish. Just what was he going to do? Sing them a lullaby so that he could just reach down and pluck them out of the water?

"Don't follow him," she muttered under her breath as she started off after him. It crossed her mind briefly that he might have just said that, knowing that she would anyway, simply out of sheer curiosity.

The path to the stream was short, and when she neared the edge of the treeline, she stopped. He was standing in the middle of the water without his shirt, his skin glowing in the late afternoon sunshine, reflected off the rippling, surging water. Everything about him was gentle, almost serene, lending the surroundings a sense of calm that seemed to permeate the very air around him. It was a novelty, really. Of all the words that she could think of to describe him 'calm' wouldn't usually have been at the top of the list.

That, however, wasn't what caught and held her attention though. As she watched him, he leaned down suddenly, his arm flashing out and down faster than she could quite credit, and when he stood up, he was holding a flopping fish in his hands. How he'd managed to do that was beyond her, but he secured the creature between his forearm and his chest, reaching down to grasp the cord that he'd secured to his belt loop. He'd already caught one fish, she saw as he hauled the line out of the water and efficiently hooked his latest catch then let go of the line and resumed his stance once more.

' _He . . . He's_. . . beautiful . . .' she thought almost reverently as she reached out, leaned heavily against a tree as though she needed the support that it unwittingly offered her. Physical beauty, yes, of course. To be honest, there really wasn't a thing about him that didn't appeal to her, but that wasn't what she saw, either. No, it was an inward radiance that stemmed somewhere deep inside him, and he used it to lift others up. That was the heart and soul of Evan Zelig, even if he did try to hide it.

Swallowing hard as her belly turned over in an entirely pleasant sort of way, somewhere in the back of her mind she registered the slight pain as the bark of the tree slipped up underneath a few of her fingernails when her grip tightened. All at once, a deluge of memory crashed down on her—the feel of his lips on hers, of the heat of his body as he held her close, held her like he would be lost if he let go. The sudden sensation that she was falling despite the knowledge that her feet were most definitely firmly on the ground . . . It was a heady feeling, like careening down a roller coaster—or jumping out of an airplane . . .

The reflection of the sunlight cast stark highlights on his skin, making the shadows more pronounced, more mysterious, and it was with an easy grace that he caught another fish. If she hadn't seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn't have believed it. He really was catching them with his bare hands. She'd known that he had good reflexes, sure, but to be able to do such a thing?

Before she could stop herself, she pushed away from the tree, moving toward the stream where she paused long enough to kick her shoes off next to Evan's and discard her socks before carefully wading into the water behind him.

"How are you doing that?" she asked without preamble. Her voice was a little more terse than she meant for it to be, mostly because of the very, very cold water. Still, she stubbornly forced her legs to move, deciding that if Evan could deal with it, then so could she.

He turned his head to peer over his shoulder at her, and he didn't seem at all surprised to find her right behind him. "What's that?" he deadpanned innocently.

Valerie wrinkled her nose. "How are you catching those fish with your hands?"

He chuckled and turned his attention back to the water once more. "Oh, it's easy," he assured her. "You just have to become one with the fish."

Rolling her eyes despite the giggle that escaped her, Valerie grasped the nylon cord fixed to his belt loop and hauled the string of fish out of the water to inspect them. They thrashed wildly, and she took a step back in retreat while tightening her grip. "These are huge," she decided in a no-nonsense tone of voice. "Do you need to catch more?"

He shrugged. "I'm starving," he informed her. "If I died out here, you'd never get back to civilization."

She snorted but let go of the line. "So tell me how we do this," she said, mimicking his stance as she scowled at the gently churning water.

Evan laughed and stepped over behind her. "Well, wait till a big ol' sucker comes in close—they like to nibble at your toes and such—and then when he's there, you just grab him."

"That sounds a lot simpler than it is," Valerie pointed out absently, concentrating on the water. "Oh, there's a big one . . ."

She barely noticed when Evan slipped his arms around her, his hands on hers, his chest warm against her back. "Okay, now wait," he said, his voice, soft, intimate. "Slip your hands in the water," he instructed. She leaned down and did as he said. His hands were on hers, as though he were guiding her. "Ready . . .? Now!"

Valerie squealed as he bent down further, pushing her toward the water his hands forcing hers to close in around the fish. He didn't let go until they'd pulled it out of the water as it fought against their collective grip, and she laughed triumphantly.

"Hold onto it, V," he warned, letting go with one hand to reach for the fish he'd already caught.

It seemed to her that she didn't breathe until after he'd hooked the fish and dropped the line back into the water once more. Then she sighed. "I just caught a fish with my hands," she said with a bemused smile.

Evan chuckled and pulled her against his chest. "Silly woman," he chided, crossing his arms over her back and rubbing her forearms to ward off the chill that was fast setting in. "Let's get you out of the water before you freeze on me."

To Valerie's chagrin the proximity of Evan's body sparked the onset of shivering that had nothing really to do with the chill of the water, and she couldn't quite stop herself from snuggling a little closer against his chest seeking the warmth of him that he freely offered. All the same, she wasn't really in a hurry to move, either, despite the knowledge that her legs were already numb. There was something altogether beautiful about that insular moment, and if she moved, it would fade away . . .

Evan let out a deep breath. She could feel his lips, warm on her forehead as she closed her eyes, as she held onto the lingering sense of well-being, and whether Evan understood or was simply humoring her, she didn't know. He just stood there, holding onto her, humming a familiar song under his breath that she couldn't quite place . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Renegade_** ' _by_ _Styx_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1978_ _release_ , **_Pieces_** **_of_** **_Eight_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Tommy_ _Shaw._
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Ni-i-i-ice_...


	181. 180: Roughing It

' _It was the third of June, another sleepy, dusty Delta day_...  
' _I was out choppin' cotton and my brother was balin' hay_ …  
' _And at dinner time, we stopped and walked back to the house to eat_ …  
' _And Mama hollered out the back door, "Y'all remember to wipe your feet_ " …  
' _And then she said, "I got some news this mornin' from Choctaw Ridge_ …  
'" _Today Billie Joe MacAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge"_ ...'

 

-' _Ode to Billie Joe_ ' by Bobbie Gentry.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Ow!"

Evan tried to sit up straight, but couldn't. Even after opening his eyes wide, it took him a moment to figure out exactly what was going on.

Ordinarily speaking, he'd be thrilled to wake up, only to find one sexy-as-hell attorney straddling him and staring intently at his body. Ordinarily speaking, he'd be deliriously happy to find her anywhere near him, to tell the truth. But . . .

"Just what the hell are you doing?" he half-growled, half-whined, bucking his hips in a vain effort to try to unseat her. The sudden motion just made her bring her knees in closer to his sides, her thighs gripping him like he was the prize bronco at a rodeo or something—a sensation that did not go unnoticed by Evan, albeit in a vague sort of way, all things considered.

"Hold still, Roka. I've got two more," she said, her tone rather bland, as if what she was doing was the most normal thing in the world.

Evan snorted and bucked his hips again. It didn't do any good, but he slapped her hands aside, reaching up to cover his chest with his crossed arms instead. "No way! What are you trying to do? Maim me?"

She snorted indelicately at his apparently ridiculous accusation. "Listen, rocker boy, I woke up this morning with your chest hair tickling my nose—quite a feat, I think, considering you only have three—maybe."

"Yeah!" he shot back, slapping her hands away once more before quickly recovering himself. "If I only have three, then you should leave them alone!"

She snorted again, tightening her grip on the tweezers she had already used to viciously rip the first hair out by the root. "Don't be such a baby. If you let me do it, I'd already be finished by now."

"You know, there's an ancient law written somewhere about this. 'Thou shalt not deface a world-famous rockstar,' or some such . . . I think it's one of the Ten Commandments . . ."

Valerie rolled her eyes, completely nonplussed. "Uncover your chest, Roka," she demanded in a no-nonsense sort of way. "This'll only take a second."

He grunted sourly but refused to give in to her demand. "Is that what Minoc says to you when he's trying to convince you to fuck him?"

That earned him a dour look, but he didn't miss the way the edges of her lips twitched just slightly. "Twisted little monkey," she muttered, shaking her head slowly. "It's either those two hairs or me. Take your pick."

"Forget it," he insisted, rolling slightly from side to side in an effort to knock her off of him. "Don't think I don't know that those hairs are growing out of my nipples—do you know how sensitive nipples are?"

For a moment, he had to wonder if she was contemplating hitting him. She didn't. She wrinkled her nose instead. "Did you _really_ just ask me that?" she asked drolly, arching an eyebrow to underline her challenge. "I highly doubt that your nipples are more sensitive than mine."

"I'm on to you and your trickery, woman," he shot back haughtily. "Forgeddabout it."

She sighed and stopped trying to tug his hands away long enough to sit back, crossing her arms over her chest as she eyed him thoughtfully. "All right, Roka," she finally said with a resolute little nod, as though she'd figured as much. "I had a hunch that you'd show your true wussiness, and I'm prepared to compromise."

He made a face at her injudicious use of the word 'wussiness'—if that really was a word at all—but remained silent as he waited to hear her idea of 'compromise'.

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie looked like she was weighing her options, but she must have decided that ridding Evan of the two lonely hairs on his chest was well worth the effort, and just for a moment, Evan had to wonder if the woman had been born the lovechild of some warped and twisted cult that believed in sacrificing virgins—or small mammals . . . The next time he spoke to Jack, maybe he ought to ask about their religious affiliations . . .

"If you let me pluck those two hairs," she began slowly, her already sultry voice dropping to a husky whisper as she lowered her chin and peered at him through the veil of her eyelashes, "You can look down my shirt while I'm doing it."

Snapping his mouth closed on the rebuttal that had already formed, Evan blinked, unable to mask his surprise as he let her offer sink in. "R . . . Really . . .?"

She nodded. "Yes—but no touching."

Evan rolled his eyes. "I _knew_ there was a fucking catch," he muttered. "You're wearing a bra, too, aren't you?"

This time, she giggled. "Actually, I'm not," she assured him, fluttering a hand dismissively.   "Besides, you've already seen them before, so it's not a huge deal . . . So what's it going to be, rockstar?"

"Not worth it if I can't touch," he grumbled.

"You're such a baby," she informed him with a sigh. "Fine, but whether you look or not, you're still losing those last couple hairs."

"Forget it, wench," Evan retorted, somehow managing to sit up straight and unseating Valerie in the process.

She uttered a little half-squeak, half-squeal as she threw her arms around him to keep herself from falling. "Jerk!" she accused when his arms snaked around her waist to hold her against him.

He snorted. "You're trying to yank out my hairs by the roots, and I'm a jerk?" he complained, pointedly arching an eyebrow—an affectation that she completely missed since she was leaning her head against his shoulder and not actually attempting to fight the hold he had on her at the moment. "You know, I'd never, ever do that to you, V."

That earned him a decisive snort, and she leaned back far enough to cast him a droll sort of look. "I don't have hair on my chest, Roka," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but if you did, you'd still be hot," he quipped as he pushed the blanket aside and leaned over to snag a shirt out of his backpack.

She snorted as she flopped over onto the air mattress and yanked the blanket back up to her chin. "Only you would think that a woman with a hairy chest would be hot."

"Ah, nah, nah, nah, nah," he countered, grabbing the blanket and giving it a good tug. Valerie whimpered in protest and tried to grab the blanket back, to no avail. "Time to get a'movin', V."

"But it's cold outside the tent," she pointed out with a plaintive whine.

"And you'll warm up quick enough once we start walking."

Her reply was a decisive snort, but she did sit up and reached for her bag.

Satisfied that she wasn't going to try to go back to sleep, Evan dropped the blanket beside the mattress and yanked the tee-shirt over his head with one hand as he unzipped the entrance flap with the other. "Five minutes, woman, before I start packing it up," he warned as he stepped out into the very brisk morning.

"And you'd better have coffee waiting for me," she tossed back.

Evan let the flap fall closed with a chuckle, sticking his arm through the other sleeve. "That's my V," he remarked to himself as he ambled toward the edge of the encampment to find a good spot to relieve himself even as he rubbed his chest where she'd so unceremoniously decided to yank hairs off his person. All in all, not the best way to start the day . . .

' _You should've taken her up on her offer,_ ' his youkai-voice complained.

Evan wrinkled his nose. ' _Fat fucking chance_ ,' he scoffed.   ' _That hurt, damn it_ . . .'

' _She's right_ ,' his youkai went on. ' _Total wuss_.'

Evan snorted but didn't respond. Better a wuss with a few chest hairs, he figured, than a martyr without . . .

 

 

- ** _Garret_** -

 

 

"Hey. You busy?"

Kaci Lea didn't even glance up from the book she was studying when her brother stuck his head into her room. "I've got a test tomorrow, Gare," she replied in a monotone.

"Yeah, but this'll only take a second," he said.

Letting out a deep breath, Kaci Lea sat back and pushed the book away. "All right. Your second's over."

He grinned at her and stepped into the small room, pushing the door closed behind himself. "Aww, you always ace those tests."

She made a face. "Yeah, because I always study for them," she pointed out.

"Yeah, yeah . . ." he agreed with a flick of his wrist. "You know, I was thinking . . ."

"Did you hurt yourself?"

His grin widened. "Naw . . . It's just . . . I-I bet Zel could help you get a passport if you wanted to come with me to Spain this weekend."

Her serious expression didn't change. She probably figured he was going to suggest it since he already had the day after he'd gotten back. Still, as happy as he was about his new-found 'job', a part of him couldn't help but to feel a little guilty when he stopped to think about it. After all, he was on the edge of his dreams coming true, and Kaci Lea . . .? Well, it seemed like nothing in her life had changed at all . . .

"It was amazing," he told her when she didn't reply right away. "All the people and the parties and stuff . . ." Then he frowned. "Not that you could go to the parties," he blurted suddenly. "I mean, there's a lot of shit at those that you don't need to be around . . ."

Kaci Lea snorted indelicately. "But _you_ can go to them? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black . . ."

"Y-Yeah, well, I'm not a fourteen year-old girl," he went on almost airily, as though he was far worldlier than she. "Besides, if you got caught up with some of the guys on the crew or something, I'd have to . . . to kick their asses."

She made a face at his threat. "Not that I'd want to, anyway, but you know, I heard you telling Daddy about some of the girls you met," she pointed out with a shake of her head.

"Maybe, but I'm not a fourteen year old girl," he shot back, unable to staunch the flow of blood that rose to stain his cheeks.

She rolled her eyes at his statement. "That's so sexist," she pointed out. "You think that I'm going to let some guy take advantage of me just because I'm a fourteen year old girl? Please!"

"Well, maybe not," he allowed with a shrug, "but I still think you'd have a good time."

"Maybe if it was summer," she replied with a simple shrug.

"Yeah, but how often does a chance like this come around?" he countered. "C'mon, Kase."

Kaci Lea shook her head again, her hair falling over the side of her face. "Anyway, I can't go. I have a couple reports due next week, and I have to work at the library on Saturday morning."

He scowled at her, ducking his chin, staring at her through the thick shag of bangs as he crossed his arms over his chest and slowly shook his head. "Kase . . ."

She waved her hands at him to stall him before he could continue. Then she pasted a very bright smile on her face as she tucked a long strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "It's fine, Gare . . . and you know I'm happy for you—even if you are a dork."

"Takes a dork to know a dork," he grumbled.

Her smile widened enough to show off the deep dimples that she hadn't showed very often lately. "Besides, I don't think I'd like flying, anyway."

"I don't know. It's pretty damn cool."

She didn't look like she believed him, and she heaved another sigh as she reached out to pull the text book toward her once more. "As fun as it is to chat with you, I really do have to study for the test," she pointed out in a droll kind of way. "You could benefit from studying a little bit, too."

Yanking the door open, Garret grinned. "Shit . . . Why the hell would I wanna do something like that?" he scoffed.

"Gee," she drawled in an exaggeratedly bored tone, "of course you wouldn't. How stupid of me."

"That's okay. I'll forgive you this time." He hesitated before he left the room, his hand poised on the doorknob. "Hey, uh, Kase?"

"Hmm?" she drawled without lifting her face from the textbook in front of her.

He sighed. "You're not saying you don't want to go because of V, are you?"

He could sense her back stiffen, even if he didn't turn to look. There was a subtle change in the atmosphere that was impossible not to notice, and just for a second, he wished that he hadn't brought up their older sister. Then he brushed that feeling aside.

"Why would I care if she's there or not?" Kaci Lea replied rather stiffly.

Garret wasn't quite ready to give up. "She's really cool," he went on casually, letting his hand fall away from the door as he slowly turned to face Kaci Lea once more. "It's kind of funny. I mean, she's a lawyer and all, right? So you wouldn't think—"

"It has nothing to do with her," Kaci Lea cut in firmly. "I just have too much stuff going on to just drop everything—even for a weekend in Germany."

"Spain," Garret corrected.

Kaci Lea snorted. "Whatever."

"Yeah, but there's lots of historical crap there, right? I mean, you could think of it as a chance to study old . . . streets and . . . and stuff."

She almost smiled—almost. Then she rolled her eyes again. "Go away, Garret. If I flunk my test because you kept yapping at me, I'll make sure you regret it."

He didn't really want to give up, but he knew damn well that Kaci Lea was about as stubborn as they came, and if she really was set to stay home, then there wasn't much he could do about that, either. "Next time, then?" he said in a tone that implied that she'd better not argue with him.

She heaved a sigh, but shrugged. "Next time, I'll think about it," she conceded.

"All right, pest," he muttered, only half-teasing.

"Get out of here, rockstar-wanna-be."

He grinned. "More like, rockstar – _gonna_ –be."

"Doofus forever," she shot back.

"Brainiac bookworm!"

He could hear the sound of her pen hitting the back of the door as he pulled it closed, and for a moment, he chuckled before the sound died away, before the thoughtful expression slipped over his face once more.

She was lying, and he knew it.

Oh, sure, she probably did have to work at the library, and she probably did have a report or two due at school, too. But somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling, either, could he? She'd just been too quiet lately, more reserved than usual . . . Something was bothering his little sister, and he knew it. The trouble was, he had a feeling that it might well have something to do with his big sister, and if that was the case, then there wasn't much he could do about it. The trouble was, he could kind of understand where Kaci Lea was coming from. She wasn't the only one who had been told that, one day, their big sister would come home, and maybe Kaci Lea had wanted that much more than anyone else had. Still . . .

Unfortunately, he could also understand Valerie's side of things, too, at least, to a point. Okay, so he couldn't really wrap his head around what she had to have felt, all those years, isolated from their family. But he knew damn well that it had to have been rough.

The thing was, he just didn't know what to do about it—or if there really was anything he could do, at all . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"So tell me again, why do I feel like we're hurrying?" Valerie asked, ducking slightly to avoid a low-hanging branch.

Evan peered over his shoulder at her, a wide grin breaking over his features as he broke a path through the dense foliage for her. "Dunno, V," he replied casually. "Why were you in my bushes?"

Valerie snorted and shook her head. "Isn't that getting a little old, Roka?" she complained. "How long are you going to use that one, anyway?"

The sound of his chuckles drifted back to her. "That one was classic, woman. Call it payback for trying to de-fur me earlier."

She rolled her eyes but did smile just a little. "Give it a rest," she told him brusquely. "I can't believe you're still pouting about that."

"Of course I am," he argued amiably. "That really hurt, you know."

"Oh, you'll live," she insisted dryly, digging a soy and oat energy bar out of her pocket. "Did you call Mike while we were in town?"

"Nope," he replied without missing a step.

That didn't surprise her. He probably thought that Mike would have a cow when he finally did catch up with the errant rock star, and Valerie figured that Evan was very likely right.

"Did you call your parents?"

"I did," she said with a smile. "Daddy said that you're supposed to behave yourself."

"Are you sure he said that or did he say not to do anything he wouldn't do?" Evan countered. "'Cause those are two _very_ different things."

Making a face, Valerie had to wonder how Evan could understand Jack Duyer so easily. "Why don't we make camp soon?" Valerie asked instead, making a point of ignoring Evan's question.

"Yeah, okay," he said, veering sharply toward the left—toward the sound of rushing water.

They hiked for another ten minutes without speaking until Evan stopped on the edge of a small clearing. Through the foliage on the far side, she could see the bank of the river they'd been following, and she let out a deep breath while Evan shrugged off his backpack and let it thump onto the ground. "Nice," he breathed, taking a moment to stretch his lanky body before hunkering down to pull the tent from the straps that held it onto the pack.

"How about I do this while you go catch us some dinner?"

Valerie blinked at his suggestion then snorted at the unlikelihood that she'd be able to do any such thing—at least, without a fishing pole, which she didn't have. "I can catch you a soy-oat energy bar," she informed him dryly.

He chuckled. "I'd prefer real food, woman," he pointed out as he inspected the ground where he planned on pitching the tent. "Don't worry. I, as the big, strong, strapping man, will catch food for you, you weak, tiny, frail woman, after I get done with this."

"You're a big _something_ ," she scoffed with a shake of her head as she set her backpack down and moved off to gather some firewood.

"I've _got_ a big somethin'-somethin'," he shot back with a devilish kind of gleam in his eyes.

She made a face and ignored his commentary as his laughter followed her as she stepped into the trees once more. Then she broke into a smile and slowly shook her head, trying to keep from laughing out loud since Evan didn't really need that kind of encouragement, anyway.

Hiking with him was a lot more fun than she'd thought it was going to be. Sure, she enjoyed doing such things, but for some reason, she hadn't actually stopped to think that he might, too. It was a side of him that was so easily hidden by the flashier aspects of his rockstar persona. It struck her again, just how sorely she'd misjudged him when they'd first met. Sure, he had his moments, but a dumb musician? No, he definitely wasn't that; not at all . . .

Of course, there was still the very real chance that Mike would undoubtedly want his head when they finally caught up to each other, but Valerie couldn't even feel too bad about leaving the poor man in the lurch, either, not when she was having such a good time with Evan. Besides, she knew damn well that Mike kind of expected Evan to pull stunts like this, anyway. She highly doubted that it was really something new to the manager.

It didn't take long to gather enough wood to start a fire and to keep it going for a good while. By the time she got back to the camp, she figured that he'd already have a small fire going, anyway. Turning carefully so that she didn't drop the wood in her arms, she stopped abruptly. "Evan?" she said, brow furrowing as she scanned the area around her.

She didn't see anything—just trees and undergrowth—absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. But the sound of crunching leaves and twigs came again, though this time, it seemed much closer, just off to the right . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Ode to Billie Joe_** ' _by_ _Bobbie_ _Gentry_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1967_ _release_ , **_Ode to Billie Joe_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Bobbie_ _Gentry._
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _… Who …?_


	182. 181: Little Lies

' _If I could turn the page_...  
' _In time then I'd rearrange just a day or two_ …  
' _Close my, close my, close my eyes_ …'

' _But I couldn't find a way_ …  
' _So I'll settle for one day to believe in you_ …  
' _Tell me, tell me, tell me lies_ ...'

 

-' _Little Lies_ ' by Fleetwood Mac.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Thank you so much for your hospitality."

Evan shrugged and handed the man a skewered fish, hot off the fire. "Don't mention it."

Antonio Valdez bit into it, his eyes fluttering closed, as he uttered a soft groan. "Fantastic," he muttered, holding the fish out to his young wife, Imelda. "You are sure you don't mind sharing your campsite for the evening?"

Evan grinned as he handed Valerie the other cooked fish and sank down beside her on the log he'd pulled over to use as a bench. "Nah, it's fine," he assured them again.

He caught the questioning expression on Valerie's face and chuckled. "He asked if we're sure that it's all right to share our campsite with them tonight," he clarified since they'd been speaking in Spanish. "You don't mind, do you, V?"

Valerie blinked and quickly shook her head as she turned to smile at their impromptu guests. "No, no, it's fine," she said.

Antonio laughed as he slipped an arm around his wife. He knew enough English to have introduced both of them to Valerie when they'd stumbled upon her as she was gathering firewood, but his grasp of the language wasn't very strong. He'd told Evan, though, that he and his wife had decided to hike around Spain on their honeymoon, and they were going to set up camp further on, but it was already getting a little late, and he'd inadvertently ended up shoulder-deep in the stream they'd been following when he'd lost his footing earlier in the day. Because of that, most of their gear was wet since he'd been gallantly shouldering most of it at the time. Their damp things were spread out around the campsite to air dry before morning, and Evan and Valerie had offered to share their place for the night.

"Your wife is beautiful," Imelda murmured, her smoky dark eyes shining brightly as he handed her a tin cup of coffee.

Evan's grin widened as he cast a quick glance at Valerie. She was nibbling at the other skewered fish, carefully stripping the flesh off one side while leaving the other untouched. "Yeah, she is," he agreed, not bothering to correct the woman's mistake about their marital status.

"She is a good match for you, eh?   Your looks go well together," she went on.

Evan blinked and shot Valerie a slow glance. Sure, he knew she was damn hot, but he'd never actually stopped to think about how they actually looked together. He supposed that it just didn't occur to him, even if the idea pleased him . . . "She's a lot prettier than I am," he murmured with a little shake of his head. As though sensing his casual perusal, Valerie shot Evan a questioning glance, and he chuckled. "Imelda said that we look good together," he clarified in English.

Valerie blinked and shot the woman in question a quick glance, and Evan didn't miss the tinge of pink that bloomed under the slight tan on Valerie's face. "We do?"

He shot her a saucy grin. "'Course we do, baby."

She wrinkled her nose in an absolutely adorable kind of way but laughed. "You're so bent, Evan," she muttered under her breath.

"Very . . ." Imelda drawled as she leaned forward, as though she were trying to make up her mind as she stared at Valerie, her brow furrowing while she struggled to find the English word she wanted to use. Then she clapped her hands and smiled. "Pretty!"

She looked a little flustered for all of ten seconds before she quickly shook her head, her cheeks pinking just a little more. "O-Oh, thank you," Valerie replied with a smile and a friendly nod.

Imelda laughed. "You two must have a romantic story of how you met, no?" she went on happily, her gaze returning to Evan's face once more. "Like, across the crowded room, your eyes met, and you knew that she was the perfect mate of your soul?"

Evan chuckled and sat back on his heels, as he casually sipped the cup of coffee he'd just poured and idly pondered her question. Considering Valerie still didn't quite see the humor in the situation when they'd met, he didn't think that telling the truth would be a good idea—at least, not in this case, anyway. "I guess you could say it was something like that," he hedged slowly.

"Imelda, Imelda," her husband chided, slipping an arm around her waist and tugging her a little closer. "I apologize," he said, turning his attention to Evan once more. "My wife is forever the romantic—to the point that she can forget her manners."

"But everyone should share the same beautiful passion that we have," she insisted, her deep red lips pursed into a slight pout.

"Women in love are such silly creatures," Antonio mumbled, rolling his eyes as he shot Evan a droll kind of grin.

Evan waved that off with another chuckle. Imelda giggled and leaned up to kiss her husband's cheek. "That's all right," Evan insisted. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to fill the world with romance."

"You see?" Imelda insisted, turning a plaintive look on her new husband. "That's right! The world _should_ be filled with love and romance!"

Antonio chuckled and spared a moment to kiss his wife's nose. "And you are doing your best to make sure of that . . ." Turning toward Evan once more, the man's smile widened. "My beautiful Imelda is a painter . . . She loves to paint the love she feels in her heart, you see?"

Somehow, that idea didn't really surprise Evan. Maybe he was just too used to being around artists. There was something about them in general, he supposed. Even his father had that intangible quality—that dreaminess that never seemed to be far beneath the surface. He wasn't so sure that it stretched to him, however. After all, musicians were a slightly different breed of artist, weren't they? "It's too bad I can't see any of your work," he ventured with a smile. "Oils? Pastels? You don't really strike me as a charcoal type . . ." he mused. "Actually, you seem more like the kind who appreciates water colors."

Imelda laughed. "I prefer water colors, yes," she agreed. "You know many artists?"

"A few," he admitted with an offhanded shrug.

She seemed fascinated. Bright eyes widening as she leaned forward, she reached out to put a hand on Evan's knee. "I can send you something, yes? A painting that I will create especially for you and your wife!"

"We'd love that," he allowed.

Imelda pulled her hand away but didn't lean back, content to rest her elbows on her knees as she scanned Evan's face earnestly. "If you give us your address before we part ways, I'll send you one," she decided.

Antonio chuckled. "And what is it that you and your wife do?"

"Well, V's an attorney, and I . . . Well, I guess you could say that I'm just her trophy husband."

Imelda giggled. "A man of leisure."

"Actually, I do write songs," he admitted.

"I _knew_ it!" Imelda insisted. "You seemed artistic, too! My darling Antonio is an accountant."

Evan's grin widened as the accountant rolled his eyes and laughed. "She said I am her perfect match—except for my profession," he informed Evan with a wink.

Antonio laughed and returned his wife's show of affection as Evan pushed himself to his feet and ambled over to Valerie. "You still hungry?" he asked when she offered him the uneaten side of the fish. "You can have that one. I can go catch more."

She wrinkled her nose and stuffed the end of the stick into his free hand, neatly plucking the cup of coffee out of his other one. "You can't go fishing in the dark," she corrected with a shrug. "So . . . What were you all talking about?"

"They asked what we do for a living—just making small talk, really." He almost laughed at the barely discernible hint of a pout in her tone that belied the rather neutral cheerfulness. "Imelda _did_ say that I have a beautiful wife, though," he replied.

"Oh, yeah?" Valerie murmured, her voice muffled by the tin cup. "I'd like to meet her—maybe when we get back to the States."

He couldn't help but to laugh at that. "I figured it was kind of incidental," he said, shrugging off the dryness in her voice. "Would it kill you to be my wife for one night?"

She peered at him over the edge of the cup, the corners of her eyes turned up just enough to betray the amusement that she was otherwise trying to hide. "All right," she allowed casually— _too_ casually. "But I have a headache tonight, Roka."

"Figures," he grouched. "Ever since you got the ring on my finger, you've had headaches _every_ night."

She giggled but rolled her eyes at his teasing. "Get over it," she scoffed. "You've gotten more than your fair share of it, and don't try to say that you haven't."

He snorted though the effect was ruined by the grin he just couldn't hide. "I'd never get enough of _you_ , baby."

He leaned in to kiss her cheek. She stopped him with a hand in the middle of his face as she leaned the other way to finish off her coffee. "Maybe we'll talk if you get me a refill."

Evan's laughter was warm, light, as he took the cup and pushed himself to his feet once more.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Breaking into a slight smile as she watched Evan refill the coffee cup, Valerie slowly shook her head. He really was something, wasn't he? Sure, she'd known that the man couldn't possibly be stupid. After all, he had a doctorate, for God's sake, and even if he did insist that it wasn't a big deal, she knew better, and she'd known that he could speak Spanish from their brief stops in the couple towns they'd trekked through, but he was even more fluent in the language than she'd initially thought. He knew quite a few languages, she realized. Oh, sure, she'd known that, but when she stopped to really think about it, in the length of time that she'd known him, she'd heard him speak German, French, Hungarian—at least, she thought it was Hungarian—and, considering he'd said that his mother was originally from Japan, she figured he knew that, too, and now Spanish . . .

She used to think that he tried to act dumb, that it was all a part of the front he tried to hide behind, but that wasn't true, was it? No, it was more of a game to him. It wasn't so much that he tried to hide the fact that he was smart as much as he just didn't really throw such things into other people's faces. Of course, she didn't doubt that he could and did act a little denser in some situations than he really needed to, but he didn't do that with her.

Biting her lip as she watched him carefully slip more wood into the fire that was still burning strong, she rubbed her arms through the thick sleeves of the sweatshirt she'd dug out of her backpack when the sun had first started to sink below the tree line, she smiled just a little. Sometimes she had to wonder if there was anything that the man _couldn't_ do . . .

"How long . . . umm . . ."

Valerie blinked and shifted her gaze away from Evan, breaking into a friendly smile when she met Imelda's probing eyes. The young woman seemed to be deep in thought at the moment, struggling to remember the words she'd learned, or so it seemed. "You . . . You are married, yes? Much time?"

Valerie's smile faltered for a moment as she remembered a second too late that Evan had said that he hadn't told their impromptu guests that they weren't married. "Oh . . . Uh, not . . . not very long," Valerie heard herself saying. After all, Imelda didn't seem to have a very strong grasp of the English language, and trying to explain things would probably not be worth the effort, all things considered.

Imelda giggled, her eyes shining in the dancing firelight. "He is a sexy man, no?"

For some reason, Imelda's question caught Valerie off guard. Sure, she knew he was a good looking man, but to hear it put so bluntly? "O-Oh . . . Y-Yes," she murmured, cheeks pinking despite her resolve not to do any such thing.

"Not as sexy as you are, baby," Evan quipped as he slipped the mug of coffee into her hands once more.

Heaving a little sigh, Valerie refrained from comment. Didn't it just figure that he'd heard her answer? Somehow, she had the feeling that she was going to live to regret that . . .

Imelda grinned happily and suddenly clapped her hands before launching into something in very rapid Spanish that Valerie didn't have a hope of understanding. Evan must have, though, because he chuckled before casting Valerie a rather suspect glance and answering the woman.

Intercepting Valerie's questioning glance, Evan's grin widened. "She wants to take some pictures," he explained, looking not unlike the cat that ate the canary. "She's an artist, and she offered to do a painting of us, so she wants some pictures for reference."

A picture wasn't so bad, was it? Valerie opened her mouth to say as much, but Imelda was quicker. During Evan's explanation, she'd dug a very nice camera out of her backpack. "A . . . _romantic_ picture," she said in hesitant English. "How do you say . . .? Oh! Kiss! Kiss, kiss!"

"Ki—?" Valerie started to blurt, only to be cut off when Evan caught her hands and hauled her to her feet. "I-I-I don't think—"

"It's for _art_ , V," Evan insisted as he drew her close, his lips hovering just breaths away from hers.

"Evan, I—"

And he kissed her.

The touch of his lips against hers was electrifying, an instant war against any kind of resistance she might have wanted to offer. Warm, gentle, yet unsettling, just the same, the moment could have lasted forever, but wasn't nearly long enough, either. The whisper of a promise that couldn't be heard, the gentleness that he tried so hard to hide . . . it was all there in his kiss, in his touch, in his very being . . .

As though from far away, she could feel her knees give, couldn't help herself as she melted against him, clinging to the front of his shirt, unable to do anything to save herself—if she wanted to be saved, at all. Maybe he could sense her weakness, because he drew her closer, close enough that she could feel the pounding of his heart—strangely erratic and harsh—against her, using his body to offer her the support she couldn't muster for herself.

The sweetness of his touch was beautiful, as though he were afraid that he'd hurt her if he held her too tightly, he seemed to fold himself around her as his lips flickered over hers time and again in the softest of kisses, the most delicate of caresses. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could discern the sound of the camera as Imelda clicked away. It didn't matter, did it? Oh, maybe it would later, but once—only for once . . . Maybe it was okay . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Somehow, I feel as though we got the short end of the stick," Antonio remarked as he settled against the log and stretched his legs out toward the fire.

Evan chuckled but didn't argue with him. He'd kind of thought the same thing, too, but hell, what could he do about that? It was a lot cooler tonight than it had been thus far, so it only made sense to let the girls sleep in the tent with the small safety heater. Evan had bought it, but they hadn't used it yet—it only held enough fuel to work for one night, at best. They hadn't really needed it, though. After all, Evan did so love to make sure that Valerie was warm, after all . . .

"Eh, it's only for one night, right?" Evan drawled.

Antonio chuckled and took his time, sipping his coffee. "One night that feels like an eternity. You agree, no?"

Letting out a deep breath, Evan slowly shook his head. "Keh! You don't know the half of it," he muttered, more to himself than to Antonio.

He'd thought that the kiss was a good idea at the time. Well, okay, that wasn't exactly true. He did know that the kiss had the potential to be a bad idea. Historically speaking, kissing Valerie just didn't tend to lead to the best of outcomes, now did it? Never mind that she wasn't acting weird or anything, which did mean that he was making progress on some level, sure, but . . .

But damned if he could rightfully convince his body that nothing else was on the table, so to speak. Oh, he was under a very careful sense of control at the moment. That didn't mean that he wouldn't snap like a spring wound too tightly if he wasn't careful. Damn it.

How the hell could she turn him completely inside out without even trying?

' _Don't go there, Roka_.'

He heaved an inward sigh. Yeah, he supposed he already knew that answer, didn't he?

"How long have the two of you been together?" Antonio asked, breaking into Evan's thoughts.

"Not that long, really," Evan ventured with a shrug. "But it feels like I've known her forever."

"As though a part of you has always yearned for her, no? And then you found her."

Scratching his chin, Evan stifled a sigh. "Sounds about right."

Antonio chuckled, pulling a rather rumpled pack of cigarettes out of his breast pocket. Catching the bemused look on Evan's face, he grinned. "Imelda hates these," he admitted as he shook one out and offered it to Evan. Evan declined with a quick flick of his hand, and Antonio grasped it between his lips to tug it free. "I think she can forgive me this once."

"Everything got wet but those?" Evan couldn't help asking.

Antonio grinned as he lit the cigarette. "I landed on my back," he allowed with a shrug.

Evan chuckled again but trailed off when Valerie pushed back the tent flap and ducked outside. When she caught his gaze, she smiled and wandered over, straightening her arms out, catching the cuffs of her sweatshirt over the heels of her hands as though she were cold. "It's too cold in there," she explained as she sank down next to Evan. "Figured I'd be warmer out here with you than I would be in there . . . Imelda seemed pretty cold, too," she went on, holding up her cell phone before holding it out toward Antonio. They'd remembered shortly after the photo-op that there was a translation app on her phone, and since then, she'd been able to talk to them a little easier than before. The translation kicked in, and Antonio smiled as he got to his feet and paused long enough to kiss Valerie on either cheek before ambling off toward the tent.

"Scoot over, Roka," she ordered without preamble after Antonio stepped around her.

"Oh, absolutely," Evan agreed, slipping an arm around her to pull her a little closer against his side. "You want a cup of coffee?"

"Maybe in a little bit," she said, unconsciously tucking herself neatly against his side.

"You know, those safety heaters got pretty good reviews, I'd read," Evan ventured. "It's not warm enough for you in there?"

She shrugged. "It wasn't bad," she admitted casually—a little _too_ casually—"but you're warmer . . . besides, they're newlyweds, right? It seemed a little weird that they'd spend the night apart."

He kissed her forehead and pulled a blanket off of his backpack to spread over her. "Ah, so there _is_ a bit of a romantic in you, is there?"

"Occasionally," she allowed, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. "You never let me get cold."

There was something in the gentleness of her tone, something completely trusting, completely unguarded, and Evan had to wonder if she knew how she sounded. In the end, however, he just sighed, tucking the blanket in more securely under her chin before wrapping his arms around her a little tighter. "And I never will, V."

"Mm . . . I know."

"Do you?"

"Yep . . ."

"How's that?"

She giggled. "Because you're a good guy, Evan, that's why."

He snorted. "You need to stop saying stuff like that, woman."

"Why? It's true."

"It is not," he argued. "I'm not a good guy. I'm a nasty guy—a really, _really_ nasty guy. I'm as nasty as they come."

"You're not, you know," she insisted, her voice taking on a slightly bemused quality. She was going to fall asleep soon; he just knew it. "You're a great person—maybe a little misguided sometimes, but a great person, despite your best efforts to prove otherwise."

"That's so not true," he scoffed, rolling his eyes though she couldn't see the expression. "I'm telling you, if we'd been alone earlier, I'd have had you down on the ground, screaming my name."

She giggled softly. "You wouldn't have," she countered. "You're not that kind of guy, even if you try to be."

He sighed. "Yeah," he agreed almost grudgingly. "I wouldn't have . . . At least, not till I get that stupid Cracker Jack box ring off your finger, anyway . . ."

"Because you're a nice man," she breathed, her voice growing fainter and fainter with every word, "just like I knew you were."

He snorted and opened his mouth to complain, but snapped it closed when she snuggled against his chest. Almost like a breath of wind, he could feel her body relax even more, and he didn't have to look to know that she was already asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Little Lies_** ' _by_ _Fleetwood_ _Mac_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1987_ _release_ , **_Tango_** **_in_** **_the_** **_Night_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Christine_ _McVie_ _and_ _Eddy_ _Quintela_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Nice man, my ass!_


	183. 182: Sounds of Silence

' _Dreams last (for) so long_...  
' _Even after you're gone_ …  
' _I know you love me_ …  
' _And soon you will see_ …  
' _You were meant for me_ …  
' _And I was meant for you_ ...'

 

-' _You were Meant for Me_ ' by Jewel.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"How you doing back there?"

Valerie muttered something that was hidden beneath the prevalent sound of the falling rain. Cold, wet, and uncomfortable, Evan had tried to talk her into finding shelter just after ten a.m. when the rain had first started to fall, but he'd also mentioned that they weren't far from Madrid, and Valerie, stubborn woman that she was, had insisted that she didn't want to stop until they reached the city.

Evan sighed. True, in good conditions, they would likely reach Madrid within a few hours, probably before nightfall, if they could move faster, but the rain wasn't letting up, and judging from the clouds overhead, it wasn't going to, either. No, he really needed to find some shelter where he could get her dried off and warmed up. In the back of his mind, he couldn't ignore the sound of his youkai voice—the one that kept reminding him that she was human; she was delicate. It'd be easy for her to get sick, especially in conditions like these . . .

Stopping abruptly, he turned to face Valerie with a scowl. Her hair was plastered to her head despite the slicker she'd donned when the rain had started, and when she caught his gaze, she tried to smile, which only made his scowl darken, given that her lips were trembling. "Let's find somewhere to wait this out," he said when she stepped in closer to him. "C'mon, you're freezing, V."

He almost expected her to argue with him. As feisty as she tended to be, it wouldn't have surprised him at all. She must have realized that the rain wasn't about to stop any time soon, though, because she nodded instead, slipping her hand into his. "If you can light a fire in all this, you'll be my hero forever," she murmured.

Chuckling softly, Evan let go of her hand long enough to tug the backpack off her, slinging it over his free arm before reaching for her once more. "We'll get you dried off; I promise."

"Yeah, well, I guess it's not so bad," she allowed as they altered their course. The highway shouldn't be that far away. As far as Evan could estimate, he figured they ought to be able to reach it in an hour or so. Even if they weren't able to find a better place, there were always a few small establishments along the way, right? Besides, they weren't really in an area that offered much in the way of shelter, unfortunately . . .

"I love your optimism," he quipped, sparing a moment to wink at her.

She rolled her eyes but smiled. "No, I just meant that I was thinking it'd be a little sad when we reach Madrid, anyway," she explained.

"Why's that?"

She shrugged offhandedly—he felt the slight tug on his hand. "I've had a lot of fun, doing this," she admitted simply. "More fun than I thought I'd have, to be honest . . ."

"You didn't think you'd have fun?" he couldn't help asking.

"No, no . . ." she quickly said. "It wasn't that. I knew it would be fun. It's just been _more_ fun than I'd thought; that's all . . ."

"Well, what'd you expect? You're trekking all over Spain with a hell of a sexy guy—you said so yourself."

She heaved an audible sigh. "I really never should have said that," she muttered under her breath.

"Yeah, but you did, and now you can't take it back."

That earned him a healthy snort. "Just what you needed for your already monstrous ego," she complained. "It would have been pretty bad if I had said that I didn't think you were, considering you'd already told them that we were _married_ , you jerk."

He laughed. He couldn't help it. "Eh, does it matter? I mean, hell . . . it's not like they're coming home with us, right?"

Rolling her eyes, she uttered another terse snort. "You know, you're going to catch a cold," she suddenly said. "You'll catch pneumonia, and they'll cancel your show, then Mike'll blame me for not stopping you from doing this, in the first place."

"I'll be fine," Evan insisted with a nonchalant shrug. "I'm a big, strong rockstar, remember?"

That earned him a dour look. "You're not invincible," she informed him brusquely as she scanned their surroundings, probably trying to find somewhere for them to take shelter. "Sure, you're a rockstar. Yes, you're healthy, but you're still human, and humans get sick."

"Aw, c'mon, woman! I'm telling you it's not a big deal, and while I appreciate that you care, I guarantee that I—"

Dragging him under the comparative cover of a very large tree, Valerie didn't stop until she had him pinned between her and the trunk, and then she silenced him with a formidable scowl, her cheeks blossoming in color as she stubbornly shook her head. "For once, Roka, you're going to shut the hell up and let me fuss over you, all right?"

The retort died on Evan's tongue as he stared at her, and if he'd ever seen anything quite as stunning as she was in that moment, he couldn't remember it. Hair flat and clinging to her head, eyes flashing brighter than the occasional flash of lightning that split the otherwise pervasive grayness that surrounded them, nostrils flaring as her pinkened cheeks seemed to lend an ethereal glow to her skin, she looked just as beautiful in her soaked sweatshirt and jeans as she did in a designer dress, ready for a formal soiree. "I'm not going to dry off here," he said, albeit gently as he reached up and carefully pushed a bedraggled lock of hair behind her ear. "How about we worry about that when we find better shelter?"

"All right," she agreed with a weary sigh that was totally at odds with the fierceness still lingering in her gaze. "Don't suppose you have any friends in this area, do you?"

He chuckled and pulled her into a quick hug before tugging the hood of her slicker a little more securely around her face. "Unfortunately, no," he admitted. "But we'll find something."

Valerie didn't look like she was buying it, but she did let him take her by the hand and drag her forward once more.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Do you think it's ever going to stop?"

Evan didn't turn to look at her where he stood, leaning casually against the cold metal support as he stared out of their makeshift shelter at the rain that still fell in the darkening night. Far above, Valerie could hear the steady drone of cars passing overhead on the highway—it wasn't enough to constitute a traffic jam by any means, but there were more than enough, she supposed. It struck her again, just how different he looked from his public persona. After they'd stumbled upon the overpass, he'd changed out of his sopping-wet clothes and into a pair of black track pants and a gray University of Maine sweatshirt, which just didn't look at all like something that Zel Roka would wear.

"It has to," he replied almost absently and without turning to look at her, "and if it doesn't by morning, we'll just have to hitch a ride to Madrid."

She laughed and poured steaming coffee into the two tin cups before setting the kettle back in the ashes near the campfire. "Yet something else for Mike to blame on me? No way," she replied, picking up both cups and carefully walking over to him. "Here, drink this."

He blinked and looked down almost in surprise as he took the cup she offered him. "Oh, thank you," he said as he sipped the hot coffee. "Damn, that's good . . ."

She rolled her eyes but smiled since she hadn't really done anything special, in her estimation. "Yeah, we'll see if you're still saying that when you get your dinner," she warned. The small stream that ran through the underpass didn't have any fish big enough to bother with, and so Valerie had resorted to throwing things together that they had in their backpacks—all things considered, not much. Evan had a can of potted meat, a few packets of instant noodle soup, and a bag of beef jerky, and she'd had a couple energy bars, a few rice cakes, and some trail mix. She'd dumped the chicken noodle soup packets into a small pan of water that she'd boiled some of the beef jerky with it for flavor, added the potted meat, and hoped that it wasn't the grossest thing in the world.

"It can't be that bad," he insisted. "Anything tastes good when you're starving, right?"

She laughed despite the dark look she tried to give him. "Oh, now that's good for my ego," she said, draining her coffee and holding out her hand for his empty cup. "Anyway, dinner's as ready as it'll ever be."

Pushing himself away from the metal beam, he chuckled as he followed her back toward the fire. He didn't say anything as she scooped his food into a bowl and handed it over, and she couldn't tell what, exactly, he was thinking as he stuck the first bite into his mouth. Gnawing on her lip and bracing herself for whatever he was going to say about it, she waited.

"It's not bad," he finally said, though the thoughtful expression on his face didn't wane.

She grimaced. "It's awful, isn't it?"

He chuckled and stuffed another bite into his mouth. "No, seriously, it's really not bad, I swear!"

She must not have looked like she believed him, because he laughed again and held out his spoon. "Try it."

Hesitating for a moment, she finally leaned forward and sniffed. It really didn't smell bad, no, she supposed, but still . . .

"Come on," he coaxed, waving the spoon just a little. "Taste it."

She wasn't entirely sure that she thought he was above playing a mean trick on her, but she finally let him feed her a bite. "It's not . . . terrible," she decided at length.

"Actually, I kind of like it," he ventured, scooping up another bite. "Kind of reminds me of one of those chicken noodle dinner-things that I loved as a pup."

"Those things didn't have potted meat in them," she pointed out as she started to eat the portion she'd saved for herself.

He chuckled. "They did if Cain made them," he told her. "Well, not potted meat, but ol' Cain was known to toss cut-up hot dogs into it . . ."

She made a face since that didn't really sound too tasty to her. "And how often did your father feed stuff like that to you?" she asked.

"Eh, not too often, but there were a few times if Mama had meetings or something, usually only when she was working with her editor on the children's books she writes."

The thought of Gin Zelig's children's books made her smile, especially since Valerie had seen the one that she'd been working on most recently over their visit on Christmas. Though it didn't officially have a title yet, it was generally referred to as _The Purple Pony with a Golden Horn_ , and, Valerie had been told, it was being written for Olivia. Gin wrote and illustrated stories for all the children, and Evan had told Valerie that she had written the story, _Ruff-Ruff's Rough Day_ for him.

"Your mom is so great," she ventured, setting her now-empty bowl aside. "Like the kind of mom you read about or see on those corny old television shows . . ."

"Your mom's pretty cool," he reminded her though his smile bespoke his obvious pleasure that Valerie approved of his mama.

She let out a deep breath. It wasn't a sigh, exactly. "She was too young to be the kind of mom yours was," Valerie said simply, pragmatically. "I think she did a better job with Garret and Kaci Lea."

"I'm pretty sure that Mama's the exception, not the norm," Evan told her very seriously—at least, until he broke into a shit-eating grin, anyway. "I mean, no one on earth's as great as _my_ mama."

Valerie laughed and slowly shook her head, mostly because it was pretty obvious that Evan wasn't about to take anything too seriously at the moment. "Yeah? Just so you know, it still baffles me, how she ended up with a rotten kid like you."

His grin widened. "Eh, just lucky, I guess."

She laughed. She couldn't help it. The man was just incorrigible, no doubt about it. Still giggling, she took his bowl and retrieved her own to wash them in the creek.

"Oh . . . That's not good . . ."

"Hmm? What's that?" she asked without turning around to see what Evan was up to.

She heard him sigh as she shook off the bowls and set them aside. "The tent's wet," he told her. "Guess I didn't check to make sure the end of the bag was secured well enough before I tied it to my backpack."

Settling back on her haunches, Valerie lifted her head and gazed around the shelter. "Well, we're pretty much out of the wind, so I guess it's not so bad," she finally said.

Evan grunted. "Yeah . . . good thing we'll reach Madrid tomorrow. Doesn't look like the rain's going to let up enough to dry this out overnight."

Pushing herself to her feet with the dishes, Valerie stepped back over to the fire and arranged them on a towel to dry. "The blankets are still dry," she reminded him. "We'll be fine."

"Says you," he retorted, sparing a moment to pin her with a lecherous grin. "Don't blame me if I can't keep my hands to myself if I get cold."

"You will," she insisted, frowning at the ground, trying to decide on the best area to spread out a blanket.

"Yeah," he drawled, scratching his chin. "I guess I will—for now."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _I don't think that there's anything else in the world that I want right now_ . . .'

Evan's youkai-voice sighed in an almost contented sort of way. ' _For now_.'

' _Yeah, for now_ ,' he allowed, wrapping his arms a little tighter around Valerie. Sitting with his knees bent, slouching slightly against the cold concrete wall with her cuddled on his lap, her cheek resting against his heart, he figured that it was just about perfect while the dull sound of the falling rain droned on in his ears, interrupted now and then by vehicles rumbling high overhead. She hadn't spoken in a while, and Evan was almost convinced that she was sleeping.

" _No, I just meant that I was thinking it'd be a little sad when we reach Madrid, anyway . . . I've had a lot of fun, doing this. More fun than I thought I'd have, to be honest_ . . ."

He'd take that, he supposed. Breaking into a wan smile as he savored the feel of her, he breathed in the smell of her, let himself get lost in the calm of her aura. Maybe she didn't know it yet, but she would. All she had to do was listen to her heart, right? Then she'd know how it should be . . . Just a little longer, and then . . .

"What are you thinking about, Roka?"

Evan blinked and glanced down at Valerie. She hadn't moved, and she must've been awake the whole time, and he smiled. "Trying to think of a good way to get into your pants," he said, unable to resist teasing her.

"You just had to go there, didn't you?" she replied, completely nonplussed.   "Be serious?"

"I assure you, woman, I'm being totally serious," he assured her. "Getting into your pants is very serious to me."

She tugged playfully on the lock of hair she'd been holding. "I'm not used to you being so quiet," she pointed out. "So what's on your mind?"

He sighed and kissed her on the forehead. "This is nice, isn't it? You're warm enough, right?"

"Mhmm," she drawled, unconsciously snuggling a little closer. "It is nice . . . well, except for the noisy neighbors upstairs. Why don't you go tell them to be a bit quieter? Some of us are trying to sleep."

He chuckled since the neighbors she was referring to were the vehicles on the overpass. "I'll do that," he murmured, resting his cheek on her hair.

She giggled. "Never mind me . . . Are you warm enough?"

Her concern brought a certain tenderness to his smile, and he sighed. "Don't worry about me, V. I'm fine."

"You wouldn't tell me if you _were_ cold, would you?" she asked, a hint of accusation in her tone.

"Probably not," he agreed easily enough, "but I'm fine, really."

She sighed, too. "You'd do anything for someone else," she said slowly, "but you don't ask anyone for anything you need, do you? Why?"

"Aww, c'mon, V. I'm a lot more selfish than you give me credit for," he told her.

She laughed softly. "But you're not . . . You're like your mother that way, aren't you?"

"Mama . . ." Evan mused, his smile fading just a little as he considered Valerie's observation. Though he might not think so, was that really how she saw him? To be compared to Gin in such a way . . .? Was he really that selfless? He winced inwardly. No, not really. He really wasn't . . . "You know, back when Mama and Cain got married, she refused to tell him that she wanted pups, you know? Because Cain's first wife died having Belle, so Mama thought it'd be selfish to ask him to go through that again."

"But obviously they did have children," Valerie pointed out reasonably.

"Yeah, they did, but I know damn well Mama would've loved to have a houseful of little ones. Too bad Cain gets really worried when she's pregnant. Guess I can't blame him for that, huh?"

"She's pregnant now," Valerie mused.

Evan nodded. "She is . . . She'll be fine, but I don't doubt for a second that Cain's a nervous wreck."

Valerie snorted when Evan chuckled at the idea of his father acting like a nervous wreck. "I'm sure she will be fine—and so will your father."

"Anyway, it's not like I'm being selfless or anything," he went on with a philosophical shrug. "I told you, right? All of this is just a ploy to get into your pretty little panties."

"Such a jerk," she replied without any real rancor. Actually, it kind of sounded more like an endearment than anything, and that made him laugh. "All right, all right . . . so tell me something else?"

"Okay."

"Where do you see yourself in ten years?"

For some reason, her question caught him off guard, but he grinned, anyway, unable to ignore the obvious answer—at least, his obvious answer, anyway. "Between your legs, woman. Where the hell else would I be?"

She heaved a sigh, but he could feel her smiling. "I should have known," she muttered, more to herself than to him. "A jerk _and_ a pervert."

"You think I'm joking, but I'm not. I'm going to convince you that you want to be with me, and then I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure that you're happy, that you have everything you've ever wanted, and in return for all of that, I'm going to insist that you put out at least once a day—more often, if I get my way."

She pushed against his chest, leaning away so she could see his face. She was trying to look stern, wasn't she? Too bad he could tell that she was about two seconds away from laughing outright. "Okay, that aside, what _else_ do you see yourself doing in ten years?"

He chuckled then sighed, figuring that she really did want a serious answer, and that just figured. "Ten years? Well, depending, I could still be out on the road . . . or I could move to Vegas and become a lounge singer."

"Sequins and satin?"

"Oh, yeah."

She wrinkled her nose but smiled. "That's so tacky . . ."

"I know," he agreed. "Totally tacky in a really fan-fucking-tastic way."

"Would you really do that? Settle for being a lounge singer instead of just letting Zel Roka retire? It's not like you'd need the money, you know," she ventured as she settled against him once more.

"To tell the truth, I always figured Zel Roka's go out with a bang, you know?   Something loud and flashy and totally rock. Then I'll go back to just being boring ol' Evan Zelig."

He could sense her smile. "I rather like boring ol' Evan Zelig."

For some reason, her answer pleased him more than he wanted to admit. "Good . . . So tell me what you're planning on doing in ten years?"

She shrugged. "Me? Oh, that's easy. I'll be partners at the law firm with my name on the door instead of just a removable plaque, and I can give the cases I don't want to the grunts and never have to deal with the overinflated ego of certain rockstars."

Her tongue-in-cheek answer made him smile, but something she'd said before whispered in the back of his mind. "But no pups?" he asked, careful to keep his tone casual.

"I don't have time for children," she replied. "Kids deserve to have parents who devote themselves to them, and I can't really do that. Besides . . . I just don't think I'm the mommy type. Do you?"

"I think you are," he said slowly, thoughtfully. "In fact, I think you'd be a damn good mom."

"How do you figure that?" she countered dryly.

Evan gave her a gentle squeeze and shifted his weight slightly.   "Because you know what not to do, right? So you'd be more careful to make sure you don't screw them up."

"Can't say I've ever had the desire to have them," she admitted simply. "I don't know if that means I'm a terrible person or not, but it's true. I never was any good at playing house, anyway. Besides, haven't we already been over this before?"

"Yeah, but I thought maybe you'd changed your mind," he mused, frowning into the darkness over her head. "Maybe you'll _still_ change your mind."

"Maybe," she allowed, but he could tell from her tone of voice that she was just humoring him. Then she laughed. "What's that old saying? May bees don't fly in September?"

Evan offered a half-hearted chuckle. He'd never known a time when he hadn't just assumed that he'd have pups of his own, did he? But Valerie was so convinced that she didn't want them . . .

Then again, what did it really matter? Being with Valerie was the only thing he wanted. The rest of it? Well, it was pretty irrelevant, all things considered . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _You were Meant for Me_** ' _by_ _Jewel_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1996_ _release_ , **_Pieces of You_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Jewel_ _Kilcher_ _and_ _Steve_ _Poltz_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Silly_ _man_ …


	184. 183: Persuasion

' _And I don't want the world to see me_...  
' _'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_ …  
' _When everything's made to be broken_ …  
' _I just want you to know who I am_...'

 

-' _Iris_ ' by the Goo Goo Dolls.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

' _Ahh . . . there's a good chance that I just might stay in here all night_ . . .'

Closing her eyes as she leaned back, Valerie heaved a contented and blissful sigh. As much fun as hiking across Spain had been, she had to admit that there was just nothing quite as heavenly as a really hot, steaming bubble bath . . .

" _But this isn't the hotel where we're supposed to be staying, is it?" Valerie had asked when they'd stopped outside the Belissa Grande Hotel—one of the best hotels in Europe_.

 _He grinned at her. "Nope, but we're not checking in there till tomorrow. One more night with Evan Zelig. Is that so bad?_ "

 _Staring at the stately edifice before them, she slowly shook her head. "I guess he'll do," she decided, "but how did you get reservations? This isn't exactly the kind of place that accepts walk-ins_."

 _The expression on his face turned almost self-deprecating—an expression that she hadn't seen in quite some time. "Some names are worth more than money, you know," he pointed out with an unrepentant grin_.

" _Zelig, you mean?" she asked, since she figured that was likely the reason. Of course he'd hate to stoop to bartering about the last name given to him by a father who, at least in his mind, hadn't wanted him_.

 _He shrugged. "Nah . . . Mama and Cain don't travel too much, but the name 'Inutaisho' does wonders_."

" _Inutaisho? As in, Inutaisho Industries?_ "

 _Evan nodded. "Yep. Figured my uncle wouldn't care if I borrowed his suite._ "

 _She considered that then nodded slowly. "The same uncle who has the house in Hawaii that we used?_ "

" _The same_."

 _She laughed. "You know, I think I like your uncle_."

 _He chuckled, too, and slipped an arm around her before leading her toward the front doors. "Yeah, I thought you would_."

And it really was as simple as that. The girl at the front desk had checked a file, only to find Evan's name on Sesshoumaru Inutaisho's list of special guests, and they were immediately taken to what had to be one of the very best suites in the hotel. Evan had explained to her that Sesshoumaru paid a yearly stipend to keep his suite in permanent reserve so that anyone in the family who was traveling through could easily use it, no questions asked, and, while Evan had also mentioned that he tended to not take advantage of such perks often, he'd rather make sure that Valerie was comfortable than to try to find somewhere else for them to stay.

She supposed it made sense. Evan liked to take care of things himself, and she knew that. He'd rather pay for his own way than to accept arrangements of his family, even if his family didn't mind. It said a lot about him, in her estimation. Of course, if she had stopped to consider it at the time, she'd have realized that Evan wouldn't want to go straight to Zel Roka's hotel. Though he loved the life of a rockstar, he also liked his privacy, didn't he? Or maybe he'd just known that Valerie tended to find the whole thing a bit overwhelming, too . . . Oh, she knew that side of him, and she was growing more accustomed to the hectic and frenzied pace of Evan's alter-ego, but seeing the insanity that seemed to surround Zel Roka wherever he went . . . Yeah, it wasn't exactly something that she'd ever really get used to, either.

And maybe a small part of her was just as pleased that Evan had dumped his entire schedule for the last week, just to hike with her. Okay, maybe a big part of her, if she were to be completely honest. After all, how many people could really claim that _the_ Zel Roka had dropped everything for them? Not many, she supposed.

But he wasn't Zel Roka, not to her. He was Evan, and Evan was the one she preferred. Well, when he wasn't doing something obnoxious, like earlier in the day when they were hiking and he'd stolen one of her ear buds and proceeded to whine at her about her choice of music on her media player. So she'd ended up letting him pick what he wanted. They'd hiked into Madrid, listening to the total works of Zel Roka . . .

True enough, however, as much as she was loathe to admit, especially out loud, Zel Roka was hot—damn hot. It never ceased to amaze her, every time she saw him onstage. Just his presence, his bearing was enough to send a thrill straight through her, and in that, she supposed, she wasn't too different from any other girl at his shows. It didn't really have anything to do with what he did or didn't wear. It was definitely just the ease of his movements, the way that he so confidently controlled the audience. With an insular smile, a wink at the girl in the third row that caught his eye, the rash and brash rockstar persona was something that he wore so loosely: the chameleon on the stage—a man with the ability to reinvent himself every single night . . .

But Evan . . .

She hadn't understood for the longest time, had she? Just how could his real-life personality be so different from the in-your-face musician? But he could be, and he was. As outrageous as Zel Roka, maybe, but there was also a quiet side of him: the introspective dreamer—the artist who poured every ounce of emotion into his songs, and whether he stood up there and performed them or if he sold them to someone else, the heart and soul of him was there, laid wide open for the whole world to see, if they only looked deep enough, listened hard enough . . .

Letting a little sigh slip from her, Valerie shook her head as she sank a little deeper into the depths of the luxurious bath. It was the first thing Valerie had done once they'd entered the hotel room: lock herself in the huge and opulent bathroom and literally dive straight into the huge in-floor garden tub.

She heard the door open though she stubbornly refused to open her eyes. She was buried under a mountain of bubbles, anyway, so it wasn't like he could actually see anything, right? Besides, not even Evan Zelig was going to be able to coax her out of the blissful haven she'd discovered. She was _determined_ , damn it . . .

"You're not really going to stay in there all night, are you?"

"Thinking about it," Valerie said without opening her eyes as she scooted down a little further in the steaming water.

She heard the scrape of his shoes on the marble floor beside her. "But I made plans," he ventured, his voice a husky, if not entirely amused, rumble that sent a slight tremor down her spine, just the same.

"I don't think there are any plans in the universe that could convince me to get out of my bath, Roka."

He chuckled. It had the same basic effect on her. "Even if I told you I got you a special something?"

That did quirk her interested—a little bit—and she popped one eye open, only to find Evan crouched beside her, hand hands dangling between his knees, and a smile on his face. "What kind of 'special something'?" she asked in what she hoped was a neutral tone of voice.

"Guess you'll have to get out and see," he teased. "Or you could scooch over and let me in . . ."

"Forget it, buddy. Besides, you wouldn't really want to smell like a girl, now would you?"

"But I could help you get the parts you can't reach," he offered a little too hopefully.

"You're just trying to get yourself into the tub, aren't you?" she accused.

He grinned and didn't deny it. "Naked V, just add water," he quipped. "All right, fine . . . but if you lean forward, I'd be happy to wash your back."

She really didn't trust him. Maybe it had something to do with the over-the-top innocent look he was trying to give her. Still, she wrinkled her nose but pushed herself up, careful not to disturb the bubbles covering her too much. "Just my back, Roka," she warned.

He chuckled. "Yeah, I know; I know."

He took his time, lathering a thick washcloth and carefully rubbing her back. It almost felt more like a massage, and she couldn't help herself as she closed her eyes, letting her cheek fall against her raised knees. He must've been paying attention, too, because he deliberately slowed his movements, working the cloth in small, relaxing circles.

"Keep it up, and I really won't get out of the tub at all," she murmured with a contented sigh.

Evan leaned in and kissed her cheek. "But you'll miss dinner if you do that," he said, "and then you'll feel bad because I went to a lot of trouble to get reservations."

"It's just food," she replied with careless abandon. "Order room service."

He let out a deep breath and slowly shook his head. "But I got reservations at one of _the_ best restaurants in the world. You'd rather stay in the tub?"

"Still not biting," she insisted.

"Seriously? You've heard of Raul Dominique, haven't you?"

The name rang a bell. Too bad she still was determined not to take the bait. ". . . Raul Dominique? The man touted as one of the best chefs in the world? _That_ Raul Dominique?"

"Yes, _that_ Raul Dominique, but if you'd really rather stay in the tub than take the one chance you might ever have to sample his cuisine, then that's up to you, V," he went on airily.

That got her attention, as much as she wished otherwise.   "How did you do that? Did you use your uncle's name again?"

He laughed and dropped the wash cloth into the water before settling back on his haunches once more. "Nope, not this time—well, not _that_ uncle, anyway . . ."

"Oh? What does that mean?"

His apparent amusement knew no bounds, and he winked at her. "Raul just happens to be a friend of one of my other uncles, so I just gave him a call."

Valerie shook her head. "So another of your uncles just _happens_ to be friends with Raul Dominique?"

Evan chuckled. "Yeah … apparently, they met once in this Japanese-style sushi bar when my uncle, Ryomaru was on a business trip, and they got into an argument over the preparation of the food, so Raul dragged him over to his place, and they spent the night cooking up stuff and basically trying to outdo each other."

"Your uncle challenged _Raul Dominique_ to a cook off?" she asked, unable to suppress the disbelief in her tone.

"Well, that was back before he went and got famous. Uncle said that Raul was still in culinary school at the time," Evan pointed out. "He might be a world-class chef now, but he can't out-cook Ryomaru when it comes to Japanese cuisine."

Valerie frowned. She'd never heard of him, but that didn't mean that much. "Is Uncle Ryomaru famous?"

Evan's chuckle escalated into a bark of laughter. "Sure, in certain circles, but he's not known for his cooking, if that's what you mean. He studied cooking, but only because his wife refused to have pups till one of them learned how to cook, but he just does it for fun."

"You have an interesting family," she mused.

"Guess so," he allowed as he pushed himself to his feet and ambled toward the door. "Anyway, if you stay in the bath, you'll miss dinner—and I got tickets to the opera for afterward, too."

For some reason, the idea of Evan wanting to attend the opera just didn't surprise her in the least. "Which opera?"

" _Zaira_ . . . It's the last showing by the Lourdes Troupe here in Madrid . . ."

Okay, so that _was_ fairly impressive, she had to admit. The Lourdes Troupe was highly touted as the best in the world. Still . . . "Is that what you're wearing?" she asked, nodding at the jeans and t-shirt he'd put on this morning.

"Nope. I'm going to go clean up right now, and your dress—" He gestured at the garment bag that hung on the hook by the changing screen. It wasn't there before. "—was just delivered, so if you want to go, our reservations are for six-thirty."

And then he slipped out of the room.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _Just . . . a little . . . more_ . . .'

' _You know, this is beyond twisted, don't you think?_ '

' _Sh-Shut up . . . The sound of_ your _voice isn't helping me out here_.'

' _Pfft! And if V knew what you're doing, she'd give you hell_.'

' _Or help me . . . Oh, hell! D'you think she'd do that?_ '

'. . . _No. No, I really, really don't_ . . .'

Slumping back against the shower wall, breath coming in harsh and shallow gasps, Evan couldn't help the groan that slipped out of him as a powerful orgasm rattled through him. He figured it was a miracle he was able to resist the urge as long as he had, considering he'd just spent the last week, snuggling with that woman at every given opportunity, but he had. Too bad he knew damn well he'd never be able to keep his hands off her after he'd taken a peek at the dress that Jillian had so sweetly offered to have delivered, just for V. Nope, if he managed to make it through the night without molesting V in some way, he'd be lucky—damn lucky . . .

' _You realize that jacking off a few times isn't gonna do a helluva lot about it, right?_ ' his youkai-voice pointed out.

Heaving a heavy sigh, he didn't argue with that logic. It was true enough. He was still hard, even after getting himself off for the third time, and didn't that just figure? Bad enough that he spent the vast majority of his days, walking around with a semi-boner, but no, the situation was just getting worse and worse and worse, as far as he was concerned.

He supposed it was because of that damned kiss by the campfire. If it hadn't been for that, he might not be in such a horrible predicament now. It was his own fault for not really thinking that one through, he supposed . . .

But damned if she hadn't given in without even giving a token resistance, and damned if she hadn't kissed him right back, too. She should have had chapped lips, given that they'd been trekking through nature for days, but she hadn't. Nope, those lips of hers were soft and supple and absolutely perfect, and didn't that just figure? The way her body had acquiesced to his had just been too much, and he didn't want to let go of her. As it was, it had taken everything he had to force himself to break off that kiss. Something had to give soon, didn't it?

Pushing himself away from the wall, Evan closed his eyes and stuck his head under the flow of the shower tap once more. All he really could do was to keep up what he was already doing. Little by little, he was showing her the way their life together could be, and even if she didn't quite realize it yet, with every passing day, he convinced himself more and more that she really was coming around. Besides, she was most definitely worth it. He knew she was, and that was enough, at least, for now.

Letting out a deep breath, he reached for the soap. There was something to be said for a nice, hot shower. Considering he'd spent the last week bathing in rivers and ponds, the overwhelming feeling of really being clean was something to savor, and he supposed he could understand why Valerie would be reluctant to get out of the bathtub.

At least his body was pretty well back under control again by the time he finished his shower. Giving in to the urge to shake himself dry instead of reaching for a towel, he sighed and stepped out of the shower area and grabbed his brush off the counter as he headed around the half-wall into the changing room.

Considering he'd only been able to give his measurements to the tailor a few hours ago, they'd done a fairly good job, he had to admit as he pulled on the black pants of the tux he'd ordered while Valerie locked herself in the bathroom. There were two shirts, ready for his perusal. He chose the more traditional of the two, and he'd just gotten it buttoned and was tugging on the ends of the tie when Valerie stepped into the room.

Hair swept up and off her face in an elegant chignon, eyes shining brightly, darkened slightly by the evening application of makeup, she smiled almost secretively as she stopped before him and gently pushed his hands away. "Thank you for the dress," she said as she fussed with the ends of the tie. "Do I dare ask how you got it?"

He chuckled, knowing damn well just what was going through that gorgeous head of hers. "I asked Jilli," he admitted. "What did you think?"

She shot him a somewhat droll look without lifting her chin. "You mean, you didn't ask a female friend for a favor?"

His grin widened. "Well, I could have, but that particular dress was courtesy of Juan Liberio."

Her lips twitched, but she didn't smile. "Is that so?"

He nodded. "Yeah, and I gotta tell you, he's just not my type—though I don't doubt for a second that I'm probably his."

"You're so modest," she retorted dryly, tying the bowtie with very deft fingers. "As twisted as you are, I'm surprised you've never experimented."

"I get what you're doing here, V, and I'll give you points for effort," he said with a chuckle. "I'm just not into the penises—well, except my own. I'm pretty damned fond of that one."

"There," she said, folding down the collar tabs and stepping back to give him a good once-over. "I guess you'll do."

He smiled then sighed as he slipped on the jacket. "I don't know about that . . . I mean, look at you." Shaking his head, his grin widened. " _Da-a-a-a-amn_ . . ."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the smile or the hint of a blush that rose in her cheeks. "Well, I guess I can't complain too much. It was nice to have someone do my hair and makeup."

Pulling on the tuxedo jacket, Evan chuckled. He'd called Louis Cantio, one of the most exclusive 'fashion consultants'—at least, that's what he called himself—and arranged to have one of Louis' associates, Paulo swing by the hotel to help Valerie get ready for the evening. Evan had met the man a number of years ago, before he'd actually hit it big. Louis was one of Bugs' many lovers back then, and, while the rabbit didn't deign to speak to the hair stylist anymore, Evan didn't mind having him around from time to time.

"Paulo even gave me a scalp massage," Valerie went on, fiddling with the thin gold bracelet on her right wrist. "It was heavenly." She sighed almost dreamily. " _Heavenly_."

"You know, I'll be more than happy to hire Paulo on a live-in basis to cater to your every need," Evan pointed out, straightening his cuffs, adjusting his sleeves.

"Somehow, I sense a catch in there," she quipped, turning away to give herself a critical once-over in the floor length mirrors behind herself.

"Just say, 'I do'," he replied simply.

"Uh huh," she intoned in a flat voice. "See, I knew there was one."

He laughed as he sat down and pulled on his socks and shoes. "It wouldn't be so bad, now would it?" he couldn't resist asking. "I mean, you think I'm sexy, remember?"

She shifted her gaze to the side, giving him 'The Look' in the mirror without turning around. "I was just agreeing," she pointed out, completely nonplussed by his gloating. "It was easier than trying to figure out what the Spanish word for 'doofus' was."

He chuckled, pushing himself to his feet and pushing back the sides of the jacket to slip his hands into his pants pockets. "I don't think they have a word for that," he said, lips twitching as he ambled up behind her.

"Wrong, Roka," she shot back mildly. "A doofus is a doofus in _any_ language."

Balling his hands into fists, he stifled a sigh, breathed in the scent of her: the lightly floral bath bubbles that still kissed her skin combined with the soft freesia lotion she'd used afterward and the baser smell of her underneath it all . . . It was all he could do not to reach for her, damn it . . .

"It's a beautiful gown," she said, changing the subject as she perused her reflection with a critical stare. "Maybe not a color I'd have chosen, but beautiful, just the same."

One side of his lips turned up in a secretive little grin. The gorgeous, rich shade of sienna silk looked good on her—perfect, actually. In fact, at the moment, Evan couldn't possibly image her in any other color.

' _Dressing her up in your color? That's subtle_ ,' his youkai-voice muttered.

' _Yeah, but she looks damn fine, doesn't she?_ '

'. . . _Yeah, okay, so I'll give you that one_.'

It was a deceptively simple gown: form fitting without being too tight, a simple sheathe dress held onto her shoulders with spaghetti straps. The skirt flared gently just below her waist, but not so much as to add too much fullness where it just brushed the toes of her matching shoes, and there was something altogether classic, almost timeless, about the visage she presented.

"Okay," she finally decided, her eyes lifting to meet his in the mirror. "I guess I'm ready."

"Almost," he said, taking a step back before he gave into the urge to grab her and kiss her.

"Almost?" she echoed, turning away from the mirror. "What does that mean?"

Evan opened his mouth to answer, but grinned when the doorbell interrupted before he could. "That's probably for you," he told her with a mischievous grin.

She paused long enough to offer him a quizzical look before leading the way out of the changing room and through the bathroom and the bedroom beyond.

Leaning against the doorway, Evan said nothing as he watched her cross the floor. She was doing a fair job of hiding her curiosity, he'd give her that much, and that curiosity only grew when she accepted the garment box from the bellhop. "What is this?" she asked again as she pushed the door closed, her gaze fixed on the nondescript white box.

"Open it and see."

She shot him a calculating glance as she slipped the box onto the table behind the slate gray sofa and slowly opened the box. "Ah . . . O-O-Oh . . ." she breathed as she stared down into the box, as she gently moved a sheet of gold colored tissue aside. "So pretty . . ."

"I suppose," he allowed as she gingerly lifted it out of the box. "Not as pretty as you, but it'll do."

"It looks like it's got gold thread shod through it," she mused.

"It does." He chuckled and pushed himself away from the door frame, crossing the floor in a few strides and taking the simple opaque shawl and settling it on her shoulders. Deceptively light, it seemed, but crafted out of burnished strands of gold thread stretched so fine that it was as soft as the satin of her dress, it would keep her warmer than a normal light wrap, should the evening air take on a chill. "There," he said, taking a step back as she hooked the ends over her elbows. "Now we're ready."

The smile she shot him could have stopped his heart, and he stood, stock-still, for a few moments before he remembered that he really ought to breathe. To spend the rest of his life with this rare creature, this woman?

' _Yeah_ ,' he thought as he leaned over to open the door for her. ' _Yeah, I'd be happy to do that_ . . .'

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Iris_** ' _by_ _the Goo_ _Goo_ _Dolls_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1988_ _release_ , **_Dizzy_** **_Up_** **_the_** **_Girl_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _John_ _Rzeznik_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _So_ _pretty_ …


	185. 184: Spanish Lights

' _When the lights go down in the city_...  
' _And the sun shines on the bay_ …  
' _Do I wanna be there in my city_...?'

 

-' _Lights_ ' by Journey.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"So then Bubby came running into the room in a pair of boxer shorts, chasing Morio, and I gotta tell you, I swear to God I didn't know he could move that fast."

Valerie laughed as she and Evan wandered through the _Parque de Atenas_. As beautiful as the park had to be during the day, she had to appreciate the understated serenity of the night. "So you're saying that this cousin of yours, Morio . . . He's as big a trouble maker as you are."

Evan chuckled and gave a careless shrug. "Almost," he agreed. "He tries."

She shook her head as Evan took her hand, leading her toward the left when the path under their feet split. "Not nearly as hard as you do, right?"

He didn't deny it, but he did wink at her.

Pulling the shawl a little tighter around her shoulders and holding it in place with her free hand, she stole a glance at Evan and smiled. In the wan light reflecting off the surface of the fountain in the distance, he seemed different from the man she'd come to know, and maybe it was the tuxedo, but she rather doubted that.

He'd sat so quietly, watched the actors so intently from the private booth in the famous _Teatro Real_ , absorbing the tragedy as it unfolded . . . She hadn't missed the suspect brightness in his gaze as _Zaira_ had ended, and even as she wiped away a tear of her own, she smiled when he turned toward her, when he shot her a precarious, almost shy little grin, his eyes as bright as hers had to be, as he held out a crisp, white handkerchief . . .

"That was a beautiful opera," she said as her reverie faded away.

"Mm," he intoned. "The first time I saw that one was just after I'd moved to the city. Met this girl at a little club near the townhouse, and it just so happened that she was in the cast—Well, she was an understudy . . . Anyway, she invited me." He laughed suddenly, a soft sound that was warm with only a hint of incredulity belying it. "She probably never thought I'd actually show up . . ."

"And I suppose that's why you can appreciate the opera? Because of that girl?" Valerie asked, her tone more amused than accusing.

"Nope," he replied with an easy shrug, stopping beside the fountain, letting go of her hand in favor of shoving his hands into his pockets as he stared out over the ripples that ebbed away from the arcing water. "Mama took me to see _Oberon_ when I was . . . ten? Eleven . . .?"

She raised an eyebrow and slowly shook her head despite the smile toying with the corners of her lips. "Kind of young to get started on opera, weren't you?"

Again, he shrugged, as though it was of no consequence. "I've always loved music," he reminded her gently. "Never mattered to me as long as there were words I could understand—as long as I could sing it."

And that made sense, too, didn't it? "Can you sing opera?"

He chuckled. "I was classically trained, if that's what you mean. Took some lessons when I was a pup—then I discovered rock n' roll."

"Voice lessons?"

"Yeah, some . . . then I took some more in college."

"So why didn't you become an opera singer instead of a rockstar?" she teased, leaning closer to him, savoring the warmth that radiated off him in much the same way that the water ebbed toward the edge of the fountain.

"A lot of it is just voice control," he explained to her. "Besides, there's more freedom in rock than there is in opera." He trailed off, his expression taking on a more thoughtful lilt, and he finally shot her a rather cheesy grin. "And rockstars get more pussy than opera singers."

Rolling her eyes, Valerie snorted indelicately. "I should have known. Such a pervert . . ."

His laughter was soft, and he slipped an arm around her waist. "It's true though," he said between chuckles. "You know, half the time, I don't think the girls give a great goddamn, who you are. As long as you're famous . . ."

"Is that really what you think?" she countered gently. "You don't think those girls take one look at you and find you incredibly hot? You don't honestly think that it's just your name that they're after, do you?"

"Some of them . . . Adding the name, 'Zel Roka' to the list? I mean, c'mon, V . . . Makes for a helluva tell-all, don't you think?" He shot her a sidelong glance, a hint of an enigmatic grin quirking his lips. "What about you?"

She snorted but smiled just a little. "We have yet to sleep together," she reminded him dryly.

He chuckled—an easy sort of sound that blended into the serenity of the night. "Yet? I like that . . ."

"Forget it, rockstar," she quipped. "I know you better."

His chuckle was warm, vibrant. "Probably," he admitted quietly, and then he sighed. "You probably know me better than just about anyone ever has."

His admission surprised her, and for a moment, she couldn't reply. Sure, she figured that she knew him fairly well, but to hear him say that? It wasn't something she was expecting; not at all . . . "I . . . I do?"

Chuckling again, Evan squatted down beside the water's edge, forearms resting on his knees. "You can't tell me you didn't know that."

She considered that as she stared out over his head at the glowing sprays of water. "I thought I knew you pretty well," she said slowly, thoughtfully. "I guess I just took it for granted that Maddy knew you better than anyone."

"Well, there are some things about me that Maddy doesn't even know," he said with a shrug, as though it was the simplest thing in the world. "Things I've never told her . . ."

"But you've told me?"

He nodded almost vaguely. "Yeah."

The soft click of her heels against the flagstone path was the only real sound for a moment as Valerie paced a few feet away and back again. "Like what?"

Pushing himself to his feet once more, Evan let out a deep breath as he turned to face her once more. "Just stuff . . . Stuff about Cain . . . Stuff about me . . ."

Somehow, that didn't surprise her, either. It wasn't that he was trying to keep anything from Madison, per se, but he just didn't like to think about those things. At least, that was the easiest way to rationalize things in her head, but . . . but was that really all there was to it? It was true; she didn't doubt that, but those things that he didn't like to talk about . . . As long as Evan and Madison had known each other, he'd never told her . . .?

But then, maybe that wasn't so hard to understand. After all, she'd never told Madison about her childhood, had she, and even if she wanted to think that it was just because it had never come up, she knew better. She'd told Evan all that stuff, and she'd done it because . . . because he was her best friend.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"You know, I think this is the first time I've actually wandered around Madrid," Evan ventured as he and Valerie strolled along the street, illuminated by the golden glow of the many lights space along the walk and the streetlamps high over head. People milling around the doors of a myriad of clubs that lined the boulevard as women of the night called out to passersby from the windows of the brothels that punctuated the area all combined to create a low hum, a steady wash of frenetic energy that Evan could feel just as surely as he could feel his own heartbeat.

Glancing at Valerie, he couldn't help but smile. She could feel it, too, the electricity that seemed to emanate from the sidewalk below their feet. Late hour shops, closing up for the night behind the clean shades and banked windows of the storefronts while the steady white noise seemed to reverberate louder and louder—the pulse of the city . . .

She was vibrant, she was beautiful, and the way those amazing hazel eyes of her shone in the fabricated brightness was enough to make the breath catch in his throat. Lips stained a deep red, skin translucent, glowing in the haze of the lamps that lined the path, inviting him to touch her, and still he hung back. Why did he feel like she'd dissolve right before his eyes if he were to reach out, stroke her cheek . . .?

Yet the flutter of her pulse resounded in his ears, blending with the beat of the night: an erratic rhythm as unpredictable as the figures that moved into and out of the fathomless shadows between the old buildings. If she had any idea just how good she looked in that moment, he'd give up music forever—and that was something he positively adored about her. It didn't matter if she was going for a morning jog through Central Park or if she was sitting in one of the best restaurants in the world, there was a classic beauty, an honest radiance, about her that reached out from deep with and surrounded her with a glow that could transcend the dullest atmosphere.

"You mean you and Dieter never managed to get out on your own here?"

Evan chuckled, offering a nonchalant shrug as they ambled along the street. "Still allowed in the city, aren't I?" he quipped. Then he sighed. "Maybe we did . . . If we did, though, we were too fucked up to know where the hell we were . . ."

She didn't seem surprised. "Always a troublemaker," she mused despite the smile on her face.

"Yeah, well . . ."

His thought was cut off by the soft beeping of his cell phone, and for a moment, he considered ignoring it, but he knew damn well that it wouldn't do any good. Stifling a sigh, he pulled the device out of his pocket and hit the 'connect' button. "Hey, Mikey. How's it going?"

"Can the crap, Roka," the grouchy manager grumbled. "Where the hell are you?"

Evan chuckled. He could hear the tell-tale sounds in the background of the gear being set, meaning that the crew was pulling a late-nighter at the venue. Nice, really. Most of the time, the gear had to be set the same day as the concert since he tended to play a lot of stadiums and arenas that were well-booked. "Madrid . . . isn't that where I'm supposed to be?"

"Yeah, about that," he went on, his already grumpy tone taking on a slightly more menacing growl. "You wouldn't happen to know why the French police would think that there was anything illegal in your gear, now would you?"

He could feel Valerie's gaze on him though he didn't look to confirm it. Given that Mike was pretty damn pissed off, it wasn't really surprising if she was able to hear some of what was being said. "Oh, hell . . . Did you get busted?"

Mike heaved a long, drawn-out sigh. "They found some stuff," he admitted. "It wasn't in anything directly linked to you, though. Anyway, don't tell me that you had no idea, because somehow, I just don't believe that."

Evan almost laughed, but he managed to control himself. "Now, why in the hell would I do something like that, Mikey? That'd be pretty damn dumb, now wouldn't it?"

"Maybe," Mike retorted dryly. "But if it gave you a healthy head start, then yeah. Yeah, I think you would."

Evan did grin at that. He couldn't help it. "As long as no one actually got in trouble, then it's all good, right?"

Mike snorted. "Yeah, well, I didn't say that, now did I? The tour was slapped with a nice, healthy fine, no thanks to you."

"Aww, relax . . . Even if they did fine me, it wouldn't be the first time, and it's no cash out of your pocket, right?"

"Yeah, well, we don't really want or need to be stopped every time we cross a border, do we? And if that happened, you'd be slapped with a lot more fines than just this one."

It was all stuff that Evan had heard before. Too bad he also knew well enough that a lot of the authority figures that Mike was so worried about would be more than happy to let them off with a warning—if asked nicely enough . . . "They're not going to do that," Evan pointed out reasonably instead. "They'd end up having to target every band that toured through, and that would be a hell of a pain in the ass, don't you think?"

"Never mind that, Roka," Mike snapped. "Just get your happy ass over to the hotel. The last thing I need is for you to get picked up for something stupid tonight."

"Sorry," Evan replied lightly. "But I promise that you won't have to worry about bailing me out of jail or anything."

Mike snorted indelicately. "And I assume V's with you."

"'Course she is," Evan replied. "Just got in today, actually."

"Then tell me why you haven't checked into the hotel," Mike challenged.

"We're staying at another hotel," Evan said simply. "Don't worry. I'll be there tomorrow."

"Yeah, and another thing: don't forget that you have a press conference at ten o'clock tomorrow morning, followed by sound check and a couple interviews . . . You know you blew off a couple of ride-alongs, right?"

"Oh, did I?" Evan asked a little too innocently.

"Not buying," Mike pointed out. "Where are you staying then?"

"None of your business, Michael," Evan told him. "I'll be there in the morning, okay?"

Heaving a sigh designed to let the errant rockstar know exactly how put-upon he was feeling, Mike grunted something unintelligible. "Oh, yeah, and one more thing while I've got you," he went on suddenly.

"What's that?" Evan asked, wondering briefly if Mike would notice if he hung up on him.

"Call your mother."

He blinked. "Mama?"

Mike snorted. "Yeah, your mama," he retorted. "She's worried sick."

"She is?" Evan echoed.

"Of course she is! You missed the ride-alongs, remember? One of them let it slip that Zel Roka was missing, and before I could call your parents, they called me."

"Aww, fuck," Evan grumbled, grimacing as he stopped under a street lamp. "You told her I was all right, didn't you?"

Mike barked out a terse laugh. "You kidding? How the hell was I supposed to do that when I didn't know where the hell you were?"

"Thanks, Mikey, you nutsack."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I did tell her that I thought you were okay—by the way, isn't your mama pregnant? So stress—like the stress of worrying about her darling son—isn't good for her, now is it?"

No doubt about it. Mike was definitely enjoying this, and why wouldn't he? After worrying about where Evan was for the last week, of course he would love to give just a little bit of it right back to him . . . "I get it; I get it," he grumbled. "Bye."

The last thing he heard before he ended the call was the sound of Mike's laughter. It sounded suspiciously like a death knell . . .

"Everything okay?" Valerie asked, pulling the shawl a little tighter around her shoulders against the brisk night air.

Evan wrinkled his nose, his finger poised above the second number in speed dial. "Yeah, it's fine," he said as he pressed the button and lifted the receiver to his ear.

It rang exactly three times before Gin's voice greeted him. Breathless, anxious, maybe a little worried, she sounded, and Evan winced inwardly. "Evan? Sweetie? Is that you?"

"Hi, Mama," he replied, hoping that his casual tone was enough to diffuse the apprehension in her tone.

"Oh, thank _heavens!_ " she breathed, and he could hear her plop down, probably on a bar stool in the kitchen. "Is everything all right? Those reports said that you were missing . . ."

"Nah, it was just a misunderstanding," he assured her. "I'm sorry I made you worry."

"Oh, no," Gin hurried on to say. "I mean, I would have known if you were in real danger, wouldn't I? After all, I am your mama. It's just that they were saying that no one had heard from you for a few days, and—"

"Baby girl, is that that little miscreant you call a son?" Evan heard Cain Zelig's voice interrupt his mother.

"Oh, yes! But he's fine, Cain, and—"

She was cut off abruptly, and Evan sighed when he heard the telling racket as his father took the phone—probably forcibly—from Gin. "Evan, is everything okay?"

"Yes, Cain, everything's just fine," Evan replied evenly.

Cain grunted. "You weren't kidnapped or mugged or forced to perform lewd acts with animals?"

Evan almost laughed—almost. "No," he said. "What kind of lewd acts?"

"Never mind," Cain growled. "Need I remind you that your mother should not be subjected to unnecessary worry, _especially_ right now? Do you have any idea what that kind of thing can do to her in her present condition?"

He winced inwardly. No doubt about it, ol' Cain wasn't pulling any punches, was he . . .? "That wasn't my intention; I promise," Evan replied.

This time, Cain heaved a sigh. "It doesn't matter if you intended to worry her or not, Evan. The point is, you did. A lot."

"Sorry," he muttered, hating that he felt like little more than a pup—hating the idea that he'd caused Gin any kind of stress at all.

"I know," Cain said at length. "Don't do it again, all right?"

"Tell Mama that I apologize."

Cain grunted. "Yeah, and take it easy on Mike, can't you? You're going to give the poor bastard a heart attack."

"Yeah, I can't say I'm too sorry for that," Evan allowed. "Besides, he's a big boy, isn't he? He can take himself."

"Fine . . . do me a favor and say bye to your mama. She could use a nap, and she won't until she gets to talk to you a little longer."

Evan finally chuckled as Cain handed the phone back to Gin once more. "Sweetie, Cain wants me to go lay down a while, but I wanted to hear your voice again first! I don't suppose you could squeeze in a little time to come up here sometime soon? Cain says that New York City isn't good for me right now."

He didn't miss the petulant lilt to Gin's sing-song voice, and he smiled. "I promise, Mama, I'll see what I can do, even if it's only for a day or so."

She perked right up at that. "Oh, okay! Even just a day's fine with me! I know you're so busy! And if you can make it, can't you bring Valerie with you? When are you going to marry that girl, Evan?"

His smile escalated into a warm chuckle. "Working on it," he assured her.

"All right . . . I love you, Evan!"

"Love you, too, Mama," he said.

The connection died, and Evan let out a deep breath as he stowed the device in his pocket once more and resumed his stride while Valerie fell into step beside him.

"Everything okay?" she finally asked at length, concern touching the tone of her voice.

Evan shot her a grin but kept moving. "Yeah," he said with an offhanded shrug. "Mama was just a little worried . . . saw some reports on television about Zel Roka's mysterious disappearance."

He could sense Valerie's grimace rather than actually seeing it. "Oh, that can't have been good," she muttered ruefully.

"Well . . . she said she'd have known if something was really wrong," he said, purposefully downplaying his mother's concern. "Mother's intuition, I guess."

She didn't look mollified by his off the cuff answer. "She's doing all right, isn't she?"

Evan stopped, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he turned to look at Valerie. Worrying at her bottom lip, she looked as though she were feeling guilty about their stolen time together. "She's fine," he assured her with a half-smile. "She invited us up to visit."

"Us?"

His grin widened. "Yeah, us. How about it, Counselor? When we get back, we could make a day of it . . ."

She stared at him for a few moments, her eyes dark, owlish in the wan light. She seemed to be probing Evan's face for something, but she finally smiled, albeit dimly. "Just a day?"

He made a face. "I'd love to go longer, but there's a lot of stuff going on . . . Mikey's scheduled shooting a new video, a couple local concerts in the city, add to that, your brother's coming up to lay down those tracks for your dad's song . . . not to mention that I've got to get ready for the European dates this summer . . ."

"Going on tour again?"

He shrugged and slipped an arm around her, leading her down the street once more. "Not a tour; not really . . . Mikey didn't schedule a full tour because of all that jail business before, but he did book a few dates here and there."

Valerie nodded slowly. "That makes sense, but why didn't he fill in more dates after the charges were dropped?"

He chuckled. "Well, he did mention wanting to spend a little more time at home this summer," he ventured. "Guess Bambi laid down the law. Wants him to spend a little more time at home with her and Lola, and—"

"Lola?" Valerie interrupted.

"Yeah, Lola—his daughter."

Her mouth dropped open for a few seconds before she snapped it closed again. "Their daughter's named Lola? Is she a going to be a stripper one day?"

Evan laughed. "With a mama like Bambi? You never can tell . . ."

She rolled her eyes but laughed. "So what does that have to do with your touring schedule?"

"Eh . . . I suppose if I'd wanted him to add some shows, he would. After all, he doesn't have to be with me all the time. Kind of glad he didn't, though. I'd rather be closer to home while Mama's pregnant."

That statement earned him a very tender, very radiant smile, and he blinked as that smile widened by degrees. "Why doesn't that surprise me?" she teased as she reached up to brush his bangs out of his eyes with a gentle hand.

He grimaced but his grin widened. "Cut it out, woman, or you'll ruin my rep," he grumbled, catching her hand and giving her fingers a quick kiss before pulling them away from his face.

"Oh, I don't know, Roka," she quipped, tugging on her hand until he fell into step with her once more. "I think the idea that you love your mom so much is pretty damn hot."

He faltered for a moment and shot Valerie a quick glance. She was smiling rather dreamily as she stared up at the sky so high overhead, but she didn't look at him. "You . . . You do?"

She laughed softly, the sounds blending in with the ambient sounds of the city. "Yeah," she replied quietly, her gaze shifting to the side to meet his though she didn't turn her head. "I do."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Teatro_** **_Real_** _:_ _Madrid's main opera house_.  
>  ** _Zaira_** _is an opera written by Vincenzo Bellini and first performed in 1829. **Zaira** is based on Voltaire's Zaire, the story of a Christian woman who is torn between her family and her Muslim love_. 
> 
> ' ** _Lights_** ' _by_ _Journey_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1978_ _release_ , **_Infinity_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Steve_ _Perry_ _and_ _Neal_ _Schon_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Valerie_** :  
>  _Mama's boys are hot_ …


	186. 185: The Show

' _I've always wanted to sing_ ...  
' _And I've always wanted to be_ …  
' _(Ah aaah aaah)_ …  
 _'Somebody's idol_ …  
' _Somebody's daydream_ …  
' _Maybe their fantasy_ ...'

 

-' _Sad Theresa_ ' by Warrant.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

The roar of the crowd was deafening as Valerie leaned against the railing and cupped her hands around her mouth, unleashing a holler that blended in with the din in a rather unremarkable way. The audience was as insane as ever—maybe even a little more so. Two songs into Evan's set, and she could tell from where she stood that most of the women on the ground level were shirtless and more than happy to shake their groove-thangs for him.

It was a whim, wasn't it? Bone had been called down to handle a ruckus backstage, and she'd gotten the idea to slip out of the skybox. Sure, the view from up there was absolutely spectacular, and the accommodations were first class, but the excitement of being caught up in the crowd, the heady thrill in the atmosphere, was too tempting.

There was something entirely larger than life about that man, she mused as she cupped her hands around her mouth and unleashed a catcall. The sound of it was immediately swallowed up in the swell, becoming nothing more than another in the din delineating the pulsing beat of the drums, the bass, the electric guitars. Evan—or was he Zel . . .? ran over to Garret, slinging an arm around the bassist's shoulders. It was easy to see the simple chemistry between the two musicians. Garret absolutely worshipped the ground that Evan walked upon, and Evan? Maybe it was just her imagination, but she could see the easy affection that was impossible to achieve if it wasn't there naturally. It was as if Evan was the big brother and Garret was the child who had tagged along after him forever, it seemed, and she knew— _knew_ —that Garret was easily the only person on earth who could possibly have had any kind of chance of stepping into the void left when Dieter died. Tall, almost unnaturally skinny, and clad in the prerequisite black leather, her brother looked almost like a caricature of himself, right down to the impossibly large feet that bespoke the inches in height that Garret had yet to grow.

Evan never stopped moving. Even when he was standing still, he was in motion: a fidgeting knee, the thump of his heel on the wooden platform below; effortless movement. He didn't do anything in half-measures, did he? Whether he was hanging out, posing with fans or up on the stage, bathing in the spotlight that shone so favorably upon him, sitting in on the hundredth interview where he was asked the same things that he'd been asked a million times before, there was still a genuineness in everything he said and did, a simple earnestness that others picked up on and reacted to.

The gyration of his hips was enough to send the girls in the audience into a quandary of screams, of sobs, of frenetic energy that he feed off of. That lopsided, cocky grin or a lazy wink, and every last female in the arena thought that it was just for her, didn't they? Even where she stood, high above the sea of bodies, she caught herself wondering if he didn't know exactly where she was, and she felt her heart skip a beat when he raised his head, when his eyes seemed to scan the crowd, only to stop and stare at her. But that wasn't possible. She knew damn well that the lights were far too bright for him to see much of anything past the first few rows, if that, and where she stood was most definitely in the shadows—too dark for him to make out anything, let alone for him to see her when he believed that she was enclosed in the safety of the skybox.

Still, she pressed a hand against her chest, her lips parting as she drew in an unsteady breath. Evan Zelig was warm, welcoming. Zel Roka? He was electric . . .

As he launched into an excessively raunchy version of ' _V_ ', Valerie smiled. Evan wasn't one of those who was content to leave well enough alone. Nope, of course not. Most of the time, he created all new verses for the songs he'd already made famous, and most of the time, the new verses were bad enough to make a biker blush—and this time was no different.

 

 

"' _Spread that pussy wide_ ,  
' _I wanna come inside_ ,  
' _Fuck me till I cream_ ,  
' _She's ev'ry man's wet dream_ . . .'"

 

 

Shaking her head, she still couldn't repress the laughter that welled up and spilled over. There really was something profoundly wrong with that man, and yet she couldn't say that she didn't find him to be incredibly humorous, either . . .

Garret loped across the stage and whispered something to Evan that made him laugh. The cameras that were feeding directly to the Jumbo-Trons on both sides of the stage zoomed in on Garret, which only served to further Valerie's amusement. Judging from the look on her brother's face, something about that verse in particular seemed to bother him—very likely since Garret knew damn well who 'V' really was . . .

"Let's hear it for Garret Duyer, everybody!" Evan called out when the song ended. The already screaming crowd screamed in an even louder frenzy, and Valerie joined in with them as Garret laughed and fired off a short riff on the bass while the audience roared in response. He caught a towel that someone offstage tossed to him, ran it over his face, and chucked it into the crowd, much to their delight. From her vantage point, she could see the mad scramble that only lasted a few seconds before a screaming girl came up with the prize, swinging it in circles over her head, and even from as far away as she was, Valerie could hear the victory whoop from the enthralled young woman.

"Damn pretty, ain't he?" Evan went on when the crowd quieted just a little.

"Man, that's not even funny," Garret shot back, ducking his head so that his shaggy blonde hair fell over the side of his face—probably a good thing, considering. Valerie figured that her brother was probably blushing furiously at the moment.

Evan laughed, slinging an arm around Garret's neck and capturing him in a head lock, then he smacked an obnoxiously loud kiss on Garret's cheek, cackling like a lunatic while Garret wiped his cheek on his shoulder and gave Evan a healthy shove at the same time. Evan stumbled away a few feet, staggering like he was drunk before giving his attention back to the audience once more as Frankie held his drumsticks over his head and pounded out the cadence. "Now, help me out here, okay?" Evan called, raising his hands over his head and clapping to the beat of the drums. "C'mon, ladies! Let me see you shake those tits!"

The crowd roared louder, girls screaming frenetically while Valerie shook her head but laughed. She's thought it before, of course, but still, she couldn't help but to think just how insane was it that he held them all so easily, right in the palm of his hand. Good thing he wasn't interested in anything _too_ bad, really. His near-fanatical following would likely go along with anything he asked of them, even if that 'something' was highly illegal . . .

As they launched into an older Roka song, Valerie screamed again, her voice mingling with the rest of the fray, lost in the din. A strong arm slipped around her, and she started, until she glanced up, only to find Bone beside her, slowly shaking his head despite the grin that widened when he caught her glance. "You're gonna get me killed, ya," he grouched though his tone lacked any real rancor. "What the hell you doin' out of your tower, anyway, Princess?"

Wrinkling her nose, Valerie shook her head. "Aww, come on, Bone," she complained, bracing herself on his shoulder as she rose up on tiptoe and raised her voice to be heard over the show. "It's boring in the skyboxes, and you know it."

"All the same, the big man's gonna get his panties all in a bunch over it, ya," he predicted with a slow shake of his head.

Valerie raised an eyebrow. "Big? You're twice his size, Bone," she couldn't resist goading.

Bone chuckled. "Size ain't got a thing to do with it, V, and I gotta admit; I don't mind my job."

"I just want to watch the show down here like everyone else," she insisted. "Besides, you don't really think anyone would be dumb enough to mess with you, do you?"

He didn't deny it, but his grin widened a few degrees. "All right," he allowed at length. "Ain't nothin' gonna get to you when you're with me, ya?"

"Did you take care of the problem?" she went on, satisfied that he was going to back off and let her enjoy the rest of the concert.

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, just a couple girls trying to sneak into Zel's dressing room. Hooked 'em up with some of the better looking roadies for a private party and slipped 'em some promo shit—Same ol', same ol'."

Valerie digested that in silence. There was a time, not so long ago, when she would have been one of those girls, too, wouldn't she? Would the faceless head of security been nice enough to give her a few baubles meant to pacify her to send her on her way? Or would he have given her the once-over and let her stay while she deluded herself into thinking it was what she wanted, that she'd gotten away with sneaking in to see the main attraction, only to figure out later that maybe she was the one who had been used, after all . . .?

And just why was she thinking of these kinds of things now, anyway?

It was all a part of the illusion, wasn't it? The show put on to confuse and amaze, and Evan was the ringmaster—the puppeteer—or maybe he was the ultimate pawn, set into motion to be the demi-god before he'd ever even drawn a breath . . .

Bone's hand around her arm brought her up short, and Valerie blinked, glancing down to the appendage in a bemused sort of surprise. "Bone?"

"Where you off to, little lady?" he asked, his tone easy despite the serious glint in his expression that was clear, even in the dim light of the arena.

His question surprised her, and she shook her head for a moment. She had been staring at Evan, watching the show, right? She hadn't realized that she was even moving, but where had she intended to go?

Bone chuckled, his smile almost knowing, but he tugged her back over beside him and didn't comment as his eyes shifted back to the stage once more.

Where _had_ she been going?

That was a stupid question, wasn't it? She wanted to be closer to Evan, didn't she? As though he were the flame, and she was just another moth, drawn to be closer, closer . . .

' _Born a to be a rock god . . . destined to be_. . .' That thought drew a secretive little smile from her as she shifted her gaze over the arena. Yes, she'd buy that one, absolutely. That Evan's path had been preordained, just to stand up there, put on a good smile, a better show, to give the masses what they crave—himself? As fanciful as it might sound, there was something true about it, and no matter how long she lived, she knew that she would never see a star as bright as him, as natural as him, as warm as him . . .

Her smile faltered slightly—imperceptible as she became just another of the faceless masses that were so easily drawn to him. One of the many, and yet . . .

The same destiny that he'd been born to fulfill was the same destiny that kept him untouchable, even from her . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Holy _shit_ , that show was fucking _hot!_ Did you see them, baby? Did you?"

Valerie laughed as Evan caught her around the waist and gave her a quick spin, followed in short order by a hard, albeit quick, kiss. If he wasn't so damn high off the adrenaline that dogged him all the way through the show and even as he'd exited the stage, he would have thought better of it, he was sure. As it was, he couldn't quite seem to stop himself, and when he'd stormed into his dressing room and saw her sitting there, waiting for him, all glammed up in black patent leather pants that fit as snugly as a second skin and a white flirt of a tank top under the jacket that matched the pants—if she was wearing a bra, he swore to himself that he'd fuck Bugs—and he wasn't entirely sure where she'd gotten that particular outfit, but he hadn't really cared, either. Then again, maybe he should ask. Whoever had chosen it for her deserved to have a shitload of cash dropped on them; damned if they didn't . . . Well, she'd looked so much like the quintessential rockstar babe—his rockstar babe, anyway—that kissing her had just seemed natural.

"All right, rockstar," she retorted with a soft giggle as she grasped his shoulders to steady herself, "Yes, I saw it, and yes, it was a pretty good show."

Evan snorted and rolled his eyes though the smile on his face widened by degrees. "Pretty good?" he echoed incredulously. " _Pretty_ good? Damn, you're hard to impress, V."

The door popped open, and a grinning Garret stuck his head into the dressing room. "Dude, you were a little flat on the chorus of the last song," he remarked, his grin widening.

"Flat, my ass, you little pecker head," Evan shot back, chucking the nearest thing—a bottle of water—at Garret's face.

Garret ducked to avoid it, chuckling in an entirely self-satisfied sort of way. "They want another encore—Bone said they're not leaving the building."

"Yeah, I know," Evan replied with a shrug. "Mikey said two encores were enough, and they want us out of here. Evergreen's playing tomorrow night, and they want to do the setup."

Garret snorted and rolled his eyes. "Evergreen's gay," he replied simply. "I hate fucking boy-bands."

That just made Evan grin, though he didn't comment on the perceived gay-ness of the teen boy vocal trio that had booked the arena for tomorrow night.

"Guess I'll go get cleaned up, then," Garret decided, scratching the side of his head thoughtfully. "Oh, hey, V!" he suddenly exclaimed, as though he'd just noticed that his sister was standing right there. "Did you see the show?"

"The crowd was insane," she remarked as she leaned to the side, grabbing a thick white towel off the table and taking her time, gently dabbing the sweat off Evan's face. "And they _loved_ you."

That statement made Garret blush, and he muttered something as he waved at them then ducked out of the room again. The sudden quiet that followed the closing door was a little disconcerting to Evan, but Valerie didn't seem to notice.

"It was a great concert," she went on thoughtfully. "I mean, I've been to your shows before, but the crowd was even more wild tonight. I could practically feel the energy radiating off of them, and I was up near the top. I can't even imagine what it'd have been like on the floor, or the stage, for that matter. It was almost frightening, really. I don't think I've ever—"

She grimaced when he let go of her, only to grab her elbow, forcing her to look at him. It wasn't hard, but it was more firmly than he had intended. His grip loosened immediately though he didn't let go. "Why weren't you in the skybox?"

Valerie blinked, more than likely at his tone more than his question, and for a split second, he could see the flash of guilt that she squashed. "Bone got called down to deal with a couple girls who snuck past security, and I wanted to see the show up close, Roka." She narrowed her eyes and poked him the center of the chest for good measure. "And don't you _dare_ yell at him, either. I went down because I wanted to, and he had nothing to do with it."

Snapping his mouth closed on the retort he'd been forming, Evan snorted instead. "The hell I'll let it go," he grumped. To his own ears, his tone sounded poutier than menacing, and for that, he snorted again. "The safest place for you is in the skybox," he pointed out. "It looks the same, whether you're up there or down on the floor—better, really. You have the monitors and everything up there."

"Maybe, but I can't _feel_ things, up in that box," she argued calmly, using a tone of voice that was normally reserved for the jury, he figured. "I wanted to see the whole thing, from the same vantage point as anyone else, and when Bone found me, I refused to go back, so he stayed with me the rest of the time."

He knew damn well that she was just trying to placate him. Like it mattered. Bone knew better, damn it. Hadn't he and Evan already had this same discussion about a million times before? Of course they had. That was entirely the point, and no matter what Valerie thought, her safety was of far more importance to him than anything else, period.

Turning abruptly on his heel, Evan started for the door, but Valerie was faster, latching onto his arm and refusing to let go as she neatly darted around him and leveled a no-nonsense look at him. "I'm serious, Evan," she went on in that same tone of voice. "Can't you think of anything you'd rather do than to get into a fight with your head of security?"

That drew another snort from him, and he crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly. Sure, he could think of about a million things that he could do, all of which she'd summarily banned at one time or another—or things that just weren't going to happen at the moment . . . "Nope, not really," he retorted.

"There's got to be something," she pressed.

"Well, we could—" Cutting himself off abruptly, Evan sighed. "Uh, nope . . ." Valerie raised an eyebrow in silent question as Evan snapped his fingers. "Or we could—Err, I guess that's off limits, too . . ." The barest hint of a smile quirked the corners of Valerie's lips. "Oh, we might be able to—Eh, uh-uh, that's no good, either . . ."

"And I suppose that all of your ideas revolve around your genitalia, don't they?" she asked baldly.

He spared a moment to cast her a wolfish grin. "Or yours."

She rolled her eyes and slowly shook her head. "Hopeless," she complained in a resigned tone of voice.   Too bad he didn't miss the slight smile on her face. It rather ruined the overall strict effect she was striving to achieve.

He grunted and snatched another towel off the counter. "If you'd just give up and admit that you want me, all of this would be irrelevant," he pointed out. "Guess that just leaves the option of showing Bone the error of his ways."

"I thought I told you that you cannot," she insisted. "I forbid it."

"He knows it's coming," Evan went on baldly. "Inevitable, like death and taxes."

He heard her sigh but didn't turn to verify the undoubtedly chagrined expression that was sure to be on her pretty face. "I'll tell you what," she went on as though they hadn't just been arguing. He quirked an eyebrow, more at her sudden change of tactics than her words. "You go take your shower, and I'll find something for you to do to get rid of that energy of yours—something that has nothing at all to do with fighting with your head of security over something so stupid."

Opening his mouth to make a few off-color suggestions of his own, Evan was cut off before he could speak. "Or anything that could not be discussed over Sunday brunch at your mother's house," she added for good measure.

He shot her a look since he had the sneaking suspicion that V had gotten to know him just a little too well. The expression on her face stopped him from pointing out as much, though. Standing with her arms crossed over her chest, blonde hair falling over her shoulder, she stared at him, her concern awash in her gaze. Easy to say that she was just worried that he was going to do something he might regret later, and yet, there was a deeper sense of understanding there, too. Could she sense the restlessness that he felt, the unsettling feeling of having too much energy and no real outlet for it? It was always a problem after his shows, and more often than not, it led to some fairly questionable behavior and a whole lot of trouble. It occurred to him again that she knew him better than just about anyone, but this time, the idea brought a smile to his lips, albeit a wan one. "All right," he relented with an offhanded shrug. "I'm tellin' you, though, you'd enjoy the things I have in mind, I swear it. By the way, who do I send the fruit basket to thank for that get-up you're wearing?"

Valerie blinked and glanced down at herself as though she'd forgotten all about her clothing. When she looked up at him again, she was smiling. ' _That smile is lethal_ ,' he mused almost idly.

"Bambi," she replied, taking a moment to shove up the sleeves of the black leather jacket. "She said that every girl should have an outfit like this."

He nodded slowly. "If you wore that every day, I'd be a happy, happy man," he allowed, making no bones about letting his eyes travel up from the tips of the black leather boots on her feet to the cute little cap perched atop her hair. "Very '80's Glam'," he decided.

"Not really," she replied, just as tongue-in-cheek. "No metal studs."

He laughed. "That's true," he admitted. "But if you need help, peeling yourself out of those pants later on, I'll be more than happy to lend you a hand."

"Of course you will, Roka," she muttered, shaking her head since he was quite obviously a lost cause. "Now you go take your shower, and I'll see what I can do."

He heaved a sigh to protest her lack of enthusiasm for his last idea, but he did head toward the bathroom, doing his best to peel off his clothes without stopping—just his pants, actually, since he'd shed the shirt he'd worn onstage between the first and second songs of the set. Okay, so he was intrigued by what, exactly, she might find to entertain him and to help him, as she put it, burn off some of his energy. It wouldn't be easy, considering it was about time for Mikey to show up and insist that they make their way back to the hotel.

Even so, she shouldn't have raised such a fuss over him having a go at the big guy, anyway, he thought as he squeezed about half a bottle of shampoo into his hands and squashed it into his sweat-matted hair. At least if he could, he'd be able to work out some of his misguided energy.

' _Aww, what's the big deal, anyway?_ ' his youkai spoke up.

Squeezing his eyes closed as he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair, Evan snorted inwardly. ' _What do you mean, what's the big deal? V could have easily gotten hurt or something in that crowd_.'

' _She's got about the same chance of being hurt as anyone else at one of your shows, idiot. You want to put everyone into skyboxes?_ '

He didn't bother to answer that. Sure, there was truth in it, but still . . . Crazy stuff happened at his concerts. He knew that better than anyone else, didn't he? Despite the rules that varied from place to place, there were always the people who snuck things in—things that Valerie just didn't need to be around, and then there was always the concern of physical harm coming to her, too. The crowds tended to get rowdy more often than not. It just took a moment for someone to inadvertently push her or a misplaced step could trip her up . . .

Bone knew about all of those risks, and that's why he had been instructed to make sure Valerie was safe in the skyboxes whenever she was there at a show.

He made quick work of washing off the sweat from the concert, whatever was left of the makeup that had been so carefully applied before the show. As much as he wanted to wash out the rest of the temporary hair color, though, he didn't. He'd gotten too lax about that of late, especially since Valerie tended to like his natural hair color. Still, he'd worked hard to keep Zel Roka and Evan Zelig separated, and even if she didn't realize it yet, he'd done it as much for her as he had for himself over the years.

"Come on, Roka. You going to stay in the shower all night?"

Evan grinned at the almost bored tone in Valerie's voice. "Nope, just thought that I'd see if you wanted to join me in here for a little bit," he quipped.

"If I did that, then you'd miss what I found for us to do," she pointed out, opting to ignore the suggestion he'd made.

"I kind of don't think I'd mind if you decided to hop in here with me instead," he assured her.

Valerie laughed, tossing a towel at him when he shut off the shower tap and pushed open the frosted glass door. "Get dressed," she insisted mildly.

He spared a moment to drape the towel around his hips, more for Valerie's benefit than for himself, before giving himself a good shake.

Valerie squealed and covered her face but not before a laugh escaped her. "What are you? A dog?" she complained despite the smile that hadn't faded.

"Woof," he replied with a grin. "More effective than a towel, don't you think?"

She snorted though her amusement hadn't waned. "There's something wrong with you, Evan," she pointed out.

Evan chuckled and ambled past her to retrieve the clothes he'd tossed onto the sofa before the show. "All right, woman, you win, but you'd better have found something really damn good."

Her smile widened as she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned casually in the bathroom doorway. "I think you'll like it," she promised.

He paused as he pulled on the jeans. Yeah, he supposed that he would like it. As long as he was with her, he supposed he'd like just about anything . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Sad_** **_Theresa_** ' _by_ _Warrant_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1992_ _release_ , **_Dog_** **_Eat_** **_Dog_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Jani_ _Lane_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Pervert_ …


	187. 186: Shadows

' _Stop standin' there_...  
' _Won't you open up your mind_ …?  
' _Darlin', don't you take too long_ …  
' _'Cause my heart's on the line_ …'

 

-' _Keep one Heart_ ' by Nelson.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _She is going to kill you when she realizes that you lied to her_.'

'. . . _I didn't lie . . . Ooooh . . . Damn, I never thought I'd say that I love the hell outta bumps in the road_ . . .'

' _Yeah, well, if you groan out loud, she's going to hear you—which won't matter, I guess, all things considered. And just what do you mean, you didn't lie?_ '

' _I didn't lie_ ,' he insisted, unable to resist the urge to press himself closer against Valerie's back. It was true. He didn't lie, exactly. He just didn't really answer her, which, he supposed, was about the same thing.

His youkai voice snorted indelicately. ' _A lie by omission is still a lie_.'

' _Yeah, yeah. Tell me you're not enjoying this, too_.'

'. . _. Okay, fine, I'm enjoying this, too_.'

Evan chuckled softly, but when she turned off the road onto a smaller, cobblestone side street, he stifled yet another groan. ' _When she corners, she clenches her ass cheeks_ . . . Fuck! _I'm gonna come in my pants!_ '

He was an idiot, he was certain. Most definitely a glutton for punishment. Damned if he wasn't enjoying himself a little more than he ought to, though.   He was going to be sorry for this later on; he was sure . . .

Too bad he just couldn't help himself, either. When Valerie had so carefully gone to the trouble of sneaking him out of the arena through the kitchen housed underneath the stadium—the one that was built to cater to the sports teams and the important people who attended the functions hosted there. Evan had let her lead him through, and he'd grinned at one girl who was washing up some dishes from the food they'd so painstakingly prepared according to Evan and the band's trailers. He had been too psyched up to eat much of anything—he rarely did before a show, anyway, though usually it was just because he was too hyper to remember that he had something available.

Still, he followed Valerie through the kitchen without hesitation, through the short maze of corridors, and out of one of the side service exits that was shielded from view by an arrangement of dumpsters and fairly poorly lit, to boot, and he raised his eyebrows at the vision that awaited him.

" _It's a motorcycle," he remarked at length when he noticed the unmistakable pride on Valerie's face_.

" _That's right, Roka," she replied, turning a very bright smile on him_.

" _This is your idea of blowing off steam?" he pressed_.

 _She rolled her eyes but stepped toward the contraption. It wasn't new by any means, but it looked to be in fairly good repair_.

" _So how'd you get your hands on that?_ "

 _Swinging a leg over the bike, she shifted a bit as though she were making herself more comfortable and reached for the helmet hanging from the handlebars. "I rented it for the night from one of the guys that works in the kitchen," she confessed. "Now come on. I'm going to teach you how to ride_."

 _He opened his mouth to tell her that he already knew how; that he'd first gotten his license to operate a motorcycle years ago, but snapped it closed just as quickly. She looked way too pleased with her accomplishment for him to burst her bubble, now didn't she? Besides_ . . .

" _You mean, you have your license to ride that thing?" Evan asked instead, ambling toward the motorcycle a few steps_.

" _Yes," she replied, lifting her chin a notch. "When I was in college, I dated a guy who had one, and he told me that he'd let me ride it if I got my license." A rather thoughtful expression surfaced on her face, and she snorted indelicately. "He was lying, though. He never did let me ride it alone_."

He'd laughed and hadn't said anything else as he'd climbed on the motorcycle behind Valerie, and he hadn't said much since then, either. He didn't have to.

She was good, he'd give her that. She knew what she was doing, all right. So it might not be the first thing that would occur to him after performing one of the biggest shows that Madrid would witness all year, but there was something to be said for it, too. Being close to Valerie was more than enough—even if he was going to end up paying for the indulgence for a while . . .

' _Aww, well, that doesn't really make it any better, now does it?_ ' his youkai voice broke through his musings.

' _What's that?_ ' Evan asked, stifling a groan as Valerie rounded another corner.

His youkai made a sound not unlike Evan's previous groan. ' _Sniff, you fool_.'

He did. Then he gritted his teeth as a powerful wave of overwhelming lust slammed straight through him. It was of little comfort for him to realize that, no matter what she might say, Valerie most definitely wanted him just as badly as he wanted her. No, at the moment, that was not really something that he wanted or needed to have on his mind. Considering there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it, it just figured. With every breath he drew, the scent of her infiltrated his body a little deeper, and he couldn't quite help himself as he tightened his grip on her hips, pressed himself a little closer a little, lifting his hips slightly, mentally cursing the barriers of fabric that separated their naked skin. In answer to his movements, the depth, the lure of her scent deepened, her ass cheeks tightening as she shifted slightly, unconsciously, as though her body couldn't decide if it was trying to escape him or if it was trying to move in closer . . .

All in all, it was torture, plain and simple, and Evan . . . wasn't he the fool for falling so easily into such an obvious trap?

' _Yeah, well . . . it's just a matter of time_ ,' he told himself. The words somehow seemed hollow.

' _Maybe, but . . . But aren't you getting tired of waiting?_ '

Evan closed his eyes for a moment, breathed in the scent of her as well as he could, trying in vain to ignore the deeper smells and the unspoken secrets they contained. ' _Tired of . . . of waiting_ . . .'

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

The sound of traffic in the distance interrupted the calming visage of the Rio Manzanares. Watching the water ripple in such a peaceful way soothed the edges of Valerie's nerves, though Evan had yet to let go of her, and she couldn't say that she wanted him to do that, anyway. Leaning against him, feeling the warmth of his body surrounding her . . .

There was another feeling down deep, too—one she was trying desperately to ignore. She supposed that it couldn't be helped, considering the way they'd been situated on the motorcycle. He had to hold onto her, and though she knew that the proximity was playing just as much hell on his emotions as it was on hers, she couldn't quite get herself to give voice to her objections, to make him move a little further away.

He was a paradox, wasn't he? One minute, he was nothing but uncontained energy, spouting things that no human should ever say, and the next? The next moment, he'd be lost in thoughts, as though he were contemplating things that seemed to be beyond her grasp, just as he himself felt to her. She supposed that after so much time spent together, she had seen all of the things that had made him into the man he was, and yet he never failed to surprise her, either. What was it about him? Why was it that he could so easily pull her out of her normal existence, bring her into his?

"Tell me what you're thinking about," Evan said, his voice quiet, perhaps afraid to interrupt the moment as it broke through the peaceful idyll that had blanketed them since they'd stopped here beside the river that traversed Madrid.

Letting out a deep breath, a silent sigh, Valerie snuggled back against him just a little more. "I was just thinking that you're a strange man," she admitted.

He chuckled at her choice of words. "Strange, am I?" he countered mildly, burying his face in her hair and breathing deep. "How so?"

"What do you mean, how so? You just . . . You just are," she said with a helpless little shrug, as though she had no better way to explain her feelings, and maybe she didn't. "It's nice out here, isn't it?"

"Mmm," he intoned, wrapping his arms a little tighter around her. "Not so bad," he allowed.

The sound of his voice was a deep resonance, more of a rumbling of his chest, though why that thought occurred to her, she didn't know. It made her smile.

"I know; I know. Not nearly as much 'fun' for you as your usual distractions, right?"

He chuckled. "I don't know about that," he admitted. "At least I'm not going to wake up with a hangover in the morning—or wondering who the fuck is sleeping next to me."

She rolled her eyes but smiled. "As if you've let that stop you before," she scoffed, reaching over her shoulder, grasping a handful of Evan's long hair and giving it a playful tug.

"Ah, but I'm reformed," he insisted, planting a kiss on the top of her head. "Well, almost."

"Is that right?" she countered easily, almost lazily, her gaze shifting to the myriad of stars that dotted the heavens so far above. "And I suppose it's all for me?"

"Sounds about right," he replied in a playful tone. Underneath it all, though, she could sense a certain level of gravity, but she didn't dwell upon it. "How about you agree to marry me now?"

For some reason, his question didn't surprise her. "Do you think that we should be heading back soon?"

His chuckle escalated, likely at her pointed evasion of his question. "Eh, we don't have to be at the airport till tomorrow afternoon," he said. "No hurries."

She digested that for a moment in silence. Of course he wasn't too interested in rushing, considering that the only thing waiting for him at the hotel was more insanity, more security, more invisible cages. Still . . . "Yeah, but weren't you supposed to do some things in the morning? Interviews and stuff?"

"Those won't be a problem," he insisted, discarding her concerns without a second thought.

That was true enough, she supposed. How often had he said before that the interviews were really nothing more than the same questions, the same answers, and the same stories printed over and over again? Then again, the pictures that usually accompanied those interviews were normally pretty interesting. Evan, unlike many, didn't mind if they brought a photographer along, but then, why should he? He never looked bad, as far as she could tell . . .

"You realize, don't you?" she said suddenly, the barest trace of an ornery smile quirking her lips, "you can't get married to me or anyone else, for that matter. Your fans would never be able to deal with that—the women, anyway."

He was smiling. She could feel it in the air around him. "You think so? It's not like it would have anything to do with whether or not I keep writing music."

She snorted. She couldn't help herself. "Do you think that that's all anyone cares about?"

He laughed. "Are you saying that they only listen to my shit because I'm, what? Hot? Sexier than hell?"

"Modest, aren't you?" she grumbled, which only made him laugh a little harder. "No, but if you honestly think that all those girls don't fantasize about being the one to tame you, then you're dumb."

That statement amused him even more, and it took a minute for his laughter to wind down enough for him to speak again. "Yeah, and any of those girls who think about crap like that when they've never even met me? They're in lust with Zel Roka, not me."

There was truth in what he said. Even so, Valerie had to roll her eyes. "But you _are_ Zel Roka," she reminded him in a tone that stated that she thought he was being purposefully obtuse. "Unless you're suddenly starting to develop a case of multiple personality disorder . . . ?"

"Oh, they might know my favorite color or the reason I wrote one song or another, but they don't know _me_ . . . Weren't you the one who told me that before?"

" _It's just . . . These women that you're looking for . . . They don't know you, nothing about you. They don't know that you . . . that you look at stars or . . . or how much you love your mama. They don't know that you'd protect your friends, even if it meant that you'd spend years in jail for it. They don't know that you love to cook or that you can play every instrument under the sun. They don't know how . . . They don't know how you hold your niece in your arms like she's the most precious thing on earth. They don't know how truly beautiful you are on the inside, and . . . and I just wish that they did. I . . . just wish that_ you _did_. . ."

Valerie blinked as those words—her words—whispered themselves in her head. Despite the teasing in his tone, she could sense the contemplation lying just below the carefully constructed façade. Had what she'd said to him on the pier what seemed like ages ago really sink in so deeply? Maybe . . . maybe it had . . . "I . . . I guess I did," she allowed quietly.

Evan sighed, more of an exhalation than an actual sound. It stirred her hair in the stillness. "Not that there isn't something to be said for having a good time, but that's not the kind of woman I'd ever consider marrying."

"Good," she said with a nod of approval as she patted Evan's arms that were still crossed over her stomach. "Glad to hear it. You deserve better."

"That's what I said," he agreed with another chuckle—a soft, warm sound that sent a shiver up her spine, just the same.

She brushed that aside, though. "So what brought on such a thoughtful mood, anyway?"

"Nothing, really," he quipped. "Just another attempt at getting into your panties . . . Don't suppose it's working, is it . . .?"

"Nope," she replied, just as glibly. "Nice try, though."

"Really?"

She laughed. "No."

He sighed again. "Figures."

"Why are you so incorrigible?" she asked, unable to staunch the laughter that bubbled up inside her.

Evan grinned. "I dunno, V. Why were you in my bushes?"

"Oh, my God," she scoffed, giving him a playful shove with her shoulder. "Just when I think you're done being a total jerk, you have to bring that up. _Again_."

"I can't help it, V," he objected between chuckles. "When you're given something like that, you can't help but to keep it—and remember it—and _use_ it."

She heaved a sigh as his laughter escalated. "Figures."

It took a while for his amusement to wear thin, and even after he'd finally wound down, he'd still erupted in silent laughter every now and then. It was enough to make her smile, even if she did try to hide it from him. So he had a point. Even she could see the humor in the situation, even if she didn't really want to. The quiet, however, seemed to spread once more: a welcome blanket that was as warm and comforting as the springtime. It had a melodic sort of cadence that resonated with the beat of her heart, and when Evan's clear, soft voice broke through, it seemed as natural as the night.

 

 

"' _Sleep, O babe, for the red bee hums the silent twilight's_ fall …  
"' _Eeval from the grey rock comes to wrap the world in thrall_ …  
"' _A lyan van o, my child, my joy, my love and heart's desire_ …  
"' _The crickets sing you lullaby beside the dying fire_ …'" 

"' _Dusk is drawn and the Green Man's thorn is wreathed in rings of fog_ …  
"' _Sheevra sails his boat 'til morn upon the starry bog_ …  
"' _A lyan van o, the paly moon hath brimm'd her cusp in dew_ …  
"' _And weeps to hear the sad, sleep tune I sing, my love, to you_ …'" 

"' _Sleep, O babe, for the red bee hums the silent twilight's fall_ …  
"' _Eeval from the grey rock comes to wrap the world in thrall_ …  
"' _A lyan van o, my child, my joy, my love and heart's desire_ …  
"' _The crickets sing you lullaby beside the dying fire_ …'"

 

 

The song faded away, and Valerie let out the breath that she hadn't realized that she'd been holding. "What was that?" she finally asked, her voice barely audible.

" _Gartan Mother's Lullaby_ ," he told her in the same quiet, sing-song voice. "It's an old Irish song . . . Guess I should have picked something Spanish."

"No," she said, craning her neck to look up at him. "It was beautiful."

He laughed softly. "Should I charge you for the private concert?"

The sound of her own laughter mingled with his, created a melody that shimmered like the sky. "I would pay for that," she allowed. "You might have to do a couple more songs, though, to make it worth my while."

"Damn, you're tough, baby," he replied.

"Have to be with someone like you." Drawing a deep breath, she reached out, grasped the handle bars, and pulled herself upright, immediately shivering as the abrupt loss of Evan's body heat against her back hit her square-on. "Anyway, do you want to learn how to ride this before we have to go back?"

Evan blinked a few times before a slow grin surfaced on his features. "Oh? You're going to teach me?"

She nodded and tossed him the helmet she'd taken off shortly after they'd stopped beside the river. "Put that on. If you wreck, you'll crack that thick head of yours open, and then where will we be?"

"Oh, I don't know," Evan drawled. "I kind of like being the passenger."

The unmistakably lecherous tilt of his lips left no doubt in her mind as to what, exactly, he meant with that comment, and she couldn't quite contain the blush that rose in her cheeks, either, since there was no doubt in either of their minds that she knew damn well what he was talking about, too. After all, she'd felt it against her backside ever since they'd escaped the arena. "Pervert," she muttered, thankful that the hazy darkness hid her face from his perusal.

"I've gotta admit, those bumpy roads were the best," he went on outrageously. "Rubbing my dick between your ass cheeks?" Letting out a ragged sigh, Evan's smile didn't wane. "Did you know you clench those cheeks when you hit those bumps?"

"Shut up," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest as she contemplated the likelihood of knocking him off the back of the motorcycle and over the railing into the river. "I should have known . . ."

Evan grinned, but must have decided to relent because he held up his hands in surrender. "Sorry, sorry . . . and for the record, you know I can swim, right?"

She snorted again, mostly because of the ease that he'd seemingly read her thoughts. "Do you want to learn how to ride that or not?"

"Okay," he relented.

Satisfied that he would listen to her, she stepped forward and gave him a quick lesson, but she was almost ready to order him off the vehicle since she was pretty sure that he'd spent more time trying to steal peeks down her shirt or at her ass than he had spent paying attention. "If you're not interested in hearing this, then —" she began, only to be cut off by the revving of the motor. Without another word, Evan took off, leaving behind a cloud of dust and a quick squeal of the tires. He didn't go far. At the first intersection, he whipped the bike in a neat u-turn and didn't stop until he was back where he had started.

"You know how to ride a motorcycle," she stated flatly when he'd killed the engine and leaned back to cast her a cocky grin.

"Yep," he agreed.

She snorted and crossed her arms over her chest so that she wouldn't give in to the urge to shove him over the railing, anyway. "Why didn't you tell me that before?"

He laughed. "Are you kidding? Did you not hear what I said about my cock being squished between your ass cheeks?"

She opened her mouth to retort but snapped it closed again since she knew well enough that it wouldn't really do any good to grump at him, anyway. His laughter was infectious, though, and despite her desire to do no such thing, she couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips, either. "And here I thought I could teach you something new," she remarked with a shake of her head.

"I let you explain things," he reminded her. "You did a helluva job at it, too."

"Don't you patronize me, Roka," she warned, stomping over and shoving at his shoulder until he sat up far enough for her to swing her leg over the back of the motorcycle. "Fine, then. You can take me for a ride now."

He turned his head to peer at her out of the corner of his eye. She shoved his cheek to turn his head back before he could make whatever off-color comment that was forming on his tongue. His laughter escalated as the engine roared to life once more. "You win," he said, raising his voice so that she could hear him. "Anywhere in particular you think we should go?"

Slipping the spare helmet over her head, she smiled. "Find me something to eat, Roka," she said leaning in as close as she could so that she could speak closer to his ear. The movement brought her up flush against his back, and despite the leather jacket he wore, she could feel his muscles rippling under his skin. Her smile widened when she felt the involuntary shiver race up Evan's back. "Even though it's late—early—something's got to be open, right? I'm starving."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Keep_** **_One_** **_Heart'_** _by_ _Nelson_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1991_ _release_ , **_After_** _**the**_ **_Rain_** _(single)_. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Matthew_ _and_ _Gunnar_ _Nelson_.  
>  ' ** _Gartan_** **_Mother's_** **_Lullaby_** ' _is_ _an_ _old_ _Irish_ _song_ _performed_ _by_ _various_ _artists._ _Written_ _by_ _Herbert_ _Hughes_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> _She's merciless_ …


	188. 187: Relation

' _People are strange when you're a stranger_...  
' _Faces look ugly when you're alone_ …  
' _Women seem wicked when you're unwanted_ …  
' _Streets are uneven when you're down_ …'

 

-' _People are Strange_ ' by The Doors.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"So who was that?"

Valerie looked up and took the glass of wine that Evan held over her shoulder as she dropped her cell phone onto the sofa beside her. "It was Daddy," she replied. "He said that they're ready to do the first blood work-up this weekend."

"Oh, yeah?" Evan said, his expression brightening as he dropped onto the sofa. "That's good, right? How many in the series?"

She sighed. "They want to start with four of them, but this one is going to be harder on him because they're going to do some other testing, too—tissue samples and stuff. The others should just be blood samples—no big deal . . . Well, that's what _he_ said."

She could feel his eyes on her, and for some reason, she stubbornly avoided meeting his gaze. "I'm sure he'll be okay," Evan said quietly, slipping an arm around her and pulling her over against his side.   "Those tests will help the doctors see if there's anything at all they can do to help him."

"I know," she replied, finally shooting Evan a scowl. She was well aware of how important the new testing was going to be for his future treatment. That didn't mean that she wasn't concerned. The blood tests would be fine, sure. After all, drawing a few vials of blood wasn't a big deal. The tissue samples, however, were a totally different story. Collecting those was going to be a lot more invasive, and with her father's already compromised body, any kind of procedure carried a certain amount of risk.

They hadn't been home from Spain for more than a couple days when Evan had called to tell her that he'd been able to get Jack an appointment with one of the best doctors in the United States. It just so happened that George Arnold was good friends with Evan's cousin, Isabelle, and she'd gone out of her way to speak to him about Jack's situation. Isabelle had also told Evan to remind Valerie that there was really nothing that could be done to save Jack's life outside of a transplant, but there were some treatments, mostly experimental, that had showed significant promise in improving one's quality of life, and, in many cases, could extend the patient's life to some extent. Dr. Arnold ordered the testing so that he could get a fresh look at Jack's current condition.

Letting out a sigh, Valerie shook her head. "He asked me to try to convince Kaci Lea to fly up here with Garret this weekend," she finally said—the real thing that weighed heavily on her mind. Garret was coming to record the song—her father's song. "He's afraid that she'll get her hopes up too high if she finds out about Dr. Arnold . . . but Mom said that she thinks he's also worried that he might need a day or two to recover from the testing, even though he won't admit as much."

Evan nodded, as though the thought had already occurred to him. Maybe it had. He was pretty damn perceptive, after all. "Can't say I blame him for that," he allowed thoughtfully. "And he thinks that it's best if Kaci Lea is here instead of there, then . . ." He nodded slowly, as though it made perfect sense. Staring at her for another long moment, he narrowed his eyes. "You don't think she'll come." It wasn't a question.

Valerie leaned back against Evan's arm and stared into his eyes for a moment. "I'm not exactly her favorite person," she reminded him. "If I ask her, she'll never agree."

Evan looked like he wanted to argue, but he must have agreed on some level because that argument never came, but he did try to smile. It was a weak and pathetic attempt at best, but she had to give him credit . "You want me to talk to her?" he asked.

Valerie made a face. "Well, Garret said he was going to try, so hopefully he can convince her. If that doesn't work, though . . ."

She didn't have to finish her statement. Evan understood, and he nodded. "Just let me know," he told her with a grin. "After all, they say I have a way with the ladies."

Rolling her eyes, Valerie smiled and leaned up to kiss Evan on the cheek. "Stay away from my sister, you pervert, or I'll throw you in jail myself."

Evan laughed, looking unaccountably pleased. "She's going to be a hottie one day," he predicted, scratching his chin as he pondered. "She might even be hotter than you."

"Hotter than me? Probably, which is all the more reason why you need to keep your dirty old hands away from her," Valerie warned despite the smile that was still on her lips.

"I don't think it's my hands you need to worry about," he teased.

Valerie shook her head and narrowed her eyes to give Evan a warning look. It only made him chuckle. Then she sighed again. He was teasing—at least, he'd _better_ be teasing, so there wasn't any point in dragging it out more, anyway. "Thanks for talking to Isabelle," she said quietly. "Your family's connections are a little scary."

"Yeah, but it's a good thing, too," he reminded her, though he didn't look very pleased. "I wish that there was more I could do."

"I know . . . you've said so a thousand times. It's all right. You've done more than enough."

He didn't look like he believed her. He also looked like he was at a loss as to what he could do now, and for some reason, as comforting as it was that he cared so much, it bothered her, too. Maybe it was just in his nature to want to help people—he got that from his parents—but she hated that he would feel guilty over something over which he had no more control than she did.

Leaning forward to set her wine glass on the coffee table, Valerie cleared her throat and willed herself to give him a bright smile. "It'll be fine," she assured him, hoping that she sounded a lot more confident than she felt.

"Yeah," he allowed, his deep blue eyes sparkling, flickering with an independent light as he slouched back against the sofa. She couldn't exactly read his mind, no, but she didn't have to. It was all there in his gaze. "Yeah, it will be."

 

 

- ** _Garret_** -

 

 

"Hey, you got a minute?"

Kaci Lea glanced at the doorway as she refreshed her grip on the pen in her hand. Spotting Garret leaning into the room, she dismissed him just as quickly before turning her attention back to the paper she'd been jotting down notes on. "All right, but make it quick. I've got a paper due for chemistry, and I want to get it done."

He grinned since he'd figured he'd get that kind of a response out of his bookworm sister. "See? That's why I don't mess with the smart classes," he quipped, slipping into the room and closing the door as he sank down on the edge of her neatly made bed. "They make you do reports and crap."

That earned him a very stern look, but even that didn't last very long before she went back to the task at hand. "Just because you think you're going to be some rockstar doesn't mean that you'll make it," she reminded him cryptically. "If you fail, you're going to end up bagging groceries at the Piggly Wiggly downtown."

"No way," he scoffed, dismissing that thought before it had any kind of chance of taking shape. "That's why I'm going to New York City this weekend."

She frowned at her notes and flipped a few pages in the composition book she was using. "You'll do fine," she said absently, licking her finger to aide in the page-flipping.

"Yeah, about that," he drawled, quickly licking his lips in anticipation of the argument he figured was about to begin. "Come with me."

"I've got to study," she reminded him mildly. "I don't want to be a rockstar, and even if I did, I don't have the biggest rockstar on the plant to help me out."

"He'd help you if he thought you had talent," Garret replied simply, grabbing a rather ratty old teddy bear—Buttons, Kaci Lea had named it years ago—and tossing it idly in the air a few times. "Anyway, it's not about that. You can't tell me that going to New York City doesn't sound like fun to you."

"Don't break your arm as you pat yourself on the back," she muttered under her breath.   Garret grinned. "It does sound fun," she went on. "Unfortunately, getting good grades will get me into a good school, and getting into a good school will get me a great job, and getting a great job will make me a lot happier than blowing school off to go there for a weekend."

"Exactly!" he interrupted, grimacing when he tossed Buttons too high. The bear smacked into the ceiling, only to be snatched neatly out of the air a moment later when Kaci Lea leaned back in her chair long enough to retrieve the beloved stuffed animal. "Sorry," he said with a cheesy grin.

"Stop bullying Buttons around," she scolded, cradling the teddy bear against her chest, which only made his grin widen.

"C'mon," he coaxed. "It'll be a lot of fun. There're tons of stores there, right? I'm sure V would be happy to take you shopping. She's a girl. Girls like that kind of crap."

Kaci Lea's frown deepened, and she let the teddy bear fall to her lap, busying herself by fussing with the black beads their mother had sewn on long ago when the original glass eyes had fallen off. It was a nervous habit; Garret had seen her do it a million times before.   It also meant that she was considering, well, _something_.

"You . . . you like her a lot, don't you?" she finally asked in a voice so quiet that Garret almost missed it. She was trying so hard to look as though she was indifferent, but every single bone in her body was terse, tense.

"Yeah, I do," he said simply. "You would, too, if you give her a chance."

He could see it in her face, couldn't he? The conflicting emotions that were so raw and ragged in her. Garret frowned, stifling a sigh as half-forgotten memories flickered to life in his head.

" _Aww, that's a nice picture, Kaci . . . Is that us?_ "

" _Yeah! That's you and Daddy and Garret and me and Valene!_ "

" _Why doesn't she have a face?_ "

" _I don't 'member what she looks like! What does she look like, Mommy?_ "

The laughter that echoed like ghostly shadows that weren't unkind as their mother described Valerie's pretty blonde hair, her bright hazel eyes . . . Kaci Lea's chubby hand as she carefully chose the right colored crayons, filling in those details she didn't know herself . . .

" _So what do you want for your birthday tomorrow, little girl?_ "

A brilliant smile; a dimple carved deep into her left cheek . . . " _I want a party, Daddy! D'you think Valene can come . . .?_ "

And the sadness in a father's expression that was so lost in the face of a child's excitement . . . " _She's probably busy_ . . ."

Tiny fists braced on her father's knee so she could lean in closer . . . " _But it's my birthday! So she can come!_ "

She'd waited all day the next day, wearing the pretty little pink sundress that she'd picked out at the dollar store for her birthday. Standing by the screen door, staring out and the dirt road in front of the trailer . . . little hands pressed against the dirty gray netting with all the hope in the world in her eyes, waiting for the big sister that never came . . .

The doll she was given for Christmas that year—a pretty doll with a Christmas dress and a sprig of holly in her shining yellow hair . . . She'd named the doll Valene and had taken it everywhere with her. He hadn't realized when she'd stopped dragging the doll around, but he'd noticed it years later, tossed carelessly in a box of forgotten things that Kaci Lea had set out for the Good Will, eyes half-closed, the permanent little smile on her face and looking somehow sadder and more horrifying than Garret could credit . . .

How many memories did she have? How often had she longed to meet the sister that everyone else told her about? How long did it take before she started to realize that she might not meet Valerie, after all . . .? Did it really matter that it wasn't really Valerie's fault? In Kaci Lea's mind, she hadn't done anything to deserve to be cast off like that, and, while Garret agreed, he knew. There were two sides of it. There was always two sides to everything, and he didn't have to be brilliant to know what Valerie's defense really was: her reason, her beliefs. Valerie, more than anyone, remembered the bad times—the really bad times . . .

And Kaci Lea didn't remember those, either. Garret knew that damn well, and he was glad of it, too. If only Valerie hadn't had to see the things she'd seen, and Garret didn't even try to delude himself. If the incidents he remembered were ugly, he couldn't even imagine what she'd experienced. True enough, Jack had stopped doing drugs and drinking just before Garret was born. But there were a few times that Garret remembered . . . Jack had slipped a few times, and the fights had been terrible. Garret could remember hiding under tables while his parents yelled at each other: hateful things, horrible things. Once it had gone so far that Garret had darted between his parents, screaming and sobbing for Daddy to leave Mommy alone . . . He'd gotten in the way of a slap meant for Rhonda. His eye had been swollen for a couple days, and Rhonda had kicked Jack out for what had felt like forever. In reality, Garret was too small to remember how long it had been. Kaci Lea was just a baby then, so of course she didn't, either. Maybe there had been some other incidents after that, but they weren't as bad as that one time. When Rhonda let Jack back into the house again, he'd gone to Garret, swallowed hard a few times, and croaked out an apology. Garret only realized later that the apology that Jack had offered to him had been accompanied by tears . . .

The thing was, if Garret could remember those things, then just what the hell did Valerie remember? And sure, he could understand Kaci Lea's lifetime of disappointment over wishing for the big sister that never came. Still, to be completely honest, if Valerie's memories were as bad as he suspected they were, why the hell would she have wanted to come back home?

It left him in a completely awkward situation, really. He could understand both of his sisters, and yet, he couldn't explain anything to them, either. Was Kaci Lea afraid of getting used to having the sister she'd wished to have for so long? Maybe she thought that if she let herself care, she'd only be disappointed, and as much as he wished he could, there wasn't much Garret could say or do to convince Kaci Lea that it wasn't going to happen. Even so . . .

"I'm glad," Kaci Lea said at length, cutting through Garret's musings in a quiet, almost sad tone of voice. "And I'm glad that you're going to record Daddy's song, too."

"Then come with me," he coaxed.

"I wasn't invited," she said pointedly. "Besides, I have homework."

"I'm inviting you now," he corrected. "Come on."

She rolled her eyes and got up, pushing him aside so she could set Buttons back on her bed. "That's hardly an invitation," she reminded him. "You're going to stay with Evan, aren't you? I can't just invite myself to stay with him, too."

"He won't care," Garret scoffed. "He wanted me to bring you along; he said so."

She shot him a look to let him know that she wasn't buying into his story. "It's okay, Garret. Have fun."

"I'm serious," he insisted, leaning forward, steepling his fingers together between his knees. "It's a big deal, you know? Well, to me, anyway. I mean, this whole thing can change my life, and . . . and I really want you to be there, Kase . . ."

He was getting to her. He could tell by the way she sat, ramrod straight, staring at her notes with a fierce kind of concentration that told him from experience she wasn't actually paying any attention to what she was pretending to be doing at all. "Aren't you going to be too busy to notice if I'm even there?" she asked.

Garret smiled. "Like I can ignore your big mouth," he retorted. "I can always hear you when you're around."

She snorted but rolled her eyes, and finally, she smiled. "That's not going to score you points," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Now go away so I can finish my paper, will you?"

Letting out a deep breath, Garret pushed himself to his feet and reached for the door knob again. "Think about it, okay?"

She shot him a look, but he wasn't entirely sure how to interpret the expression. "I'll think about it," she replied in a non-committal kind of way.

It was the best he could get out of her, he figured. He didn't like it, but maybe . . . maybe . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Hello?"

Evan grinned to himself, idly rubbing his chest with his knuckles as he cast Valerie a smug glance. "Hey, sweetie. How's my best girl?"

There was a definite pause on the other end of the phone. He figured that she was probably trying to decide just what had inspired him to call. Then again, she wasn't stupid . . . "H-Hi, Evan," she said, her voice sounding a little uncertain, almost trembling.

"Tell me, what's your favorite color?" he went on after a soft chuckle.

"M-My favorite color . . .?" she echoed, obviously not sure where that particular question came from nor why he might be interested in the answer.

"Sure," he went on smoothly. "I mean, you're coming with Garret this weekend, right? So I figured I'd have one of my guest rooms decked out, just for you."

"Oh, uh . . . W-Well, I hadn't really decided . . . But you don't have to—"

Evan laughed. "You've got to come, and no sweat. I _want_ to," he stated in a tone that left little room for argument. "It's a huge deal for your brother, and I'd love to have you, too. I'll even stock your fridge with all kinds of junk."

"But I don't expect . . ." she blurted quickly. "I mean—"

"If you're about to say that you don't want to trouble me, you're not. There are a ton of things to do here. You can even be my girl for the weekend, and I guarantee you'll have a great time, okay?"

". . . O . . . Okay . . ." she finally relented.

"Nice . . . so your favorite color . . .?"

She gave a nervous little laugh. "I like purple," she admitted.

"Purple. Got it." Evan's grin widened as Valerie leaned on the counter, arching an eyebrow at him. He winked, and she rolled her eyes. "We'll see you Friday night then."

"I-If you're sure," she agreed faintly.

"Absolutely."

"O-Okay . . . Bye."

"Bye bye," he said then dropped his cell phone onto the counter as he turned a very smug look on Valerie. "All done, baby," he informed her.

"You have no shame at all, do you?" she mused with a shake of her head though the smile on her face widened. "Man whore."

He didn't deny it. In fact, he chuckled, which just figured. "Well, she _is_ gonna by my woman for the weekend, V," he pointed out. "Try not to be too jealous, okay? Those kinds of displays are kind of a put-off."

"Jackass," she muttered, tossing a grape from the fruit bowl in the center of the counter at him.

He caught it in his teeth and tilted his head back to let it drop into his mouth. "Well, I have no patience for doing stupid shit like redecorating bedrooms, so you'll have to do it. Says her favorite color is purple."

"Because I don't have a full time job so I've got plenty of time to do this for you," Valerie replied dryly. Then she laughed. "Purple, huh?"

Evan nodded. "That's what she said. Get whatever you think she'll like; it's on me."

Valerie took the credit card that Evan dug out of his wallet. "You think I can use this? I mean, I hardly look like Zel Roka."

He blinked and plucked the card out of her hand. "Oh, wrong one."

"You have credit cards in Zel Roka's name?" she asked him quizzically as he handed her another one, this one bearing the name, 'Evan Zelig'.

"Sure . . . Can't really let everything get traced back to me, right? Anyway, if you have trouble using that, just give me a call, and I'll authorize it."

Valerie nodded. "Thank you . . . and thank you for being nice to my sister, too."

Evan snorted at the understated emotion in Valerie's voice, the sudden and rather suspect brightness just behind her gaze. "Don't thank me," he quipped. "I fully intend to make her a part of my harem one day."

Heaving a sigh, Valerie shook her head. "Only you," she complained, straightening her back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Only you can take the sweetest moments and turn them into colossal displays of your ass-itude."

His laughter trailed after her as she stomped out of the kitchen.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _People_** **_are_** **_Strange_** ' _by_ _The_ _Doors_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1967_ _release_ , **_Strange_** **_Days_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _The Doors_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Houseguests_ …


	189. 188: Comfort

' _I took a walk down a road_...  
' _It's the road I was meant to stay_ …  
' _I see the fire in your eyes_ …  
' _But a man's gotta make his way_ …'

 

-' _Coming Home_ ' by Cinderella.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"This will be your room while you're here . . . I hope you like it. There are a lot of shades in 'purple'," Valerie said as she waved a hand over the light sensor to bring the room to life, but her gaze was firmly fixed on Kaci Lea's face.

She was trying not to be impressed; Valerie would give her that. As her gaze flickered around the room, however, the wariness that she hadn't been able to hide since she'd followed Garret out of the airport started to wane, only to be replaced by a very real sense of wonder. Not surprising, really. It was the first time that Kaci Lea had been in a house like Evan's. The panel on the computer flashed to life as a very soft voice said, "Welcome, Kaci Lea."

"If you look at the home screen on there, you can set everything the way you want—the alarm for tomorrow morning if you want, the bed temperature and firmness, the room temperature, the television—even the settings for your shower." Valerie smiled as Kaci Lea took an involuntary step toward the computer to get a better look. "In fact, you can set it to draw a bath for you at a certain time, too. Pretty neat in the morning."

"It does all that?" she asked, unable to hide the wonder in her tone.

Valerie smiled, leaning against the door frame and crossing her arms over her chest. "Yes, among other things. Oh, if you want to go out on the balcony, you're going to have to disable the locks. I wasn't sure if you wanted to or not, so I left them alone."

"Wow . . ."

"I stocked the refrigerator with some of your favorites—Mom and Garret told me what to buy," she said.

Valerie's statement seemed to remind Kaci Lea that the two of them didn't really know one another very well, and she withdrew a little into herself again. "Oh . . . thanks," she murmured, stepping over to the suitcase that Bone had brought in just a few minutes before. "The . . . The room's really pretty."

Stifling a sigh, Valerie smiled. "I'll leave you alone for a while," she said, pushing herself away from the doorframe. "You can get settled in and rest a little, if you're tired."

Kaci Lea nodded as Valerie closed the door, and she sighed. No, she really hadn't expected things to be warm and friendly between the two of them, and, all things considered, she figured that everything was going pretty well so far. Her real hope was that she could get Kaci Lea to talk to her while she was here. The trouble was, she wasn't sure how to do that without coming across in a way that wouldn't drive her sister in the other direction . . .

' _Small steps_ ,' she thought to herself as she loped down the stairs. Garret was in his room, doing God only knew what, and hopefully Evan would get home sooner rather than later. He'd said that he wanted to cook dinner—the idea of just what Kaci Lea would think of that made Valerie smile just a little. He had also said that he wouldn't be out too late, but then, one never could tell when he was doing interviews.

In fact, she was standing in the kitchen as she pondered starting dinner anyway when she heard the front door open and close. "Hey, V. Kids get here all right?" Evan asked as he stepped into the room, scratching his obnoxiously orange head of hair as he squeezed one eye closed.

"They did," she told him, shaking her head at the ungodly color. "You going to go wash that crap out of your hair?"

He shot her a grin as he wandered over to grab a beer out of the drink chiller drawer. "What? You don't like it?" he teased.

"You look like a tangerine," she muttered.

He laughed. "You wanna try to peel me, baby?"

She snorted and strode over to the refrigerator. "Get one of your groupies to do it for you."

"Ouch," he chuckled, draining half of the beer in one long, lazy gulp. "Thought you hated it when I got too friendly with my fans," he reminded her.

"A hussy will be a hussy," she shot back.

He laughed again. She figured he would. Lucky for her, her face was hidden from him at the moment, so he didn't see the hint of a smile that graced her lips as she reached for the vegetables that had already been washed for the salad as well as a package of chicken breasts that Evan had bagged with a marinade before he'd left the mansion earlier. "Your sister like her room?"

"She does," Valerie said, nudging the refrigerator door closed with her hip before turning toward the counter once more. "Of course she does. She's probably upstairs, messing around with the settings as we speak."

"Cool."

"Hey, Evan," Garret said as he stepped into the kitchen.

Evan grinned without looking up from his task of arranging the chicken on a pan to bake. "Good flight?"

Garret shrugged and grabbed a Coke out of the chiller drawer. "It wasn't bad."

"Nice."

Garret's head snapped up suddenly, as though he had just remembered something important. "Oh, yeah, here," he said, dropping an envelope onto the counter.

Evan washed his hands and reached for it. "What's this?"

Garret shrugged. "Dunno. Dad gave it to me before we left and said to give it to you." His phone rang, and he broke into a lopsided grin. "Speak of the damn devil, right? He probably wants to check up on Kase . . ."

Evan frowned, putting the chicken in the oven with one hand as he stared at the envelope. Then he tore it open as Garret walked out of the room to answer his phone and pulled out what looked like a credit card, dropping it onto the counter while he unfolded the piece of paper that was enclosed with it.

"What's that?" Valerie asked, leaning across the counter to pick up the card. 'Kaci Lea Duyer' was printed on it.

Evan grinned as he held out the note to her. "Your dad sent that for your sister. Spending money."

Valerie turned the card over to read the back as she nodded slowly. "It's one of those pre-paid cards," she remarked, more to herself than to Evan. "Wonder how much he put on it . . . They don't have a lot of money to spare . . ."

Evan sighed and plucked the card out of her hand. "First off, V, what your mom and dad spend money on is their business, and he got a lot of money for that song already, so it shouldn't be a problem. Second off . . ." he paused for dramatic effect as his goofy grin resurfaced, "let's go check."

She rolled her eyes but laughed, hurrying around the counter as Evan fiddled with the wall panel. A moment later, he had the account status of the card pulled up on the screen. "Fifteen hundred. Not too shabby," he mused.

Valerie raised an eyebrow as Evan started keying in something else. "What are you doing?" she asked, though she already suspected that he was going to add more to it.

"You're taking her shopping tomorrow, right?" he asked with a simple shrug. "Maddy can drop that much easily on one pair of shoes, and I know you're almost as good as she is, so fifteen hundred won't last more than an hour if Kaci Lea's going with you. Women are born with the innate ability to spend massive amounts of money—or so I've been told."

Valerie snorted. "Jerk," she grumbled, eyebrows arching when she saw that he'd matched the amount that Jack had sent. "I'll add some, too."

Stepping aside, Evan laughed. Valerie added another fifteen hundred.

Garret strode back into the kitchen but stopped short when he nearly ran into them. "You're blocking the doorway," Garret remarked dryly. "What are you doing, anyway? Hacking your own system?"

Evan chuckled. "Nah . . . Your dad sent money for Kaci Lea, and we were just adding a little more to it."

Blinking as though he had to consider what Evan had just said, Garret nodded. "Oh . . . How much did he send her?"

"Fifteen hundred," Evan said.

"Fifteen?" Garret echoed thoughtfully. "I'll add some, too."

"You don't have to," Valerie assured him with a smile. "Evan and I both matched it."

Garret nudged Valerie out of the way and keyed in a third funds transfer, this time, from his own account. "There," he said when he was finished. "That should keep her busy for a little while . . . though if I know her as well as I think I do, she's going to try to save all of it. That's what she always does."

"Nope," Evan remarked with a mischievous little grin. "Your dad says in his letter that she is not to come home without spending that money on herself."

Garret's grin widened as he turned away from the screen. "That's gonna be hard to do. She's got six grand to blow."

"You added the same amount?" Valerie asked, returning to her place to finish up the salad.

Scratching his head, Garret shrugged, as though he thought it was no big deal, but the hit of a blush on his face did not go unnoticed. "Well, she wouldn't let me buy anything for her with any of the money I earned for the shows," he admitted with a grin. "She said that I'd still be a dork, either way."

Somehow, that didn't surprise Valerie. She might not know Kaci Lea as well as she'd like, but she knew well enough that her younger sister had her fair share of stubborn pride, too. In that way, maybe she was more like Valerie than she wanted to admit . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"So what's the urgent message that you needed to talk to me as soon as possible about?"

Valerie handed Madison a glass of wine and broke into a grin as she settled on the sofa next to her. "I don't remember saying that it was urgent," she corrected, lifting the glass of wine to her lips.

Madison laughed. "Okay, but it could be inferred from the overall tone of your message. So what's up?"

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Valerie asked, purposefully hedging the question, knowing that it'd drive Madison nuts.

"Hmm, depends," Madison went on glibly. "Did you have something in mind?"

"Well," Valerie drawled, idly swirling the wine in her glass. "I'm taking my sister shopping tomorrow, and I thought that you should join us if you can. After all, aren't you on a first name basis in most of the big stores?"

Madison giggled and set her glass on the coffee table. "First name basis? Probably . . . or they recognize my cards. Hmm . . . I could do that," she allowed thoughtfully. "So she's here? I want to meet her!"

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie shot Madison an apologetic little smile. "Sorry. She already went to bed. Said that she was tired from traveling . . ."

Madison nodded slowly, understanding the unspoken thoughts going through Valerie's head. "We could stop by the spa, too, if you think she'd like to. I'd be more than happy to give her some special attention."

Valerie grinned. She'd thought of that, too, but wasn't entirely sure what Madison would think of that idea. "Just remember that she's only fourteen," she said instead.

Madison laughed and fluttered a hand dismissively. "It'll be fun," she predicted. "Evan says that she's just a hottie like you, so it shouldn't take too much effort on my part to make her look spectacular."

"Oh, I have no doubt at all that you can make her look fabulous. I only worry that you're going to make her look a lot older than she is."

"I'll remember," Madison insisted, brushing off Valerie's concern without a second thought.

"Daddy sent money for her, so hopefully she'll enjoy herself," Valerie went on with a sigh. "I told her that if she had too much stuff to take home with her on the plane that we'd send it all to her."

They'd given her the card during dinner, and, as predicted, Kaci Lea had tried to decline it. No one had said anything when Valerie had pretended that half of the money had been put on there by their father, but it wasn't until she'd called and talked to Jack that she'd reluctantly accepted it. He had told her that she absolutely must spend the money he'd sent her on herself, on buying the things that she'd never been able to get for herself before. She'd hesitantly said that she might look for a new laptop computer to replace the old, slow one that she'd gotten in middle school from the Second Knowledge program at her school. That program collected used computers and refurbished them as best as they could then sold them to the kids whose families couldn't afford to buy one for whatever they could afford. It did what Kaci Lea needed to do, but it certainly couldn't do a lot of the things that the newest computers could. There was more than enough money for that with the money that Evan and Garret had added for her to get a damn good one, and Evan had told her that it was fine, as long as she spent the money on herself.

"Let me guess: Evan and your brother have holed themselves up in the music room?"

Rolling her eyes, Valerie smiled. "Of course," she said. "Garret said something about having an idea for a song, and that's all it took."

"Figures . . . You know, I've yet to meet your little brother," Madison went on thoughtfully. "Is he as cute in person as he was in the concert clips I saw?"

"No," Valerie stated flatly. "Cuter. Much cuter."

Madison laughed. "You know, I have to admit, I was surprised when you'd mentioned having a brother and a sister," she mused. "You never talked about them before—or your parents, for that matter."

"It's a . . . a long story," Valerie said. "I just . . ."

The teasing expression on Madison's face faltered, only to be replaced by a more serious look. "It doesn't matter. Any family of yours is okay with me."

Valerie blinked and stared at Madison for a moment, then broke into a smile. "See? That's why I love you, Maddy," she insisted, reaching out to hug Madison. "You're so sweet."

Madison wrinkled her nose then planted a loud kiss on Valerie's cheek. "I am, right?"

" _Homigawd_ , girl-on-girl action!" Evan squeaked, interrupting the moment with an insanely idiotic grin on his face.

Garret snorted. "Yeah—if one of them wasn't my sister," he grumbled. "That's just messed up, man, and . . ." he trailed off as he glanced over at the women again, only to stop and do a classic double-take. Valerie rolled her eyes. He was about as hard to read as a comic book, though she had to admit that it was pretty funny. In the space of an instant, he had been absolutely mesmerized by the mere sight of Madison Cartham. "Uh, h-h-hi," he stammered, his face exploding in a bright wash of color.

Evan glanced from Garret to Madison and back again as an even more idiotic grin lit on his features, and he chuckled. "That's Maddy," he said, giving Garret a little nudge with his shoulder.

Garret stumbled forward a step but caught himself quickly enough.

"Madison Cartham," she said, wrapping her arms more securely around Valerie's waist and resting her head on Valerie's shoulder. "But you can call me 'Maddy'."

"N-Nice to meet you," Garret said.

Madison giggled. "You're right," she said to Valerie. "He's just a doll!"

Evan chuckled. "Yeah? Why don't you teach him a few things, Maddikins? I'm sure that he'd be up to learning."

Valerie shook her head slowly. If she thought that Evan was serious—or, more to the point, if she thought that Madison really would give Garret more than a fleeting glance—she'd be a little more inclined to argue. Oh, sure, she might be if Garret were older, but Madison didn't really have any interest in guys that were that much younger than her, either.

"Sure," Madison quipped, winking at Garret as she reached for her wine glass again. "Give me a call in five years or so, Garret."

Garret rolled his eyes but grinned despite the heightened color in her cheeks. "I-I'm not _that_ young," he muttered.

Evan chuckled and strode over to grab two beers out of the wet bar fridge. At least, that was the plan—until Valerie shot him a look that could, in theory, freeze him on the spot. He grinned and put one of the beers back and grabbed a Coke for Garret instead. "Anyway, we weren't going to bother you ladies," he went on as he popped the cap off the beer.

"I've had beer before," Garret pointed out as he took the Coke from Evan and nodded.

"Is that right?" Valerie demanded mildly, crossing her arms over her chest as she shot Evan another scathing look. Evan tipped the beer with one hand and held up the other in silent surrender.

"Dad's let me have one before," he clarified.

"You're underage," Valerie stated flatly.

Garret grinned.

Evan chuckled. "Want to work on that bridge again?"

"Oh, uh, yeah . . . It's good, but there's something missing still."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing," Evan mused as the two of them headed toward the music room again.

Valerie rolled her eyes as she watched their retreat.

"Hmm . . . how nostalgic," Madison mused as she watched them, too.

"What's that?"

Madison shrugged, a sudden brightness entering her gaze as the door closed behind the men. "It just . . . it reminds me of Evan and Dieter," she admitted quietly. "Those two could lock themselves in there for hours—days sometimes . . ."

"He does really like Garret," Valerie said thoughtfully. She hadn't really seen Evan and Dieter together as much as Madison had, but she, too, had noticed the genuine affection that Evan had for her brother. "I'm kind of hoping that it will keep him out of some trouble," she confessed with a sigh.

"Which one? Evan?"

Valerie shook her head. "Both."

Madison laughed. "That or they'll just get into even more trouble. It's hard to say."

That was the other thing that Valerie was afraid of. After all, Evan wasn't exactly good at self-control, was he? Those two were more likely to get into all kinds of mischief than not. In fact, the kinds of trouble that Evan could potentially get Garret involved in was enough to make Valerie groan to herself. She'd already seen what kinds of ideas those two could have, hadn't she? The memory of that damned sheet-slide they'd constructed in the hotel flashed through her head, and she groaned again for good measure.

"What's the matter?" Madison asked, oblivious as to what, exactly, was going through her friend's mind.

Valerie waved a hand dismissively and stood up, retrieving Madison's wine glass to refill both. "Oh, nothing," she said. "Just foreseeing a lot of gray hairs in my future . . ."

Madison's laughter followed her as she strode over to the wet bar to set down the glasses. "I'm sure that he won't get Garret into too much trouble," she assured her. "Most of the time, Dieter was the one who had the weird ideas. Evan just went along with them."

For some reason, the memory of the night she'd had to pick them up at the police station because Dieter had wanted to 'borrow' a body bag from the morgue flashed through her head, and she sighed. Yes, that had been Dieter's idea, but she was pretty sure that the real problem had as much to do with Evan as it did with Dieter . . .

Then she smiled. She couldn't really help herself, could she? After all, how many people could get in trouble for half the stuff that Evan had over the years . . .?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Coming_** **_Home_** ' _by_ _Cinderella_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1988_ _release_ , **_Long_** **_Cold_** **_Winter_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Tom_ _Kiefer_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _They won't get into too much trouble … will they …?_


	190. 189: Girls' Day Out

' _Some boys take a beautiful girl_...  
' _And hide her away from the rest of the world_ …  
' _I wanna be the one to walk in the sun_ …  
' _Oh girls just wanna have fun_ …'

 

-' _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun_ ' by Cyndi Lauper.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie sank back in the comfortable chair and took the mug of tea from the salesgirl—Carol, she'd said her name was—as she and Madison waited to see the first outfit that Kaci Lea had picked to try on. "Thank you," she said with a smile.

"You're welcome . . . You know, we have some really pretty scarves that would go wonderfully with that sweater she picked out. I'll go get a couple of them."

"Your sister's never been in a store like this before, has she?" Madison asked as Carol hurried away.

Valerie laughed. "I don't think they have anything like this back home, no," she admitted. She didn't add that, even if there were, there was no way that her family would have been able to afford to shop in one, anyway. Madison wasn't a snob by any means, but, like Evan, she'd been raised in a fairly well-off household, so she wasn't entirely sure that Madison didn't realize that most people didn't shop this way.

Even still, it had taken some convincing—and a lot of Madison's intervention—to convince Kaci Lea to step out of her comfort zone and into the more expensive stores in the city. No, it wasn't just that they were expensive, Valerie supposed. Nothing like walking through the doors of one of these places to remind a girl, especially a young one like Kaci Lea, that she was sorely out of place, now was there?

But as uncomfortable as Kaci Lea was around Valerie, the same could not be said about Madison, and that was the main reason that Valerie had wanted to bring her along, anyway. Madison had the very rare ability to put even the most uncomfortable person at ease, and maybe that was the real secret to the success of her chain of spas.

In any case, it was a good thing, as far as Valerie was concerned. The slight tension that had punctuated the air over breakfast this morning had vanished about the moment that Madison had waltzed into the mansion. Evan and Garret had left for the studio well before Kaci Lea had gotten out of bed, so when Valerie had arrived around eight, she'd fixed a light breakfast—fruit salad and English muffins with some fresh strawberry preserves. Breakfast had been strained, and while Kaci Lea had answered everything Valerie had asked, she would have had to be stupid to have not noticed it.

Madison had taken her time, slowly circling Kaci Lea, examining her from every angle, and just when Kaci Lea had looked like she might run and hide in her room, she'd smiled. " _She is absolutely delicious, V! Is this what you looked like when you were her age?_ "

" _Uh, no," Valerie said, lifting a mug of fragrant coffee to her lips. "Kaci Lea's a lot prettier than I ever was_."

 _Kaci Lea pushed a couple grapes around her bowl with her fork before setting the utensil aside, her cheeks blossoming in embarrassed color. "Mama says . . . says I look just like you," she muttered grudgingly_.

" _Either way," Madison went on. Valerie wasn't sure if she sensed the reticence in Kaci Lea's tone or not, but Valerie figured that diverting the subject was just fine, too. "So what do you think, sweetie. Would you like to stop by my salon later and let me fix you up?_ "

 _Kaci Lea blinked in surprise. "You have a salon?_ "

 _Valerie's smile widened as she leaned toward her sister. "She owns Madison's Salon and Spas . . . Have you heard of those?_ "

 _Kaci Lea turned her wide eyes on her sister. "Really? Those are like, famous, aren't they?_ "

 _Madison laughed. "I don't know about 'famous', but our customers seem to be happy enough_."

"So . . ." Madison said, drawing Valerie out of her reverie. "You going to tell me why there seems to be so much tension between you two?"

Valerie let out a deep breath and slowly shook her head. "We're just getting to know each other," she said evenly.

"Is that all there is?" Madison asked pointedly.

"It's a long story," Valerie said. "It'll just take time; that's all."

Madison nodded, apparently content to let it go, or maybe she wasn't, but she was smart enough to know that Valerie really didn't want to go into detail in the middle of Chaubert, either.

"Oh, that looks fantastic!" Carol said as she hurried back over. Valerie blinked and glanced up at her sister, who had just stepped through the doorway from the changing room. The little denim skirt with a very classic pink cardigan over a simple white blouse really did look absolutely adorable on her, and the yarn of the cardigan was light enough to be worn comfortably in the summer. The sleeves flared out almost like flower blossoms, and the overall effect was simple yet flirty in a very cute kind of way.

Kaci Lea looked rather reluctant but let the salesgirl grasp her by the shoulders to lead her over to the slight platform situated in front of four angled mirrors. "What do you think of this scarf?" Carol asked, draping a gauzy white cloth with iridescent pearls strung through the frayed ends and held in place by a series of knots. "It's optional, of course, but really, accessories can add so much to an outfit, don't you think?"

"Y-Yeah," Kaci Lea agreed, biting her lip as she pivoted this way and that to get a better view of the overall outfit. "I . . . I like this one."

Valerie nodded as Kaci Lea's gaze met hers in the mirror. She didn't respond, but she did seem to relax slightly when she caught Madison's nod, as well.

"Well, if you've decided on that one, then you should go try on another one," Valerie suggested.

A little uncertainly, Kaci Lea nodded, but she finally broke into a small smile—the first one that Valerie had seen on her face since her arrival last night—and Valerie figured that it was enough for her.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

' _When asked about how he's been holding up since the unexpected and tragic death of his long-time friend and backup band mate, Dieter Reichardt, Roka said, "Life's short. There's nothing you can do about it. Hell, I could drop dead tomorrow, and the world will still go on. All anyone can do is to have faith that they've left behind something of value. For Deet, it was his art, his kid, and as long as those things live on, I've got nothing to complain about_ . . ."'

Valerie paused, taking a moment to re-read the paragraph as a small smile tugged on the corners of her lips. His earnestness in interviews was rare, and yet, she knew that those words were very true to his real thoughts on the matter. It spoke volumes about him, didn't it? Those things that she already knew; those things she loved about him . . .

' _So what does this rockstar hope to leave behind as his legacy? "When I die, I hope there are at least a dozen tell-alls about my sex-ploits," he goes on in his trademark tongue-in-cheek way. "I hope that I'm remembered as being the one man who fucked 'em all!_ "'

Heaving a sigh, Valerie closed the magazine and leaned forward to drop it onto the coffee table. Somehow, that just figured, didn't it? Evan had an almost uncanny ability to say the sweetest things, ever, and then follow that up with the most outrageous, perverted things, too.

"Speak of the devil," she mumbled as her cell phone rang. She could tell by the ringtone that it was Evan, and she sighed as she dug the device out of her purse and connected the call. "Shouldn't you be busy, Roka?" she asked in lieu of a proper greeting.

His chuckle was warm, and even if it was through the phone, it was still enough to ripple up her spine in a very welcome sort of way. "Yeah, but I was just thinking of you and figured I'd see if you ladies are having a good time?"

Valerie laughed, unable to help herself. "Yes, we are," she allowed. "We're at Maddy's salon right now. I think they're giving Kaci Lea an Asian mud wrap right now."

"Ah, she's getting the works, is she?" he teased. "Nice . . ."

"How's the recording session going?"

"Better than I expected," he replied, his voice muffled, likely by a coffee mug or something like that. "I think they wanted to do one more run through with the guitar, but that shouldn't be too difficult. He should be able to lay the tracks for the vocals tomorrow, and that's all she wrote."

"Wow, that's great," she intoned. He'd mentioned before that he was a little afraid that Garret might not be able to lay both tracks in one weekend, but unless something catastrophic happened, it sounded like they were in pretty good shape.

It still amused her. Garret had asked the rest of Philansoclantes—Tay and Frankie—to help out on rhythm guitar and drums respectively, but he was playing the guitar, and Evan, or should she say, Zel, was going to stand in on the bass and provide backing vocals. Garret had said that he would rather that Evan played the guitar since he was afraid that he'd screw it up, but Evan told him that he'd be just fine. Besides, they could do as many takes as they needed to, right?

"Since we're doing so well, time-wise, how 'bout you ladies swing by here, and we'll go grab some food and knock off early?" he suggested. "All they brought in for lunch was half-cold fish and soggy fries . . . Can't say it was too appetizing."

"I think we can do that," Valerie allowed. "Got anywhere in mind or are we just winging it?"

"Nah, we can go wherever the kids want," Evan said. "So you buy anything for you? Bras? Panties? Something nice and lacy?"

"You have a one-track mind, and no, we're shopping for Kaci Lea, remember?"

Evan heaved a melodramatic sigh. "Yeah, but I was kind of hoping," he admitted.

"And even if I did, you wouldn't get to see those, anyway."

"That's what you think," he scoffed.

She laughed. "Well, I was reading your interview with _Big Bang_ magazine," she went on.

"Oh, yeah? Is it a good one?"

She snorted indelicately. "Depends upon your definition of 'good' . . . You're such a pervert."

"Well, yeah, but why this time?"

"Is that really what you want your legacy to be? Girls? Not music?"

His laughter was warm and welcoming. "Do you think they wanted a serious answer like that, V? Because I doubt they did."

Okay, so he probably had a point there. Magazines, especially the genre-based ones like _Big Bang_ , tended to enjoy the more outlandish answers that the stars that graced their pages could come up with. Still, it pained her to admit that he might be right. "You are such a dork."

His laughter didn't wane. "So tell me, is my girl getting the full treatment from Maddy?"

"Yes, she is," Valerie replied. "Don't worry. I told Madison to bill you."

Evan chuckled. "I'll bet you did. Can't wait to see how she turns out."

"That makes two of us," Valerie admitted.

She heard a muffled voice in the background, and Evan sighed. "They want to do a full run-through," he told her. "I'll see you in a few?"

"Sure," she said. "I think she's about ready to get her hair cut and styled, so it shouldn't be too much longer."

"Looking forward to it," he assured her. "Bye, V."

"Bye."

Dropping the phone into her purse as the line went dead, Valerie smiled to herself. Off to the left, one of the girls—Bana, she thought her name was—was leading Kaci Lea out of the back, all wrapped up in one of Madison's creamy yellow robes with ' _Madison's_ ' embroidered on the left breast and a fluffy turban of a towel in the same color wrapped around her head. The robe that would barely brush Valerie's calves just below the knees fell all the way to Kaci Lea's slender ankles, and she rather resembled a little girl, all wrapped up in her mama's bathrobe.

She didn't even glance Valerie's way as she climbed into the stylist chair, while Bana stepped on the floor panel that activated the air lift. Madison stepped out of the back hallway where she had been checking messages in her office. She dismissed Bana with a smile and grasped Kaci Lea's chin as she leaned down to peer into the girl's face. She said something that made Madison smile, and when she straightened up, she caught Valerie's eye and winked.

Valerie got to her feet and wandered over to them. "Having fun, Kaci?" she asked, meeting her sister's gaze in the mirror.

Kaci Lea was positively glowing. All of the earlier shyness had seemingly melted away, and she looked young and excited. "The mud wrap was amazing," she admitted, her cheeks pinking slightly.

"I love those myself," Valerie stated. Then she glanced at Madison. "Evan called. He wants us to head over to White Wave after we get done here. He said he'd take us out to dinner."

Madison giggled. "You sure that's a good idea? I mean, he hasn't gotten the bill yet."

Kaci Lea's smile vanished, and she frowned at Valerie. "I-I can pay for this, can't I?" she asked a little reluctantly.

Valerie laughed as Madison separated Kaci Lea's hair into sections for the cut. She knew from experience that everything Kaci Lea had been treated to thus far would easily cost five thousand dollars or more. "Given that you've gotten the full treatment? I doubt you can, actually," she said. "Don't worry. He told you that you're his guest this weekend, right? It's his treat."

"But—"

"No buts. Besides, he has more money than God," Valerie added for good measure. "He likes to do stuff like this, so don't worry about it, okay?"

She didn't look like she was entirely in agreement, but she must have realized that arguing over it wasn't going to work, either, because she said nothing more, gnawing on her bottom lip as Madison started cutting her hair.

"You're not cutting it too short, are you?" Valerie asked, unable to help herself. She sounded a bit like a mother hen, she supposed, but she couldn't quite help herself, either.

"Nope. I'm just going to trim it up and give it a little more volume . . . Her hair is so fine even though it's pretty thick that it will look much better this way."

"All right," Valerie said, satisfied that Madison wasn't going to suddenly go scissor-happy. "You promised you'd remember that she's only fourteen, too," she reminded her.

Madison rolled her eyes but smiled. "Don't worry . . . Kaci Lea is much too sweet for that, Valerie . . . Now go back over there and wait, will you?"

Valerie heaved a sigh but turned to walk away.

It was too easy, wasn't it? Too easy to want to grow up too fast, and the last thing Valerie wanted for Kaci Lea was for her to make the same stupid mistakes that she'd made when she was her age. But then, Kaci Lea seemed to have a more level head on her shoulders than Valerie had—or maybe it was just circumstance that had led Valerie to make the choices she'd made. Right or wrong, by the time Valerie was Kaci Lea's age, she'd gone through so much more than her sister had, and maybe that was the big difference between them.

She just wanted to make sure that Kaci Lea never felt like Valerie had—alone and lonely and just wanting someone— _anyone_ —to love her . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"' _Don't look at me with those eyes so bright_ . . .  
' _When I know the pain you're tryin' to fight_ . . .  
' _I never meant to make you cry_. . .  
' _My mistakes, for you, I'd die_ . . .'"

 

 

Evan frowned as he listened to the play-back. It sounded good—damn good. In fact, it sounded pretty much perfect . . .

"Garret, play through the opening riff again, will you? Frankie, Tay, give it another listen. You two are a little sluggish at the pause," Stan 'Thrash' Jenkins said through the mic.

Tugging off the headphones, Evan dropped them onto the sound board and shot a wolfish grin at the producer. "You're busting their balls again?"

Thrash chuckled. "Frankie's gotten fat 'n lazy," he replied without taking his eyes off the window. "You pay him too damn much."

Evan laughed and shook his head. "Why don't we call it a night after this take?" he suggested.

Thrash shrugged. "You cutting out of here? Go ahead. I'll just get Tay and Frankie to do their parts one more time—see if they can finally get it right."

"Damn . . . remind me that I don't want you producing my next album," Evan muttered despite the grin still on his face.

"Yeah, like I wanna work with a damn poser like you," Thrash shot back with a good natured smile.

"Hey, rockstar," Madison quipped as she stepped into the room and strode over to kiss Evan on the cheek.

"Well, hey, hottie . . . Where are my other hotties?" he asked.

Madison giggled and jerked her head toward the doorway. Evan glanced over just in time to see Valerie step into the room, and his grin widened. He supposed that it shouldn't surprise him, just how gorgeous she was, just how much it struck him every single time he saw her, but it did . . . and he vaguely hoped that it would never stop surprising him, too.

"V!" he exclaimed, rising from his seat and grabbing her into a warm hug before she could object. "Miss me, baby?" he teased as he planted an obnoxiously loud and sloppy kiss on her cheek.

"Ugh, you slobbered on me," she complained, digging into her purse for a tissue. "You're so gross, Roka."

He laughed, but that amusement quickly died as Kaci Lea reluctantly slipped into the cubicle, too. "Oh, damn," he breathed moments before he broke into a wide grin. "Well, look at you! Turn around for me, sweetheart," he said, spinning his finger, pointed at the ground.

Kaci Lea's cheeks pinked, but she smiled uncertainly and did as he asked. "D-Do I look . . . okay?"

Chuckling at her breathless tone, Evan caught her hand and kissed the back of it. "What, are you kidding, K?   You look fantastic!" he assured her.

"K?" she echoed, shaking her head slightly in confusion.

Evan's grin widened. "Sure . . . I mean, if your sister's 'V', then you're definitely 'K'," he told her. "You're just as hot as she is, too, for the record."

"Oh, uh . . . I-I-I don't know . . ." she muttered though the blush on her cheeks deepened.

"You absolutely are," he insisted.

And she was, not that he'd expect any less. After all, Madison herself had been in charge of the makeover, right? Her hair was only a few inches shorter, but the cut Madison had given her had added volume to it, and she'd cut wispy, fly-away bangs—not a heavy layer of them, and added to the chunky highlights she'd added around Kaci Lea's face, the overall effect was almost ethereal. Even her makeup was understated, meant to enhance her looks. Instead of the bolder colors that were so 'in style', Kaci Lea wore pale pinks, just a kiss of color, and to anyone else, it might even look like she wasn't wearing any makeup at first glance.

"Do another turn," Evan coaxed.

Kaci Lea blushed but slowly spun around again. The almost gauzy skirt of the little sundress lifted with the motion but not nearly enough to be indecent. In fact, as far as dresses were concerned, hers was a little longer than most girls tended to wear them, just barely brushing the tops of her knees in soft ripples of pale pink fabric, and the fawn suede booties—Evan figured that Madison had probably picked those out herself—matched the cropped short sleeved jacket perfectly.

It was also pretty obvious to Evan that the girl wasn't used to wearing such clothes, either, considering she kept pressing her hand against the top of the dress, as though she was afraid that it was going to slip too low. All in all, Evan figured that she definitely was a girl who would've caught his attention very easily when he was in school . . .

"You look fantastic," he finally said, giving the pastel purple scarf around her neck a playful tug.

She smiled bashfully and ducked her chin. "Thank you . . . and thanks for the makeover," she replied.

"Don't worry about it," he told her. "I consider it to be money well spent. Did you have fun on your shopping trip?"

She nodded and opened her mouth to say something.

The door between the sound booth and the recording room smashed open, smacking into the wall and bouncing back, only to be sent crashing open once more as Garret stomped in. He stomped over to his sister, looking entirely unhappy about something. Evan's grin widened since he had a good idea just what was bothering the boy. "Wh-What the hell is _that?_ " he demanded, waving a hand in Kaci Lea's general direction.

The girl blinked and shook her head. "What? My dress?"

Garret snorted. "If that's what you wanna call it," he went on indignantly.

She stared at him for a moment then shrugged. "What would you call it, then?"

Another snort. "A nightgown," he shot back.

This time, she stared at him for precisely five seconds before she made a face and rolled her eyes. "It's a _dress_ ," she repeated again, adding extra emphasis on the word 'dress' this time, "and you're being stupid."

"We'll see about that," he scoffed, yanking his cell phone out of his pocket and quickly dialing a number. Evan crossed his arms over his chest, his smile still firmly in place as Garret tapped his foot on the floor impatiently. If he were a betting man, he'd say that Garret was calling the only person on earth who might be able to make Kaci Lea change her clothes . . . "Hey, Dad? You need to do something about your daughter. She's completely out of control!"

' _Yeah_ ,' Evan thought, idly scratching his chin. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught the amusement on Valerie's face, though she, at least, was trying to hide it. ' _That's pretty much what I figured_.' Still, Evan figured that he ought to do something, so he pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of Kaci Lea to send to Jack.

Garret clicked the phone to put his father on speaker. "You should see this thing she calls a dress," he said, his voice raising with his agitation.

"Now, Garret, I'm sure . . . Hold on a second. Zel sent me a picture . . ."

Garret uttered a terse 'hmph' and shot Kaci Lea a smug look. She rolled her eyes in response.

"Oh, he sent me a picture of Kaci Lea . . . That _is_ Kaci Lea, right?" Jack asked.

"Of course it's her!" Garret fumed. "Who else would it be? Anyway, never mind that! You saw it, right? She needs to go change, right now!"

"Well," Jack drawled, as though he were considering what he was about to say, "actually, I think she looks real nice . . . Hey, Ronnie! C'mere and get a look at your daughter!"

"Wh . . .? Are you _crazy?_ " Garret blasted. "Do you _know_ what guys are going to think when they see her in that get-up?"

Jack chuckled. "Hate to tell you, boy, but your baby sister ain't really a baby anymore. Now give the phone to Kaci Lea, will you?"

Garret looked fit to be tied, but he handed the phone over, albeit with all the ill grace he could muster.

"H-Hello?" she said.

"Hey, little girl. You look damn pretty," he assured her, "just like your mama."

She finally smiled. "Thanks, Daddy . . . but Mama's prettier."

Jack grunted. "I'll have you know that I have excellent taste when it comes to pretty ladies," he informed her. "So if I tell you that you look just like her, then you do. Don't let your brother bully you around. It's a real nice dress; your mama thinks so, too."

"Okay. I love you and Mama," she replied.

"You, too. Now go have yourself some fun."

She laughed. "See you in a couple days . . . bye."

"Bye," Jack replied.

"He's lost his mind," Garret muttered, snatching the phone out of Kaci Lea's hand.

"I think she looks great," Evan piped up.

"Absolutely," Thrash agreed.

Garret snorted again. "Who the hell asked you?" he growled at the producer.

Thrash's grin widened. "They think so, too," he added, flicking a finger at the window.

Garret's scowl darkened as he followed the direction of Thrash's gesture, only to find both Frankie and Tay standing there. Both of them had their eyes on the girl in question, talking to each other.

"Hey! You damn perverts!" Garret yelled as he stomped back through the doorway. "She's too young for either of you, so don't even think about it or I swear to God, I'll flatten you!"

Kaci Lea heaved a sigh, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Something tells me that poor Garret just now realized that Kaci Lea's growing up," Madison commented, a smile toying with her features as she watched Garret advance on Tay in his best attempt to be menacing.

"Looks like it," Valerie mused, having much better luck at hiding her own amusement. Too bad Evan could see the added brightness in her eyes. When she glanced at him, Evan's grin widened, and Valerie had to quickly turn her head to keep from laughing outright. "Let's hope he gets over it, or the next few years are going to kill him."

' _Yeah_ ,' Evan thought with a chuckle as he grabbed Kaci Lea's hand and pulled her over to the mixing board to show her the controls. Yeah, he supposed that Valerie was right about that, too . . . But it might be kind of fun to watch . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Girls_** **_Just_** **_Wanna_** **_Have_** **_Fun_** ' _by_ _Cyndi_ _Lauper_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1983_ _release_ , **_She's_** **_So_** **_Unusual_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Robert_ _Hazard_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Should be good for a laugh or two, right?_


	191. 190: Irrational

' _Reaching out for something to hold_...  
' _Looking for a love where the climate is cold_ …  
' _Manic moves or drowsy dreams_ …  
' _Or living in the middle between the two extremes_ …'

 

-' _Out of Touch_ ' by Hall and Oates.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"So who was on the phone?"

Evan snorted and dropped his phone onto the table after taking a moment to shut off the ringer. "Just Mikey," he replied with a careless shrug.

"Hmm, okay, but you didn't sound too enthusiastic about whatever he was saying."

Offering a terse grunt, he strode off to the kitchen to grab a beer. "The label wants to compile a greatest hits thing," he called, raising his voice to be heard while he was out of the room.

"Mm," she intoned. "More money. Money's good."

He popped the cap off and tossed it into the sink before heading back into the living room again. "No way."

She spared a moment to glance at him to see whether or not he was being serious. "You don't like the idea?" she asked, clearly not sure why he would possibly not want to do it.

"Hell, no!" he scoffed. "Greatest hits albums are only done by bands that are past their primes, which I most certainly am _not!_ "

"That's not true," she countered mildly. "Now you're just being silly."

"I am not," he insisted. "It's a known fact! If you're still at the top of your game, you record new shit, not re-release old stuff!"

She looked rather amused, which just figured. "Okay," she said in a tone that clearly stated that she was going to humor him.

Evan rolled his eyes but let it drop. "You just don't understand, V," he complained.

"Poor baby," she replied dryly. "Now, be quiet so I can read through this file, will you?"

Cracking a little grin, Evan slugged back half of his beer then thumped his chest with a tight fist until he belched. Then he sat up suddenly. He blamed Valerie for sidetracking him when he had bigger fish to fry . . . "Oh! You want to hear something cool?"

Valerie didn't even glance up from the file she was looking over. "Probably not," she replied evenly, smoothly.

He chuckled and plopped down on the sofa beside her. "You sure about that?"

"Absolutely," she said.

"Okay, if you're positive . . ."

"I'm positive."

"I'll give you one last chance to change your mind . . ."

"Considering that you're either going to tell me something I don't want to know about any number and combination of mammalian body parts _or_ flaming gaseous expulsions? I'll pass, thanks," she stated.

That only made him laugh, probably because of what she was referencing. She wasn't as impressed as he had thought she would be when the phone jarred her out of an otherwise blissful sleep at four a.m. so that Evan could tell her about a dream that had involved flaming fart bombs, a blonde with size quadruple E breasts that very closely resembled Valerie—or at least, she would if Valerie had a massive boob job done, anyway—a donkey, and a llama. Truly a winner, if one wanted his opinion . . .

"And here I thought you'd enjoy that," he teased.

She didn't bother to dignify that with a response.

"Too bad you think I'm funny as hell," he added for good measure.

Still nothing. Oh, she did brush her finger over the screen of the slim-file to turn the digital page, though.

"All right, all right. I'm sorry that I woke you up to hear about my warped and twisted dream."

She leaned forward and jotted a few words onto the notepad on the coffee table.

"You win," he told her with an exaggerated sigh. Then he slumped a little lower and let his head fall back against the sofa. "Media . . . audio . . . track 5-9-4-B," he said.

The soft and melodic sound of an acoustic guitar filled the air. Valerie finally glanced up from the file, frowning as she tried to place the song. It didn't take long, and she smiled. "Garret's song," she said, setting the file aside in favor of listening.

Evan chuckled. "Sounds good, right?"

"Mmm," she intoned quietly.

 

 

' _Sometimes in the darkness_ …  
' _I can see your smiling face_ …  
' _And the pain in my heart keeps tellin' me_ …  
' _I made a huge mistake_ …' 

' _When I cannot sleep, I'm won'dring_ …  
' _If you're smiling for someone else_ …  
' _And it breaks my heart that I lost you_ …  
' _And I cannot find myself_ …'

 

 

He watched her face as she listened to the lyrics. She'd heard them before, sure, but just what did she think of the words? The father she'd idolized, even though she'd known he wasn't at all perfect . . . and no one else would ever realize that the love story set to music was meant for a little lost girl—a daughter, not a lover . . .

When the song was over, she sighed. She wasn't sad, exactly, but she still had tears in her eyes. "You know, I don't think that anyone else could've done that song," she finally said, her voice thick with emotion, enough that she had to clear her throat a time or two. "Garret did a beautiful job. I think . . . I think Daddy will love it."

Evan grinned. "Yeah, well, don't tell Garret because he hasn't heard the master yet, either." He shot her a sidelong look. "I wasn't supposed to have heard it yet myself."

"Oh?" she countered, quirking an eyebrow in surprise. "So how did you get a copy then?"

He shot her an almost guilty grin. "Well, I just happened to be there while Thrash was finishing up the final mix, a-a-a-and . . . I just happened to be closer to the digital dump, so when I ran the first master, I . . . _might_ . . . have run two of them . . ."

Shaking her head despite the smile on her face, Valerie shot him a chagrined sort of look. "That's awful," she scolded. "Shouldn't Garret have gotten to hear it first?"

"Sure," Evan agreed, though he knew damn well that he looked anything but contrite, "and I'll pretend that I haven't already heard it until after he does."

"How would you like it if someone else listened to your songs before you got to hear the finished product?" she asked pointedly.

Evan grinned. "Are you saying that you didn't want to hear it?"

"No, I did," she admitted. "You still should have waited."

Evan chuckled and reached over his head to stretch. "He will. They're sending a copy to him by courier. He should get it today."

She digested that for a moment then nodded. "So what's the next step, rockstar?"

Evan shrugged. "Well, that kind of depends upon Wicked Soundsations," he said. "They only signed Garret to a temporary contract, as you know, which basically means that they wanted to hear what he can do before they offer him a real deal. If they like this song, they might decide to sign him and hold this one till he has enough material for a full release. If they decide to release the single first, though, then it's just a matter of the regular crap: photo shoots for the cover and promos, music video, blah blah blah . . ."

She smiled. "Sounds complicated."

"Eh, most of it is just red tape," he replied. "It really depends upon how tight the higher-ups' underwear are on that particular day."

"Really? So everything in big business depends upon how tight one's underpants are on a given day?"

He shot her a cheesy grin. "Sounds about right."

She laughed and shook her head, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder. "Hmm . . . maybe they should stop wearing g-strings then."

He laughed at her response. "Y'know, I was thinking," he said at length.

"It's a bad habit of yours," she pointed out dryly. "You really should stop trying to do that. You're going to hurt yourself."

He chuckled. "As true as that may be, I just can't help it sometimes."

She heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Okay, let's hear it. What were you thinking?"

The cheesy grin widened. "Well, you're hot . . ."

She arched an eyebrow. "Oka-a-a-ay . . ."

Nodding rather emphatically, he sat up and leaned toward her. "And I'm hot, right?"

The other eyebrow slowly arched, too. "I suppose that some people think so."

Her droll assessment only served to further his overall amusement. "So . . . if _you're_ hot, and _I'm_ hot, just think about how hot we'd be if we were _together!_ "

She stared at him without a change in expression for several moments, merely blinking slowly once, twice, three times. "And that's what you were thinking about?"

"I know, right?" he gushed. "Pretty profound, if you ask me."

She continued to stare at him for a minute, just blinking and nothing else. Then she sighed. "You're so much cuter when you don't think," she informed him.

He laughed and flopped back against the sofa once more. "You've said that before," he reminded her.

"Yes, well, it's still true."

Breaking into a little half-smile, Valerie reached for the slim-file once more as she stood up. "I've got to go meet with a client," she told him, apparently deciding that it wouldn't do her any good to encourage him further than she already had. "You can be good for a couple hours, can't you?"

"No promises," Evan quipped.

She spared a moment to pin him with a serious look that was completely ruined when her smile returned. "Try," she said.

Evan chuckled and watched her go before heaving a sigh and slowly shaking his head. He really liked having her around; damned if he didn't. "Just a matter of time, V . . . Just a matter of time . . ."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Valerie Denning."

A soft laugh greeted her, and Valerie blinked as she lowered the cell phone to glance at the caller ID again. She didn't recognize the number, but she did recognize the voice. "Hello, Valerie! How have you been?"

Breaking into a smile when she realized who was calling her, she let the ink pen in her hand drop to the desktop as she leaned back and pushed herself away from the desk. "Gin? Hi! I'm fine, and you? How's the baby? Are you feeling okay?"

Gin giggled. "I'm fine," she insisted. "I just haven't gotten to speak to you in a while, so I thought I'd give you a call."

"Did you get a new phone? I don't recognize your number," Valerie remarked. When they were visiting over Christmas, Gin had programmed her cell number into Valerie's phone 'just in case'. Valerie hadn't really thought that she'd use it, though, but Gin had a cute little habit of sending Valerie sweet little text messages every now and then . . .

"Oh!" Gin suddenly exclaimed, as though something had just occurred to her. "I'm using Sebastian's phone right now, though. Mine got a little messed up when I accidentally dropped it in the tub yesterday, so he said I could use his!"

Ah, so that explained the strange number . . . "I'm glad that you're feeling okay. I think Evan gets pretty worried about you," she said. "You . . . You dropped your phone into the tub?"

She uttered a sound almost like a bird's twitter. "It was an accident," Gin insisted. "Well, really, I guess you could say that it was Cain's fault . . ."

"Uh, Mom, we've been through this, right? I don't want to hear _anything_ about the 'how' of it," Valerie heard Bas' voice in the background. Gin giggled.

Biting her lip, Valerie had a sneaking suspicion that she didn't really want to know exactly what they were doing that had caused Gin's phone to fall into the tub, especially if Bas was already that worried about hearing the details, so she cleared her throat and opted to change the subject, instead. "Have your visits to the doctor been good, too? You're not overdoing it, are you?"

Gin uttered a sound remarkably like a snort, which was only surprising, given that it was Gin . . . "They've been great," she insisted. "No problems at all."

Valerie smiled. She was pleasantly surprised that Gin's pregnancy seemed to be going well, according to what Evan had told her, and if that was a relief to her, she supposed that it was even more of one for Evan. After all, the man absolutely worshipped his mother, didn't he . . .? "Good, then. As long as everything's going well."

"I had another little something that I wanted to discuss with you, though—the real reason that I called," Gin admitted at length.

"Okay," Valerie said, waiting for Gin to elaborate.

"We-e-ell," she hedged, like she was trying to find a good way to say whatever was on her mind. "I feel really badly about this, but Cain said that he'd rather not bring me down to see Evan on his birthday this year. He seems to think that the city air's not good for us, and he's so worried that I just don't have the heart to argue with him, even though I hate the idea of missing Evan's birthday . . . I mean, I've never missed it unless he was out touring or something. But Evan said that he's got a busy schedule around then, so I don't want to insist that he come up here for the day, you know? So I was thinking that if I can't spend Evan's birthday with him, if you're not busy . . .?"

It took a minute for Gin's words to sink in. She'd rattled them off so fast, like she was afraid that Valerie was going to think that she was somehow a bad mother simply because she couldn't make an eight-plus-hour trip down to see Evan on his birthday? Yes, she realized, that's just what Gin thought because she hated the idea of leaving her baby boy alone on such a special occasion . . .

Valerie laughed. "Actually, I was already planning on spending the day with him," she assured Gin.

"Really? You're not just trying to make me feel better?"

"No, I'm not," Valerie insisted. "Besides, he and I had a really great time on my birthday, so I wanted to make sure that his was just as nice."

"That's so wonderful!" Gin gushed, sounding more and more relieved by the moment. "Oh, just in case he didn't tell you? He loves my inside-out peanut butter cup cake. Do you want me to send you the recipe? It's really easy . . . If you don't like baking, you can always just use a really good dark chocolate cake mix, but the frosting is simple!"

"I'd love that," Valerie replied. True, she wasn't much of a baker, but she didn't mind trying out something new, especially if it was something Evan really liked, and it was going to be his birthday, after all. She had a week and a half to get the recipe right, too.

"Okay, I'll email it to you . . . Oh, I hate that I won't see him on his birthday, though . . . I still remember the night he was born. He came into the world as a night owl; did you know?"

Valerie's smile widened. "Somehow, that doesn't really surprise me," she said.

"Did you get him a present yet? I haven't, but if you have, then I want to know so I don't get him something similar."

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie heaved a sigh. "No, not yet," she admitted. "He's kind of hard to buy for. I mean, he's already got everything he could possibly want or need, and if he doesn't, he has more than enough money to do so himself."

Gin giggled. "Oh, no, Evan's easy to buy for!" she insisted. "He's happy with anything. He just likes to know that people are thinking of him enough to buy him a present, in the first place!"

And that made sense, too, didn't it? Too bad it didn't really help Valerie in coming up with any ideas.

"How about I give you a call next week, then? Maybe I can help you come up with some ideas if you haven't thought of anything yet," Gin suggested. "I hate to cut this short, but Cain wants to go take a nap."

Valerie laughed. "Okay," she agreed. "I'll talk to you later, then."

"Okay, Valerie. Tell my Evan that I'll call him soon, too!"

Rubbing her temple as the connection was cut off, Valerie spared a moment to stare at the huge picture that Evan had mounted in her office for Christmas and slowly shook her head. She'd artfully moved a table over, so the lamp that sat atop that table was positioned to cover the parts of the picture that really shouldn't be there, and while she'd told him that she didn't want that monstrosity of a picture there, she had to admit, at least to herself, that he really did look damn good in it . . .

Which still didn't help her in trying to come up with a suitable birthday present. Gin might well believe that Evan wouldn't care what the gift was, that he'd just be happy to receive one, but that didn't really fly with her, considering he'd given her a convertible for hers.

But she didn't want to get him something that was expensive just for the sake of it. She wanted to give him something that was as special as he was. He'd bought her a car because he knew she'd love it, and that was what she wanted to do for him. She wanted to get him something that no one else would ever think of, something that showed him how important he was to her.

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie stood up and made short work of stashing a couple slim-files into her attaché case to take home with her. Okay, not home. Evan had been texting her ever since she left his house earlier, asking her if she was going to come back over. He'd gone so far as to offer to be her personal slave for the evening, but then he'd also gone on to mention that he'd started up the hot tub, and while she wouldn't take him up on the slave offer, she just might like the latter part.

Besides, she figured she'd stop off and pick up a couple pizzas on the way. As a rule, she tended to avoid that kind of thing—too many carbs—but he loved it, and she still owed him a pretty big 'thank you'. He'd been so wonderful to Garret and especially to Kaci Lea during their visit that she felt as though she needed to do something nice for him. The visit had been short, but in the end, Valerie felt as though she might have made a little headway with Kaci Lea, and even if their relationship was far from comfortable, Valerie couldn't help but think that it had definitely been a step in the right direction, and Evan? Well, he'd helped with that, just by being himself, hadn't he?

No doubt about it, Kaci Lea most definitely had a crush on Evan. In truth, Valerie thought it was pretty damn cute. It was so blatantly obvious, not that Evan needed that kind of encouragement. He really, really didn't.

It was also blatantly obvious that Garret had the same kind of crush on Madison, too, which amused Valerie even more. At least she knew that Madison would absolutely not be interested in someone Garret's age, where the same couldn't exactly be said for Evan. After all, he had ended up in that mess with Violca, hadn't he?

Okay, so maybe that was a different situation, and yes, she had to admit that Evan really wasn't in the habit of going after girls that he knew were underage, and sure, he liked to make silly comments about her sister being a hottie and all that, but when all was said and done, Valerie was pretty sure that he was a little more honorable than that. Maybe not by much, but a little . . .

As she stepped out of the building and onto the street, Valerie was already ten steps ahead in her mind. There was a really nice little pizzeria near Evan's mansion, so she figured she'd stop in there and grab food before heading over, but it was such a nice day out—one of the first really, really nice days of the year, actually, that she felt like walking the few blocks to her apartment so that she could change her clothes first. Maybe she could get Evan to give her some hints as to what he might like for his birthday without actually asking him straight out. She'd have to give that one some thought, though, because she really didn't want him to think that she couldn't come up with any ideas on her own . . .

' _It'd be a hell of a lot easier if the perfect present for that man would just jump out in front of me,_ ' she thought dourly as she turned the corner. It was her considered opinion that that kind of thing rarely happened, unfortunately. But she wanted to get him something special, something that he couldn't get for himself. All of that just led her right back around in the broad circle of her thoughts, though, right back to Square One.

Stopping at the crosswalk with a bunch of people heading home from work, she glanced around as she waited for the light to turn. Many of them wore the same kind of nondescript business suits, the same kinds of neckties or skirts and blazers . . . There was something a little disturbing about the visage, really. At least the young man with the foot-long, spiky Mohawk and tie-dyed, neon yellow and orange shirt and faded, worn jeans broke through the mundane. Beside him, holding his hand, stood a little girl—maybe three?—who also wore the outrageous hairdo. Red and white striped tights, a lime green skirt with a white sweater . . . Valerie broke into a wan smile as her father scooped her up and settled her on his hip. They might well stand out like a sore thumb, but it was in a really cute kind of way . . .

Shifting her gaze around, she frowned at the shop that had recently opened. On the very cusp of the business district and in the area that started to give way to high-rise apartments stood an older building. The last she'd heard, they were going to tear it down, but someone, somewhere must have thought otherwise, because the store still had a banner hanging in the plate glass window that proclaimed 'Grand Opening!' in festive red lettering. Now that she thought about it, there was a bit of a fuss about it since the rumors had been that it was slated to become nothing more than a pawn shop. No one in the area wanted something like that. Afraid that it would attract the wrong kind of clientele in the moderate neighborhood, some of the residents had gone door to door, trying to collect enough signatures on a petition to block it.

Either they hadn't gotten enough support or the opposition had died down on some level, because there was the store, open and doing business. It wasn't exactly a pawn shop in the negative sense of the word. They called themselves Thatcher's Second Chance—a consignment store—but even from the outside, it looked very neat and clean, and the garden table sitting just outside the doors was actually pretty cute . . .

But it wasn't really the store itself that caught and held her interest. Venturing away from the throngs waiting for the crosswalk light, Valerie bit her lip as her gaze locked on the display window—on the antique wooden milk crate sitting atop a drop-leaf table that was constructed out of beautiful solid oak, flanked by two ornately carved, high-backed chairs whose spindles matched the repeated pattern carved into the legs of the table . . . Those were nice pieces, of course, but not nearly interesting enough to so completely capture her attention, but . . . but what was _in_ that box brought to hazy life a memory . . .

She'd done it. She'd found the perfect birthday present for one Evan Zelig.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Out_** **_of_** **_Touch_** ' _by_ _Hall_ _and_ _Oates_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1984_ _release_ , **_Big_** **_Bam_** **_Boom_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Daryl_ _Hall_ _and_ _John_ _Oates_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Score!_


	192. 191: Guessing Game

' _I was a creature of appetites_ ...  
' _And we played a game that you didn't like_ …  
' _There was nothing that I could do_ …  
' _I can be so bad; I can be so bad_ …  
' _They just took it away and they broke it in two_ …'

 

-' _The_ _Blackest Lily_ ' by Corinne Bailey Rae.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"So . . . I don't suppose you know what tomorrow is . . .?"

Valerie took a moment to carefully school her features before she shifted her gaze to the side, only to find Evan staring very expectantly at her. "Some weird holiday you found out about on the internet?" she deadpanned.

Evan grinned around the guitar pick held firmly between his teeth. "That's a pretty good one," he said with obvious approval in his voice. "That's not it, but I can see where you'd get that."

She was hard pressed not to laugh outright. Considering he'd told her yesterday was National Day of Fondling? Yeah, it wouldn't surprise her in the least if he'd found some other bizarre thing to celebrate. Too bad she already knew where this particular conversation was going, though . . . "Hmm, no idea."

He fired off a riff on the guitar then slapped his hand down on the strings to cut the final note off short. "No guesses? None?"

"Do I really need to?" she asked dryly.

Evan wasn't even the least bit cowed by her response. "Aw, c'mon! You know that tomorrow's my birthday!"

Rolling her eyes, she couldn't help the laugh that escaped her. He just never, ever took anything seriously, did he? Then again, she kind of liked that about him. Of course, she'd be damned if she told him that. Like he needed more encouragement . . . "You're too old to be so excited over something like that," she pointed out.

Evan chuckled. "I'm not that excited over it," he contradicted, "but you're spending the day with me, right? So that _is_ something to be excited about!"

"Of course I am," she said, flicking a hand as though it were nothing more than a foregone conclusion, "and I've already got the whole day planned out."

If possible, he looked even more happy about the entire affair. Okay, so she'd give him that one. She was pretty damn excited about it, too. After all, she'd spent days trying to figure out the best things to do with him: preferably things he hadn't already done with someone else in his life . . . "Oh, yeah? Don't suppose that we'll be naked at some point?"

She laughed at the hopeful tone in his voice. "Nope, fully clothed, Roka . . . but I promise you'll have fun, anyway."

He heaved a heavy sigh, but the grin on his face didn't dissipate. "See, V, now I really have to object. I swear to God we'd have tons of fun if you'd just get naked with me," he said.

"Forget it, Roka. No nudity, but I promise you'll have fun, anyway," she assured him.

Evan leaned over, jotting something on the notepad before strumming the guitar a few times. "Yeah, but you realize, right? I'm so horny these days, I've even considered boning Bugs."

"Have you _really?_ "

Evan chuckled as the aforementioned Bugs hoppity-skipped into the room, making a bee-line straight at him. "I said ' _considered'_ ," he replied before Bugs could launch himself at him. "Sorry, Busy. I'm not quite over the edge—yet, anyway . . ."

Bugs' features shifted into a pout though he was careful not to mess up his lipstick. "You shouldn't get a girl's hopes up like that," he complained. Then his gaze lit on Valerie, and he narrowed his eyes. "What is _that_ doing here?" he demanded.

Valerie rolled her eyes but her lips were twitching. For some reason, the harder that Bugs tried to offend her, the more amusing she really thought it was. Maybe she was becoming as bent as Evan . . . Could something like that rub off on someone else . . .?

"Aww, I like having her here," Evan remarked, setting his guitar aside and tossing the pick on the tablet of paper.

Bugs wrinkled his nose. "But if you keep _that_ around, you'll never realize that you're really secretly gay!"

"I think it might take a little more than that," Evan quipped, his grin widening. "Anyway, long time, no see. So what brings you out of your hole during sunlight hours?"

Bugs seemed to forget his disappointment quickly enough, and he shot Evan a plaintive look as he plopped down on the arm of the chair. "I just wondered if you've seen that damn hussy lately," he said, sniffling slightly and rubbing his nose.

"Damn hussy . . ." Evan repeated thoughtfully.   "I assume you mean Maddy?"

"Yes, that's the one."

Scratching his chin as he considered it, he didn't answer right away. As far as Valerie knew, he hadn't actually seen Madison since the day she'd done Kaci Lea's makeover, and that was a couple weeks ago. "Um, no . . . You two have a falling out?"

Bugs made a face. "No. We were supposed to go to Bloomie's today—a _huge_ shoe sale, you know? But I waited and waited, and that little tramp stood me up!"

That got Valerie's attention easily enough. Madison? Missing a _shoe_ sale? That _was_ strange, no doubt about it.

Bugs' phone rang before he could respond, and she wasn't at all surprised to hear the ringtone that Bugs reserved only for Madison. It wasn't a song, just a voice that said, " _Hussy alert!_ " over and over.

" _There_ you are, you bitch! Where have you been? You were supposed to come by and pick me up hours ago!"

Evan stood up, shooting Valerie a knowing grin as he slipped behind the sofa. "Bet you fifty bucks that he got the time wrong," he murmured, leaning over to speak in her ear.

Valerie looked rather amused, but she didn't smile.

"No, you didn't say _noon!_ You said _nine!_ " Bugs complained. "Why ever would you say 'noon'? All the shoes will be picked over by then!"

"Sounds like you'd have won," Valerie murmured back. "I mean, does Madison even get up before noon if she can help it?"

Twisting a lock of Valerie's hair around his finger, he chuckled. "No, I don't think she does . . . Well, she did when she went shopping with you and K, but I think that might've been a special occasion."

"Fine, fine. I'll meet you there in half an hour, but you'd better hope they haven't sold out of those yummy Rainley booties," Bugs huffed, still irritated at Madison but not nearly so much as to miss what appeared to be the sale of the century.

"I thought you already had a pair of those," Evan remarked as Bugs clicked off his phone and dropped it into his pocket.

"I have _blush_ ones," Bugs clarified haughtily as he stood up and smoothed down his leopard print micro-miniskirt. "I need a _magenta_ pair!" He hurried over and planted a loud, obnoxious kiss on Evan's cheek, then he hissed at Valerie for good measure, which did made her laugh, after all. "Toodles! Call me when you have your epiphany!"

Evan chuckled as Bugs ran as fast as his six inch stilettos allowed. A moment later, the front door opened and closed, and he shook his head. "I get the feeling that Bugsy doesn't like you, V," he deadpanned.

Valerie laughed. "I'm pretty sure I'm not woman enough to be his friend," she remarked.

"Oh, I don't know," he drawled. He sounded a little distracted. "I . . . I think you're plenty woman enough."

She turned her head and opened her mouth to say something, only to snap it closed when she saw where he was looking. "Are you really looking down my blouse?" she asked.

" _Ye-e-es_ ," Evan half-sighed, half-groaned. "Don't suppose you'd consider giving me _those_ for my birthday?"

She tried to look stern; she really did. Too bad the expression on his face was too damn funny, which only made her laugh as she tried to swat at him. "Keep your eyes to yourself, Roka," she warned.

"But . . . they're . . . _boobies!_ " Evan squeaked out, artfully leaning away so that she missed him entirely. "Do you know what I'd do if I had a pair of those?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared at him for a long minute. "I shudder to think about it," she replied dryly. "You wouldn't get anything at all done . . . Haven't we already been over this, anyway?"

"Yeah, but you can _never_ have enough of the boobies," Evan pointed out. Rolling over the back of the sofa, he landed with a grunt and shoved his head onto Valerie's lap. "So, what would you do if you had a penis?" he suddenly asked.

Valerie lifted a knee, trying to knock him off. He laughed and kept his head firmly in place, lacing his fingers together atop his chest and basically looking entirely content. "If I had a penis?" she repeated, arching an eyebrow.

He nodded. "Yes, a penis."

She shrugged. "A big penis or a small one?"

He considered that with an exaggerated scowl of concentration. "Umm, big. I get the feeling that if you were a guy, you'd be packin' it, just like Bubby."

"Good God," she groaned, renewing her effort to joggle Evan's head off her lap as she shoved at his shoulders. "I don't want to hear about your brother's penis—and I'm _positive_ I've told you that before, too."

"You wouldn't be saying that if you saw it," he predicted. "Next time he's over, I'll try to pants him for you."

"Don't you dare," she replied dryly.

"Why not?"

She snorted. "Because if it's as big as you say it is, I'll have nightmares for a year," she grumbled.

He laughed, coming precariously close to tumbling right off the sofa. She might well let him, too, if he managed to do that . . . "Is that what you women are calling it these days?" he asked when he finally caught his breath again. "Nightmares?"

"Shut up, Roka," she replied, giving one more attempt to shove him off her lap. It didn't work, either.

"Okay, okay," he relented despite the stupid grin on his face. "So answer the question: what would you do if you had a penis?"

Letting out a deep breath at Evan's singular train of thought, Valerie gave up trying to move him and stroked his hair instead. She couldn't help it, really. It was just as soft as it looked, damn him . . ."I'd probably start thinking about boobs," she said. "I'm pretty sure that the penis takes the place of your brain, after all."

Evan laughed again, letting his eyes drift closed for a moment before forcing them back open once more. "So, you're saying it's a vicious circle . . . Yeah, I can see that."

Valerie took a few moments, letting his hair fall through her fingers over and over, watching it drift down onto his forehead again. "So, what about gay men? They seem to be immune to boobies," she reminded him.

Evan grinned lazily. "I know . . . Makes no sense at all to me."

She shook her head but laughed. "You're so bent."

"How about you tell me what the plan is for tomorrow then?" he coaxed.

"I shouldn't tell you," she told him. "It'll ruin the surprise."

"Hardly a surprise. I already know that you've planned out the whole day—That's what you said, right?"

Smiling despite herself, she slowly shook her head. "I figured I'd cook breakfast for you, to start with," she admitted.

He wrinkled his nose. "Grapefruit and a cup of all-bran cereal? How 'bout we go to Carolyn's Bistro? Then you don't have to . . . slice . . . anything."

"You know, I _can_ cook," she replied haughtily, "and no, I wasn't planning on trying to get you to eat anything healthy—tomorrow, anyway." She paused for a moment, then added, "You should start watching what you eat, though. Thirty-two—nearly thirty-three . . . you're almost over the hill. Kind of balancing right there on the cusp, really . . ."

"Wo-o-ow . . . Did you _really_ just go there, V? Did you?" he asked.

Valerie laughed at the incredulity on his face. "I think I did, Roka. It's true, you know. You might well be Zel Roka, rock god, but you're only going to be as good as your body."

"And what's wrong with my body?" he grumped, clearly offended by the turn in the conversation.

"Nothing . . . yet. That's what I've been telling you."

He snorted and flopped over on his side, effectively burying his face against her belly, which might have been fine, except . . .

The giggles just couldn't be repressed, try as she might. The warmth of his breath through her dress set off a bout of tickles that shot straight through her. Evan leaned back to cast her a raised-eyebrow-ed look, and she tried to push him away. Damn him for being so much bigger than her, anyway, because he caught her hands in one of his and proceeded to attack her side with the other.

"St-Stop!" she gasped between breaths as the laughter tears squeezed out of her closed eyes.

"Oh, I don't think so," he replied, renewing his assault on her ribs.

"If . . . If you . . . make me . . . pee . . . I'll . . . never forgive . . . you . . .!" she managed.

Evan laughed but finally stopped. Valerie shoved him away and groaned as the last of the uncontrollable giggles waned. "Oh, my stomach . . ." she moaned, wrapping her arms over her belly and slumping her shoulders forward. "You're such a jerk!"

Leaning back against the corner of the arm and the back of the sofa, he was still grinning like a fool. "Now who's out of shape?" he goaded.

Wiping residual moisture out of her eyes, Valerie tried to look stern but wasn't at all surprised when Evan chuckled. "I'm not out of shape," she informed him as brusquely as she could manage—not really that effective, all things considered. "Let's see if you don't ache if I tickled you mercilessly."

"I took mercy on you," he scoffed, though his smile didn't even waver. "I didn't make you pee your panties."

"Such a jerk," she muttered without the rancor that might emphasize her words, pushing herself to her feet to head to the kitchen for some water. No real harm done, after all, aside from feeling like she'd just finished about two hundred stomach crunches.

The sound of her cell phone brought her up short, and she grabbed it and paused long enough to make a face at Evan, who had already retrieved his guitar and was settling down to work on the song once more, before striding toward the kitchen so that she wouldn't disturb Evan's creative process.

Glancing at the caller ID before answering, she blinked as a stab of surprise accompanied the name on the screen. It was followed in rather short order by an unwelcome wave of guilt. What was that phrase? Out of sight, out of mind? She hadn't realized that something like that could really happen until now . . . "Marvin? Hi," she said after connecting the call.

"Hey, Val! You at work?"

"Oh, uh, no. I'm over at Evan's," she said, shoving the unpleasant feelings aside. "In between meetings?"

Marvin laughed. It was a warm and friendly sound, but there was an underlying hint of hesitation—hesitation that had always been there in one form or another. Evan never sounded like that, did he? Anxious, eager, almost overly agreeable . . . "Well, actually, the big meeting I had scheduled for this weekend fell through, so I thought I'd fly in to see you."

"Uh," she breathed, more of a surprised sound than anything else, "Oh, I'm glad you're home, but I wish you would have called first."

"Well, if I had, it wouldn't have been a surprise. Anyway, are you coming home soon? I thought we could go to that restaurant you like? The one in the Village."

"Sure," she said. "I won't be too long, but about tomorrow. I already—"

"Oh! Val, I hate to cut you off, but I've got to take this call. It's Roger Reilly—you know, the head researcher's assistant at Bauer-Liberty in Chicago?" He gave a short little laugh that was somehow shriller than it should have been. "I've been waiting for him to call me back for days!"

Valerie blinked as the call ended abruptly and stifled an inward sigh. She'd wanted to tell him that she already had plans for tomorrow—plans that could not be broken, even if she wanted to, which she most certainly did not. She'd gone to a lot of trouble to arrange everything, and it wasn't like Evan had a birthday every day. He hadn't blown off her birthday, and she'd be damned if she'd do that to him.

It was fine, though, wasn't it? She could explain to Marvin over dinner, and he'd be all right with it. After all, she had no idea that he was flying in, and even if she had known, she'd made a promise. Besides, the day was going to be absolutely perfect. In the off chance that it _did_ bother Marvin, well . . . Well, he should have called first. Then again, Marvin wasn't the kind of person to raise a fuss over such a thing.

"Oh, hey, V," Evan said, tossing his cell phone onto the table when she wandered back into the living room again.   "Uh, I hate to do this to you," he began, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and offering her a little shrug. "Mikey just called, and he's got some shit I've got to do tomorrow."

Valerie blinked, and she knew her mouth had dropped open. "What? But it's your birthday," she blurted before she could stop herself.

"Yeah, well, apparently there was some mix up with some photos from that shoot last week—a technical malfunction or some such shit—so I have to redo the whole damn thing. I asked him if we could do it next week or something, but they're already on a tight schedule. Any delays are going to impact the song release, and you know what they say: time is money—and if there's one thing that labels hate, it's when they feel like they're wasting money."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she couldn't quite hide the disappointment in her voice as she mentally started to shuffle the master plan for tomorrow. "I know. It makes sense . . . That won't take all day, though, will it? A few hours, at most, right?"

Evan shrugged again. "Maybe," he ventured but he sounded anything but reassuring. "How about we just put off the celebration till sometime next week? Tuesday or Wednesday . . ."

"If you're sure," she said slowly, carefully. Though he sounded perfectly normal, there was a strange rigidity in his stance, in his expression. She supposed she couldn't blame him for that. Even if he didn't want to, at least, tomorrow, he still had things he had to do, and of course he was right. She'd figured out long ago that it was really all about the bottom line, so of course they didn't want to do anything that might potentially inflate that.

He gave her a little grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Sorry, V."

Forcing a smile, Valerie stifled an inward sigh and tried to squelch the disappointment that rolled through her. "It's okay," she told him, willing her smile to brighten. "Tuesday, then."

He finally managed a grin that was much closer to 'normal'. "All right," he allowed. "It's a date."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _The_** **_Blackest_** **_Lily_** ' _by_ _Corinne_ _Bailey_ _Rae_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2010_ _release_ , **_The_** **_Sea_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Corinne_ _Bailey_ _Rae_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :
> 
> _Lost the prints …?_


	193. 192: Calling the Bluff

' _And as the flames climbed high into the night_...  
' _To light the sacrificial rite_ …  
' _I saw Satan laughing with delight_ …  
' _The day the music died_ …'

 

-' _American Pie_ ' by Don McLean.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"How's your salad?"

Valerie sat back and set her fork down as the waitress appeared beside the table to refill her water glass. Smiling politely, she nodded in thanks, then turned to Marvin before answering. "It's very good," she replied.

He uttered his usual high-pitched, almost nervous little laugh. "Good! I tell you, being away so much really makes me appreciate being home," he said. "I know that lots of people think that the city's too busy and everything, but I miss it when I'm gone."

She considered that for a moment then nodded. She understood what he meant, but, remembering the Christmas spent in Maine, thinking about the trip to Kentucky, she had to admit that she didn't really mind the more laid-back atmosphere of those less populated areas, either. "I suppose there's more to do here," she allowed. "Making any headway in getting the funding for your research?"

This time, he sighed, and for a moment, she felt bad for asking him something that seemed to bother him so much. "A little," he told her. "It just takes time."

"I'm sure you'll get it. It's a very worthwhile cause," she assured him.

He gave her that uncertain little smile. "Oh, yeah," he agreed quickly. "I'm just being impatient."

Valerie nodded, idly picking at her salad while Marvin turned his attention back to the roasted chicken cutlet on his plate. The image of a mad scientist, hunkered over his latest cadaver as he struggled to figure out just what made a body come to life sprang up in her head, and she had to bite down on her cheek to keep from laughing out loud. She wasn't entirely sure where the imagery had come from, but it reminded her of one of those really old Frankenstein movies—or maybe a silly Disney thing. The tiny little professor who had to stand upon a step stool to be tall enough to carry out his experimentation . . .

Exaggeratedly stupid, she figured absently. All he really needed was the grimy white lab coat and the headband lamp along with the super-thick spectacles to make the image complete . . .

' _Okay, so that wasn't exactly nice,_ ' she thought to herself. She wasn't trying to be cruel, and yet, the more she tried not to think about it, the funnier it became in her head.

Clearing her throat, she pulled her cell phone out of her purse, checking in vain to see if Evan had gotten the time to return her text yet. He hadn't. He was probably still at that photo shoot, she supposed, so it wasn't entirely surprising that he hadn't, but . . . but he hadn't called her this morning, either, and when she'd called around eight, he hadn't answered. So she'd left him a short birthday greeting, but it just wasn't like him, was it? Nothing like not hearing from him all day to make her realize just how often they usually talked . . .

"Val?"

Snapping her head up, she blinked in surprise, only to find Marvin, staring expectantly at her. "Um, sorry . . . what was that?"

He smiled. "I said, Darren Mallot invited us to go down to his beach house in Miami this summer," Marvin said, holding his right hand out straight, bending back the fingers as he carefully examined his nails. For some reason, they reminded Valerie of newborn mice, all pink and smooth and soft. They were like the polar opposite of Evan's fingers—fingers that bore calluses on the tips of each one from the hours he spent with the guitar in his hands—fingers that were long and slender yet entirely masculine. The mental images made her frown as Marvin went on, oblivious to the thoughts running through her head. "It sounds like a good time, and I thought it'd be something you'd like. He's got a yacht, and he loves to go scuba diving." Another nervous laugh. "Not really my thing, but you'd said before that you'd like to try it sometime."

"Oh, yeah, scuba diving's pretty fun," she allowed.

"You sound like you've done it before?" That nervous giggle . . .

' _Yes . . . a giggle_ . . .' she mused. That uncertainty, that feeling that he was never quite comfortable, even in his own skin . . . For some reason, it bothered her more than usual. He was a good person—incredibly smart, incredibly dedicated to the things he believed in—and he shouldn't feel that inferior to anyone, but that's what it was, wasn't it? But why . . .? "Uh, yes . . . we did that when we went down to the Bahamas a few months ago . . ."

Marvin fell silent for a moment. "You . . . You went to the Bahamas?" he finally asked.

Valerie blinked, a thoughtful frown surfacing on her features. Marvin's tone was a little too cautious, even a little too casual. "Yes, Evan and I went down there just after New Year's . . . I didn't tell you about that?"

"No . . ." Marvin drawled slowly, then hurriedly blurted, "I mean, not that it's a big deal or anything . . . Bet it was nice, huh?"

A flash of memory, of wandering along the beach with Evan, flickered to life in her mind, and she smiled despite herself. "Very."

He considered that for a moment then smiled. "Must be nice to have friends who do stuff like that—just take off for the Bahamas and take you along, that is," he ventured then gave a short laugh. "I'm surprised you wanted to come back. I might have had to give it a second thought, myself." Again, the little twitter of a laugh. "You two have been spending so much time together . . . Should I be jealous?"

She could hear the teasing note in his voice, but she could also see the strains of anxiety around his eyes, too. "N-No," she replied a moment later than she probably should have, and she forced a smile as she brushed aside the strange feeling that something just wasn't quite right. Something whispered in the back of her mind that she didn't want to think about it too long . . . "Don't be silly . . ."

He relaxed. She could sense it, but it was also there in the heightened brightness of his gaze. "Good! I-I didn't think so, you know? I'm just being silly, right?"

The chime of her cell phone interrupted her before she could respond. It was Madison's ringtone. "Oh . . ."

"Go ahead," Marvin said, flicking his fork in her direction.

"Hello?" she said, giving Marvin a quick smile as she stood up and hurried away from the table.

"Hey, V! I just wanted to know what time we're supposed to be at The Cube tonight for Evan's party?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," she replied with a sigh as she pushed into the women's bathroom. "That was cancelled. I tried to call you last night, but your voicemail was full."

"Cancelled? Why?"

"He had to work. I guess someone messed up the prints from the last photo session, so they've got to re-do them all."

Madison snorted. "That can't be right. I just talked to him a few minutes ago, and he's at home—and Mike knows damn well that Evan never, ever works on his birthday. He hasn't in years, anyway, and I doubt he'd start now."

Valerie frowned. ". . . He's where?"

"At home," Madison repeated. "It surprised me since I thought you had his birthday all planned out?"

"I . . . I cancelled everything," Valerie muttered, her confusion growing by the second. He was at home? No, he couldn't be. If he was, then that would mean that he had lied . . . But . . . But why . . .?

"So I take it that the party's off then," Madison commented dryly.

"Oh, yeah . . ." Valerie sighed. "He's at home," she repeated. "You're sure."

"Absolutely sure," Madison verified. She was silent for a moment, then she sighed. "Did something happen, V?"

Caught off guard by the softness of Madison's question, by the sense of foreboding that seemed too compassionate, too . . . too precarious, Valerie shook her head. "N-No," she said, lowering her voice, turning toward the corner when another woman entered the bathroom. "I mean, everything _was_ fine," she said, struggling to recall everything about yesterday afternoon. "Just fine—until . . ." Cutting herself off abruptly, she frowned. ' _Until . . . Marvin called_ . . .' she thought. But there was no way that he could have heard her talking on the phone, could he? She'd heard him playing guitar, and then . . .

But then, he'd stopped, and when she'd walked back into the living room, he'd had his cell phone like he had just finished a call, but . . . But he could have, couldn't he? He could have heard at least part of her conversation. Had he thought that she was going to blow him off, just because Marvin had flown in?

Heaving a sigh, she winced. A succession of memories, of isolated moments when she'd done exactly that, filtered through her head in a matter of seconds that felt like lifetimes. Pitifully few, really, considering Marvin didn't actually come to town that often, and even though Evan ought to have realized that his birthday—well, it was important to her—too important for her to even have considered calling it off . . .

"Sorry, Maddy," she finally said, clearing her throat a few times as she straightened her back and headed for the bathroom door, "we'll do the party some other time."

Madison laughed, apparently relieved, though why that was, Valerie couldn't say. "Okay, sweetie. Give my best to our birthday boy."

Valerie smiled. "Will do," she said as she clicked the call end button then dialed Bone's number.

"Well, hey, hey, hey, pretty lady," he greeted.

"Hi, Bone," she replied. "Evan's there, isn't he?"

"Oh, well . . ." the head of security drawled.

"Cut the crap. Maddy just told me that he is."

Bone sighed. "Nothin' much gets past you, ya?"

Valerie didn't comment on that. "Do me a favor, will you?"

"Anything for you, ya," he said.

She weaved her way through the assembly of tables. "Call me if Evan leaves the house, please—and try to stop him."

"Sho' thang," he replied. "Stalling him might take some effort, though . . ."

"You can think of something," she insisted. "Please."

"All right," he agreed at length. "Since it's for you, anyway."

"Thank you," she said, then ended the call as she drew abreast of the table. The smallest bit of wind was forced out of her sails, though, when she looked at Marvin, but not enough to stop her. "M-Marvin," she began. On one hand, she felt bad at the idea of just running out on him when he'd just flown across the country to see her. On the other, well, she'd made a promise, and even if she hadn't, it wouldn't matter, anyway. After all, she wanted to spend Evan's birthday with him, and not just because he'd gone out of the way to make hers special.

He stood as she stopped beside the table, the nervous smile on his face widening. When he got a good look at her, though, the smile faltered just a little. "Something come up?"

"Well," she said, retrieving her jacket off the back of her chair, "kind of . . . not really."

"Okay," he said, shaking his head in confusion.

"Evan's birthday is today," she explained hurriedly as she shrugged on the jacket. "Anyway, I promised I'd spend the day with him, but he said he had things to do today, but . . . but I guess those things fell through, so . . ."

"Oh, say no more!" Marvin hurriedly assured her, reaching out to help her. "I mean, he went out of his way to make sure your birthday was great, right? Of course you should return the favor!"

She hurriedly leaned forward to kiss the air near his cheek and started to hurry off, but stopped long enough to turn back to Marvin again. "Uh, I'm not sure how late—"

He waved a hand in dismissal, but his smile didn't falter. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I'm just going to go home, read over a few notes, and get to bed early, so if I miss you in the morning, I'll call you when I get to Nevada. Besides, he spent your birthday with you, didn't he? So it only seems fair for you to do the same for him."

"You're right. I'm so sorry," she said, flashing a smile at him as she wheeled around and strode away. "Have a safe flight!"

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _Let me count the ways to call you 'stupid_ ',' Evan's youkai remarked . ' _Stupid, idiot, moron, fool, dumb fuck, idget . . . I think that about covers English_ . _. . Should I move on to other languages now?_ '

"I know; I know," Evan muttered, scooching down in the overstuffed chair and flinging another dart. It struck, dead center on the bull's eye. "Fucking stupid," he agreed with a sigh. "I got that."

' _Since when did you decide to start being so damn noble?_ '

He sighed, tossing another dart. This one missed the board entirely, embedding itself in the wall a good foot away. When _had_ he started that kind of shit? he wondered.

" _Marvin? Hi_ ," she'd said. " _Oh, uh, no. I'm over at Evan's. . . In between meetings . . .?_ "

That was all he'd needed to hear. It was more than enough to send his good mood plummeting fast and hard. She'd promised, yes, and yet . . .

He grimaced and leaned forward just far enough to nab the half-empty beer off the short table beside him. ' _She's never gonna figure out that she doesn't wanna be with that little puss unless she actually spends some time with him so she can see it for herself, right?_ ' he told himself. ' _That's all_ . . .'

His youkai snorted. ' _That's not all. Ain't nothing noble about lying, just so you know—and for the record, lying to_ me _is pretty damn pointless_.'

Draining the rest of the beer, Evan deliberately ignored that statement for a moment, then let the bottle drop from his fingers. It hit the floor with a dull thud.

' _The real reason you did it was because you didn't want to hear her put you off, right?_ '

Wincing at the deadly accuracy of his youkai's assessment, he let out a heavy breath and flung another dart in the general direction of the target. Yeah, okay, so that might have something to do with it, too. Even if she'd promised . . .

He sighed. Even if she promised, he couldn't help the stone cold fear that she really would dump him to run to that little shit's side, and if she didn't? How could he stand to look at her all day, knowing that she at least felt guilty on some level for spending the day with him when she should be with that damned Meatball instead?

' _But we have made progress with her_ ,' his youkai pointed out.

He couldn't even summon up the smallest amount of optimism about it. ' _Have we?_ ' he wondered. ' _Have we_ really . . .?'

' _Of course we have_ ,' the voice went on sternly. ' _Think about it. She really is your best friend. She took that spot a long time ago, and you know damn well that she really does rely on you, probably more than she's ever relied upon anyone, ever. Isn't that what they say is the basis for a good and lasting relationship? So it's taking time to convince her. You knew it would, and even then, she's worth it, right? That damned Minnie is nothing more than a minor setback, nothing more._ '

' _A minor setback_ . . .' Evan mused, drumming his claws against the arm of the chair. Okay, so he'd agree with that. After all, even if that little dork was in town, he never stayed long, and then Evan would have Valerie all to himself again.

' _So . . . So, what now?_ '

He snorted. He might consider calling her, but it was probably still too early to do it, considering he'd told her that he had to redo that photo shoot . . . Besides, she'd want to know why he hadn't called all day, wouldn't she? Maybe he ought to sneak over to her place and see if he couldn't slip Ugvin a little something to knock him out for the rest of the day . . . He discarded that idea about as fast as it occurred to him, though. For one, he would be in for a world of trouble if Valerie figured it out, and for another, well, he just wasn't really the kind do to any such thing, which was a damn shame . . . Nope, he'd much rather sit back and watch the doofus dig his own grave. He could only hope that he'd hurry the hell up . . .

It was his choice to cancel the birthday celebration. Too bad he was having a hard time remembering that little fact. Maybe if he really had something to do it wouldn't be so bad, but he'd stubbornly refused to call Mike and tell him that he was free for the day. So instead, he'd just kind of moped around the house doing pretty much nothing. He'd tried to work on a song earlier, but he was too restless to do that for more than a few minutes before he gave up.

Heaving a sigh, he closed his eyes. Maybe he'd go for a swim or something. It was warm out today, though to be perfectly honest, he never much paid attention to the season or the weather when he went swimming, anyway. There were more than a couple times that he'd gotten the itch to go swimming in the dead of winter. He didn't stay in the pool that long, but it was good for getting rid of unspent nervous energy.

"You know, I could have sworn that you told me you had to do a photo shoot today."

Evan blinked and pushed against the floor, swiveling the chair around, only to find Valerie leaning casually in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest and a raised eyebrow-ed look leveled at him. "Oh, hey, V," he said, pushing aside the feelings of guilt that he'd lied to her in the first place. "Fancy meeting you in a hellhole like this."

Her lips twitched though she managed to hold onto her blanked expression. "So you want to tell me why you're home—alone—instead of at your shoot?"

"It's not a biggie," he informed her as he hauled himself to his feet and brushed past her to go upstairs to get another beer.

She followed him. "You overheard my call with Marvin, didn't you?" she pressed.

"I might have," he allowed with a shrug.

"Hmm, then you should have heard me when I started to tell him that I'd already made plans for today."

He paused in his step for a moment before moving on. No, he hadn't heard that part of, actually . . . "I must've missed that," he admitted.

"Okay," she agreed amiably. "I'll buy that. Thank you for being so thoughtful, but you're taking one thing completely for granted."

Fishing a beer out of the fridge, he offered her one, but she declined with a flick of the wrist. "What's that?" he asked as he twisted the cap.

She let out a deep breath and tilted her head to the side as a small smile finally broke over her features—a lazy sort of smile that sent a shiver straight down his spine. "Did it cross your mind that I might _want_ to spend today with you? That I might have been really looking forward to it?"

Her tone was casual enough, but Evan would have had to be stupid to miss the hint of censure. "Is that so?" he asked, unable to control the little grin her words inspired.

She sighed. "Yeah, actually, I do. So why would you do that, anyway? I thought you hated Marvin."

He snorted. He couldn't help it. "Well, I figured that if you spent enough time with the little nutsack, you'd realize you don't belong with him—and then you'd dump him and come running back to me with arms wide open. Legs, too, if you wanted."

Rolling her eyes, she tried not to laugh but failed, though she did shake her head and give him a playful little shove. "Jerk," she told him.

"What can I say? I aim big," he retorted as he tipped back the beer. "So how'd you find out that I was home?"

She strolled around the bar and leaned on her elbows. "Madison called me."

"Ah, I knew I should've ignored her call," he mumbled, his voice muffled by the beer bottle.

"I'm _glad_ she did," Valerie pointed out.

Evan finished off the beer and rinsed it out before sticking the empty bottle into a wooden beer crate. "Yeah, I guess I am, too."

"You'd better be," Valerie warned.

"I am; I am."

She drew a deep breath and raised her eyebrows at him. "Anyway . . . isn't there a birthday boy around here? And if I'm not wrong, he doesn't actually have anything planned right now; is that right?"

His grin widened. "I think there might be one," he said.

"Good," she stated, pushing herself up off the bar and heading toward the door. "Come on, Evan. It's not what I originally had planned, but, well, it's the best I could come up with."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _American_** **_Pie_** ' _by_ _Don_ _McLean_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1971_ _release_ , **_American_** **_Pie_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Don_ _McLean_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Valerie_** :  
>  _Happy Birthday!_


	194. 193: Roadtrip

' _99 dreams I have had_...  
' _In every one, a red balloon_ …  
' _It's all over, and I'm standing pretty_ …  
' _In the dust that was a city_ …  
' _If I could just find a souvenir_ …  
' _Just to prove the world was here_ …  
' _And here is a red balloon_ …  
' _I think of you and let it go_ …'

 

-' _99 Red Balloons_ ' by Nena.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"There's way too much static electricity in this car," Valerie said, running her hand over the back of her hair before shoving the helium balloon behind the headrest for the fiftieth time in the hour they'd been on the road. "You should've let me take them into the house."

Evan chuckled. "What's the fun in that?"

She rolled her eyes but smiled. She'd tried to leave them before they left. Evan had stopped her after asking her what the plan was. All she'd told him was that they were going on a road trip, and for some reason, he'd decided that the balloons were coming along for the ride. That wouldn't have been so bad, she supposed, if there weren't thirty-three of them . . .

"You sure you're not going to tell me where we're heading?" he asked, fiddling with the radio. "Oh, my God! You have a Zel Roka playlist!"

Valerie laughed and shook her head since he sounded like a giddy five year-old when he'd said that. "Yes, I do, but don't let it get to you. I felt somewhat obligated to make one—you know, since his money paid for this car."

He laughed but selected a different one—much to her surprise. "You're really not going to tell me where we're going?" he tried again.

"Nope," Valerie told him. "I have to have some surprises, don't I?"

He heaved a sigh designed to make her feel bad. It didn't work, but at least he'd tried. "Fine, fine . . ."

The vague scent of noxious fumes made Valerie wrinkle her nose seconds before a horrid squeaking noise forced her to grit her teeth, and she glanced over, only to find him scribbling on one of the helium-filled balloons. He must have bought it when they'd stopped at a gas station just after they'd gotten out of the city. "What are you doing?" she asked. With Evan, one never knew, after all . . .

He chuckled but didn't even pause. "Hold on."

A minute later, he twisted the balloon around. "There!" he announced proudly.

Valerie glanced over and shook her head. He'd written his cell phone number on it along with the words, ' _Call me and wish me a happy birthday!_ ' Then he chuckled and let it go out of the window.

"Are you going to do that to all of those?" she asked, vaguely wondering if anyone actually would find his message.

He grinned at her. "Why not? What do you think? You think anyone will actually find one if I do?"

"Maybe," she allowed. "Do you really think it's a good idea to give your number out like that though?"

His grin only widened. "Aww, it isn't that big of a deal," he insisted, brushing off her concern as though it was of no consequence as he nabbed the next balloon and started to scribble.

"You know, I was half tempted to call Mikey and give him a piece of my mind," she remarked. "Aren't you glad I didn't?"

"Well, that might have been pretty damn funny," Evan said. "He wouldn't have had a clue as to what you were talking about."

"Hmm . . . You really _are_ a jerk sometimes."

"Yeah, but you think I'm funny as hell," he said, reaching behind the seat to nab a second balloon. He tied the strings together and scribbled on the second balloon. Erupting in a rather maniacal chuckle, he turned both for her inspection.

She glanced over, only to do a double take. "You can't let those go!" she blurted a moment after he'd let go of the strings out the window.

He laughed. He'd drawn a nipple on each one with the message, 'To see the real deal, give me a call!' along with Bitches' number.

"What if a kid finds those?" she scolded despite the tugging of a smile at her lips.

"Oh, I didn't think of that. Shit!" Evan exclaimed, lunging out the window as far as he could to catch the strings of the balloons.

The car swerved as Valerie grabbed the back of Evan's pants and tried to yank him back in the window. "What are you doing? Trying to get yourself killed?"

Evan flopped back against the seat, his grin only widening.   "Too late," he told her, sounding anything but contrite.

Pressing her palm against her chest, Valerie slowly shook her head. "Idiot," she muttered, her cheeks pinking as she drew a few deep, steadying breaths.

"Sorry, V," he replied though he had yet to sound sorry at all. He grabbed another balloon and started to draw as the marker squeaked in an entirely obnoxious kind of way.

"That's all I need," she told him. "Zel Roka, splattered all over the road . . ."

He chuckled and turned the balloon for her inspection. "For a good time, call Mikey," she read out loud. "Oh, _that's_ not going to get you in any trouble," she muttered dryly.

That only heightened Evan's amusement. "It's all good," he told her as he released that balloon out the window.

She had to laugh when he did. There was something entirely infectious about the sound of it. It was one of the things that she really liked about him: how easy it was to make him laugh. "Keep it up, Roka," she said. "I mean, you've got another, what? Thirty-one balloons to go?"

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Last two," Evan said, twisting his torso so he could reach back to snag another balloon. They'd been driving for nearly three hours, give or take, and he'd been releasing balloons the whole way. "You know, this was a great idea . . ."

Valerie shot him a glance, her eyes glowing with the smile on her face. "It wasn't actually my idea to write on them and let them go out the window," she pointed out, "and if it had been my idea to do that, I don't think I'd have suggested writing perverted things on them before doing so."

He laughed. "I didn't write perverted things on _all_ of them," he reminded her.

"Hmm, just most of them," she retorted.

It was true. He'd given out everyone's phone numbers that he knew, and some of the balloons were better than others. Though he highly doubted anyone would really call the numbers he'd written on them, he had to admit that he secretly hoped they would—like Bubby's balloon, for example. It'd be pretty damn awesome if someone found that one and called just to ask whether or not Bubby really held the world record for the size of his penis . . .

Many of the balloons, though, he'd just written something about it being his birthday and to call and wish him well along with his own phone number on it. If anyone really did call, maybe he'd find a map somewhere to mark it.

"So are you still not telling me where we're going?" Evan asked absently as he drew on the balloon.

"No, but we're almost there, anyway," she told him.

"We'll have to do this every year," he said, recapping the pen and waving the balloon to dry the ink a little before he stuck it out the window, too.

"Every year, huh?" she repeated. She seemed rather pleased by this idea. "What are the odds I'll get to spend your birthdays with you ever year?"

"I want you to," he insisted.

She laughed. "Okay, then we'll do it every year."

That was as much of a promise as he figured he'd get from her at the moment, but it was enough for him. "Sweet."

"So what did you write on that one?" she asked, reaching over to hold the balloon still. "The sexiest woman on earth? And you just had to put my number on it, huh?"

He chuckled. "It's the truth, baby. Anyway, let me know if anyone calls to ask you about it."

She rolled her eyes despite the amusement that still illuminated her gaze, and she sighed. "I guess that's better than what you wrote with Maddy's number."

"Aww, she'll think it's a riot," he scoffed.

Valerie snorted. "You wrote that she gave the best blow jobs in New York City," she reminded him.

Evan's grin widened. "Yep, and to my knowledge, she does. Did you know, when we were younger, she told me that she was going to perfect that particular skill of hers? And she did."

He didn't miss the slight irritation that surfaced on Valerie's face before she had a chance to quell it. "I think I'd rather not know about that," she muttered almost sullenly.

"I'd be more than happy to let you practice on me," he replied.

"Pervert."

He snagged the last balloon and tapped the pen against his thigh as he considered what to write on this one. "I wouldn't call it perverted," he insisted. "There's nothing wrong with giving a little lovin' . . . and I'd be more than happy to return the favor."

"Draw on your balloon, Roka," she said, ignoring his bawdy statements. "We're here."

Evan looked up as Valerie pulled off the road and down a small makeshift lane that he wouldn't have realized was there if Valerie hadn't turned onto it. The land sloped pretty drastically downhill to a small, sandy beach, where the lane came out in the midst of a small grove of trees. "Where are we?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She smiled at him as she killed the motor. "Some friends and I used to come up here on weekends during college," she explained. "Haven't been here for years, but this area is a public access point. It's usually pretty busy during the summer—people like to bring their small boats out here since the beach is kind of enclosed, so they like to use rowboats and things. Not too much of a chance of drifting out onto the ocean. At this time of year, though? Well, as you can see, I figured there wouldn't be much going on today."

Evan hurriedly scrawled Zel Roka onto the balloon along with his number and a happy face before stowing the pen in the glove box and opening the car door.

Valerie hurried around the car and let Evan take her hand as he shifted his gaze around the beach. She was right about the layout—it was almost a fully enclosed lake with the only outlet to the ocean that he could see lying directly across from them. The opening was only about fifty or sixty feet wide, so it would be pretty difficult for a small vessel to inadvertently drift out to sea. Off to the right was a flat expanse of beach that ran up against the retaining wall and the highway high above. On the left was a fairly steep incline that ended in a craggy cliff that overlooked the water.

She tugged on his hand, leading him up the incline. The wind that blew in off the water smelled of salt, lingered on the lips and skin like a kiss. It was unseasonably warm for late April, and Evan breathed deep as the scent of Valerie's hair mingled with the fresh breeze.

"Okay," she said, stopping a few feet away from the edge of the cliff. "You ready to let it go?"

Evan grinned and extended his arm. They both stared at the balloon for a minute before he let go of the string. It rose into the air, battered around gently in the wind, but the same wind lifted it higher and higher.

They watched it in silence as it floated over the highway, over the horizon, and out of sight.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"You're not cold, are you?"

Valerie glanced over at Evan and smiled at the attentive expression on his face. "No way," she said, lifting her face into the breeze. Sitting on the edge of the cliff with her feet dangling over the beach fifteen feet below, she hooked her ankles over one another and swung them to and fro. "It's a beautiful day . . . I don't think that we could've ordered nicer weather."

Evan chuckled. His feet were hanging over the edge, too, but he was laying flat on his back, staring up at the sky with his arms folded behind his head. "Okay," he said, his word distorted by a wide yawn, "let me know if you get chilly."

She nodded, hooking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Did your mother call you today?"

"Mhmm . . . She called me at midnight, actually," he replied. "Wanted to wish me happy birthday before anyone else, she said."

That sounded like something Gin would say, and she smiled. "Your mom's something else," she said. "You're a lot like her, did you know?"

That amused him. "I'm really not," he insisted. "Mama's sweet and all that. I don't think that I fall into that category."

"You do," she replied with a shake of her head. "It's cute. One of the only cute things about you, I'd say . . ."

"Ah, you're so mean," he told her, but he was smiling; she could tell from the tone of his voice. "I kind of _like_ it . . ."

"That's because you're strange," she stated. "I'm surprised no one else has called to wish you a happy birthday."

Pushing himself up on his elbows, he squeezed one eye closed against the afternoon sunshine. "I left my phone at home," he confessed. "I kind of wanted to have you all to myself, without any interruptions."

"But I brought my phone."

He held out his hand, and she raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't going to toss it into the water or anything," he assured her with a grin. "I was just going to turn it off."

Her lips twitched. "I left it in the car."

"Oh, then good enough," he decided, rolling onto his side, propping his head up with his hand and using his free hand to play with the ends of her hair that were flying around in the breeze. "I don't wanna share you with anyone today."

"Okay," she agreed easily enough. "Are you ready for Phase II of Evan Zelig's Birthday Roadtrip Day?"

He grinned at the title she'd given it. "Oh? We're going somewhere else?"

She smiled. "No, but I think we'd better do the next part of it."

"Sounds interesting," he allowed. "Should I guess?"

"Nah," she said as she stood up and brushed the sand off her pants. "I'm going to go get something out of the car."

"All right," he agreed, rolling onto his feet and following along behind her. "Don't suppose it's a bikini or anything?"

Valerie shot him a droll look. "It's still a little cool for that—or the water is, anyway."

"I could do it," he insisted. "In fact, I just might."

He started to follow her to the car, but she waved him away. She wasn't ready to get everything out of the trunk, so she retrieved the cheap plastic cooler herself, pausing only long enough to grab the bag of drinks they'd bought at the gas station when he'd gotten the marker for the balloons. He hadn't said anything about them, but then, he was so preoccupied with drawing on his balloons that she doubted he'd paid much attention to what she was buying at the time.

Stacking the bag atop the cooler, she grunted as she lifted both, resting the cooler against the bumper long enough to hit the keychain to close the trunk before refreshing her grip and carefully making her way over to Evan.

He raised an eyebrow at the cooler but took it from her. She let him, but only because she was a little afraid that she'd drop it if she tried to carry it too far.

"So is this my present?" he asked as she raised a hand to point at the water.

"Not really," she replied, pulling the bag of drinks off the cooler.

They didn't stop till they reached the edge of one of the short piers that dotted the shore. He set the cooler down while she tied the bag to an old bit of rope dangling into the water. Then she let the bag down to chill the drinks. When she straightened up, Evan was looking into the cooler with a grin on his face.

"This is becoming a regular thing for us," he remarked as he picked up a live lobster.   All total, there were a good twenty in the cooler, she figured. She'd stopped by every restaurant she'd seen that she thought might have live lobsters between her apartment and Evan's house. They'd all pretty much looked at her like she was nuts, but they'd sold them to her, just the same.

"Yeah, but it makes you feel good, doesn't it?"

He laughed as he dug a pocket knife out and flipped it open to cut off the claw bands. "Actually, it makes me hungry," he said.

"You're a sick man," she countered, taking the lobster and dropping it into the water.

"Yeah, but you like me that way, so what does that say about you, exactly?"

She sighed. Okay, so he had a point—a small one.

"When I was a teenager, I always figured that I'd feel a lot different when I reached my thirties," he remarked as he freed another lobster. "Kind of funny, really."

"Different? How so?"

He shrugged and sat for a moment, hands dangling idly between his legs, elbows propped on his knees, as his gaze swept slowly over the water.   "I don't know. Maybe I figured I'd be married already, maybe a few pups . . ."

She smiled. "Married? That surprises me."

He blinked and looked at her, and the expression on his face was serious for once. "Why's that? I don't seem like the marrying kind?"

She sensed the seriousness beneath his light tone, and while she really didn't consider Evan to be the marrying kind, exactly, in some ways, she could see it. As outrageous as Zel Roka could be and was, the Evan she knew was not really like that. There were so many things about him that contradicted themselves that it was often difficult to reconcile everything she knew.   "Part of you is," she said slowly, softly, her voice teetering on confusion. "Maybe the rest of you _wants_ to be."

He chuckled at her assessment. "Yeah, I guess," he agreed easily enough. "I mean, I suppose it's not too weird, if you think about it. Look at Mama and Cain, right? Hell, they're having another baby, you know? And Bubby and Sydnie? They're so happy, it's kind of crazy . . . Maybe I've seen so many happily married couples in my own family that it was just a foregone conclusion that I'd end up that way, too . . ." Trailing off for a moment, he didn't look like he even realized that he'd spoken out loud. Then he sighed and gave a lopsided little grin. " _Or_ maybe I've just been waiting for you to say 'yes'."

Valerie didn't comment. Pretty words were nothing more than words, and those words were becoming increasingly hard to ignore. Did she want to believe him? Did she want to believe that he was just saying whatever he thought she wanted to hear? It was strange, wasn't it? Thinking about Marvin . . . it was hard, so why was it that thinking about Evan wasn't? There were just too many parts of it that were just out of her grasp, too hard to ask herself because the answers she might find were things that she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know. The lingering voice of self-doubt were growing harder to ignore day by day, and yet there were still those things—those ugly, glaring things—that she already knew.

But those things had no business in her mind today. It was Evan's day, after all, and dwelling upon the things that lurked in the darkness of her brain, in the recesses of her heart would only shatter the beauty of the moment.

If Evan noticed her lack of response, he didn't show it. Taking his time as he released a few more of the lobsters, he seemed completely unfazed by his own assertions, and for some reason, that only added to her sense of confusion.

Still, the voice in the back of her mind kept whispering to her, telling her that there were things she'd need to face sooner rather than later. Truths or lies or illusions . . . eventually, she would have to deal with all of those things, even if she could grant herself a respite for today.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _99_** **_Red_** **_Balloons_** ' _by_ _Nena_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1984_ _release_ , **_99_** **_Luftballoons_**. _This_ _song's_ _original_ _version,_ ' ** _99_** **_Luftballoons_** ' _actually_ _appeared_ _first_ _on_ _Nena's_ _1983_ _release_ , _**Nena**_. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Uwe_ _Fahrenkrog-Petersen_ _(music)_ , _Carlo_ _Karges_ _(German_ _lyrics)_ , _Kevin_ _McAlea_ _(English_ _lyrics)_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Shouldn't I be getting hammered on my birthday?_


	195. 194: Surprises

' _You better believe I'm coming_...  
' _You better believe what I say_ …  
' _You better hold on to your promises_ …  
' _Because you can bet, you'll get what you deserve_ …'

 

-' _Promises_ ' by The Cranberries.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"So are we staying out here all day? Don't get me wrong, I don't mind. It's great out here—and I have you, all to myself."

Valerie laughed and pulled her toes out of the water. As expected, it was still cold—too cold for her liking. "We can stay as long as you'd like," she replied. "I still have a few more things, so . . ."

That got his attention quickly enough, and he turned to face her, a bright grin on his face. "Oh? Like what?"

"Oh, my God, you're just like a kid," she replied, her own smile widening. "Be patient, can't you? It wouldn't be any fun if we ran out of things to do, now would it?"

"Depends. Is one of those my present?"

She wrinkled her nose. "And what makes you think that this whole day isn't your present?"

"Well, it could be," he mused. "I mean, it's good enough for me."

She laughed and accepted the hand he offered to help her to her feet. "Want to go for a walk?"

Evan nodded, tightening his grip on her hand and leading her off the pier.

He couldn't really ask for more, could he? The most beautiful day of the year so far, and he got to spend it with her—no phones, no interruptions, no demands upon him, no deadlines to meet or schedules to adhere to . . . He felt completely free, more so than he had in a long time. Even while they were hiking from Paris to Madrid, there had been a lingering sense that he was hurrying, trying to make sure they made it before the show, he supposed, but today?

She'd chosen him over Marvin, and he'd be lying if he tried to say that it didn't feel good to him. It was a small victory, but victory, just the same, in his opinion.

"I have to admit, I feel a little bad, keeping you away from everyone else today," Valerie ventured as the two of them wandered along the beach.

Evan chuckled. "Eh, I kind of like it," he told her. "It's pretty nice, don't you think?"

Valerie smiled and drew in a deep breath, eyes drifting closed for a moment as though she were savoring everything about it. "I don't think I could've asked for a more beautiful day," she remarked as her eyes slowly opened, as the light of complete contentment illuminated her gaze. "So . . ."

There was something entirely suspect in the way she was looking at him; no doubt about it. She was up to something . . . "Wha-a-a-at . . .?"

The glow in her eyes took on a rather evil glimmer as she tugged her hand away from his and whipped around, yanking a can out of the pocket of her jacket and unleashing a flood of—something—directly at him.

She shrieked in laughter as he caught her, as he pinned her arms against her sides with his. His laughter mingled with hers, and he pulled the can out of her slack grip and returned the favor. Canned whip cream? He laughed and deposited a fancy swirl on top of her hair. She tugged a second can loose and sprayed him directly in the face.

"Oh, you think you're slick, do you?" Evan growled despite the grin as he turned his head away just in time to avoid being hit full-on with the whipped cream.

"Take it like a man, Roka," she shot back, bursting into another gale of laughter as he sent another spray of white foam at her.

He held her tight and rubbed some whipped cream off his cheek and onto hers, and her giggles escalated into protesting laughter when he licked it off. "Mmm."

"Ugh, you're like a dog," she complained, wiping her cheek on her shoulder then sighing when she only managed to get more whipped cream on her cheek. She tried to pin him with a stern look, but it failed when she laughed, instead. "Truce?"

He didn't trust her; not at all. Besides that, her can must have more in it than his did. Still, it didn't hurt to play along with her, at least for the moment . . . "Okay, V," he agreed. "Give me your can, then."

"And let you have both of them? Forget it, Roka," she retorted.

He grinned and gave his can a warning shake.

"Don't you dare," she warned with a giggle, renewing her efforts to squirm out of his grasp.

Evan chuckled and stuck the nozzle into his mouth before dispensing a large amount.

"Oh, gross," she muttered, wrinkling her nose in disgust as she finally managed to gain her freedom. "Really, Evan? Really?"

He choked out a laugh and tried to swallow at the same time. "Ugh, it almost came out of my nose," he complained, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.

She groaned and looked fairly unimpressed, but she sighed as her smile resurfaced. "That's nasty," she pointed out.

Evan chuckled. "Wow, you even managed to get it in my hair, woman," he said, holding out a handful of hair as he tried to look at it at the same time. "That's pretty damn impressive."

"Eww, no, stay away from me," she warned, extending the can at him when he tried to move in for a hug.

"Seriously? No hugs?" he couldn't help teasing. Considering she had managed to get him pretty good with the whipped cream, it was no small wonder that she didn't want him near her.

He laughed and tossed the can on the beach, followed in short order by his shirt as he kicked off his shoes. "All right, you win," he said, pausing long enough to grin at her before stripping off his pants.

"Wh-What are you doing?" she demanded in a harsh, almost rasping voice.

He didn't miss the breathlessness, either, but he wisely refrained from comment on it since it was likely to get him clobbered. "I'm going to wash this out of my hair," he replied in what he could only hope was an innocent enough tone.

She opened and closed her mouth a few times. "You . . . You . . . We're on a public beach," she protested.

"If we get arrested, I'll make sure to tell them it's your fault for spraying me with whipped cream," he teased. "You know, you can come in with me if you want . . . You know, wash off any that got on you . . ."

"Ah—I'll pass," she retorted. She tried to look away before he could see her blush but she wasn't quite quick enough.

"You sure? You're going to get sticky—well, sticki _er_."

She snorted indelicately.

His laughter trailed off behind him as he strode toward the water and dove in.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"There . . . That'll burn a while."

Valerie smiled and watched as Evan wandered over to sit beside her in the soft sand. He'd just finished building a fire while saying that it was to keep her warm, but she had to wonder since he was the one who had just decided that a swim would be fantastic. Then again, he never seemed to get cold, while she was a little chilled since she'd tried her best to rinse off her face and arms and wash out her hair. The best she could do was to dampen part of her jacket to wipe off her clothing, but there was no way she was diving into that water to wash off completely. It was difficult, but she'd managed to rinse her hair with minimal damage, but that was his fault for thinking it'd be good to spray whipped cream on the top of her head . . . Using her fingers to separate the strands of still-damp hair, she figured she looked pretty well a mess, but then, who cared? There was no one else here, and Evan? Well, for some reason, looking less-than-perfect around him didn't seem to bother her as much as it probably should . . .

"I'm telling you, you should have gotten in with me," he said for what had to be the fiftieth time since he'd finally finished swimming. "The water was completely invigorating!"

"You know, cold water makes things shrink," she pointed out indelicately.

He only laughed. "Did it?"

She could feel the heat explode under her skin as she quickly turned her face away. Not soon enough, though, if his laughter meant anything at all. Big jerk. "Must have," she muttered, struggling to regain her composure. Blast him for being so observant, anyway . . . "I didn't see _anything_."

"Wow, ouch!" he complained but laughed, just the same. "So tell me, were you checking out my ass when I went into the water?"

"Absolutely not," she lied, refusing to give him any more ammunition. "Why would I want to? I've seen your ass-cheeks a hundred times already."

"Which doesn't mean anything when I know you _were_ looking."

"I don't care what you _think_ you saw," she retorted, rolling her eyes and struggling for an aloofness that she was far from feeling. "That's my story, and I'm sticking to it."

He laughed harder, which just figured. "I'll let you touch it if you want," he offered in what he thought was a generous tone.

She snorted but could do nothing to quell the explosion of color under her skin. "I'll pass."

"You sure? I'll even flex 'em for you."

"Oh, that's compelling," she shot back dryly. Wrinkling her nose, Valerie stood up and marched away, heading for the car to retrieve the cake since she figured that a change in topics was in order.

Okay, so she had watched him as he'd strode toward the water, and yes, okay, so she was impressed with the sight of his very-naked backside—when she wasn't glancing up at the highway to make sure there were no flashing lights headed their way, anyway . . .

It was entirely unfair, damn it. Sure, she'd thought that before, but it was worth repeating. How on earth could one man look like _that_ , for God's sake? He possessed about ten men's share of complete and utter sexiness, and that just wasn't right. Was it any wonder why women threw themselves at him?

She snorted loudly as she picked up the plastic container that held the cake and slammed the trunk closed a little harder than she meant to. No, she supposed that it wasn't. It was becoming harder and harder for her to remember exactly where the boundaries were, wasn't it?

Heaving a sigh, she glanced over at the fire—she could just barely see it from where she stood as a small smile started to tug on her lips. That man was completely incorrigible, damned if he wasn't, and the next order of business, even before the cake was to get him back into some clothes . . . before she embarrassed herself completely . . .

"I don't suppose you brought some butter, did you?"

Valerie blinked as she drew closer to the fire. At least Evan had put his jeans back on while she was retrieving the cake. She glanced from the fire to him and then back again. He moved over just enough so that she could see what he was doing, and when she did, she snapped her mouth closed and slowly shook her head. "I thought we set all of those free," she said.

Evan turned his head to grin at her but didn't straighten up as he poked at the fire with a long stick. "I was going to," he told her without even a hint of remorse, "but I was really hungry."

She opened her mouth to tell him exactly how wrong it was that he'd kept three lobsters to throw onto the fire, but her protests were cut short when her stomach rumbled loudly.

His grin widened. "So about that butter . . ."

She sighed. "I didn't bring butter. I wasn't planning on eating those; I was planning on setting them free."

He stood up, staring at her as he scratched his chest idly. "So . . . You don't want one?"

"Well, I'd hate for it to go to waste," she countered.

He chuckled. "Is that . . . my cake?"

Valerie smiled. She couldn't help it. There was just something about him: something that had the power to destroy even her firmest resolve . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan heaved a contented sigh and wrapped his arms a little tighter around Valerie. She was situated between his legs, her back cradled against his chest, her hands curled over his forearm. Neither of them had said anything for a while, and that was all right. As though they were satisfied just to be near each other, the silence was companionable. Even the sounds of the highway seemed far away and dulled. The only real noise was just the crackle of the fire, the occasional call of the first birds to have returned for the season . . .

He could stay like this forever, couldn't he? As much as he loved the different parts of his life that made up his entire identity, he'd forget it all if she asked him to; if she wanted him to just remain here with her like this.

"You know, we were supposed to be getting ready to go to dinner right about now," she said, keeping her voice low, as though she were afraid to interrupt the silence. "At least, that was the plan . . ."

"Oh, yeah? Is that a hint?"

She shook her head. "Nope . . . I cancelled that because you said you were going to do that photo shoot."

He grimaced at the reminder. She didn't see it. "Yeah, sorry about that."

She sighed. "You should be," she replied simply. "Promise me . . ."

"Anything," he said when she trailed off.

She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Promise me you won't do that again. Let me make up my own mind about what is or isn't important to me, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed. "Do, uh . . . Do you need to get back? I mean, _he's_ still here, right?"

Snuggling a little closer against him, she seemed to be making herself more comfortable. "Nope, Marvin's fine. He's just going to look over some stuff and go to bed early since his plane leaves at six . . . So unless you're still hungry? Then again, you _did_ eat almost the whole cake and two lobsters . . ."

He grinned, more relieved that she wasn't in a hurry to go home than he was amused at her observation. "You know, you did a really good job on that cake. Tasted just like Mama's."

She snorted and retrieved the water bottle that Evan sat on the other side of his raised knee. "Now I _know_ you're lying," she said. "Your mother said to just go ahead and use a dark chocolate cake mix instead of giving me a recipe for that."

Evan laughed. "Then that'd be why it tastes just like hers. She has to use boxed mixes for our birthday cakes or Cain has a fit—and even then, he isn't too pleased."

She turned her head to gaze up at him, probably to ascertain whether or not he was joking. "Your father has issues," she finally said.

Evan nodded. "Well, he does, but you know, it's kind of cute, really—not that I'd ever say any such thing within earshot of ol' Cain. He said before that the first time he met Mama, she made him this really sad-looking cake, but it tasted good . . . She's made him a cake every day ever since."

Valerie thought that over for a minute, and then she laughed. "That _is_ cute," she agreed.

She took a drink then held the bottle up for him. "Thanks," he said, accepting the plastic bottle and tilting it to his lips. "So . . . What else did you have planned for us that I ruined?"

"Do you really want to know?"

He chuckled and set the container aside again. "Sure. Lay it on me."

"Well, we'd probably just be getting back from the big thing," she mused. "I had booked us to go sky diving, you know—and I didn't get my deposit back when I cancelled that at the last minute."

"Aw, damn, that would have been awesome," he told her. "I can pay you for the money you lost."

"No," she said, shaking her head quickly. "I'd rather lord it over your head for the next year or two."

He grinned. "That doesn't sound okay for me."

"Yeah, but it's a woman's prerogative."

"All right. I'll let you have that one."

"Good boy," she replied. "Anyway, we were going to go to the Met this morning to meet with Hiram Norwich—"

"Oh, that guy in charge of the ancient sword exhibit?"

She nodded. "Yes . . . I thought maybe it'd interest you since you seem to know something about them. Dr. Norwich was going to let you look over the collection, including the ones that aren't currently being displayed."

"That would have been cool," Evan remarked. "I heard he had a number of Japanese katana . . ."

"Hmm, well, he did say that if you're interested, you can give him a call before the exhibit ends, and he'd be happy to reschedule."

"Nice," he approved. "Maybe I'll see if Bubby's around. He would probably be interested, too."

"Because your family consists of a bunch of blood-thirsty heathens."

He laughed at her droll assessment. "Yeah, of course! So . . . swords and skydiving?"

She nodded. "Followed by dinner at Tonelli's."

"Also nice," he said. Tonelli's had a tendency to be booked for weeks at a time. She really had gone all-out—and he really had ruined it, too . . .

"Then we were going to meet all your friends at The Cube for a party . . . Dancing and all that good stuff."

He gave her a little squeeze. On the one hand, it thrilled him that she'd gone out of her way to plan what would have been a spectacular birthday for him. On the other? Well . . .

"You know something?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you think I was a complete ass if I were to say that I think I prefer what we've done today to all of the stuff you had planned?"

She turned to stare at him, her eyebrows slightly arched as she searched his face for traces of a lie. "This is a lot less planned out," she confessed almost guiltily.

"I know," he said, kissing her on the forehead. "But I can't think of one single thing I'd change about today."

She blinked as though what he'd said surprised her. Maybe it had; he didn't know. But she also looked inordinately pleased, too, and when she leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world for him to turn his head slightly, to intercept her lips with his, to kiss her as tenderly as he could. As though the simple kiss could tell her everything that he felt; everything that he wanted, every word he couldn't say . . . and maybe it did . . .

Lips opening like a flower, her breath like the sweetest dew as she sighed softly, as her body seemed to melt against his . . . her hands pressed against his chest as his arms tightened just a little around her, holding her close as he savored the feel of her, willing this one moment to last forever . . .

But the kiss ended way too soon, and Valerie slumped against him, nestled in the crook of his shoulder, her breathing a little heavy, a little more unsteady. Suddenly, she laughed. It sounded rather shaky, but she leaned away and blinked slowly, cheeks still dusted with color. "You, uh . . . you want your present now?"

"Present," he repeated, still a bit bemused himself. "You could just lay another one of those on me, and we'll call it good," he said, only half-joking.

She rolled her eyes and pushed against his arms until he let her go, and he heaved a sigh as he watched her walk away in the direction of the car.

' _Well, damn_ ,' he thought with an inward sigh as he shifted slightly. He wasn't planning on taking another swim, but he just might have to after that kiss . . .

But it was good, right? After all, she wasn't freaking out or anything, so she wasn't too upset at him for it. If only it had lasted just a little longer . . .

The evening shadows were starting to lengthen as the first traces of ashy gray started to creep over the landscape. If he turned around, he'd see the sun beginning to set over the horizon, and he knew that they ought to be heading back soon.

Still, he pushed himself to his feet and grabbed some more wood to stack on the fire, and when he turned around, it was just in time to see Valerie set down the brightly wrapped gift in the sand with a grunt. She straightened her back and stretched as though it had taken some exertion to tote the box from the car, and Evan raised his eyebrows as she turned that impish smile on him once more.

"There you go," she said, taking a moment to catch her breath.

Evan stared at her and shook his head. "If it's that heavy, you should have let me get it," he told her.

She shook her head stubbornly. "No way," she countered, waving a hand at the box. "Aren't you going to open it?"

He walked around the box a few times, examining it from different angles. It wasn't very wide—maybe a foot square at the base, but the sides were a good two feet tall. He wasn't sure what was in that box, but he had to admit, it looked intriguing . . .

Hunkering down beside it, Evan braced himself to pick it up and very nearly tossed it over his head in the doing. Valerie laughed and dropped into the sand beside him. "Gotcha," she said.

He laughed. "Wow, woman, if you thought that was heavy, then you're really out of shape," he teased her.

"Come on, open it," she insisted, waving off his teasing.

Turning the box, he scratched at a bit of tape. Valerie snorted and reached over, slipping her finger under the seam and giving it a sharp tear. "What are you? A girl?" she scoffed. "Rip it open!"

Chuckling at her obvious impatience, Evan gave in and yanked at the paper, tossing the scraps at Valerie until he had the plain box revealed.

It looked like a standard packing crate, taped on both ends with printed words, 'This way up,' along with an arrow. The tape pulled away easily enough, and he pulled the flaps open with a flourish. "Oh . . . packing peanuts . . . Just what I always wanted," he quipped.

Valerie laughed and leaned forward to stick the bow she'd picked off the paper to the side of his head. "I know, right? I figured you could use it for that bean bag chair in your music room. It could use a little more stuffing."

Plunging his hand into the box, he frowned as he felt around inside. After a couple minutes of the fruitless motion, he pulled his hand out and raised an eyebrow at her. "You really did just get me stuffing for that chair, didn't you?" he teased.

"You're not looking hard enough," she informed him, wrapping her hands around her raised knees as she sat back against the cliff wall to wait.

"But I did," he argued, shaking his head. "There's nothing in there—well, except for the peanuts."

Her smile widened. "Try again, rockerboy."

He gave her a look but plunged his hand into the box again. After another couple minutes of searching and increasingly loud laughter from the gifter, he was about to give up when his claws scraped something on the bottom. He carefully slipped his fingers under it and gently pulled.

"Oh, my God," he breathed as his eyes widened, as he stared at the brown paper sleeve that held what looked to be a copy of the Sex Pistols 1977, seven-inch single of ' _God Save the Queen/No Feelings_ '. "Oh my _God!_ Jesus, V . . .! How did you . . .?"

Valerie laughed for a minute before she could answer. "It was pure dumb luck," she told him. "I don't know anything about that stuff, but I hoped it was something you didn't have yet."

Slumping back, he held the album gently, turning it over and shaking his head as he carefully looked inside the brown paper sleeve, he sucked in his breath when the edge of the original press release caught his attention. "Holy shit," he whispered. "I can't believe you found this! There's only, like, maybe three hundred copies in existence? If that?" He laughed. "I can't believe you—" Cutting himself off abruptly, Evan scowled as he sat up, as he pinned her with a very stern look. "Damn, V, how the hell much did this cost you? Let me pay for it. What was it? Forty? Fifty thousand?"

Her laughter died away, and she stubbornly shook her head. "First off, Roka, that's a gift, and don't you dare ask me what I paid for it because that's just tacky. Second off, if you paid me for it, then it wouldn't be a gift anymore, now would it? And third, that record cost a hell of a lot less than my car, but I hoped it would make you happy, so that's why I bought it. So just say, 'thank you' if you like it, okay?"

He sighed. "Yeah, but—"

"No 'buts'," she told him. "I mean, you like it, don't you?"

The worried look on Valerie's face made up his mind for him, and Evan smiled. "V, I _love_ it," he assured her, "and no, I don't have it already. This is just . . . well, it's fucking amazing. _You're_ fucking amazing. I can't believe you found it. Hell, I can't believe you knew I'd want it." His smile brightened. "Thank you."

She finally smiled and relaxed again. "You're welcome, Evan . . . Happy birthday."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _According to_ Record Collector _, in 2010, there were believed to be around 300 copies of this record in existence. A mint copy with the envelope and press release sold for roughly $13,000. According to 2012 Wikipedia, this album is currently worth roughly $22,000_.
> 
> ' ** _Promises_** ' _by_ _The_ _Cranberries_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1999_ _release_ , **_Bury_** **_the_** **_Hatchet_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Dolores_ _O'Riordan_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Happy birthday, Roka_ …


	196. 195: Hellfire

' _Sing with me, sing for the years_...  
' _Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears_ …  
' _Sing with me, I'm just for today_ …  
' _Maybe tomorrow the good Lord'll take you away_ …'

 

-' _Dream On'_ by Aerosmith.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"So how was it? Did you two have a good time?"

Evan stepped out of the bathroom and grinned at the sight of Madison, perched on the end of the bed. "It was pretty damn awesome," he said, dragging his claws through his hair and grimacing when he hit a tangle. "Spent the whole day at this beach . . . Actually, we ended up sleeping there."

"Outside? Well, I guess. Did you just get back?"

Evan nodded and tucked the end of the towel a little more securely around his waist. "Yeah. It was raining when we woke up—what's that old expression? Fish hooks and hammer handles? Something like that? Well, that's what it was doing . . . I imagine V's probably still soaking in a nice, hot bath right now. Sneezed the whole way back . . . She even let me drive."

"She let you drive her car? Her baby? Is she feeling okay?"

Evan chuckled. "Well, she said she was fine. She said she was going to take some vitamin c and a nice, hot bath, then do some paperwork-crap."

Madison considered that and nodded. "I'm sure, though I'm surprised she didn't come home with you." She giggled and held out a smallish package. "Happy belated birthday."

He took it and plopped down beside her. "Thank you," he replied, kissing her on the cheek. "I tried to talk her into it, but Mike's coming over in a while to bring by the proofs for me to look over, and she said she didn't feel like sitting in on the business talk . . . You know, I really don't care what the cover for the single looks like . . ."

"Yeah, but if you tell them that, then they'll just assume you won't _ever_ care."

"I know," he replied, grinning at his friend. "Next time, they'll release something really stupid if I leave them to their own devices."

She nodded slowly, her amusement still bright in her eyes. "Hmm, and we wouldn't want that, now would we?"

He chuckled and turned his attention to the package in his hands. "So what's this?"

Madison raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Just something I saw and thought of you," she said. "Aren't you going to open it?"

His grin widened since he knew Madison's penchant for buying him the weirdest presents she could find for his birthday. She didn't disappoint. "Vintage erotic playing cards," he said, shuffling through the deck of very curvy Victorian era ladies bearing it all. He'd seen some of the original paintings before in galleries around the world and some in books. Some of the cards were quite worn, and he laughed. "These are awesome! Where'd you find them?"

"I saw them in a shop in SoHo last month and thought they'd be a perfect present for you."

Pulling her into a warm hug, Evan kissed her cheek again. "Thank you."

She kissed him back and reached up to comb through his hair with her fingers. "What did V get you? Anything good?"

"Are you kidding me? She found one of the Sex Pistols' albums—mint condition, too!"

Madison probably didn't understand the significance of that album, but she did know how much some of them could be worth since she hung out with Evan, and she looked duly impressed. "Wow, how much did that set her back?"

Evan rolled his eyes though his smile didn't fade. "She wouldn't tell me," he said. "I offered to pay for it because I know it wasn't cheap."

"Oh, I'll bet she loved that," Madison retorted sarcastically. "You can't pay for your own birthday present."

"I know, but damn . . . That thing had to be pretty damn salty."

"And she bought it for you because she wanted to, so you'd better let it drop because if I know Valerie, and I think I do, then she's going to get mad if you keep pestering her about the cost of it."

"All right; all right," he relented with a sigh.

She slowly shook her head. "You have the weirdest habit of hating when people spend money on you, but you go out of your way to do that for them."

Evan considered that for a moment. He supposed he did do that, but it wasn't exactly intentional. He just hated for people who didn't really have that kind of money to just throw around to do so for his sake.

Madison sighed and stood up, taking a moment to smooth her skirt before turning to smile at Evan once more. "I hate to gift and run, but some of us have work to do."

He caught her and hand and held her still as he got to his feet. "Thank you for the present," he said, tugging her into a hug.

"Oh, yeah, while I'm here . . . Where did you put the spare key for my mailbox?"

Evan blinked then grinned. "Don't tell me you lost another one," he scolded.

Madison sighed again. "I didn't lose it," she insisted haughtily. "I just misplaced it . . . about a week ago." Her expression shifted into a pout, and she stomped her foot stubbornly. "It's not _my_ fault. I didn't want them to switch the locks, but they were having too much trouble with the keypads . . ."

"I'll make a copy and have Bone drop it off later," he promised. "Seriously, Maddy, you're going to be in trouble if something ever happens to me. Who'll keep your spare keys then?"

She turned a pouty frown on him. "That's a ridiculous question," she scoffed, brushing off his concern with a flick of her wrist. "You're not going anywhere."

Evan nodded though he wasn't really in agreement. Madison lost something on a daily basis. Luckily for her, it wasn't often her keys, but it happened often enough, in his opinion. He should get a frequent customer discount from the locksmith, all things considered . . .

"Thank you," she said, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. He chuckled as she sashayed to the door, wiggling her fingers in farewell over her shoulder.

His smile didn't wane as he shuffled over to grab a pair of jeans out of the dresser drawer. To be honest, he was rather hoping he could get through his business with Mike quickly so that he could go surprise Valerie. Maybe she could get done with her work fast enough to humor him for a bit. If not, he supposed he'd try to be good—at least, until she was finished working, that was . . .

He fastened the bottom two buttons on his fly before calling it good and striding from the room, and he wasn't too surprised to find Mike pouring himself a drink—looked like mineral water—when he lit at the bottom of the stairs minutes later. "Hey, Mikey," he greeted.

Mike glanced up long enough to nod at him before capping the bottle of mineral water and stowing it back in the mini-fridge once more. "Happy late birthday," he replied. "Glad to see that you didn't get into any trouble yesterday."

Evan shot him a wolfish grin as he picked up the stack of mail that Bone had left for him. "Nope. I spent the day with V, so . . ."

"Yeah, well, I think I've bailed you out on more birthdays than not," Mike retorted dryly, tilting the glass to his lips. "Maybe I should send her a gift basket."

"You didn't even give _me_ a gift," he reminded his manager. "You should do that before you send V one."

"No, way. Sending her a little something is much cheaper than paying for bail."

Evan chuckled since that was pretty true. Nothing interesting in the mail except a reminder that membership dues for his college alumni club were due, and he'd just forward that to his accountant, anyway . . . "So, where're the proofs?"

Mike tossed him a slim-file before flopping down on the sofa with a sigh.

Evan booted the file and frowned in concentration as he looked at the various cover designs. All were pretty run-of-the-mill—shots of him superimposed over rather standard backgrounds, and he really wasn't too interested in which one ended up selling ' _Blood Red Lips_ ', to be completely honest. "Third one," he said, closing the file and tossing it back to Mike.

Mike chuckled and set the file aside. "And you didn't care about any of them," he said.

Evan shrugged. "None of them were anything special, and Soundsations tends to get pissy if I were to try to tell them that I wanted a re-do," he reminded Mike. "So of those choices, number three is the best of the blah."

"Yeah, well, I was talking to Ramón, and he and I actually came to an agreement of sorts."

Evan narrowed his gaze on his manager, arms automatically rising to cross over his chest, completely prepared for whatever battle was to come because the day that Mike agreed with anything that the little weasel, Ramón had to say was the day that hell froze over . . . "Pact of the devils?"

Mike grinned. "Actually, no . . . but we were discussing it, and since I haven't really booked anything towards a world tour, Ramón suggested that you go ahead and start working on a new album, instead. No hurry, really, but he wondered if you might have enough material to hit the studios by the end of this year."

Eyebrows lifting in a show of surprise, Evan blinked a few times as he tried to figure out whether or not Mike was being serious. After all, the tours were where good ol' Mikey made most of his money, but Wicked Soundsations made more when he sold units, so the idea that Mike, of all people, would be pushing Evan to get back into the studio before they'd even messed around with a full world tour was . . . well, it was _strange_ , to say the least . . . "No world tour?"

Mike rolled his eyes, apparently accurately assessing what was going through Evan's mind. "Am I wrong in thinking that you might want to stick a little closer to home? Between your mom's pregnancy and Valerie . . ."

"Yeah, I just . . ." Evan rubbed his chin for a minute, then shook his head. "You know what? I could try to figure out why you're being so agreeable _or_ I could just go with it. Think I'll just go with it."

Mike chuckled. "In exchange . . ."

Letting out his breath in a rush, Evan nodded slowly. "I knew there was a catch . . ."

Mike's chuckling escalated. "In exchange, you promise me something."

Evan merely raised an eyebrow. He'd learned long ago not to ever make a promise to that particular person without hearing it first. "What kind of promise?"

Settling down, he deliberately took a long, deep drink then raised his glass, frowning at the ice dancing around in the sloshing water before answering. "Marry that woman this summer—so you can get the hell back to work."

Evan stared at Mike for a long minute, and, while he didn't smile, it was a near enough thing. It registered to him that Mike wasn't talking as his manager at the moment but as a friend—something that he usually reserved for moments of drunken stupidity, but he was completely lucid, and so was Evan . . . "I intend to, Mikey," he said, his tone deathly serious. "I intend to."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Rubbing her forehead, Valerie uttered a soft groan and closed her eyes for a moment. Her back ached, her arms ached, her legs ached . . . and all of those aches were dulled by the throbbing in her skull that just wouldn't go away.

She'd already taken a couple acetaminophen tablets a while ago, but she'd only felt progressively worse since. In fact, she was considering taking another pill or two, though she was trying to wait at least another hour or so.

She supposed it had started this morning. Waking up in the middle of a rain shower hadn't exactly been the best, and, looking back, it had gotten pretty damn cold last night. But Evan had been so warm, so welcome, that she hadn't done more than roll over once or twice before drifting back to sleep again, despite the cold that had seeped into her feet and other extremities that weren't being sheltered by Evan . . .

But when he woke her up this morning, they were both drenched to the bone. He'd insisted that she sit in the warming car while he gathered up everything to take back with them, but she was sneezing by the time he'd joined her ten minutes later. Those sneezes had plagued her the entire way, only to relent when coughing had taken their place halfway home. The headache that she still had set in as they'd neared the city, and finally, Valerie had stopped just to let Evan drive the rest of the way.

The first thing she'd done when they got back was to pop about five vitamin c capsules, hoping that they would give her immune system a bump, but it was apparently too little, too late.

She was still stubbornly telling herself that if she didn't acknowledge it, then it wasn't true, damn it. She couldn't possibly be—Well, she couldn't possibly be anything less than one-hundred-percent healthy. She had too much work to do, too many things to get done. She was too busy to let something like this get to her, right?

' _Right_.'

And that was that.

Grinding her jaws together when a violent chill ripped through her, Valerie glanced over at the windows, but they were all closed.

' _I'm not . . . not_ sick,' she grumbled to herself. ' _I don't_ get _sick. There's no way possible_ . . .'

She sneezed.

Then she groaned.

With a sigh, she pushed the chair back and slowly stood up to get a mug of herbal tea. Maybe that would help to warm her up. After all, she'd been cold all day, and even though the car was warm enough, it seemed like the heat hadn't really penetrated her as deeply as the cold had. Not surprising. It always took her forever to get warm, and the longer she was cold, the longer it seemed to take.

Still, she opened the cupboard that she kept medicine in and shuffled through the bottles while her tea water heated on the stove. She had some cold remedies, but they were more than a year old—was that the last time she was sick? She supposed it was, or maybe those were Marvin's; she didn't know. Either way, they were too out of date to even think of taking any of it, and she set the containers on the cupboard. She'd toss them out later.

She considered running to the drug store, but discarded that idea about as fast as it had occurred to her. No, maybe she'd just take a couple more acetaminophen tablets and lie down for a while . . .

' _Yeah, that sounds like a good idea_ ,' she thought as she dropped a tea bag into an empty mug and carefully poured hot water over it.

Shaking a couple pills out of a bottle, she swallowed them with a handful of water out of the tap, wiping her mouth with the back of a shaking hand. Her forehead felt hot to the touch, but she wasn't sure if that meant anything at all because her palm felt as though it were a chunk of ice.

So she picked up the mug and shuffled out of the kitchen, pausing only long enough to bump up the thermostat about ten degrees on her way to her bedroom.

' _So cold; so cold_ ,' she thought as she crawled beneath the thick blankets on her bed. Teeth chattering uncontrollably, she uttered a small whimper.

"Evan," she whispered, squeezing her eyes closed as a single tear escaped her. She wasn't sure why, but for some reason, she knew that he could help her feel better, even if only a little bit.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Hunkering down beside the bed, Evan frowned as he stared at Valerie's sleeping form. He didn't have to touch her to know that she was burning up with fever, and he dug his cell phone out of his pocket, dialing it with one hand as he pressed the back of his hand against her cheek with the other.   "Fuck," he muttered, gritting his teeth as the phone rang once, twice.

"Hello?"

"Uh, hey, Griffin. Is Isabelle around?"

Griffin Marin grunted in his usual fashion. "Yeah, I think I can feel the floor rumbling near the kitchen," he remarked dryly.   "Jezebel, it's your cousin."

The distinct sound of a woman's laughter came to him, and Evan sighed impatiently. "Hello?" she said.

"Isabelle," he said, tamping down the impatience that wouldn't get him anywhere at the moment. "It's Evan."

"Hi, sweetie! How's Valerie's dad?"

He registered the instant worry in her tone. She thought he was calling because something had happened to Jack, didn't she? "He's fine," Evan said. "V's sick, though—really sick."

"Really sick?" Isabelle echoed. "What are her symptoms?"

He grimaced. "I don't really know, but she's got a fever. She's burning up."

"Anything else? Vomiting? Diarrhea?"

Rubbing his face, Evan grunted. "No, I don't think so," he said. "I mean, it doesn't smell like it."

"Okay, good," she said. "Does she have a thermometer?"

"I don't know . . . Hold on." Leaning down, he gently rubbed her cheek. "V? Baby?"

"E-Evan?" she murmured, her gaze bleary, affected by the fever that was ravaging her senses. Two fat tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from growling at the sight of them.

"Yeah . . . Tell me, do you have a thermometer?"

She seemed confused by his question, but after a few moments, she nodded. "Bathroom," she murmured.

"Okay," he said, tucking her blankets up under her chin more securely. "Go back to sleep."

She half-whined, half-moaned, and he figured that was her way of saying that she intended to, but he hurried out of the room and into the bathroom. She had a digital thermometer in a black vinyl bag in the medicine cabinet, and he grabbed it before heading back to her room once more.

It only took him a second to press the sensor against her temple, and he grimaced when her temperature was displayed. "102.5," he read into the phone. "That's high, right?"

Isabelle sighed. "It's high, but it's not bad unless we can't control it," she told him in a soothing tone.

"Then I need to get her to the hospital, right?"

"Don't jump the gun here, Evan," Isabelle went on. "There's not a lot they'd be able to do for her either, especially if it's just the flu, which is what it sounds like. You can do the same things for her there, and I'm sure she's more comfortable than she'd be in the hospital, anyway. Unless she tells you that light is bothering her or she complains about her neck feeling stiff, then you shouldn't have to worry."

"But—"

"Evan, she's human, and humans get sick from time to time," Isabelle pointed out gently, albeit firmly. "She'll be fine, I'm sure, but you need to listen to me."

"Can't you come take a look at her?"

Isabelle sighed.   "I'm in Maine, remember? Even if I wanted to, it would take me hours to get there, and—"

" _Please_."

She sighed again. "First things first, okay? First thing we need to do is to try to get her fever under control. Like I said, 102.5 isn't good, but it isn't life-threatening, either. Does she have any kind of fever-reducer? Acetaminophen or ibuprofen? Either of those would work."

It only took him a minute to run to the kitchen and locate the bottle she'd left sitting on the counter next to some over the counter cold remedies. He ignored those, though, and grabbed the bottle. "Tylenol," he told Isabelle as he filled a glass of water.

"Okay, give her a couple of those, and try to get her to drink lots of fluids. The biggest threat to her health isn't the fever at this point as much as it is dehydration. Now, if her fever goes above 103.5 or 104, then you get her to the doctor."

"104?" he echoed incredulously. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"I doubt it will get that high," she assured him. Then she clucked her tongue. "105 is the number where brain damage can occur, but honestly, it shouldn't go that high unless there's another cause for the fever, like meningitis, and she doesn't seem to have any symptoms of that . . . Look, I'm supposed to be in the city in a couple days for a conference, but if you'd like, I can see if I can't come early."

"Y-Yeah," he blurted. "How soon can you get here?"

"I'll see what I can do, but until then, just make sure you keep her comfortable, give her Tylenol for her fever, and get her to drink as many fluids as you can. Don't be surprised if her fever breaks but comes back again, either. It happens."

"Isn't there anything else?"

Letting out a deep breath, Isabelle seemed to be thinking. "Not really, Evan, but . . ."

"But, what?"

She laughed softly. "But I think that just being there with her will help her immensely."

Heaving a sigh, Evan raked a hand through his hair and tried to resist the nearly overwhelming desire to lash out at Isabelle in frustration. In the end, he took a few deep breaths and grimaced. "It's my fault," he muttered, lowering his voice so that Valerie wouldn't hear him.

"How so?"

"We ended up sleeping on the beach, and it got pretty damn cold—and started raining," he said. "I thought we should go home, but . . . but I didn't want to share her."

"That's not really your fault," Isabelle assured him. "Valerie's a healthy woman, right? Give her a few days, and I'm sure she'll be fine."

"But you're coming here?"

"As soon as I can, yes," she replied. "Just give me a call if you're worried about anything before I get there, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," he muttered, ending the call and dropping the phone onto the nightstand before shaking out a couple pills and sitting on the edge of the bed. "V . . ." he said, stroking her cheek to wake her up again. "V . . ."

A soft whimper, and she opened her eyes just a little. "E-Evan?" she squeaked as a few more tears seeped out. "Evan?"

"Hey . . . Come on, I need you to sit up."

She whimpered some more in protest but didn't fight as he helped her sit up just enough to take the medicine. "Here," he said, putting the pills in her hand and reaching for the glass of water. "It'll help."

"You're here," she sniffled, leaning closer to him. He grimaced as her shoulders shook precariously. "That helps more."

She took the pills and drank a little water—not nearly as much as Evan would like, but she flat-out refused to drink more. In the end, he sighed and got up to get more blankets out of the closet since she was still shaking like a leaf. She whimpered in protest to the loss of his body heat, but he made quick work of spreading a couple more blankets over her, and then he climbed into the bed.

It was roasting under the blankets, but she just couldn't seem to get warm enough. Cuddled against him, though, she was at least comfortable enough to sleep, and Evan turned off the lamp, wrapping his arms tighter around her, kissed her searing forehead, and scowled into the half-light, waiting for her fever to break . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Dream_** **_On_** ' _by_ _Aerosmith_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1973_ _release_ , **_Aerosmith_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Steven_ _Tyler_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Perfect time to put the moves on her, and she gets sick … figures **!**_


	197. 196: The Longest Day

' _I don't care what consequence it brings_...  
' _I have been a fool for lesser things_ …  
' _I want you so bad_ …  
' _I think you ought to know that_ …  
' _I intend to hold you for the longest time_ …'

 

-' _The Longest Time'_ by Billy Joel.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"It's the flu."

Evan scowled at Isabelle and crossed his arms over his chest. "That's all you've got to say?" he demanded.

Arching a delicate eyebrow, Isabelle slowly shook her head. "I'm sorry, Evan, but that's all I can really tell you. Be glad it's nothing more serious. She'll be fine in a few days. It's just taking her a little bit of time for the virus to run its course."

"But she's suffering!" he growled. "There has to be something you can do!"

Grasping his shoulders, she gave him a little shake. "I know you're just thinking about her, but I'm telling you, the best thing for her is to let her body fight it off. She's doing everything she can, and the only real thing you can do is to shut up and wait." She paused for a moment and wrinkled her nose. "And take a shower, too. You stink."

That earned her another scowl. "Thanks for the professional advice," he snapped, shoving her hands away.

"It hasn't even been twenty-four hours yet," she pointed out. Then she yawned. "Look, I'm going to go get a few hours' sleep. Call me if you need anything. Otherwise, I'll come by later on and check up on her again, okay?"

"What about . . . What about if I marked her?" he suddenly blurted.

Isabelle blinked and stared at him as though she were trying to decide whether or not he was being serious. She must've figured that he was because she quickly shook her head and pinned him with a very serious look. "Not only is that completely unnecessary at this point, you'd be doing something that cannot be undone, and while you might be sure that she's your mate, if I'm not wrong, you've not told her about that, now have you?"

He grunted but didn't back down. "It would help her immune system, wouldn't it?"

"Considering she's already running a fever, it could do more harm than good at the moment, and even if it did give some sort of boost, it wouldn't be enough to make her better any faster than she will be now. Need I remind you that she's a very healthy woman, she's young, and she is only battling the flu, which is probably one of the most common human ailments there is. She'll be fine; I promise you."

He hated it: the helpless feeling that engulfed him. "Even a day less is better than nothing," he growled.

"You cannot do such a thing without talking to her about it first," she insisted, her tone taking on a gentler cadence. "I know you love her, and I know that there's nothing you wouldn't do for her . . . and I know that you want to do more, but really, just being here with her is more than enough."

He snorted but didn't respond as he watched Isabelle gather her bag and head for the door.

"Seriously, you really should consider that shower," she said again as she turned the handle and let herself out of the apartment. He almost took off after her, to demand that she stay in case Valerie's fever worsened or something.

' _Calm down_ ,' his youkai voice said. ' _As much as you hate it, you know Isabelle's right. Besides, you also know damn well that she must've hopped right into her car and drove straight through, and she did that for you. Don't be ungrateful_.'

Heaving a sigh, he raked his hands through his hair angrily. Yes, he knew that. She'd have to have done just that, and he appreciated it. It was a small consolation when all she'd done was check Valerie's temperature, vitals, pronounce very candidly that Valerie had the flu, and that was pretty much it.

And it didn't really help, either, that what Isabelle had said made sense. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd known the answer before he'd ever asked the question. He was so desperate to do something—anything—that he'd had to ask.

' _But you don't want her that way, and you know it_ ,' his youkai-voice reasoned. ' _You want her to be your mate for all the right reasons and in all the right ways_.'

Yes, he did. That didn't stop him from wishing that it could have helped her.

Picking up the bottle of pills that Isabelle had given to him for her, he frowned at it as he turned it over in his hand. According to her, it was just a slightly stronger medicine to help her fever. She'd already given Valerie one dose of it despite Valerie's protests at being forced to sit up and take it. She didn't need another dose until later in the afternoon.

She whined softly when he slipped back into her room, her brow furrowed as though she were in pain. Setting the pill bottle on the nightstand, Evan slipped back into the bed. She calmed down as soon as he pulled her against him. He'd intended to take a quick shower, but he couldn't stand to hear her, to know that there was nothing he could do for her except to hold her, to watch over her while she fitfully slept . . .

"Ev . . . an . . .?"

He stroked her hair, gritted his teeth at the waves of heat that poured off her. "Hmm?"

"So good . . . to me . . ." she murmured, her eyelashes spiky from the tears that she couldn't seem to control. Isabelle had said that maybe the fever made her feel bad enough that she couldn't help it. That just irritated him even more . . .

"Go to sleep, V . . . You need your rest to fight the fever."

I don't want to be sick," she whined, and he grimaced when he smelled her fresh tears. "I . . . I ruined your birthday . . ."

"No, you didn't," he hurriedly told her. "My birthday was perfect. I got to spend it with you, right?"

"Next year," she murmured, tightening her fist around a handful of his hair, "next year . . . We'll go sky diving . . ."

He chuckled softly. "Anything you want."

"Just you," she said, her voice thickening as sleep started to draw her away. "Just you . . ."

Evan sighed, stroking her hair, rubbing her back gently. "Me, too . . . Now, go to sleep."

"Will you . . . Stay with me . . .?"

Pressing his lips to her forehead, he frowned. "Always."

She seemed to sigh, relaxed as the chills that had been running amok in her body seemed to subside, and within minutes, he knew that she was sleeping.

He was exhausted, yet he couldn't close his eyes, and he had a feeling that he wasn't going to be able to do so until he was sure that she was going to be fine. It didn't matter, did it? Despite what Isabelle might say, he couldn't shake the fear, the unreasonable and unwelcome feeling that everything was hanging by a thread, that one false move, even one tiny mistake, could cost him, and cost him dearly . . . He wanted to believe that she was going to be fine, and he trusted Isabelle, of course he did.

But maybe it was because he was youkai, at least, for all intents and purposes, because he never really witnessed this kind of thing before—at least, not like this. Sure, he'd had friends in school who had the flu at different times, and he knew well enough that it was a common ailment, but it was easy to forget about things like that when he himself had never had to go through it, when no one that was really close to him had really succumbed to such a thing.

His cell phone rang, but he'd left it in the living room, and there was no way he was going to get up to see who was calling. If it was important, they could leave a voice mail. Besides, he was kind of glad that it was out there since the very last thing he wanted to do was to wake Valerie up for such a dumb reason.

She looked so much smaller, frailer, weaker, didn't she? Like the illness had greatly diminished her physically, but that was just an illusion. She hadn't been sick long enough for anything of the sort to have happened. He ought to wake her up to try to get her to drink some water, but he just didn't have the heart to do that. After all, she'd been awake so much during the night that she needed to get some rest. True enough, she wasn't exactly coherent most of the time, but still . . .

It just pissed him the hell off that there really wasn't a damn thing he could do for her. Never in his life had he ever felt quite so weak, so powerless, and it just didn't set well with him in the least.

Heaving a sigh, he settled for the only thing he could do: pulling her closer, watching over her while she slept, promising himself over and over again that he'd make sure she was fine no matter what.

' _No matter what_ . . .'

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"How's she doing?"

Evan sighed and refrained from giving the smart-ass reply that rapidly formed in his head. "The fever broke around noon but came back a little worse about an hour later," he said.

Isabelle let out a deep breath. "How much worse is a little?"

"Just a couple tenths of a degree . . . figured you'd tell me the same shit if I called you about it."

She laughed at his surly tone. "You're probably right," she agreed. "Do you want me to come by to check on her?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he did, but instead, he sighed again. "You're sure it's just the flu?"

"Yes, I'm sure," she said.

"Then I guess not," he grumbled, half-hoping that she'd decide that she really ought to do it, anyway.

"Okay, but do give me a call if her fever goes up too much."

"Yeah, will do."

Snapping the phone closed, he set it aside long enough to stuff the sheets into the laundry unit.

During the hour when her fever had broken, he'd managed to change her sheets while she was in the bathroom. Then she'd decided to take a shower, and he wasn't sure if that had somehow triggered her fever to return or not, but by the time she was finished drying off and dressing, she was shaking like a leaf again, and he'd had to carry her back to bed. Then she'd fussed at him for making her take medicine before he'd leave her alone and let her sleep, but she hadn't been able to rest until he'd crawled into the bed with her again.

And he would have stayed there longer, but Madison had stopped by to drop off a change of clothes for him. Valerie was sleeping when he'd gone to take a quick shower, and she hadn't stirred at all, which was why he'd taken the time to put in the wash.

What bothered him most were the things that she'd babble about at different times. Everything from childhood memories to things he was pretty sure had to have been weird dreams—she'd asked him if he'd hung up her belly dancer outfit, amongst other things . . . It wasn't that he found the things she said to be annoying or anything, but if she was sick enough to be having hallucinations, then why wasn't she in the hospital? Isabelle had said, though, that he shouldn't read too much into anything she said while she was sick because a lot of people tended to float in a kind of half-world, trapped between reality and their dreams at such times.

Rubbing his eyes, he slumped against the laundry unit before turning around to set the wash and dry cycles. That done, he shuffled out of the room, smacking the light panel in passing to shut it off before grabbing a bottle of water and heading back to Valerie's room again.

She was still sleeping when he slipped back into the bed again, and he frowned as he checked her temperature. It was a few tenths of a degree lower than it was, though he wasn't entirely sure what it meant. He'd been wondering about that, too. Either the medicine wasn't working or her fever was worse than he'd thought because it never seemed to fluctuate more than maybe half a degree, but that half a degree seemed to have a bearing on whether she was lucid enough to say things that made any sense or not.

She groaned softly but didn't open her eyes. Evan touched her cheek gently, though he wasn't trying to wake her as much as he was just trying to reassure her that she wasn't alone. The simple gesture did the trick, though, and her brow smoothed out as her sleep deepened.

Almost forty-eight hours so far—at least, since he'd come over to find her burning up with fever, anyway. Isabelle had said that it could last anywhere from a day to a week, to which he had promptly accused her of being a quack. She, of course, had just laughed at him, which truly figured.

He just wanted Valerie to get better, damn it. He didn't want her to suffer, and he hated the feeling of utter helplessness. He'd hoped that her fever breaking earlier had been the last of it, but no, and now she seemed no better than she was before that had happened . . .

A day to a week of this . . .? Gritting his teeth as Valerie whimpered in her sleep, Evan smoothed her hair, uttering sounds to sooth her. How the hell did humans deal with this kind of thing, and why was it that they acted like it wasn't a big deal? Maybe they were stronger than youkai, but in a kind of desperate way—resigned to the idea that things like this happened, that it was par for course and nothing to be alarmed over, but try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to be as blasé about the whole thing, either.

"Y-You're still here," Valerie murmured, a quiet note of wonder in her tone.

Evan blinked and looked down at her. She hadn't opened her eyes, and her skin still felt hot and dry to his touch. "Of course I am, V," he replied. "You need someone to take care of you, right?"

She sniffled. "Because I'm sick?"

Grimacing at the sob that caught in her voice, Evan swallowed hard and kissed her forehead. "I'd be here even if you weren't," he told her. "You . . . you know that, right?"

"Be . . . Because you love me," she whispered. "You love me more than anyone else ever has . . ."

"I . . . I love you more than anyone else ever _will_ ," he said.

She didn't reply for a while. He was starting to think she'd fallen asleep, but she drew a ragged breath, scooting closer to him. "I _want_ to love you," she admitted. "More than anything . . ."

For some reason, her words nearly choked him, and he blinked fast as unwelcome moisture clouded his vision. "But you're scared?" he rasped out.

She nodded vaguely, a small sob slipping from her as the heat of tears dampened his chest.

"I swear to you, V . . . I . . . I'll love you forever," he whispered.

Opening her eyes, her gaze hazy from the sickness that plagued her, she smiled wanly—pretty pathetic, given the tears that stood in her eyes. Then she closed her eyes and sighed softly, balancing on the cusp of awake and asleep, and when she spoke again, he had to strain to hear her. "I think . . . I think I love you already . . ."

Painfully, dizzily, his heart seemed to stop, to freeze, to stand still, as his brain struggled to make sense of the words she'd just uttered. ' _Did she . . .? Did she really . . .?_ '

She did, didn't she? She'd just said . . .

" _It's nothing to worry about, Evan. It's just that when the body's temperature rises higher than normal, the brain can be slightly affected, which can result in thoughts or dreams—even hallucinations—but it's not really a cause for concern unless the fever goes too high_ . . ."

He'd heard Isabelle's words, and maybe that was true, but . . . But she sounded lucid enough, didn't she?

He had to clear his throat a few times before he could get his voice to work. By the time he had his heart was hammering against his ribcage like a wild animal trying to escape a cage. "Glad to hear it," he heard himself saying. "I was starting to think that you were immune to me."

"You know better," she muttered. "Thirsty . . ."

He smiled. For some reason, it reassured him that she wasn't just saying things because of the fever. Maybe it meant . . . Maybe _she_ meant what she'd said . . . "Okay . . . sit up, and I'll get you some water."

She nodded but didn't move. Well, no, that wasn't exactly true. She did move: she scooted a little closer to him.

He chuckled and kissed her forehead. "I can't help you get a drink if you don't try to sit up," he told her gently.

"I know," she murmured, her voice a little sluggish and slurred.

As loathe as he was to do it, Evan pushed himself up. Valerie uttered a whine of protest as he leaned away to snag the bottle of water off the nightstand. "Here," he said, slipping it into her hands so that he could reach the medicine. "Take these . . ."

She did with minimal complaint. He was pleased enough to see that she drank about half of the bottle of water before she pushed it into his hand again. He set it aside and scooched down in the bed once more. Valerie huddled against him, a few shivers rattling through her but not quite as bad as before.

For several minutes, she didn't speak, and Evan had started to think that maybe she'd drifted off again. When she did, though, her voice was a little less shaky than it had been. "Y'think maybe it was a mistake . . .?"

He frowned, mostly because he wasn't entirely sure what she was talking about. "What's that?"

She half-sighed, half-moaned. "I . . . was afraid . . . Being alone with Kaci Lea . . . You're good at changing people's minds. I'm . . . I'm not."

Her words brought a wan smile to his lips: a pained smile of the one who knows there's nothing else he can do. "You'll get through to her eventually," he said.

"The one thing you can't do for me," she said, her voice growing a little thick. Tears weren't far behind. He could hear them, but . . . "You've done everything else . . ."

"Maybe I can't fix things for you with your sister," he allowed, "but I can . . . can tell you that eventually, you'll get to her if you just keep trying."

She forced her eyes open. Bloodshot and glassy from the fever, red rimmed from the tears that she couldn't seem to control, she somehow managed a trembling smile, even as a single tear slipped from the corner of her eye. She stared at him for a moment, and then she lay back down, nestling against his chest, her breathing tremulous. "You make me need you more every day, you know," she whispered. "That's why . . . I'm scared of you . . . Why I need you . . . Why I love you . . ."

Evan closed his eyes, hating the part of himself that understood what she meant because sometimes, it scared him, too, and reveling at her confession all over again. Was it the rawness in her voice? The emotion that made her falter? Tremble? Drawing a deep breath, he tucked her head under his chin, listening to the sound of her breathing. "You . . . You don't have to be scared," he said, unable to trust his own voice to keep from cracking as he whispered back to her, his lips buried in her hair. "There's only one woman for me. There'll only ever _be_ one woman for me . . . I'm . . ." trailing off, he had to will his heart to steady. Had he ever thought that it would be that difficult? No, he supposed he never had . . . "I'm not human, you see? And what I am . . . We only have one mate—one _true_ mate . . . and you're mine."

She said nothing for one minute, two minutes. Opening his eyes, Evan leaned back, gazed down at her.

And sighed.

She'd fallen asleep, hadn't she? She hadn't heard a single word he'd said, and didn't that just figure . . .?

Letting out a deep breath, he slowly shook his head. Then he chuckled as the irony of the situation hit him full-on. ' _Ah, well_ ,' he thought as he gathered her close one more time. He'd tell again later. He'd make her understand that the fear that was the final barrier between them didn't have to exist, at all . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _The_** **_Longest_** **_Time_** ' _by_ _Billy_ _Joel_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1983_ _release_ , **_An_** **_Innocent_** **_Man_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Billy_ _Joel_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _I knew it! She adores me!_


	198. 197: The Break

' _I try to say goodbye, and I choke_...  
' _I try to walk away, and I stumble_ …  
' _Though I try to hide it, it's clear_ …  
' _My world crumbles when you are not there_ …'

 

-' _I_ _Try_ ' by Macy Gray.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Uttering a soft sigh as he opened his eyes, Evan blinked into the filmy light filling the bedroom and frowned. He wasn't sure what time it was, but he could tell it was early, and he couldn't help the self-disgust that flowed over him. He'd meant to stay awake. It must have been after Valerie's fever had broken. Unlike the other times, though, her temperature had returned to normal, and only then had he succumbed to sleep.

She was warm beside him but not feverish and probably exhausted. God only knew he was . . .

' _Yeah, that's not the only thing, either_ ,' his youkai voice muttered. ' _Damn, you stink_ . . .'

Wrinkling his nose—he'd been trying to ignore that for the moment—Evan sighed again. Okay, it was true. They both kind of reeked, actually. It was to be expected, he figured. Valerie's fever-induced body heat, coupled with the warmer than usual apartment as well as the mountain of blankets he'd piled on the bed to keep her warm had really taken a toll on him, and while he'd done a good job in changing the sheets daily and such, when her fever broke last night, well . . .

Still he was loathe to move, loathe to wake her. It was the first time in days that he couldn't sense restlessness in her aura—the first good sleep she'd gotten since the fever had set in—and he yawned as his own exhaustion dropped on him like a ton of bricks.

He was in a lot of trouble, if he really stopped and thought about it. If Mike had left one message, he'd left fifty, at least. Evan had broken down and called him yesterday afternoon to let him know that he was with Valerie while she was sick, but there were a number of engagements that he'd missed in the meanwhile: interviews, a couple appearances, a meeting with Wicked Soundsations in regards to the new material that he was working on . . .

Mike had understood why Evan didn't want to leave Valerie's side, but the pragmatic business side of him had to be pretty unhappy about the whole thing. After all, it wasn't really like Evan to blow off things, and he'd been doing that a lot more frequently of late. The interviews weren't as big a deal, at least in Evan's opinion, but the appearances were a little more important, and the meeting? As much as he might like to pretend otherwise, Evan really did care about those. It wasn't that he didn't trust Mikey to handle things, but, being the control freak he tended to be when it came to Zel Roka, he liked to hear things first-hand. In this case, though . . . well, he supposed that it was all right to let Mike deal with it.

Unable to stifle a wide yawn, Evan pulled Valerie a little closer. Damned if he didn't feel like he'd been through a war. The last four days had beaten the hell out of him, no doubt about it. He was sure that it was nothing in comparison to how Valerie was bound to feel, but with any luck, she wouldn't have to suffer through something like that again—at least, if he had something to say about it, anyway . . .

" _That's why . . . I'm scared of you . . . Why I need you . . . Why I love you_ . . ."

Just the memory of hearing those words from her was enough to draw a smile from him. Yes, he knew that she was scared, and yes, he could understand why she felt the way she did. All she needed was the faith to believe that he could give her all the things:   all those things that she told herself that she didn't want. He'd convince her. She wanted to be convinced; he was sure of that, too. It was just a matter of time.

With a soft groan, Valerie shifted, digging her arm out from under the blankets to rub her face.

"Feeling better?" he asked groggily.

Valerie mumbled something and yawned. "I've felt worse," she commented with a heavy sigh. "Oh, my God . . . What day is it?"

"Thursday," he told her. "You want a drink of water?"

"Yeah," she replied. "Rather have coffee, but I don't think that's a good idea . . ."

Evan chuckled and rolled out of bed. "I'll get you that water," he told her as he headed for the door. "A piece of toast, too."

She muttered something—he thought that she might be telling him to forget the toast—as he strode out of the room. Too bad, though. She hadn't eaten anything in days, either, so he wasn't about to argue with her over it.

It didn't take him long to get it for her. He knew that she liked to have a little drizzle of honey on toast, but that might be pushing things, so he skipped that, but he did spread a little butter on it—not nearly as much as he might put on his own, but she still might complain since she normally refused it.

She was sitting up when he slipped back into her room again. Pale and a little shaky, she looked up at him and grimaced. "You shouldn't have stayed with me," she said, her voice a bit ragged, but her gaze finally clear. "If I get you sick, I'll feel bad . . ."

"Eh, don't worry about me," he scoffed with a wink. "It takes a lot to make me sick."

She shot him a look designed to let him know just what she thought of his boastful statements. He only grinned at her as he handed her the bottle of water.

She didn't say anything as she swallowed a good half of the contents before lowering it again. "Ah . . . that's better," she breathed. She smiled for a moment, but that smile faltered slightly, only to be replaced by a rather confused sort of expression. "Did you . . . You stayed with me the whole time, didn't you?" she asked softly.

"Of course I did," he said, deliberately keeping his tone light, as though it were of no real consequence.

"Did you miss much?" she asked hesitantly.

He shrugged. "Nothing important," he assured her, settling on the edge of the bed and handing her the toast. "Here. Eat that."

She didn't look like she wanted to do it, but in the end, she took a bite. "You know, you stink, Roka," she remarked between nibbles.

He chuckled. "Do I? I hadn't noticed."

The absolute outlandishness of his statement made her laugh. Then she sighed and shook her head. "I don't know who smells worse: you or me," she grumbled.

"What are you talking about?" he joked. "You don't smell at all!"

She blinked and stared at him for a minute before bursting into laughter. He supposed he could understand that. When her fever broke, she'd ended up in a full-out sweat, and he'd already been suffering with that, too, and, well, the stink in the room was pretty damn thick. He didn't care. Just seeing that she felt better was more than enough compensation for it, in his opinion.

"Don't worry. I'll change the sheets and stuff while you take a bath. How's that?"

She started to smile but wrinkled her nose instead. "I don't know about a bath," she allowed. "A shower, though . . . I'll change the sheets and stuff after that."

"No, you won't," he insisted stubbornly. "I'll do it before I go home for a bit. I need to clean up, too, and change my clothes . . . You don't really have anything here that'll fit me . . ." He paused and frowned at her. "You'll be okay, right? I won't be gone long."

"I think I can manage for a little while," she replied dryly though the smile on her face widened.

He nodded. "All right, well, first, you need to finish that toast, and after your shower, promise me you'll get some sleep."

The mention of the word triggered a yawn, and Valerie scrunched up her shoulders, rolling her head back as she stretched. "I'm exhausted," she admitted. "You're coming back over?"

Pushing her hair out of her face, he didn't smile, but it was a close thing. "Yeah . . . and if you're sleeping, I'll just crawl in bed with you."

She rolled her eyes but leaned into his hand. "Did you get any sleep yourself?"

He opened his mouth to brush it off, but ended up grinning instead. "Not a wink," he confessed.

She frowned at him. "In four days?"

"I was worried about you," he admitted then sighed. "I, uh . . . I even had my cousin come over to check you out. She was in town for a medical conference."

She looked rather surprised by that, but she nodded. "Oh . . . now that you mention it, I guess I do vaguely remember her . . . Isabelle, right?"

He nodded. "Yep . . . She told me that I was being ridiculous," he grumbled. "You sure you're feeling okay?"

"I'm sure," she insisted. "Just really tired."

"I'm sure you are, but I'm glad you're feeling better," he said, leaning over to kiss her forehead.

"Me, too."

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Letting her eyes close as she leaned back in the tub, Valerie couldn't help the little sigh that escaped her as she savored the warmth of the water, seeping deep into her skin, into her pores. The lavender, eucalyptus, and chamomile oil she'd dropped in seemed to penetrate bone-deep, relaxing away the stiffness that days of illness had inspired.

After brushing her teeth, she'd taken a good, long shower, savoring the simple act of becoming clean. Shampooing her hair had never felt so wonderful, rinsing off the feeling of clammy skin, of illness, left her feeling much better, but she wasn't quite ready to leave the bathroom, so she'd drawn a bath, too.

It was heaven, plain and simple.

Heaving a contented sigh, she slowly opened her eyes, blinking at the steam that was like a haze in the air. There was still a bit of stiffness in her body, and she really was exhausted, but at least she was feeling somewhat human again, and that had to account for something.

And Evan . . .

He really had stayed with her the whole time, hadn't he? Though much of the time was foggy in her head, she could remember waking up, only to find him there, holding her close as her body trembled with the chills brought on by the fever, as he'd given her medicine and forced her to drink water. Always with a little smile, a reassuring tone of voice, even if she hadn't always comprehended what he was saying . . .

Trying to ignore the stab of guilt brought on by the memories, she sank down a little further in the tub. He'd blown off everything for her, hadn't he? And even if he said that it wasn't important, she knew better than anyone that it wasn't really true. She might not know exactly what he'd been scheduled to do, but she was reasonably certain that Mike was probably pretty unhappy about Evan's abrupt cancellation, especially when he found out that Evan was playing nursemaid for her. It pleased her—maybe more than it ought to—and yet, at the same time, she couldn't help but to feel as though he really shouldn't have done it. Evan might not see it, but it was true. Zel Roka . . . well, he certainly didn't belong to just one person, did he? A little bit of him belonged to every single person who bought his albums, to every person who paid to download his music, to every member of every audience of every show he'd ever done . . .

Still, there wasn't really anything she could do about it, though she might call Mike, just to tell him that she was sorry that Evan was MIA for the last few days. She'd probably just made his job that much more difficult, even if she hadn't meant to do any such thing.

Grimacing as she stretched out her legs, Valerie sighed. She felt like she could easily sleep for a week or more. The last time she could remember feeling so exhausted was the week when she'd followed Evan around on that bet, but this was a different kind of feeling completely. Before, she'd just needed sleep, but now, there was more of a weariness to it, an endless lethargy, a blunted kind of sensation wrapped around her brain. She felt dull, stupid—the kind of feeling that she only remembered after being very sick. It would dissipate in a day or two, she was sure, as long as she got rest and plenty of it.

She hated that feeling most of all, though. She was too used to being on top of her game, of keeping her mind sharp. This was the reason she hated being sick, even if it rarely happened. In fact, the last time she could remember having the flu that bad was back when she was in college. She'd gotten the flu, probably because she'd spent a week pulling all-nighters to cram for finals at the end of her sophomore year. Back then, she wasn't as good about taking care of herself, and the long hours had taken their toll. She'd ended up with a nasty case of the flu, and it was only made worse when she'd gone to classes anyway to take her exams. That time, she'd ended up sick for about a week. At least this time, she hadn't gotten the stomach flu, too . . .

She made a face. Yep, that would have definitely been worse. Feverish and puking? If that had been the case, would Evan have wanted to stay with her then? For some reason, she thought that he probably would have, though he might not have been trying to joke with her today about being sick. Maybe.

Reaching over, Valerie touched the control panel built into the side of the tub. The radio came to life, and she smiled to herself as the sounds of one of Evan's older songs filled the air. The first time she'd heard it was during a drive home from the airport. She'd gone to pick up Marvin, and the song had come on the radio. Marvin had given that little twitter of a laugh as he'd listened to the lyrics, and Valerie just shook her head. This particular song wasn't quite as nasty as most of his others—it was clean enough to play on the radio, after all, but there was no doubt about the fact that it was completely and utterly about having sex, either.

That was the thing, wasn't it? As bad as Evan's lyrics tended to be, the songs were all absolutely brilliant. That was the reason he was so popular. The man constantly reinvented himself with every single album—a tough thing to do, really. None of his songs were like anything he'd done before; he didn't run the risk of falling into the cookie-cutter sounds that so many others did. There were many times when Valerie heard song after song from artists that could have been a re-do of everything they had done before. Evan did not fall into that trap. He never did. She supposed that it wasn't exactly intentional or even something he'd set out to do. No, it was more that, once he'd done something, he was ready to move on, to try something else. Always pushing the envelope, whether lyrically or instrumentally, he just never, ever was satisfied to do an all right job. He had to excel; he had to surprise. He had to shock.

The phone rang, and Valerie pressed the button, switching the radio to the speaker phone. She half expected it to be Evan. It wasn't. "Hello?"

"Hey, sweetie! Feeling better?"

Smiling wanly as Madison's warm voice greeted her, Valerie sighed. "Yes, I am," she stated.

"Good! Did you send Evan home to get cleaned up?"

"Yes," Valerie replied with a laugh.

Madison giggled. "He looked pretty rough when I dropped off some clothes for him a couple days ago. I hope he burned the ones he was wearing," she went on. "Ugh . . ."

"That bad?"

"Mhmm . . . But that aside, I'm glad you're feeling better. Evan said your fever was pretty high."

"Probably," she said. She wasn't sure how bad it had been, but, given that a lot of things about those four days were still pretty hazy in her mind, she gathered that it had to have been bad enough.

"You know, when you're feeling up to it, you need to stop in the spa. Nothing like a day of pampering to get you back on your feet after you've been sick, right? My treat."

Valerie smiled. "You don't have to treat," she insisted. "But that does sound good. Maybe this weekend . . ."

"I'll book you a spot," Madison assured her. "I hate to ask since you've been so out of it, but I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor?"

"Sure, anything."

Madison drew a deep breath. "I was wondering if you would mind if I borrowed that cute little gray skirt?   The leather one?"

Valerie blinked, trying to remember exactly what skirt Madison was talking about, and then she nodded. "Oh, yeah, of course."

"You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. Do you want to borrow the blouse that goes with it?"

"That's okay. I just got an absolutely adorable blouse, but I couldn't find the right skirt."

"Big date?" Valerie couldn't resist asking.

" _Ma-a-aybe_ ," Madison drawled mysteriously. "I'll come by later to pick it up then."

"Okay," Valerie said. "I think I'm going to take a nap, but Evan said he was coming over again, so it shouldn't be a problem."

"Thank you, V! You're a doll! Love you bunches!"

Valerie laughed. "You, too," she replied.

The call ended, and the radio picked up again. With a sigh, Valerie sat up. As much as she'd love to soak longer, she could feel drowsiness closing in on her fast, and the last thing she wanted to do was to fall asleep in the tub. Besides, Evan had already changed the sheets and opened the window to air out the room, and the lure of fresh linen was entirely too hard to ignore.

She sang along to the song that was playing as she reached for a thick, fluffy towel. In her haste to get into the shower, she must've forgotten to grab her bathrobe. She vaguely remembered putting it on the other day when she'd tried to shower, and she wasn't entirely sure where it was, but she figured it might well be in the laundry room. Not a big deal—at least the apartment was still warmer than normal, even if she did half-dread the cooler air outside the bathroom . . .

The song, 'V' started up, and Valerie giggled to herself. She wasn't entirely sure why it amused her as much as it did, but she couldn't deny that she really did find the song to be entirely too catchy. "' _V, V, she's comin' for me_ . . . _She's screaming my name_ . . . _She's down on her knees_ . . .'" she sang along as she reached for the door handle and gave it a turn, as she patted her throat with the towel. " _'Closet bad . . . girl_ . . .'"

The words to the song trailed off as her eyes flared wide, as a gasp slipped from her lips.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _I_** **_Try_** ' _by_ _Macy_ _Gray_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1999_ _release_ , **_On_** **_How_** **_Life_** **_Is_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Macy_ _Gray_ , _Jeremy_ _Ruzumna_ , _Jinsoo_ _Lim_ , _David_ _Wilder_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Uh oh_ …


	199. 198: Lust

' _I know you wanna stay, but I think that you should go_...  
' _Cuz you've got nothing to say, you just sit there on your phone_ …  
' _I tried not to give in, but temptation has me lost_ …  
' _So I will do my best to get, get, get, get, get you off_ …'

 

-' _Tickets'_ by Maroon 5.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"' _V, V, she's comin' for me_ . . .  
' _She's screaming my name_ . . .  
' _She's down on her knees_ . . .  
' _She's a closet bad girl_ . . .  
' _Bitch of my dreams_ . . .  
' _An angel's smile_ . . .  
' _And a shaved pussy_ . . .  
' _You just have to love her_ . . .  
' _Baby darling bitch V_ . . .'"

 

 

' _What the . . .? She's . . . singing . . .?_ '

He leaned in closer, turning his head, pressing his ear against the door as a rather stupid grin quirked his lips. He couldn't help it. She was . . . singing, and not just any song, but ' _V_ ' . . .

The door suddenly opened, moist air flowing out of the bathroom, the scent of lavender, of chamomile, of eucalyptus hitting him in the face. The smile on his lips faded away, his eyes widening as the sight of her came crashing down on him. Completely naked, holding a towel in front of her, as though it would provide some kind of defense, she gasped as the words of the song died away, as her gaze widened, as the droplets of water from her bath clung to her skin, as a few rivulets trailed from her hair, coursing down her body.

Gooseflesh erupted on her arms, on her breasts, and she remained silent, nostrils flaring, quaking, quivering. In the space of a moment, she captured him in her simple gaze, in the unabashed pink that quickly infused her skin.

Evan opened his mouth—it was suddenly bone-dry—choking on the words that just wouldn't form. A visceral growl escaped him as he reached out, as he grasped her arms, dragging her against him, unmindful of how rough he might be, kissing her hard as so many months of unrequited passion rose up to devour him.

She didn't fight him, didn't offer any kind of resistance at all. Lips opening to him, hands impatiently shoving up under his shirt, searing his flesh with her touch, she gasped softly, shuddered violently, whispered his name as he relinquished his hold on her lips, dropping his mouth to her throat.

It wasn't nearly enough. As hungry as he was, as voracious as he was, the only thought in his mind was that he needed more: more of the silk of her skin, as warm as velvet, burning under his touch, but the fever was lust, a passion so overpowering . . .

Yanking at his shirt, she uttered a half-whimper, a half-growl. Caught on his elbows, she couldn't remove it, and a base instinct made him release her long enough for her to shove the shirt off. Arms locking around her once more, the burn of her flesh against his, he couldn't stand it, mind reeling, caged so tightly between want and need.

Licking the residual moisture from her body as he dropped to his knees, running fangs precariously over her skin before closing his mouth over a rosy nipple, he growled low in his throat—a vicious sound—as shivers erupted in goose flesh, as her stunted breathing grew more shallow, more heady, more wanton. She uttered a plaintive moan, hands sinking deep in his hair, holding him close, closer, as she rocked against him, begging, pleading . . .

Clinging to him, her body as pliable as a rag doll, she arched against him, silently begging him to touch her, willing him to understand. The burning under her skin raged ever higher, the scent of her desire closing in around him, goading him further. Suckling his way back and forth between the rise of her breasts, he issued another growl—a sound of pride, of a man lost in the realm of satisfying his mate . . .

His mate . . .

His world . . .

Valerie . . .

V . . .

Her body writhed against his, unconsciously seeking more, so much more. Straddling his lap, she undulated her hips, movements growing more wild as his body answered hers. The fabric of his jeans chafed at him, the barrier that separated him from what he wanted was nearly unbearable. He hurt— _ached_ —but he couldn't help savoring the pain as he strained against the confines of his clothing.

She scooted off his lap as he rose to his knees once more, as he pushed himself to his feet again, breaking the contact of his lips, grasping her breast as his mouth returned to hers, tasting the sweetness of her, catching her sighs, her harsh breaths. Every nerve in his body was on fire, searing a path to his brain that was made up of nothing more than tactile sensation, of primitive need . . .

Her hands trembled as she tugged on his jeans, deft fingers unfastening them, shoving at them impatiently. Somehow, he managed to kick them off. A moment later, her hands wrapped around him, pumping him greedily as his body stiffened even more, as he threw his head back, unleashing a growl that he just couldn't restrain.

He lifted her off her feet, set her back onto the counter. She let go of him as he dropped to his knees, as he pushed her knees apart seconds before he buried his tongue deep inside her. A strangled cry, a smothered gasp, she collapsed back against the mirror, locking her legs around his neck, drawing him in closer, deeper . . .

Reveling in the overwhelming scent of her, flicking his tongue over the part of her that he craved most, he closed his lips over the tiniest bit of her as every muscle in her body tensed, as his name, ragged and harsh, spilled from her. Sucking gently as he plunged a finger into her, she rocked against him, moaning, panting, keening as her passion spiraled out of control.

Moving on instinct, fighting to control the unfurling need to take her, to make her his, he savored her, devoured her, his own lust tempered slightly by the hunger in her every movement. Pleasure claimed her time and again, yet it wasn't enough—not nearly enough.

Pushing against him, she nearly tumbled off the counter. He caught her, steadied her, his fingers drenched in her. She groaned softly, shoved him back, uttered a moan of protest as she purposefully maneuvered her hips, as his finger slipped out of her. Her body slid over his, her knees on either side of his head. " _Fuck!_ " he choked out as the searing heat of her mouth slid over him, taking in as much of him as she could. Evan reached up, grasped her hips, yanked her down, only to bury his tongue in her once more. She tore her mouth away from him, cried out as the steady rhythm of the song on the radio seemed to take over her body, as she ground her hips against his voracious mouth.

Dropping her lips over him again, she sucked at him greedily, hungrily, the suction of her mouth breaking, only to take hold again. He could feel the churning of a powerful orgasm stirring deep within, and he pushed her away before he came completely undone.

In one fluid motion, he had her pinned to the floor, her legs locking around his hips before he could move himself into position. "P-Please," she whispered, arching her back, thrusting her breasts upward, as though she were begging for his touch.

He fell forward, hands grasping her breasts as the head of his cock slid between the slick folds of her pussy . . .

"Evan? Evan! What the hell are you doing?"

Evan growled, rearing back, swinging an arm wildly at the interruption. A hand caught his wrist, a second hand closing over it, tugging hard. He jerked back, pinning the intruder with a fierce glower, ready to fight if he had to—ready to destroy anyone who would dare to come between him and his mate . . .

" _Stop it!_ You don't even have a condom!"

The sound of those words snapped him out of his stupor, and he blinked in sudden confusion as Madison's face swam in and out of focus.

" _F . . . Fuck_ . . ." he hissed, shoving himself off of Valerie. She didn't even seem to realize that Madison was there for a moment, and Evan grimaced, grabbing his jeans as he shoved Madison aside, as he stumbled out of the bathroom. Mind reeling, unable to make any sense at all of just what had happened, he stopped abruptly, caught himself on the back of a chair, dragging in lungful after lungful of shattered breaths as he struggled for a semblance of control. Somewhere in his jumbled brain, he heard the sound of feet darting away, of a door slamming in the distance. Squeezing his eyes closed, he just couldn't . . . just couldn't understand . . .

"What the hell were you doing?"

Grimacing at the reproach in Madison's voice, Evan ground his teeth together to keep himself from lashing out at her. "I . . . I don't . . . know," he rasped out, rubbing a tired hand over his face.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Madison demanded, pulling his hand away so that she could see his face.

"I mean, _I—don't—fucking—know!_ " he snapped, pushing away from the chair, pinning Madison with a fierce glower. Then, as though all of the anger had been spent in his outburst, he sighed, shoulders slumping, and his gaze dropped to the floor. "I . . . I don't know," he whispered.

Madison sighed, rubbing her arms despite the warmth of the apartment. "So she's broken up with Marvin? Finally?" she suddenly asked, her tone much gentler than it had been.

Evan grimaced but didn't answer. What . . . What was he doing? If Madison hadn't interrupted when she did . . . He couldn't finish that thought, even to himself . . .

Sucking in a sharp breath, Madison paced across the floor and back again. "So . . . She's still engaged? Evan—"

"Spare me the lecture, Maddy," he interrupted, his tone more angry than he meant for it to be, but the anger was directed at himself, at the inability to control himself. "I wasn't . . . That wasn't . . ."

"Even so . . ."

He sighed, shrugging as though it was the only thing that he could do. Confusion washed over him in harsh waves, digging at his soul. Was he really going to do that? Would he really have gone so far? Grimacing inwardly, he shook his head. Yeah . . . Yeah, he would have . . . if Madison hadn't interfered . . . "She . . . she said she loves me," he said, uttering out loud the words that he was trying to tell himself. He didn't really know who he was trying to make excuses to . . . and what did it matter, either way?

"She did?" Madison asked incredulously. "She really did?"

"She did," he muttered, but shook his head. "I mean, she was running a fever, but she . . . she said it. She _meant_ it . . ." He winced. ' _She . . . she meant it; I_ know _she did . . . I_ think _she did . . . Didn't she . . .?_ '

Madison stared at him for several moments. "Of course she meant it," she said, as though it was a foregone conclusion. "But Evan—"

"But _what?_ "

"Does she know anything? Have you _told_ her anything?"

"About what?" he growled, yanking on his jeans.

"About _you_ ," she replied calmly. "About who you are— _what_ you are."

"Look, I wasn't planning on . . . on any of that," he insisted, his patience wearing thin once more as he waved a hand toward the bathroom. "That wasn't . . . That wasn't supposed to happen!"

"Then you'd better make sure it doesn't happen again, Evan—at least, not until it's the right time! You can't just go around doing what you were doing! You didn't even have a condom, and if I hadn't walked in when I did—"

"You think I don't know that?" he growled. "It wasn't supposed to happen!"

"Damn right, it wasn't supposed to!" she growled back. Drawing a deep breath, she shook her head slowly, as though she were trying to control her temper. "Go home, Evan," she finally said. "Go home and clear your head."

He wanted to argue with her. He wanted to go to Valerie, to try to fix what had just happened. He started to turn, but the sight of the hallway, of the closed door—Valerie's door—stopped him. Somehow, the distance that was only feet felt like so much more . . .

"Go home," Madison said once more. He started when she reached out to rub his back. "I'll talk to her. Just go home, okay?"

He stared at her for a long moment, wishing that he could find the words to argue with her. But he couldn't, could he? Couldn't find the words to gainsay her . . . Couldn't find the words to say to Valerie, to even begin to make everything between them okay again.

"T . . . Tell her that I'm sorry?" Evan asked, his voice sounding tired, stupid to his own ears.

Madison nodded. "You don't have to be sorry," she told him. "I would guess that it was as much her fault as it was yours."

Evan didn't believe that for a minute, but he didn't argue with Madison, either. There wasn't much to say, was there? And he didn't have to be brilliant to know that he'd just messed up everything—everything.   Just what would Valerie say to him the next time they saw each other? Or would she try to avoid him, try to push him out of her life like she had before? Because he really wasn't stupid enough to think that it would change anything for the better. The bottom line of it was that, even if she did love him, she was scared shitless of him on some level, too . . .

Stopping with his hand on the door knob, Evan didn't turn to face Madison when he paused. "Maddy?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't be too hard on her, okay? I . . . Well, it was my fault, not hers."

"I'm not going to be," she assured him. "I promise."

Evan considered that for a moment. Then he nodded and slipped out the door.

 

 

- ** _Madison_** -

 

 

Madison watched the door close behind Evan, scowling thoughtfully as she tried to make sense of it all. She'd stopped over to pick up that skirt and let herself in when no one answered the door, and she probably wouldn't have said a thing, likely would have just turned around and let herself back out again if . . .

Just what was he thinking? Madison sighed and slowly shook her head. No, that wasn't the right question. He wasn't thinking at all. When did he ever when it came to Valerie? He just did whatever it was his heart told him to do.

That wasn't the problem, though; not by a long shot. The real problem was very, very different, wasn't it? And Madison . . . "Damn," she muttered, turning on her heel, stalking down the hallway to get some long-overdue answers.

Valerie didn't answer, and Madison opened the door.

Huddled on the edge of her bed, securely tucked into the copious folds of a pale pink robe, bedraggled hair hanging in clumps around her, she looked . . . lost, didn't she? Lost and confused and shocked . . .

"Valerie," she said softly, unsure whether or not the woman even realized that she'd entered the room at all. "Valerie, I think we need to talk."

A barely perceptible nod—just once.

"I want to ask you," she went on, pushing aside the stab of pity in the hopes of getting some answers. "Just what's going on? Between you and Evan . . .?"

Valerie didn't seem to have heard her, and for a moment, Madison really thought that maybe she hadn't. Then she sighed—no, that wasn't quite right. It was more of a choked sob . . . "I . . . I don't know," she replied, her voice barely audible in the silence.

Madison frowned. She really _didn't_ know, did she? "Yeah, well, do you know what it looks like to me?" she asked, unable to shove aside the memory of them, of what she'd found when she'd arrived . . . It wasn't what they were doing as much as the implications that went along with it—things that Evan would have regretted, things that Valerie would have never forgiven him for when all was said and done . . . and the underlying knowledge as glaring as the sun: it was already too late for Evan, wasn't it? Already too late . . . already too far gone, and there was no hope for him: no hope to bring him back . . . "You're using him, Valerie, just like everyone else ever has. You're using him for whatever you get from him, and isn't that convenient for you?"

Valerie gasped softly, her head jerking up, her eyes wide. Shaking her head, she tried to refute Madison's words. "I . . . No, I . . ."

"Aren't you?" she challenged, barely able to contain the anger in her tone. Too many memories of Evan, of spending hours upon end, hanging out, listening to him play the guitar, laughing as he told her everything he ever wanted to do—and the unsettling suspicion that things had somehow spiraled well out of anyone's control . . .

Valerie shook her head, but it seemed more like a feeble attempt to placate Madison's anger than an actual argument to the contrary. "But I . . ." She paused, swallowed hard. "Evan means the world to me . . ."

"Oh? So you've dumped ol' Marvin, have you?"

Valerie blinked, her gaze slowly shifting to meet Madison's as what little color she'd had in her skin leeched away in an instant. "M-Marvin?" she echoed almost dumbly, as though she couldn't even remember who that was. Then she quickly shook her head, her gaze skittering away. "N-No . . . Marvin and I . . ."

"Marvin and you, what?" Madison challenged. "You're going to get married? You're going to live happily ever after—the image of everything that you think is safe? Reliable? Don't make me laugh!"

Recoiling at the vehemence in Madison's voice, Valerie seemed to be struggling to find any shred of truth to cling to. "Marvin—"

"Oh, fuck that little peckerhead," Madison snarled, stomping over to stand before Valerie. "What about Evan?"

"Evan . . . Evan and I are . . . are friends," she murmured lamely, wincing, knowing just how pathetic she really sounded. Oh, maybe she was confused, and maybe it was something she hadn't wanted to think about, but enough was enough, wasn't it? And didn't Evan deserve to be a consideration to her, after all . . .?

"Friends?" Madison scoffed, refusing to let Valerie off the hook: not this time. "Okay, I'll buy that. I mean, you talk to him how many times a day? You see him every day, too, don't you? When's the last time you had to go a whole day without at least hearing his voice?"

Rubbing at her forehead, Valerie couldn't do a thing, could only look a little more confused, a little more lost, a little more pathetic.

Madison wasn't about to let it go. It was too late for that, wasn't it? "Let me ask you something, V. When you wake up in the morning, before you even open your eyes, what do you think about? _Who_ do you think about? Do you wonder if Marvin's going to call you? To tell you good morning? To tell you to have a good day at work?" Valerie uttered a sharp little groan, a piteous sound. Was she trying to refute Madison's questions in her mind? Or was she trying her damndest not to ask herself anything at all . . .? "Or do you think of Evan? Do you reach for your phone to see if he texted you in the middle of the night? Do you dial his number before you bother to get out of bed? You do, don't you? So ask yourself, V, do you love him like you told him you did?"

Valerie blinked at Madison's abrupt question, shaking her head as the confusion broke wide. Opening and closing her mouth a few times, trying in vain to figure out just what to say . . . Madison didn't know exactly what was said, but Evan had told her that Valerie had admitted as much. If she denied saying any such thing . . . Well, Madison wasn't sure how she'd deal with that, but suddenly, Valerie's eyes opened wide, a terrified kind of wonder unmistakable in her every movement. If she had forgotten saying that to Evan, it was obvious to Madison that she now remembered. Still, she tried to say something—anything—but the words wouldn't come, and maybe that was better, anyway . . .

"If you love him, then for God's sake, stop this!" Madison went on, gritting her teeth in an effort to keep from reaching out, from grabbing hold of Valerie, to keep from shaking some sense into the woman. "Don't you see what you're doing? Keeping Marvin on the line while you're stringing Evan along? How fair is that, V? How fair is that to either of them? I'm not just talking about Evan, but just how fair is that to Marvin, too?"

"E-Evan . . ." Valerie murmured, burying her face in her hands. "I-I . . . I wasn't . . . That's not what I . . ." Letting her hands fall into her lap, her shoulders slumped, she looked thoroughly defeated, and for a moment—only for a moment—Madison nearly relented. But the memory of the expression on Evan's face—that pain, that confusion—was enough to bring her irritation rushing back to the fore. "Marvin . . ."

"I swear to God, if you start touting Marvin's saint-like qualities, I think I'm going to puke," Madison shot back. "He's reliable, right? Because you don't rely on him for shit! And dependable? Because you don't have to depend on him, either! The bottom line is that he's safe for you, isn't he? He's safe for you because he's nothing to you, and you know it! You're _safe_ with that little ass because you don't love him, so how in the _hell_ can he hurt you when you don't even love him?"

She sucked in a sharp breath, drew back with a wince like she'd just been struck. The deadly accuracy of Madison's words hit her hard. "That . . . that isn't true," she argued, but her voice was too feeble, too painfully pathetic . . . She was grasping wildly at straws, fighting to hang on to the final vestiges of a transient illusion of what she thought that she needed . . .

"You love Evan; that's the truth, isn't it? When you said that to him, you meant it, didn't you? Why can't you admit it now?"

Slowly, so slowly, Valerie's eyes rose, met Madison's, and the fear—the overwhelming fear, the rising hysteria—was hard to stomach. Madison didn't really know why Valerie was so frightened, but she had the feeling that those feelings might just be enough to convince Valerie that she really didn't dare take the chance with Evan, after all. "I . . . I . . ."

Plopping down beside Valerie, Madison grasped her shoulders firmly, forced Valerie to look her in the eyes.   Holding onto her, she gave her a little shake, willing her to snap out of the shocked stupor that she'd been hiding in all along. "Take that chance, can't you?" she begged. "You know him, right? Don't you know that he's worth the risk? Can't you try to believe in him? He's not like other men! If he says he loves you, he means it!"

Brow furrowing, Valerie's irritation spiked, and she knocked Madison's hands away. "I know he means it . . . now, anyway," she blurted, indignant color finally flooding into her cheeks. "He _thinks_ he does, and . . . and I'm sure that he does . . ." Her anger seemed to drain away as quickly as it had come, and she sighed, turning away, rubbing her face once more in an infinitely weary kind of way. "For now," she muttered, her voice muffled by her hands. "A . . . A week? A month? Maybe a couple years? And then . . . And then, what, Maddy? What then . . .?"

Heaving a sigh of her own, Madison frowned. "If he says that he loves you, he means it," she stated once more. "He's not lying about it."

"I don't think he is," Valerie agreed slowly, brokenly. "But you know as well as I do, Maddy, things like that? They never last. Just because he feels that way today doesn't mean he will still feel that way tomorrow."

"Of course he will," Madison insisted.

"How do you know that?"

"Because he's—" Cutting herself off abruptly, Madison sighed. As much as she might want to tell her, it wasn't her place . . . "Because I know him," she said instead, "and you should, too."

That did nothing to reassure Valerie. If anything, she looked even more distressed than she had before.

Madison shook her head. "Okay, fine, but you know, you can't keep doing this to them or to yourself. It's not fair."

Uttering a half-sob, Valerie dropped her face into her hands again. She looked so lost, so confused, and Madison didn't doubt for a moment that she really had no idea just how things had spiraled out of control.

With another long sigh, Madison reached over, tugged Valerie's hands away from her face gently. "Listen, V," she said, her tone much gentler than it had been so far, "you have to make a choice, you know. You can't let this go on. It's not fair to Evan or Marvin . . . and it's not fair to you."

Valerie considered what Madison had said for a moment, but the confusion only seemed to worsen. "Wh . . . What do I do?" she whispered, her eyes scanning Madison's face for an answer.

Madison shook her head, wishing in vain that she could make the decision for her because if she could . . . "Go there, Valerie," she finally said. "Go to Marvin, look him in the eye, and be honest with yourself. Ask yourself if that's the man you really want to spend the rest of your life with, and if he's not, then end it. If he is . . ." Madison grimaced inwardly. Yes, she was positive that Valerie really was in love with Evan, but . . . but she wasn't entirely sure that Valerie really had it in her to admit it to herself. Valerie was stubborn, wasn't she? And if anyone could convince herself that she would rather have something that she viewed as secure over taking that chance on something that could be wonderful, Madison had very little doubt that Valerie could do that, too . . . and that was the conclusion that scared Madison the most.

Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Madison plunged on. "If you do decide that you want to marry Marvin after all, then I want you to promise me— _swear to me_ —that you'll never, ever see Evan again."

Valerie looked stunned by Madison's request. "Never . . .? But . . ."

Madison couldn't back down. "No, V, it's only fair. Whether you want to believe it or not, Evan is in love with you, but if you still intend to marry Marvin, then you need to let him go because all you're doing is stringing him along, giving him hope when you have no intention of even considering that he might be right for you, after all. So, no . . . you go get on a plane, look Marvin in the eye, and make your choice. What you're doing now . . . It can't go on, and you know it."

Valerie winced, though she seemed to be considering Madison's words. In the end, she nodded. "O . . . Okay," she said, her voice raw, rough with emotion. "Y . . . You're right. I . . . I will . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Tickets_** ' _by_ _Maroon_ _5_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2012_ _release_ , **_Overexposed_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Michael_ _Madden,_ _James_ _Valentine,_ _and_ _Adam_ _Levine_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Madison_** :  
>  _So what will she choose …?_


	200. 199: Confrontations

' _I wish the best of everything for you_...  
' _I hope you know that honestly I do_ …  
' _How long can you run, turn your back on everyone_ …?  
' _Just let me know when you're tired of being alone_ …'

 

-' _Wish'_ by Lifehouse.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

" _Don't you see what you're doing? Keeping Marvin on the line while you're stringing Evan along? How fair is that, V? How fair is that to either of them? I'm not just talking about Evan, but just how fair is that to Marvin, too?_ "

Staring out the window at the darkened, moonless sky, Valerie swallowed hard, hearing those words echo through her head for the millionth time since they'd been uttered. It didn't seem to matter how hard she tried to block them from her mind, they wouldn't go away, and the ugly feeling that had exploded inside her when she'd come to her senses hadn't waned. No, it was growing larger, more ominous by the moment. So unbearable, so harsh . . . and so very true . . .

It didn't matter what she tried to tell herself: how many times she tried to convince herself that she didn't realize, that she hadn't known. The truth of it all was too blunt, too painful, and far too hard to ignore. The path to hell was paved with good intentions, right? And weren't her intentions always above reproach? Laughable, wasn't it? Laughable and a little pathetic . . .

"Would you care for something to drink?"

Valerie blinked and slowly glanced at the smiling flight attendant. For some reason, the slight woman's bright expression only seemed to add to the throbbing ache that had settled over Valerie's very being, and she couldn't even summon a token show of appreciation for the feigned kindness of a stranger's smile. It was her job, after all—smile at the people she would never remember after the plane emptied—just as it was Valerie's job to stand in front of a jury, to argue the innocence of the accused while she stood alone, dirtier than the rest of the human race combined . . . "Water, please," she replied before shifting her gaze out the window once more.

And as much as she might want to try to defend herself, at least in her own mind, she couldn't, could she? There wasn't a defense, and she knew it. If it was a case she was working, she'd advise herself to just plead guilty and throw herself upon the mercy of the court.

If only it were that simple, but nothing was anymore—not since that day when _he_ had first waltzed into her office . . .

She couldn't see a thing except the blurry fog of the clouds that they were passing through, and that was just fine, too, wasn't it? It seemed somehow befitting of her mood, of the fluffiness of oblivion that she'd struggled for so long to maintain, and yet, hadn't she known on some level that it was starting to wear thin? Hadn't she started to notice little things—silly things, stupid things—that had whispered to her that nothing was as it should have been? And in true Valerie fashion, she'd managed to ignore those warnings, too, telling herself that maybe she was better off, not knowing.

Ignorance was the last refuge of the damned, wasn't it . . .?

Calling the airlines, booking a last-minute flight, had taken her mind off things, at least for a transient moment. She hadn't bothered to pack a bag—she might have, had she been thinking clearly. Blame it on having just been sick for days on end, already tired to the bone, and all she really wanted was to go to sleep, to retreat into slumber so she didn't have to think, didn't have to face the ugliness of her own actions . . . Maybe the oversight was due to the words swirling around in her head, but what did it matter when those things she'd been trying to avoid were closing in on her with a vengeance?

" _If you love him, then for God's sake, stop this! Don't you see what you're doing? Keeping Marvin on the line while you're stringing Evan along, too? How fair is that, V? How fair is that to_ either _of them? I'm not just talking about Evan, but just how fair is that to Marvin, too?_ "

Grinding her teeth together to hold back the sob that swelled up in her throat, as the harsh truth of Madison's assessment hit her once more, Valerie nearly knocked over the small plastic cup that the attendant had left on the fold-out table when she reached to pick it up. Hands shaking, it took both to bring the flimsy cup to her lips, and she drained it in one gulp, wishing absently that it was something stronger, thankful to her core that it was not. Those whispers couldn't be ignored any more, and she knew that, too. They were angry, bitter that she had ignored the warnings, and in the process, she'd only succeeded in hurting those she had never intended to hurt . . . She . . . She hadn't meant to do any such thing; of course not, and yet . . . Yet she had, hadn't she? Somewhere along the line, the barrier between friends and something more had blurred, and she hadn't seen it—hadn't _wanted_ to see it, and maybe . . .

' _But . . . But Evan_ . . .'

There was just something about that man, something she'd realized long ago, something that could be and was truly dangerous to her—every single thing she'd ever feared, that was what he was, all tied up in a pretty package with a bright ribbon bow. Hadn't she defended enough of his peers—those who lived in excess and didn't know how to stop or even slow down? She'd seen the devastation that they could leave in their wakes: the broken families that they left behind when they found something shinier . . . The unhappiness that led to addictions and vices . . . and those things scared her. Maybe he was different. She knew that; of course she did. But when the dust settled and everything was all said and done, how different was different, anyway? When things started to fall apart, would she, like so many others, fall into those traps . . .? The one left clinging to something that took two to build when the other one had already stepped away, and his footsteps only grew fainter in her ears . . .?

The truth of it all was that she really didn't doubt Evan when he said that he loved her. He meant what he said, at least, for now. No, the real question was for how long? How long was his idea of forever? And maybe he meant what he said when he told her that he always would love her—now, anyway. Was it ever anyone's fault, really, when the love just kind of faded away? And no, she couldn't blame him when and if that happened, and yet, where would that really leave her? What would it leave her? Her pride? Her memories? Some kind of misplaced sense of accomplishment? Or . . . Stifling a harsh gasp, she struggled to breathe against the pain that roiled up inside her, unexpected, at the very thought . . . How empty would her life be when he finally decided to walk away?

How . . . How long . . .? Was that even the right question?

' _No_ ,' she realized, squeezing her eyes closed, wishing in vain that someone would tell her the answers she needed, that someone else could dictate to her what she ought to do, to take the decisions away from her so that all that was left was to pick up the pieces and move on, but even when she listened hard, there were no voices now: just a hollowness, an emptiness, a confusion so real and so consuming that it was nearly a palpable thing.

Maybe Marvin wasn't the most exciting man in the world. Maybe she didn't really love him like she . . . Well, like she _ought_ to, but in a world that constantly shifted around her, wasn't he the one constant that she'd always been able to count on? Wasn't he the one who offered her a sense of stability that she so desperately needed? She couldn't remember a time when she'd ever felt truly secure. Somehow, the years of being shuffled from home to home and from family to family had borne in her the innate fear, the terror, and, yes, the loathing of any transient situation. Evan, with his rockstar swagger and his million-dollar looks . . . Marvin, who would never be anyone's idea of a dream man, but . . .

She flinched at the viciousness of her own thoughts. She hated that part of herself, didn't she? The part that simply could not be optimistic. After a lifetime of being let down, time and again, of being wrong and finding that the things that she thought would make her happy just weren't the things that ever could, she'd grown bitter and cynical, but those voices in her head: the ones that whispered warning after warning . . . She couldn't silence them, after all, could she . . .?

" _You're using him, Valerie, just like everyone else ever has. You're using him for whatever you get from him, and isn't that convenient for you?_ "

Was she? Was she really? She hadn't tried to do any such thing. That never had been her intention. Did that matter, though? In the stillness of the silence that isolated her from everything else, even as the questions whipped around her head, threatening to overwhelm her, she knew in her heart that it didn't mean a damn thing. No matter what she'd tried to do—what she thought she'd done—there were no real answers, only accusations, only remorse as she tried desperately not to think, not to wonder, and not to contemplate what might have been.

As much as she wanted to think that she wasn't using Evan, was that really how everything had played out? And yes, she'd told him that she loved him. She hadn't remembered it right away—too many things that she thought she remembered while she was feverish just didn't seem real while other things—impossible things—had seemed just a little too vivid. The problem was, she wasn't even sure herself what that meant; not really. Maybe that was the real problem. She had heard of that elusive thing, and somehow, she'd convinced herself on some level that real love—true love—was only something that men wrote songs about, that poets espoused in flowery prose, that only the fools truly believed in . . . What was it, this 'love' . . .? But she _had_ said it, and Evan . . . ' _God, what must he think . . .?_ '

But she knew what he thought, didn't she? Ever the optimist, he was, and to that end, she knew . . . What she didn't know was whether she was running away from him or really searching for the answers that she owed a great many people, herself included. She hadn't expected to see him, standing there in the doorway when she opened the bathroom door, hadn't been capable of stopping him, even if she wanted to—but she hadn't wanted to, had she? She'd wanted him to do what he did, and more . . . She'd wanted him so badly that nothing else in the world had mattered or even occurred to her in those moments . . . And just what did that mean? Lust . . .? Need . . .? Or . . .

But how could it be? How could it possibly be? Hadn't she been so very careful? She'd known his game all along, and she'd fought against it, right? She'd known, and yet, she'd ignored all those warnings. Or maybe she simply didn't want to listen. She wasn't kidding before when she'd thought that there was something absolutely magnetic about him, and she, too, had been drawn to him, just like every other woman he'd ever met.

And that was the worst of it, wasn't it? She was a fool—fifty times the fool. As earnest as he might be, there were still things that were simply out of his control. The whole world wanted him, and she lived in that world, too, didn't she?

Common sense told her that she needed the things that Evan couldn't guarantee, no matter how good his intentions were, no matter how hard he might try . . . But Marvin . . .

The fasten seatbelts light blinked to life, and as if by rote, Valerie reached for the device. Somehow, the flight to Las Vegas hadn't seemed quite as long as it should have been, and yet, it felt like the longest ride of her life, too. The overwhelming sense of dread that she'd been able to keep at bay was growing heavier by the moment, thicker by the second. Just what was she afraid of? Or, more to the point, _who_ . . .?

The fleeting memories of a million moments—lost forever except for in the recesses of her mind—flickered to life, filtering through her hazy head faster than she could comprehend them all. A thousand smiles, laughter that filled every space in her brain . . . It was all Evan, just Evan . . .

" _Marvin and you, what? You're going to get married? You're going to live happily ever after—the image of everything that you think is safe? Reliable? Don't make me laugh!_ "

' _Yes_ ,' a voice in the back of her mind hissed. Angry, bitter, insistent—a voice she'd never been able to ignore . . . It was the one that had kept her moving forward for years, ever since she was a little girl, when she was lost and afraid and so far from home—the voice that had taught her how to blank her face, how to keep her thoughts and feelings from showing; taught her how to hide every single thing that was precious about her so that no one—no one—could see it—so that no one ever could take it from her. But Evan . . . She'd given that part of herself to him, bared her soul so that he could take a peek inside. Was it scarier that she'd allowed him to do that or that it hadn't really scared her at all at the time . . .? ' _Yes, it should have scared you. You_ gave _him the knife, didn't you . . .? And that's why he's the one_ . . . _The last thing you need is someone who can take your heart and crush it without a second thought. Haven't you already had enough disappointment? Haven't you?_ '

She knew that, too. Evan was the only person on earth who really could hurt her now, and she'd given him that power, and even if Madison could never understand, Valerie did only too well. She had no control of anything as a child; no one had listened to her pleas. Back then, she'd have rather been dirt poor and raised as white trash than to have been separated from her parents, and now? As the vortex of emotion kept rising in a spiraling gale, just what kind of control could she hope to have now?

The plane touched down, unnoticed as she struggled with the answers that still were well out of her reach. For once, the plane didn't have to wait as it taxied directly up to the terminal to disembark. She sat still, motionless, as the rest of the plane slowly emptied. The dread sense of foreboding was growing thicker, stronger, but she had no idea just why.

Blinking as she stepped out of the tunnel and into the bright airport concourse, Valerie veered off to the right, staring out the window at the tarmac, staring at the crew on the ground as they unloaded the cargo hold. Letting her temple fall against the glass, she let out a deep breath, indulging just for a moment in the welcoming cold of the pane. Her fever had returned at some point—slight, yes, but still there.

Almost as an afterthought, she dug her phone from her pocket and turned it on. One voicemail, and she almost smiled, albeit a bit sadly. Did she even have to call to see who it was? Somehow, she knew . . .

"Hey, V . . . Uh, i-it's me . . . Listen, about earlier? I wasn't trying to . . . to pressure you or anything, and I'm . . . I'm sorry . . ." A pause and a heavy sigh. "Just will you let me know you're okay?" Another deep breath, a hitch in his normally smooth voice. "I . . . I love you."

Valerie had to blink furiously as tears sprang into her eyes. After everything that had happened, and he . . . He was worried about her? Of course he was. He was just that way, wasn't he?

Still, she hesitated. If she talked to him, if she heard his voice directly . . . In the end, she opened her messages, typed in a few words that she hoped would suffice. ' _I'm fine. I just need to do a few things. We'll talk later_.'

' _Coward_ ,' her mind accused as she hit 'send'. She wasn't fine, was she? No, there was nothing at all 'fine' about her. Again, the overwhelming sense bore down on her: the feeling that nothing in the world would ever be 'fine' again. One way or another, some part of her was going to lose, and the only real question was which part it would ultimately be.

Pushing herself away from the window, she commanded her body to move, straight through the airport, straight past the long corridors that led to the main terminal, past the people milling around baggage claim, waiting impatiently for their precious suitcases, out the doors. As luck would have it, there was an empty taxi waiting, and, heaving a sigh of relief, she slipped into the blessed quiet and pulled the door closed. "North Brimmerton Hotel," she said before settling back against the worn vinyl seat. The driver said nothing as he pulled into the lane and started forward.

She didn't have to do it, did she? She didn't really have to look at Marvin to know what she'd always known. Right or wrong, he offered her something that Evan never had, never could, and it was the one thing that she just couldn't shake. As much as she might want to be with Evan, the uncertainty was too much for her to deal with, and it wasn't her pride or even a misplaced sense of loyalty that spoke to her. It was a deeper thing, a knowledge as sure as the sunrise, the sunset, the stars in the skies at night. If Evan grew tired of her, if he decided that he just didn't love her anymore . . . That would destroy her, no question. Whether it was in a week or a year or ten years, it didn't matter. When he invariably found someone more exciting, more appealing, when she was left at home alone for days or weeks or months on end . . . Just the thought of it was enough to make her feel as though a part of her was dying, as though a part of her was lost in a wallow of panic, of doubt. She couldn't always drop everything to run off with him, could she? And how many times would he be able to say no to the legions of girls who would do anything for just one night with the rockstar?

" _I swear to God, if you start touting Marvin's saint-like qualities, I think I'm going to puke . . . He's reliable, right? Because you don't rely on him for shit! And dependable? Because you don't have to depend on him, either! The bottom line is that he's safe for you, isn't he? He's safe for you because he's nothing to you, and you know it! You're_ safe _with that little ass because you don't love him, and how in the_ hell _can he hurt you when you don't even love him?_ "

Flinching at the ugly truth in Madison's derisive words, Valerie sighed. Maybe what she said was true—maybe Valerie knew on some level that Marvin couldn't hurt her, and maybe the reasons were as deadly accurate as Madison had said, but . . .

" _If you do decide that you want to marry Marvin after all, then I want you to promise me—_ swear to me _—that you'll never, ever see Evan again_."

A small sob welled up in her throat, and she had to swallow hard to force it back down. Could she . . . Could she really do that? To never see him again . . .? How . . .?

But she knew, too, that Madison was right. For whatever reason, Evan really _did_ think that he was in love with her, and she . . .

Shaking her head stubbornly, she just couldn't finish that sentence. As though saying the words, even to herself, would make everything too real, was too painful for her, and really, didn't Evan deserve that much? If she . . . If she acknowledged it, then what would that really make her, after all . . .? Didn't she owe Evan that? Owe him enough to not say those words again? Those words that could create or destroy her? Those words that could hurt him so much deeper than anything else she could ever say to him? And maybe one day, he'd understand . . .

Heaving a sigh, she swallowed hard. Who was she trying to kid? How in the hell would he ever understand when she couldn't understand anything, either?

The cab pulled to a stop in front of the modest hotel. Without bothering to count, Valerie tossed a few bills over the seat as she slipped out onto the curb. The driver hollered something at her—a word of thanks? She ignored him and took a moment, staring up at the hotel, wondering just what kind of reception was waiting for her.

' _Don't be stupid_ ,' she told herself brusquely, squaring her shoulders, making her feet carry her forward toward the doors. Marvin would be surprised to see her, sure, but in his own preoccupied way, he'd be glad she'd come. He was nothing if not completely predictable.

For some reason, that thought made her feel worse instead of better.

The man behind the desk who called out a pleasant greeting stood as she approached. Thinning hair, slightly old but neatly pressed white cotton shirt, blunt nails clean and pink as he reached over the counter to shake her hand, he quickly pushed up his black rimmed glasses as his smile widened.

"Hello. What can I do for you?" he asked pleasantly. The underlying anxiety in his tone—the desire to close the deal, maybe, reminded Valerie of Marvin. Maybe it was his hands . . .?

Brushing that thought aside, Valerie shook her head. "I'm here to see Marvin Pinkle. Could you tell me what room he's in?"

The man's smile faded as a somewhat skeptical expression flickered to life. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but it's our policy not to hand out that kind of information to just anyone. I can call his room, but I'm not sure if he'd in right now . . ."

Unreasonable irritation ignited in the pit of her stomach. After all, it wasn't like he knew that she was coming, so it wasn't his fault if he wasn't here. Still . . . Without missing a beat, she rattled off Marvin's credit card number. The man frowned, obviously not completely understanding what she was doing, and Valerie shook her head. "That was his credit card number," she said. "He used it to check in, right? I'm his fiancée, Valerie Denning. Would you like to see my driver's license?"

Suddenly, the man's eyes lit up in apparent understanding, and the used-car-salesman-smile returned. "Oh, I see! No, no, that won't be necessary. A surprise visit?" He laughed and winked at her, like they'd just shared some really great joke. "Well, I guess I could make an exception this once . . ." Tilting his head back as he peered through the bottom of his bifocal lenses, he checked the guest list on the computer terminal. In the lenses, Valerie could see the reflection of the screen. "Room 434 . . . That'd be up the elevator to the fourth floor, and turn right. Second door on the left, right next to the ice machine."

Forcing a tepid smile at best, Valerie nodded. "Thank you," she muttered as she turned away and headed for the elevator. Only after she'd stepped out of it did she sigh. If she had been thinking clearly, she should've asked for a key card while she was down there, just in case Marvin wasn't in. Oh well, she'd go back and get one if he wasn't . . .

But her footsteps slowed as she neared the door—the one with the black numbers, '434'. For some reason, her feet felt leaden, and she stumbled slightly, catching herself with a hand against the wall. That sense of foreboding that had stubbornly clung to her, ever since she'd left her apartment—maybe before that—seemed to grow and thicken around her like the impending sense of hopelessness with which one might approach the hangman . . .

" _Go to Marvin, look him in the eye, and be honest with yourself. Ask yourself if that's the man you really want to spend the rest of your life with, and if he's not, then end it. If he is_ . . ."

Madison's words seemed to fill her ears, making her cringe just for a moment; only for a moment. In her heart, she already knew her choice, already knew what she needed, even if it was totally at odds with what she felt. Madison was wrong. She didn't need to look Marvin in the eye to know, did she? All that really remained was just how she would possibly be able to say goodbye to Evan . . .

Raising her hand to knock on the door, she paused, swallowing down the immense gulf of absolute futility that she couldn't ignore. Never in her life had she ever felt so utterly alone, so miserable, so wretched, and even knowing that her choice was the best one she could make for herself did nothing to alleviate the overwhelming sense that nothing else in her lifetime would ever really matter; not after this . . .

The door suddenly opened, and Valerie stepped back as Marvin nearly ran straight into her, all neat and tidy and obviously on his way out. He stopped short and blinked as a reluctant little smile surfaced on his ruddy face. "Val!" he exclaimed, and the genuine warmth, the welcome in his tone, undid something deep inside her.

"M-Marvin," she whispered, her voice catching, her throat closing fast. "H-Hi . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Wish_** ' _by_ _Lifehouse_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _B-Side_ _of_ _a_ _2002_ _release_. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Jason_ _Wade_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _So where the hell is she …?_


	201. 200: Ugliness

' _You'll never find your gold on a sandy beach_...  
' _You'll never drill for oil on a city street_ …  
' _I know you're lookin' for a ruby in a mountain of rocks_ …  
' _But there ain't no Coupe de Ville_ …  
' _Hidin' at the bottom of a Crackerjack box_ …'

 

-' _Two out of Three ain't Bad'_ by Meatloaf.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Val! Hey! What are you doing here?"

Valerie blinked as she stared at Marvin, her brain slowing to a crawl.

" _Go to Marvin, look him in the eye, and be honest with yourself. Ask yourself if that's the man you really want to spend the rest of your life with, and if he's not, then end it. If he is_ . . ."

"Val . . .?"

Snapping out of her reverie, Valerie couldn't shake off those words as they echoed through her head. There he was, right in front of her, and all she could think was . . . "Oh, I . . . I . . ."

Marvin laughed and grabbed her hand to drag her into the room. "I'm so glad to see you!" he exclaimed, eyes glowing softly as he took a moment to look her up and down. "I was just getting ready for dinner—meeting Abe Renslow from UNLV? But I can wait for you to change, if you want. Is someone bringing up your suitcase?"

"Uh, no," she hurried to say, managing a wan quirk of her lips. "We . . . We need to talk."

"Oh, okay," he agreed. "We can do that on the way to the restaurant, if you want . . . Traffic in this town's just crazy this time of day. I took a shower and changed, but I tried to hurry since it took me about forty minutes to get over to the Regency Plaza yesterday, and that's not too far away."

Shaking her head slowly, Valerie tried to summon up the will to smile. "I-I don't want to go," she said, waving a hand to dismiss his invitation. "I've got a headache, and I think I'd rather just lie down a while."

Marvin's smile faded, only to be replaced by a concerned frown. "You do look a little peaked . . . I just thought it was jetlag . . ." Trailing off, he seemed to be contemplating something, but in the end, he smiled instead. "Do you want me to stay here with you?"

"You go ahead."

He looked like he was trying to decide whether or not he really ought to leave her. "Do you want me to call down and see if I can't get something for you? Tylenol or something?"

"Don't worry about me," she told him, gritting her teeth as the pounding in her skull escalated rapidly.

" _Go to Marvin, look him in the eye, and be honest with yourself. Ask yourself if that's the man you really want to spend the rest of your life with, and if he's not, then end it. If he is_ . . ."

Swallowing hard, Valerie blinked fast as the hot wash of unwelcome tears flooded her vision, threatened to spill over. Marvin didn't notice as he hurried over to the small sink to fill a plastic cup with water. "Are you sure you want me to go?" he asked, his voice echoing strangely in the small alcove where the sink stood. "Renslow wanted to talk shop, but if you want me to, I'm sure I can reschedule."

"No, don't," she rasped out, thankful for the seconds of reprieve as she struggled to regain a semblance of control over her rapidly fraying emotions. "It's fine . . ."

Marvin chuckled and slipped the cup of water into her hand. "So what brought you all the way out here?" he asked as he straightened the cuffs of the white shirt peering out of the sleeves of his dinner jacket. "Don't get me wrong; I'm really glad you're here."

For some reason, Valerie's voice just didn't want to work, and she had to clear her throat a couple times. "I just, um . . . We . . . We need to talk."

"Okay," he replied simply enough as a growing sense of . . . something . . . rose somewhere deep inside her. "Then you get some rest.   You look like you could use it."

She nodded vaguely, absently aware when Marvin leaned up to kiss her cheek. Something about it felt entirely perfunctory, but she didn't have time to remark upon it as Marvin let go of her and hurried to the door.

Just like that, he was gone. For a brief moment, the sense that everything was all wrong gripped her so tightly that she almost ran after him—not to catch him, no, but to escape this farce of a reunion.

It was profoundly messed up, wasn't it? Marvin really didn't have a clue, did he? Had no real idea just what she was thinking, the things she'd been trying to avoid for so long. Thick shame broke over her, wave after wave of the disgusting emotion, as hurtful and raw as anything had ever been to her.

" _Go to Marvin, look him in the eye, and be honest with yourself. Ask yourself if that's the man you really want to spend the rest of your life with, and if he's not, then end it. If he is_ . . ."

She knew, didn't she? Knew the answers that were as frightening as the prospect of jumping right off a bridge without knowing whether or not there was anything below her to break the fall, and the truth was something she couldn't hide from any longer. Yes, she loved Marvin. Of course, she did. She loved his devotion to his cause, loved that he was so driven to accomplish something so much greater than himself. She loved that he, in his own way, had always allowed her the freedom to be whatever she wanted to be, and she knew that, no matter what, she would always want what was best for him.

But that wasn't her, was it?   Because as much as she loved him, she wasn't _in_ love with him, and . . . and she never would be, either. Somewhere out there was someone who would love him like that, and he really did deserve the chance to find her. That's what Madison had been trying to say—what she'd told her all along, and Valerie simply hadn't wanted to hear it.

She hated the feelings of guilt that lingered around the edges of her thoughts. Maybe it wasn't complete guilt, but she was starting to see things in a different light, but the thing was, it had taken both of them to agree that the relationship they shared was all right for them. What she'd always seen as the freedom to be an individual . . . How much of it was Marvin's apathy? How much of it was her own? Or was it something else? Was it more of an insecurity that if he demanded too much from her that she would push him away on Marvin's side of things? And yet it made no sense, either, in Valerie's estimation. Marvin was smart—brilliant, really. He was a good man; one that any woman should consider herself lucky to have, but . . .

But it wasn't enough, was it . . .? After meeting Evan, after getting to know what was under the rockstar façade that he wore so easily, she knew that it wasn't nearly enough . . .

Letting out a deep breath, she slipped off her jacket and laid it carefully over the back of the chair that faced the television before heading toward the bathroom. As exhausted as she was, she couldn't help but think that maybe a warm shower would help to relax her—at least, enough that she'd be able to go to sleep because, despite being completely and utterly exhausted, she had a feeling that she wouldn't be able to stop thinking long enough to get any rest at all, but sometimes, taking a shower would help her.

Deliberately blocking everything from her mind, she removed her clothes, stepped into the steaming flow of water with a sigh. Just standing as the warmth rained down upon her but without really feeling it at all. As though the emotions were enough to completely deaden her nerves, she felt leaden, hollow . . . empty . . .

" _Go to Marvin, look him in the eye, and be honest with yourself. Ask yourself if that's the man you really want to spend the rest of your life with, and if he's not, then end it. If he is_ . . ."

She couldn't drown out those words, that mantra . . . that question that scared her to her very core because the answer she'd found . . .

It didn't matter, did it? It didn't matter what she tried to tell herself, what the logical part of her brain wanted to believe. The part of her that Evan had managed to reach—a part of herself that she'd believed she'd hidden away long ago—was the same part of her whose voice grew louder, stronger inside her. Maybe Marvin was the choice that she had convinced herself was what she needed, but Evan . . . How long was she willing to try to keep denying what her heart already knew? What a fool believed . . .

As if she'd actually had to do that. She hadn't had to travel across the country, had she? The answer had been there in front of her the whole time: the answer that Madison had tried to get her to see—the answer she hadn't wanted, that she'd feared more than anything else in the world. The truth, and . . . and the unrelenting panic that made her squeeze her eyes closed, gasp for breath in the silence.

" _Who do you think is more pathetic: the bastard who writes that one song that breaks your heart . . . or the person who can't do anything but listen to it?_ "

She knew the answer to that now, didn't she? The answer was neither. The one she would feel sorriest for was the one who heard that song a thousand times but ignored the words until the damage was far too great to ever be undone; that was who . . .

She was the one who was the most pathetic of them all.

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie reached out, shut off the tap. Rubbing her hair with a bleached white hotel towel, wrapping herself in an oversized, well-washed robe with the slightly faded name of the hotel embroidered in neat script over the left breast, Valerie pulled the belt closed, stared for a moment at her clothes, neatly folded on the counter beside the sink. Her cell phone lay on top of them, but there was no message, no light indicating a missed call . . . no . . . no Evan . . .

And somehow, that realization triggered a pain so deep, so engulfing, that she leaned against the counter for a moment as she struggled to let it pass. It slowly did, but the ache that lingered was bitter and almost overwhelming.

Shuffling out of the bathroom, Valerie crawled into the bed and peeked at the clock before closing her eyes. Five o'clock. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard that nagging voice reminding her that it was a bad idea to go to sleep with wet hair, but at the moment, she just didn't care. Too tired to think, too tired to try to reason everything out in her head . . . It also registered to her in an absent sort of way that she likely did have a slight fever, but it wasn't enough to worry about.

No, she'd just rest for a few minutes—maybe an hour.

Then she'd figure out just how she was supposed to tell Marvin that she just couldn't marry him, after all . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

 _Lips_.

 _The crush of lips, the stroke of a hand over her body_ . . .

 _Stunted breaths, warm and moist on her skin_ . . .

 _That look on his face when she opened the bathroom door, the absolute heat in his gaze and the unquestioned power in his hands as he grabbed her, as he kissed her . . . The hunger that ignited was frightening and heady, welcome and consuming_ . . .

'Evan . . .' _she thought as bemusement warred with sleepiness. As if her brain wasn't quite willing to let go of the comfort of oblivion, a dense fog permeating her senses_ . . .

 _There was no resistance. It was the one thing she understood. When everything else spun away, Evan was the one she understood, and it was all going to be all right, wasn't it? Because he was there; because she loved him . . . and it was all right to kiss him back, to revel in the touch of the flesh, of his lips on hers_ . . .

 _But she . . . she wanted to wake up, didn't she . . .? Because Evan_ . . .

 _He had come for her, hadn't he? That was why he hadn't called back, why he hadn't returned her message_ . . . 'Evan . . .'

 _A strange sense of weight upon her—his body pushing against hers, and it was the most natural thing in the world, wasn't it? Opening herself up for him, allowing him everything, everything_ . . .

But . . .

"Val . . ."

With a soft gasp, her eyes flashing wide open, the lingering sleepiness that tried to cling to her was hard to escape. Reality hit her a moment later, and Valerie flinched, reaching up with both hands to push Marvin aside, but he groaned, his body tensing as he spent himself, and he leaned down to kiss her before letting himself fall to the side, his labored breathing loud, harsh in the resounding quiet.

Valerie lay, completely frozen, unable to move at all as she fought to make sense of what had just happened. A minute later, she tossed the covers aside, yanking the robe closed once more as she stumbled out of the bed.

Marvin muttered something—she thought he might be asking her if she was okay. But he already sounded as though he were almost asleep, and she didn't answer as she hurried around the corner and into the bathroom, closing the door behind herself, hands shaking as she turned the lock, as she slumped against it, squeezing her eyes closed as a violent stem of sheer dread took hold of her.

It wasn't Evan. _He_ wasn't Evan.

Even in her addled mind, those words kept repeating. She had thought that it was him, had been dreaming that it was him . . . It was supposed to _be_ him, wasn't it? Evan . . .

A soft knock on the other side of the door startled her, and she couldn't control the sharp cry that squeezed out of her as she skittered across the room, recoiling as though she thought that Marvin was somehow going to break down the door.

"Val? Are you okay?"

Even through the barrier, she could make out the genuine concern in his tone, and it only served to deepen the confusion, the upset. "I-I'm fine," she managed, unable to bear the thought of opening the door, of coming face to face with him again. A cloying sense of guilt was rising fast—the feeling that she'd betrayed Evan spinning round and round in her head.

". . . You're sure?" Marvin tried again.

Sinking down on the toilet, her hands gripping her hair, Valerie squeezed her eyes closed, trying to force down the sob that was rapidly rising in her throat. She couldn't see him, didn't want to see him, and the very idea of seeing him brought on a wave of hysteria. "Yes," she choked out. "Go . . . Go back to . . . to bed."

' _Evan . . . Oh, my God . . . What did I . . .?_ '

Marvin didn't answer her, but she thought she heard him shuffle away from the door as a pathetic little squeak escaped her along with two fat tears.

Just what had she done?

Evan, with his tender words . . . Evan, who dropped everything to take care of her while she was sick . . . Evan, who hated to leave her alone, even if it was only for a few hours . . . and . . .

Choking back another sob, Valerie shook her head slowly, miserably. Eyes burning though tears were far from coming, as though the guilt and shame was just too much for her, as though she simply couldn't afford herself the luxury of tears to alleviate even a modicum of the self-disgust that rose up inside her . . .

She'd betrayed Evan, hadn't she? Cheated on him . . .? And even if she hadn't had any intention to do that at all, it didn't change what had happened, did it?

Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard, shaking her head, willing herself to let the nausea pass. Heartsick . . . Could a breaking heart cause her body to react so violently? Yes, she supposed that it could . . .

Wrapping her arms around herself, she rocked slowly back and forth, as though she were trying to comfort herself—maybe she was . . . and she'd never, ever felt quite so alone in her life . . .

It was crystal clear to her, wasn't it? No matter what kind of lies she'd tried to convince herself of, no matter what kind of reasoning she'd used over and over again, the truth of it all had been staring her in the face. All she wanted—everything she wanted—was wrapped up in Evan, not Marvin . . .

A sudden, vicious pang shot through her—a wild, desperate need to reach him, to convince herself that he was still there . . .

The chime of her cell phone wrung a little cry from her that she stifled before it could escape fully. Her hands were shaking so badly that she nearly dropped the device as she picked it up. Just the sight of Evan's name on the display was enough to hurt her, but she forced herself to open the message, blinking furiously to clear her vision to read it.

' _Night, V_ ,' was all it said.

She didn't know how long she sat there, staring at her cell phone, rereading Evan's message over and over again. A sudden and savage desire to see him shot through her. She needed to see him, didn't she? Needed to tell him that she . . . that she loved him . . . that she was so sorry for so many different things . . . that if he could just find it in his heart to forgive her . . . and if he couldn't . . . Well, she'd figure that out, too . . .

But he had a way of making things okay for her, didn't he? Could he do that for her this time? Would he even want to?

Even as she sat there, struggling for a semblance of calm that she was far from feeling, she couldn't ignore it: the growing need to see him, to see Evan . . . As long as he would still have her . . . Everything else would work itself out, wouldn't it . . .?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Two_** **_out_** **_of_** **_Three_** **_ain't_** **_Bad_** ' _by_ _Meatloaf_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1973_ _release_ , **_Bat out of Hell_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Jim_ _Steinman_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _What … just happened …?_


	202. 201: Resolutions

' _His hands were trembling_...  
' _We both were crying_ …  
' _He kissed me gently_ …  
' _And then he quickly walked away_ …'

 

-' _How Can I Help You Say Goodbye?_ ' by Patty Loveless.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie sighed as she sat in the small bar just inside the security check in the airport, ignoring the few curious glances she was garnering as she sipped the glass of wine she'd been nursing for the past couple of hours while she waited to see if she could get a seat on a flight home. If she were to stop and think about it, she probably looked just as freakish as they seemed to think that she did. In her rush to get out of the hotel, she hadn't bothered with anything except struggling into her clothes and getting the hell out of the door. She hadn't even bothered to brush her hair . . . and for some reason, that thought nearly made her smile in a strange, almost crazed sort of way.

' _Well, why the hell should I look better than I feel at the moment?_ '

Shaking two Tylenol capsules out of the small bottle she kept in her purse, Valerie slugged them back with a long quaff of the wine. Head pounding, hands unnaturally hot and dry, eyes burning as a strange kind of haziness seemed to cling to every single movement she made, she felt as though she were trapped in a dream—or a nightmare . . .

Balancing on the cusp of a complete and utter nervous breakdown, or at least, that was how she felt. It seemed like the harder she tried not to think about what had happened with Marvin, the harder it was to forget—or maybe not forget. After all, there was no way in the world to forget that, now was there? But dwelling on it wasn't going to help, either. There'd be more than enough time to do that once she got home. Even if she wanted to tell herself that she honestly hadn't meant to have sex with Marvin, it did nothing to alleviate the sense that she'd done something very, very wrong. The dream she'd had . . . she had thought that it was Evan, hadn't she? She'd _wanted_ it to be Evan . . .

It was simply too much. Too much had happened in the last twenty-four hours, and she couldn't quite shake the feeling that she was slowly but surely coming apart at the seams. No, right now, all she could think of was Evan and just how in the hell she was going to explain any of this to him when she didn't rightfully know how to deal with it herself . . .?

" _If he says that he loves you, he means it. He's not lying about it_."

He loved her . . .? Okay, but would he love her when he found out what had happened? How the hell could he possibly forgive her for it when she . . . when she couldn't even do the same thing?

Valerie grimaced and rubbed her forehead with a shaking, tired hand. Everything had somehow managed to spiral out of her control, hadn't it?   And the people she'd never meant to hurt were the ones she was going to cause the most pain . . .

" _If you love him, then for God's sake, stop this! Don't you see what you're doing? Keeping Marvin on the line while you're stringing Evan along? How fair is that, V? How fair is that to either of them? I'm not just talking about Evan, but just how fair is that to Marvin, too?_ "

Her own indecisive feelings had led her to this. Because she didn't want to face the things that she knew were inevitable, both Evan and Marvin . . . and neither one of them deserved any of it.

No, maybe if she were stronger, maybe she could make herself just walk away from both of them. Maybe if she could forget the things that Evan had said to her time and again, she'd be able to let go of him, but she couldn't. She'd deluded herself into thinking briefly that she could do that, but that was a lie, and she knew that, too, and as much as she hated to admit it, Marvin wasn't the trouble. If she were to be completely honest with herself, she knew that somewhere deep inside, Marvin had lost out to Evan a long time ago. That thought wrenched a grimace from her—the callousness of her own malicious thoughts . . . It wasn't some kind of a game, now was it? Winners and losers and . . .

Sighing heavily, Valerie bit her lip as she shifted a surreptitious glance around, over the railing that separated the restaurant from the rest of the airport's main walkway. People were hurrying this way and that, catching a flight or just wanting to get out of the place, to move on with their agendas. They looked so aloof, so confident, didn't they? As if not one of them had ever had to deal with the thoughts that she was struggling with now, and how lucky were they, if that really were the case? How fortunate to be so oblivious to Valerie, to the hateful thoughts that plagued her . . .

That wasn't right, was it? There never was some kind of weird contest between Evan and Marvin, and it wasn't a question of winning or losing. The only things that existed were her own stupid delusions, her stubborn beliefs that somehow, what she needed and what she wanted never could be one in the same, and, while she didn't want to think that she'd really used Marvin, she knew better, didn't she?

The trill of her cell phone broke through her bleak thoughts, and she uttered a small squeak as she fumbled with the device. "Hello?"

"Ms. Denning? Hello, this is Lynn at the Interatlantic Airways booking desk? You asked that we call you if a seat opened up on one of our flights into New York City?"

"Y-Yes," she muttered, gripping the phone so tightly that her fingers turned white.

"As it happens, we just had a seat open up on the 4:46 flight, number 7937. It's getting ready to board at Gate A19, if you can make that one?"

"Oh, yes, thank you," Valerie hurried to say, grabbing her purse as she stood up and headed out of the small restaurant.

"Okay, then, I'll notify them to be expecting you.   Do enjoy your flight, and thank you for choosing Interatlantic Airways."

The connection ended as Valerie strode toward Gate A. The only thought in her mind was getting home, getting back to the things she knew best, and Evan . . .

Just the thought of his name was enough to wring another low moan from her as yet another stab of guilt rocked through her. It didn't matter that common logic told her that Marvin was her fiancé, that she really shouldn't feel bad for something that should have been natural. Somewhere in her heart, she'd already come to think of Evan as the one she belonged with, and the knowledge wasn't as frightening as it should have been. No, it seemed as normal as breathing, didn't it, which was why . . .

She had to talk to him; had to tell him what had happened. She'd already screwed things up badly enough that she couldn't help but wonder if Evan would listen to her. He would, wouldn't he? But the last thing—the very last thing—she wanted now was to mess things up more by not being completely honest with him, too . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

" _Then tell me, V. Tell me why you'd wait for him. What is he to you?_ "

" _He . . . He's what I need . . . What I . . . I_ need . . ."

" _What you need . . . Is that what you think? Do you think that life is about finding what you need and settling for it?_ "

" _I'm not settling for anything. He's a good man—he's got integrity, honor, compassion . . . He allows me to be who I am, Evan, and maybe you don't understand what I see in him, but you don't have the right to judge him, either_."

" _There's a difference between allowing you to be who you are and only being around when it's convenient for him. We're not talking about some business relationship here. We're talking about a man you say you're going to marry. Look, I'm not even saying that it has to be me, Valerie. Just not_ him."

That conversation . . . It had happened so long ago, and yet, not that long ago; not really.

He was right, wasn't he? All along, everything he'd said to her . . . and she had been the stubborn one.

She . . . She should have told Marvin. The thought hadn't actually crossed her mind until after she had boarded the plane, until after the stewardess had brought her a glass of red wine. The only seat available was in first class, not that Valerie cared. She just wanted to get home, back to Evan, where she knew who she was; where she was starting to realize just how important the things she'd tried to tell herself were incidental.

Still, the nagging thought remained. She _should_ have told Marvin that it was over. Gritting her teeth, she shook her head slightly. No, she hadn't thought about it at the time because she'd just wanted to get the hell out of there, and by the time she'd talked herself into opening the bathroom door, the very last thing she could deal with was the idea of having to wake him. It had taken enough of what few resources she had left to calm herself down enough to get out of the hotel without coming completely undone . . .

Staring at the beautiful deep red liquid in the glass, she let out a deep breath. She'd call him when she got home. She'd explain things to him, but even then, she really had to wonder whether or not he would even be that upset over it. Evan wasn't far wrong when he'd said that it was more of a business arrangement than a romantic relationship, and that thought made her grimace. Not quite, maybe, but the practicalities of the situation had been far more important than anything else. It was just hard to explain, she supposed. She did love Marvin, just not in the way that he ought to be loved—not in the way that she . . . That she loved Evan . . .

"I . . . I love . . . him . . ." she murmured, touching her fingers to her lips as a stuttering sense of warmth flickered to life somewhere deep down. Just those words, the realization behind them—the words she'd always been too afraid to even consider . . . Why did those words have the power to calm her? After everything else that had happened, why . . .?

She almost smiled. All too soon, though, the truths of the realities that she had created herself came rushing back in, nudging aside the momentary reprieve. The sense of guilt, the feeling that she'd cheated on Evan, hit her hard, and she closed her eyes for a moment, willing the pain in her chest to wane as she struggled to find a way to even begin to comprehend it all. Would he listen to her? Would he let her explain any of it? Evan's temper . . . she'd seen it before. It was ugly, and it wasn't at all what she would ever expect from someone who tended to be as happy-go-lucky as he usually was, and still . . .

She'd figure it out. She had to. Just what was left if she didn't? He had to listen to her, didn't he? And . . . and maybe he'd forgive her, too . . . maybe.

' _It's . . . it's all . . . my fault . . . If I hadn't fallen asleep_ . . .'

But even as the argument resounded in her mind, she dismissed it. What good was it to try to make excuses, really? Those excuses wouldn't change the end result. Those excuses would serve no purpose, wouldn't sanctify her, wouldn't do a thing to undo the damage that was already done. Evan deserved more than just her pathetic explanations, and Marvin . . . He did, too . . .

It was the same thing that Evan and Madison had seen, wasn't it? Marvin never had been that good at reading Valerie, and that wasn't his fault. No, even with him, she had managed to retain a measure of herself, of her own independence, she'd called it. In reality, it was just another device to keep him at bay. She'd tried that with Evan, too, but the difference was, Evan had wanted to be closer despite what she said, and Marvin? She grimaced. Marvin didn't have the confidence to force the issue . . .

Whether Marvin didn't want to disturb her when she might be busy or if he simply didn't realize that their relationship was punctuated with things that weren't quite the way they should have been, Valerie hadn't bothered to question the casual overtones of it all. She'd fooled herself into thinking that it was what she wanted—what she needed, and maybe a part of her did sorely crave that kind of predictability, that kind of safety, but Evan . . .

And the very real question—the only question that remained—was simple enough. How could she weigh and measure the things she got from Evan against those things she thought she had wanted for so long? There was a time not so long ago when she'd been unable to even comprehend the kind of instability that being with someone like Evan would mean, not only from the insanity of the life he chose to lead but also from the deeper investment of her mind, of her soul, and even now, the very idea of those things that frightened her were almost enough to scare her out of her wits, but . . .

But what was the trade-off? She wasn't naïve enough to think that there really was such a thing as forever. There was only time and how you used it, how you spent it, and who you chose to spend it with. The same questions still lingered: when Evan got sick of her, when the freshness, the near-insanity of new romance wore thin . . . But maybe it would be all right, too? Would any measure of 'wonderful' be enough to convince her in the end that it had been worth it?

No, she wasn't certain, but she had a feeling that it would be.

It . . . It would _have_ to be.

"Would you like a refill?"

Valerie blinked and turned her head. It took her a few moments to focus on the stewardess' face. Open, friendly, her smile widened as she reached for Valerie's empty glass. She hurried away without another word as Valerie's gaze flicked out the window at the blackened night sky once more. She hadn't remembered emptying the glass. So lost in thought that it hadn't even occurred to her, she wondered vaguely where the plane was, exactly. The only seat she'd been able to get was in first class, but even that paled in comparison to the luxury of Evan's private jet.

She didn't care about that, though, not really. Somehow, she knew that her feelings wouldn't be any different if he were a poor construction worker instead of an international rock phenomenon. In some ways, maybe she'd prefer that, even. After all, at least then, he wouldn't be sought out by every woman who ran across him. At least then, all those girls wouldn't instantly know his name . . .

"Here you go. Would you like anything else? A blanket?"

Valerie took the glass and shook her head, and she tried to smile at the stewardess but couldn't quite do it. The flight attendant smiled again and hurried on to assist someone else.

How could she have been so stupid? How the hell could she have let everything drag on so long? Easy to say that she just hadn't seen it, and easy to think that she simply hadn't had to think about it all. That was a cop-out, and she knew it. She hadn't wanted to see it, hadn't wanted to think about it. Evan, with his easy smile, with the inner warmth that seemed to radiate from him naturally . . . He hadn't ever wanted to push her, had he—at least, not when it came right down to making her choose? He hadn't wanted to make her choose when he . . . when he thought for certain that he would lose out every time . . .

' _That . . . But . . . It's always been Evan, hasn't it . . .?_ '

Rubbing her forehead, Valerie sighed as a pang of longing so strong shot straight through her. Suddenly, savagely, she needed to see him, his face: to see that smile, to hear his laughter—to feel his arms around her, his silent reassurances that everything was okay—that it would eventually _be_ okay, anyway . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

The taxi pulled to a stop before the gates of Evan's estate long enough for Bone to spot and wave at Valerie before opening them and waving them through. The driver was muttering something about never thinking that he'd be taking someone here and that his buddies would never believe it. Valerie ignored him, shaking her head slightly, trying to clear the thickness that she couldn't quite get rid of. Still running a slight fever—not surprising since she really hadn't gotten a chance to rest much, and the wine on the plane was probably a bad idea. Drunk, certainly not, but she could definitely feel the effects on her strained system. Exhaustion was taking its toll on her, but more importantly, the need to see Evan had just grown in her mind.

She just couldn't shake the irrational thought that, if she didn't see him now, he would somehow fade away from her. Common sense told her that she was being ridiculous, but that had very little room in her mind, at the moment. She needed to see him, needed to hear him tell her that everything was all right—and she needed to tell him, too: needed to tell him that she . . . that she wanted to be with him . . . that she was sorry for everything.

That she was sorry for what had happened with Marvin, too.

The guilt was nearly overwhelming, unshakable. The feeling that she'd betrayed Evan, that she'd cheated on him, was enough to choke her, but if she put it off, the feeling would only grow, wouldn't it?

She had to see him . . .

The taxi pulled to a stop, and Valerie stumbled out of it after handing the driver money for the fare. Taking a moment to stare up at the looming edifice, she couldn't breathe, couldn't swallow, couldn't do anything as a brigade of butterflies erupted in her belly.

Forcing her feet to move, she shuffled forward toward the steps. Anticipation mingled with that last bit of uncertainty. It felt like it had been a lifetime and not less than twenty-four hours since she'd last seen him. So much had happened, though, and all she wanted was to see Evan's face, to tell him the things that she had come to realize . . .

The wind whipped her hair into her face, and she pushed it back without really paying attention. Pulling herself up short, Valerie sucked in a deep breath when the front door opened, and Evan stepped out. Wearing a black warm-up suit with his hair pulled back in a ponytail. A black baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses completed the ensemble, but when he lifted his chin and saw her, he pulled a pair of earphones out of his ears and yanked off the sunglasses as a timid smile surfaced. "V! Hey! I was just going to go for a run . . ."

Taking a step back, she quickly shook her head. He looked happy enough, but she didn't miss the tightness around his eyes, the tell-tale signs that he . . . he was worried, probably about how she was going to react now, especially after what had nearly happened between the two of them in the bathroom . . . "Oh, uh . . ."

He waved that off as he stuck the glasses and earphones into his jacket and dug his hands into his pants pockets as though he were somewhat nervous. "Uh . . . About yesterday . . . I . . . I'm . . . Well, not _sorry_ , exactly . . ." Trailing off as a belligerent kind of expression surfaced, he shrugged. It was an odd kind of mix—as though he was trying to act tougher than he was, yet he couldn't quite hide the anxiety that lingered just below the surface . . . Staring at her without a trace of amusement in the depths of his gaze, he was reluctant to move toward her, as though he were afraid that she was going to turn tail and run.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he seemed to be waiting, and Valerie had to choke back a sob that suddenly welled up in her throat. Eyes burning behind the blur of tears that sprang to the fore, she stumbled up the steps, intent on one thing: on reaching him. He stepped back as she threw her arms around him, bracing himself for the impact. Hands quickly reaching up to sink into her hair, he uttered a soft sound, almost a whine, as he let out a deep breath. "V . . ."

Muttering half-words, she shook her head. What was it about him that was able to soothe her, even if he had no idea just what demons were chasing after her in her mind?

"It's all right," he whispered, rubbing her back, a strange sense of calm emanating from him to her, as though he was trying to placate her.

"It's . . . It's not," she murmured, hating the truth in her words, hating that she couldn't find the strength to just tell him so that she could deal with whatever was to come.

Just as suddenly, though, he let go of her, grasping her forearms as he forced her back, as he ducked his head to see into her eyes. The look on his face was a shock to her system: anger—outrage . . . and a sense of pain so deep that she could almost feel it like a physical thing. "What the . . .? You _fucked_ him?" he hissed. "That little bastard? _You fucked him?_ "

Valerie gasped, recoiling from his rage, from the vehemence in his voice. "I-I-I—"

"Just yesterday, you were . . . and I thought . . ." Letting go of her, he stomped across the porch and back again, unable or unwilling to meet her eyes. " _Why the hell would you do that?_ " he bellowed.

Shaking her head to refute his anger more than to counter his assertions, Valerie closed her arms over her chest like she needed the buffer against him, and maybe she did. "I didn't—"

"Are you really going to stand there and try to tell me that you didn't fuck him?" Evan cut in as the very air around him seemed to surge in time with his pulse. "Is that what you're trying to do?"

"N-No, but—"

"But _what?_ "

Wincing as his emotions cut right through her, Valerie miserably shook her head. "It—It wasn't like that," she heard herself whisper. "I just went there to—to talk to him, and . . ."

"And you fucked him," Evan growled. Valerie yelped and jumped back as Evan's hand smashed down on the railing beside her. With a groan, the solid wood banister cracked as easily as a bit of glass, crashing onto the floor.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, burying her face in her hands. "I . . . I'm so sorry . . ."

He looked like he was ready to light into her again. Stopping abruptly, draping his hands on his hips as he stared at her incredulously, he must have thought better of it because he dug his phone out and quickly punched in a number. "Yeah, Bone? Get her the hell outta here," he stated without bothering with any kind of pleasantries.

"Evan—"

Cutting herself off when he jammed a finger under her nose, Valerie started to reach out to him, but yanked her hand back when he pinned her with another fierce glower.

Ending the call and looking like he'd rather chuck the phone than stick it back in his pocket, Evan opened and closed his free hand on a fistful of air. "Go home, _Val_ ," he sneered, yanking the door open once more. "Just get the hell out of here. I don't even want to see your face right now."

She couldn't hide the flinch as he stomped inside and slammed the door closed.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _How_** **_Can_** **_I_** **_Help_** **_You_** **_Say_** **_Goodbye?_** ' _by_ _Patty_ _Loveless_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1993_ _release_ , **_Only_** **_What_** **_I_** **_Feel_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Burton_ _Banks_ _Collins_ _and_ _Karen Taylor-Good_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _How … How did he know …?_


	203. 202: Reflection

' _So keep the way you're feeling out of this_...  
' _And hide it until the day you die_ …  
' _The secret's safe at least you thought it was_ …  
' _But you can only keep it for a little while_ …  
' _And now you're terrified_ …'

 

-' _Throw Yourself Away_ ' by Nickelback.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Heaving a dejected sigh as she reached out to shut off the shower tap, Valerie stepped out onto the fluffy bath mat as she slowly toweled off.

" _What the . . .? You_ fucked _him? That little bastard?_ You fucked him?"

Biting her lip as she made quick work of getting dressed, she tried not to think about things too much. He was angry, and rightfully so. She couldn't blame him for being upset; not when she couldn't even forgive herself for sleeping with Marvin.

And she'd tried to do something about that, too, when she walked in the door of her apartment. Striding over to the phone before bothering to do anything else, she'd dialed Marvin's number and had, of course, gotten his voicemail. So she'd left him a message, asking him to call her right back as soon as he got the message. He hadn't yet, but Valerie hadn't been able to tolerate it any longer, and she'd opted to take a shower. Still exhausted, she dearly wished she could take a nap, but she knew without bothering that it was out of the question. There were too many things spinning around in her head for that to even be a possibility.

' _How . . .? How did he know . . .?_ '

It wasn't the first time she'd asked herself that question, either, even while Bone had driven down from the guardhouse and gently helped her into his car. For once, the big man hadn't even tried to make jokes, which was fine with her, but he might as well have not been there during the brief ride to her apartment. Too lost in thought to even summon the energy to acknowledge his presence, Valerie had retreated into the dull numbness of her brain instead.

That same little voice that had tried to insist that Marvin was the one she needed to be with had whispered in her head that it was all right. After all, technically speaking, she was engaged to Marvin, wasn't she? Of course it was natural— _normal_ , but that wasn't the case, was it? Because somewhere in her heart, it didn't really matter if she was engaged to him when her heart already belonged to Evan . . .

She supposed that the guilt of it all must have just been obvious on her face. It was just too big to hide from him, and even then . . . Even then, she didn't _want_ to hide anything from him, did she . . .? No, she was done making mistakes, hiding behind excuses, trying to tell herself things that would make things easier. Easier didn't mean better, and if he loved her—really loved her—he'd forgive her, wouldn't he . . .?

Pushing out of the bathroom, Valerie ignored the tickle of water that dripped from her hair and down her neck, only to be absorbed by the sweater she'd pulled on after her shower. Heaving yet another sigh as she glanced at the answering machine, she didn't stop as she continued on her way to the kitchen.

She'd known that Marvin hadn't called. If he had, it would have connected in the bathroom panel. Still . . .

Ignoring the tiny voice in the back of her mind that insisted that drinking more wine wasn't exactly a good idea, Valerie grabbed the first bottle out of the wine rack, pausing only long enough to open it before retrieving a glass out of the cabinet and stomping back into the living room again.

No, she was done, wasn't she? Finished making the stupid mistakes, and if she could fix it all, she would . . .

She tried dialing Marvin's number again and got the voicemail again. "Marvin, it's Valerie . . . I need you to call me as soon as you get this," she said, rubbing her forehead in an infinitely tired kind of way. "I mean it. Just call me . . . please."

Clicking off the phone, she let the receiver drop onto the coffee table with a clatter before reaching for the bottle of wine and carelessly sloshing it into the glass.

It was driving her crazy, damned if it wasn't. She wanted to go right back over to Evan's house, to make him listen to her, but . . .

But as much as she wanted to do that, there were other things that she needed to do first—like break up with Marvin.

It was time.

Downing the glass of wine, Valerie leaned forward to set it down, only to prop her elbows on her knees and dropping her face into her hands. She wanted to make things right, yes, but she owed it to Evan to take care of everything else, didn't she? To be free and clear and to tell him everything—everything she'd come to understand . . . To tell him that she . . . That she loved him . . .

She lifted her face enough to rest her chin in the cradle of her thumbs as she pressed her palms together as though she were praying, staring off into space as the weight of her thoughts crashed down on her. She'd make him understand. She had to because . . . because Evan deserved so much better than to be the proverbial 'other man'. He deserved to be the _only_ man.

"Come on, Marvin," she muttered, drawing a deep breath, willing her rising irritation to wane. Telling herself that it really wasn't his fault, she tamped down the emotion, grimacing again when the melancholy hit her hard, she sighed. "Just . . . Just call me . . ."

Flopping back against the sofa, Valerie rubbed her face with a shaking hand. Then she stopped, blinked, lowered her hand, turned it around, scowled at the modest ring on her finger. Was there ever a time when she had been overjoyed with the prospect of marrying Marvin? And even though she knew the answer to that question in her heart, she hated how callous it seemed. No, she hadn't ever been thrilled, never felt the desire to run out and tell everyone she knew. A few months ago, her secretary had gotten engaged, and Valerie had watched as the girl ran around all morning, fluttering her hand under everyone's noses while the smile on her face had rivaled the shining of the brightest stars in the night sky.

That was how it should be, wasn't it? Somehow, Valerie knew that she'd feel the same way if Evan were to ask her to marry him.

Pulling the ring off her finger, she let it drop onto the coffee table. It clinked as it landed, bouncing up slightly, spinning around in a drunken circle before it slowed then stopped completely. Maybe she should have gone back in, woke Marvin up and told him before she'd left that she didn't want to marry him, but she couldn't do it. It might have been the more expedient thing, but facing him after all of that was just a little more than she could do. If she had her choice, she'd break up with him face-to-face, but she wasn't about to wait until he decided to fly back to New York City to do that, either.

All she'd been able to think about at the time was Evan, about how she'd betrayed him, about needing to see him . . .

If he had calmed down enough to listen to her, anyway. She couldn't really blame him for being upset, and if she were to be completely honest with herself, she would have to admit that it was another reason why she was impatiently waiting for the phone to ring. After all, she could always tell Marvin to call her cell phone when he got the message, but with as upset as Evan was when she'd left, he was probably still not ready to listen to her.

If only Marvin would call . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _She didn't deserve that_.'

Ignoring the sound of his youkai-voice, Evan flinched when a guitar string snapped—the fourth one in the last hour.

He'd already spent two hours, trying to hack Bone to pieces in the back yard. He'd thought it would help to alleviate his anger. It hadn't; not really. So he'd decided to try getting his aggression out through music.

It wasn't working so well, either.

" _I think . . . I think I love you already_ . . ."

Chucking the guitar pick across the room, he got up long enough to put the guitar back on the stand before plopping on the sofa once more. He was out of replacement strings and going out to get new ones just wasn't exactly high on his list of things he wanted to do at the moment. If he could just get the sound of those words— _her_ words—out of his head . . .

He was overjoyed to see her standing there, wasn't he? When he'd stepped outside to go jogging, he was just trying to pass the time, trying not to worry, trying not to wonder where the hell she was, only to find . . .

The wind had carried her scent away from him until he'd gotten closer to her, but the smell of Marvin all over her was just a little more than he could stand. Yes, he knew that the two of them were engaged, and if he were to really stop and think about it, he'd realize that what had happened between them in the bathroom wasn't likely to change anything. Still, he hadn't counted on the idea that she would go running off to find _him_ . . . that she'd sleep with _him_ . . .

It hurt.

Damn, it hurt.

His phone rang, and Evan heaved a sigh when he dug it out of his pocket, only to see that it was Mike, and for a moment, he considered ignoring it. Too bad the bastard would just call him right back, over and over again until he answered. He already knew what it was about, anyway . . .

"Hello?"

"Roka? Where the hell are you?"

"Home."

"That right? And why are you there instead of here?" Mike asked dryly.

"Something came up," Evan remarked vaguely.

Mike sighed. Evan figured he was probably taking a moment to rub his face in the usual exasperated fashion and probably counting to twenty before he trusted himself to speak. "We've got a full crew here, you know, and they're all standing around with their fingers up their asses, waiting on you to show your sorry face."

"Not today, Mikey," Evan stated flatly. "Reschedule. Cancel. What the hell ever."

"Do you know what a pain in the ass that'll be? It's a video shoot, for God's sake!"

"Reschedule it, Mike," Evan replied, unable to stave back the irritation in his tone.

Mike considered that for a moment then let out a deep breath. "All right," he agreed. Considering Evan normally didn't pull the stubborn card—or the no-show card, for that matter—he must have figured that Evan's reason was important enough to keep him from demanding an explanation. "I'll take care of it."

"Thanks," Evan said, ending the call and letting the phone drop onto the sofa beside him.

' _I'm not saying that you don't have the right to be upset, but if you think about it logically, you really don't have any ground to stand on. I mean, she_ is _engaged to the little wuss-master_ . . .'

And Evan knew that, too. Damned if he didn't. The knowledge didn't help. Nope, if anything, it just made the entire thing seem that much crappier . . .

She didn't _belong_ with him, damn it, and if she didn't know that now, would she ever? How could she not feel the connection between them? How could she not realize? She'd said she loved him, and while he knew that she was sick at the time, there was an underlying truth about her confession . . . He wasn't just telling himself that; he _knew_ it.

' _And you ought to know that isn't the problem, doofus. The real problem is that Valerie herself is scared. It has nothing at all do to with whether or not she loves you. It's whether or not she can trust her own feelings. You know that . . . you just hate it; that's all_.'

' _But . . . but to have fucked him? Why . . .?_ '

' _Does it matter? Does it change the way you feel? It doesn't, just so you know. Is it really any worse than what you did down in the Bahamas?_ '

Grimacing at that reminder, Evan had to admit that it was true enough. It didn't actually serve to lessen his feelings on the matter, but it did bring everything right back home, so to speak. ' _Okay, so neither one of us is perfect_ . . .'

' _It's not about being perfect. It's about if you honestly think that what she did was that terrible. Who are we to judge? We're no better; not really. In all actuality, maybe we're worse. Sure, we haven't done anything like that lately, but do you really think that you've never, ever slept with a married woman? A woman who might have been engaged? Just because we didn't stop to ask doesn't exonerate us, you know. One night stand or not, does it matter? Because someone, somewhere probably felt as betrayed as you do, right now_.'

"All right; all right. I get your point," Evan muttered to himself.

' _If she comes back, just listen to her. Maybe there's more to it than you think_.'

That statement made him grit his teeth. As far as he could figure, it was pretty well cut and dried. It might not change the overall knowledge that he loved her, but . . .

Gripping the arm of the sofa to haul himself to his feet, Evan strode out of the music room and through the quiet mansion.

Madison had come over after leaving Valerie's apartment yesterday, had told him in no uncertain terms that he needed to back off, to let Valerie make up her mind. When he'd tried to leave anyway, to go back over to her apartment to see if she was okay, Madison had stubbornly insisted that he would do more harm than good. Now he had to wonder. If he had gone over there, as was his intention, if he had caught her before she'd left to go see that damned Marvin, would things have happened the way they did? Would he have been able to convince her?

And though common sense told him that asking those 'what if' kinds of questions would do absolutely nothing to help him now, he couldn't help it, either. He had to know just why she'd sleep with Marvin, and yet he dreaded the answer, as well. Would finding out change anything? Would it help him?

' _Does it matter why she did it? Does it really? Think about that because_ . . .'

' _Because why?_ ' he challenged as he retrieved a beer from the cooler and twisted the cap.

' _Because you were so busy being angry that you didn't seem to notice, did you?_ '

' _Notice what?_ '

' _How upset she already was, dumbass_.'

Grimacing when he realized the truth of what his youkai voice was telling him, Evan took his time, slugging down half of the beer in one long swallow.

There was truth in that, and he knew it. The way she'd stared at him when he'd first stepped outside: the pallor of her skin, the wild-eyed look she'd shot him . . . the darkened circles under those eyes . . . He'd never seen her looking so frightened before; not even when she told him about her family—not even when they'd gone to see her father . . . That look . . . and the tears as she'd thrown herself against his chest . . .

Gritting his teeth together as he set the beer down on the counter, he let out a deep breath, raked his hands through his hair.

He had no idea just what was going on . . . and he had no idea how to fix it, either . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Clicking off her cell phone, Valerie uttered a fierce growl and fought to remind herself that she would be sorry if she gave in to the desire to send the device flying at the wall.

Eight o'clock, and she still had yet to hear back from Marvin, and didn't that figure? It had been hours since she'd first called him. "Doesn't he _ever_ listen to his voicemail?" she complained loudly and to no one in particular.

Grabbing the glass of wine she'd poured just before trying to call him for the umpteenth time, she swallowed it in one gulp, then set the glass aside to reach for the bottle instead. It was almost empty and had to be some kind of record for her. Tipping the bottle to her lips, she stumbled back, fell onto the sofa, squeaked out a small cry when the bottle smashed unpleasantly against her lips. She let it fall onto the floor with a dull thud then a clink when it rolled into the other empty bottle she'd finished off a while ago.

She was past angry. 'Angry' had come and gone around four in the afternoon. As far as she could tell, she was on the fast track to livid, which would be entirely avoidable— _if_ Marvin would call her back, that was.

But wasn't that the way of it? Hadn't it always been this way? It was part of the reason why Valerie didn't call him about every little thing. He was busy, too, and she knew that. It was one of the things that Valerie had always appreciated about him before, though she was hard-pressed to remember why at the moment.

' _Don't be a bitch_ ,' the voice in her head told her.

' _I'm not being a bitch. I'm being irritated. There's a huge difference!_ '

Which was entirely true, right? Between Evan and Marvin, she was slowly losing her mind. After all, all Marvin needed to do was to answer his phone so she could talk to him. Didn't he think that her messages were important enough?

She snorted and stomped off to the kitchen to grab Bottle Number Three. Well, the second one was already half-empty when she'd gotten it out of the refrigerator, so really, it was Bottle Two-and-a-Half . . .

For some reason, that thought made her giggle, possibly because it sounded like something Evan would say . . .

Her amusement was short-lived, however, since she had distinct trouble getting the damned thing open. Her hands didn't seem to want to do exactly what she wanted, but after a minute of fiddling with it and muttering curses, she finally managed, and she made her way back into the living room, sipping out of the bottle along the way.

"And Evan," she blustered, proud of the way her words sounded—they weren't slurred at all, were they? Which meant that she absolutely was _not_ drunk in the least! "I might have been wrong, but he . . . he could have listened to me! It's not like I _wanted_ to sleep with Marvin, now did I? And he'd better listen to me when I 'pologize later!"

She almost believed the bravado in her voice.

Heaving a sigh, she dropped into the nearest chair and only sloshed a little bit of the wine onto her hand in the process.   Glowering at the phone on the table nearby, she narrowed her eyes as she willed it to ring.

It didn't work.

"Why should it?" she grumbled, slowly shaking her head, slamming the bottle onto the end table beside the chair. With the way her luck was going these days, Marvin wouldn't be calling her back until maybe— _maybe_ —next month. "Maybe I'm cursed . . ."

As if in silent answer, the phone _did_ ring. Valerie uttered an involuntary yelp as the sound of her ringtone cut through the quiet apartment, and she nearly fell flat on her face in her haste to retrieve the device.

It wasn't Marvin. It wasn't Evan, either.

Nope, it was Garret, and while she did love her little brother, she didn't particularly want to talk to him at the moment, either, so she sent the call to voicemail and flopped onto the sofa, face-down.

It was some weird and twisted form of Divine Retribution, wasn't it? It had to be. Whatever entities there were out there, they were fucking with her—and probably having a party, too.

It just didn't make sense. Evan always understood her. He understood her better than she understood herself. It wasn't like him to just jump to conclusions, no matter how accurate those conclusions were. Angry, okay, but . . .

But it wasn't his anger that had gotten the better of him, was it? The sudden memory of the look on Evan's face—the hurt that he couldn't hide—made her grimace. She winced. Somehow, she knew that she'd never forget that look, not as long as she lived . . . He'd listen to her, wouldn't he? He had to, and even if he didn't forgive her . . . Well, she'd figure that out if it came to that.

Uttering another little growl, she pushed herself up on her elbows to glare at her phone again. She almost fell off the sofa when she rolled to the side to retrieve her phone once more. With a grunt from the efforts she was exerting, she dialed Marvin's number again and lifted it to her ear.

It rang three times, and Valerie was about to launch into a new round of grumbling when Marvin answered. "Hey, Val," he greeted warmly. "Did you make it back to New York okay?"

"Yes, fine," she replied, concentrating on keeping her voice steady as a cold sweat broke out on her palms. "We need to talk. I—"

"Oh, sure! Right now's not a good time, though. I'm in the middle of a presentation for Vaughn Labs—We're just taking a quick break."

"No, I really need to talk to you right now," she insisted, trying to brush aside the irritation that rose with his inability to understand when she was being dead serious.

"I'm sorry, but this is a _really_ important one. They're probably going to offer to underwrite some of the research," he insisted. "I'll call you tomorrow, and—"

"Not tomorrow!" she gritted out. "For once, won't you—?"

"I've got to go. They're back, so I guess the break's over. I promise, I'll call you tomorrow!"

Uttering a frustrated growl as the connection ended, Valerie stumbled to her feet, dropping her phone onto the sofa and gripping her forehead as a headache suddenly spiked behind her eyes.

It was the last straw, wasn't it? The very last straw. She never asked him for anything, mostly because she would rather do it all herself, but the one time she told him that she needed him? And he put her off for his precious meeting, and maybe his research was important, but . . .

As if all of the anger, the guilt, the frustration broke over her in one fell swoop, it felt like the dam on her emotions was breaking loose, as if something somewhere deep down had suddenly ignited. Marvin wouldn't listen to her; Evan was ticked off at her for something that she never meant to happen, and even if she could appreciate their respective reasons, that didn't make her feel a whole hell of a lot better, given the situation.

Well, there wasn't a damn thing she could do about Marvin at the moment, was there? Even if she called him back, he'd just send her call to voicemail, anyway.

But Evan . . .

"All right," she slurred as she snatched her purse off the table near the door. "It's on, Roka . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Throw_** **_Yourself_** **_Away_** ' _by_ _Nickelback_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2003_ _release_ , **_The_** **_Long_** **_Road_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Chad_ _Kroeger_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Damn it_ …


	204. 203: Riptide

' _And what do you think you'd ever say_...?  
' _I won't listen anyway; you don't know me_ …  
' _And I'll never be what you want me to be_ …

' _And what do you think you'd understand_ …?  
' _I'm a boy – no, I'm a man_ …  
' _You can't take me and throw me away_ …'

 

-' _I'm Still Here_ ' by John Rzeznik.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Yeah, Bone, what's up?"

The big man heaved a sigh, and Evan heard Valerie's voice in the background though he couldn't quite make out her words. She sounded irritated, though, probably because Bone must have figured he ought to make sure that it was all right to let her in before he took any such liberties upon himself. "Ya, Boss. The little lady's here, demanding to see you."

Scratching his head, Evan nodded. He'd figured as much. "Let her in."

Bone snorted and hesitated for a moment, as though he were trying to decide on something he wanted to say. "Umm . . . I think I should warn you: she's drunk off her ass."

That got Evan's attention quickly enough. "Drunk?"

Bone hesitated again. "Yeah, drunk . . . and she drove over here."

". . . Are you shitting me?"

"Nope," Bone replied. "Wish I was. I'll drive her up, ya."

Hanging up the phone, Evan slowly shook his head. Bad enough, in his estimation, that she was 'drunk off her ass'. She _drove_ over? Was she stupid, too?   If their places were reversed, she'd bring down the wrath of God and all of His saints upon Evan's head for doing that, and, come to think of it, he wasn't too pleased that she'd gotten behind the wheel of a car, either. He ought to give her one helluva lecture for what she'd taken upon herself to do—too bad she'd never remember it tomorrow morning . . .

Digging a beer out of the cooler, he heaved a sigh. To be completely honest, he wasn't entirely sure that seeing her now was a good idea. ' _Scratch that_ ,' he thought sourly. He _knew_ it wasn't a good idea. Drunk-Valerie? He had a hard enough time, dealing with perfectly Sober-Valerie . . . And to be completely honest, his prior irritation was still there, even if it had calmed down enough for him to attempt 'reasonable'. Even still, there wasn't much she could say that would make the whole situation any better, now was there? No, not really, aside from an act of God, and considering it was Marvin, that was pushing it, to say the least . . .

' _Damn it_ . . .'

He didn't have long to dwell on it, though. He'd barely gotten the beer open and lifted to his lips when he heard the front door open and close, and judging from the haughty tone in Valerie's voice, not only was she drunk, but she was also on some kind of a mission . . .

"Let me tell you something, Bone—Is that _really_ your name?"

Drunk attorney. Drunk attorney during cross-examination. Nice.

"Close enough, little lady, ya."

"I highly doubt that your mother would see the necessity of naming her son 'Bone', don't you think?" Valerie went on. She was slurring more than usual, and Evan sighed again as he moved into the doorway and leaned against the frame. They were just inside the living room, which meant that Evan had a very good view of their backs at the moment.

"That's right. My mama calls me 'angel'," Bone quipped.

Valerie snorted indelicately. "Okay, okay . . ." Dismissing Bone entirely, Valerie spun on her heel and almost fell over. Bone caught her, but she pulled away quickly enough before taking a couple steps forward. "Roka? Roka, where are you?" she called.

"Thanks, Bone. I got it from here," Evan said as he pushed himself away from the doorframe and ambled into the room.

Bone shot him a wide grin—apparently, he thought that Drunk-Valerie was pretty damn funny. At the moment, Evan wasn't inclined to agree. But the head of security brushed past him, pausing just long enough to drop Valerie's keys into his hand before he continued along his way.

Valerie spun around to face Evan, catching herself on the arm of the sofa as she stumbled slightly. "There you are!" she blurted, pointing a finger at his chest. "We need to talk, you and me—" Cutting herself off abruptly, she scowled. "You and I? You and me? You and—" Waving her hands quickly, she growled at her own display of being easily sidetracked and made a show of rolling her eyes. "You and _V_ — _we're_ gonna talk—well, _I'm_ going to talk—and you're going to listen to me before you kick me out again."

He almost smiled at the very evident pout on her face, but he thought better of it as he slipped her keys into his pocket and crossed his arms over his chest. "So humor me for a minute, V. Just how drunk are you?"

Wrinkling her nose, she snorted indelicately and swatted her hand through the space in front of her nose impatiently. "I'm _not_ drunk!" she insisted haughtily, which meant she absolutely was. "Okay, so I did have a _little_ wine—"

' _Translation: a lot of wine_ . . .'

"—But not so much that it's impairing my fac—fac—facilities! No, wait, wait, wait . . ." she blurted, waving a hand at him to cut him off before he could correct her. "That's not the right word . . ." She considered it for a second, then shook her head again. "Never mind. Not important. What _is_ important is that I'm _not_ drunk. I'm _determined_."

". . . That's a new word for it," Evan muttered, more to himself than to the skunked attorney.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

Her smile was downright triumphant. " _Anyway_ , like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted . . . I'm gon' talk, and you're gon' shut up and listen, and then if you're still convinced that I'm a terrible person, you can kick me out. Again. Though twice in a row is pretty anti-climactic, don't you think?"

"I am?" he asked patiently when she finally stopped for a breath.

"You are, what?"

"Convinced that you're a terrible person."

Her bottom lip jutted out in a very extreme pout, and she nodded once, twice, managing to look both defiant and completely pathetic, all that the same time—a talent that only the very, very drunk could actually achieve. "Because I am, right?" she said in a tone that suggested that she might well be very close to tears. Sober-Valerie could achieve whiplash mood swings, sure. Drunk-Valerie? She had it down to a science, apparently . . .

Evan relented with a sigh. No matter how hurt his pride might be, the fact of it all was that he really had no business being angry with her; not really. After all, as much as he might hate the idea, she _was_ engaged to that little peckerhead . . . "All right, V," he said, dropping the bravado and heaving a sigh of his own. "I'll listen."

She seemed surprised at his acquiescence for a few moments and took a step back. "Sit," she commanded, gesturing at the sofa.

"If you were my obaa-chan, you'd say 'osuwari'," he quipped with a sigh.

"If I were _hu-u-u-uh . . .?_ "

He waved a hand. "Never mind. I'll explain it some other time."

She stared at him for a long second, obviously trying to decide if she wanted to pursue what he'd said or if she would rather get back on track. She must have figured she might as well get on with it, though, because she gestured at the sofa impatiently instead.

He stared at her for a minute then slowly nodded, figuring he might as well let her get whatever it was off her back. Even then, some morbid part of him really was curious about it, even if he really didn't want to admit as much. "Here?" he asked, pausing mid-squat to wait for her reply.

"Yes, that'll do," she allowed airily. Waiting for him to get comfortable, she said nothing, but she did tap her foot impatiently.

"Okay, I'm listening," he said, careful to keep his tone as neutral as he possibly could.

She nodded again. "All right. Now, this is how this is gonna work," she went on, pacing across the floor in front of the coffee table in a relatively straight line. "You can be the judge, and I'm going to present my case. After I'm finished, you can then cross-examine me—the witness—before it goes to the jury for deliberation."

Evan blinked and slowly shook his head. "So . . . am I the judge, the prosecuting attorney, or the jury . . .?"

"You're the . . ." Stopping mid-stride, she looked duly perplexed. "What did I say you were?"

"You said I'd be the judge, but then you said I could cross-examine you, and then you mentioned the jury, but there's no one else here, _so-o-o_ . . ."

His answer seemed to confuse her, but she thought it over for a moment before shaking her head, pinning him with a calculating kind of look. "You're trying to confuse me, aren't you?" she asked mildly.

Taking a moment to clear his throat, Evan shrugged off-handedly. "Oh, no. Not at all, V."

"Good, good, because—" Cutting herself off abruptly, she narrowed her eyes at him in an attempt to be stern, he supposed. " _Wa-a-a-ait_ . . . You shouldn't be addressing me so casually, _Mr_. Roka," she decided with a curt nod. "Your honor will do nicely, thank you."

"But . . . I'm the judge, and you're the one on trial, right?" he reminded her. "So I should be _your_ honor."

"I'd call you 'your honor' if you _had_ any honor, but you threw me out earlier, remember, and—" Cutting herself off again, she frowned. "Oh, I did deserve that, didn't I?" she mumbled.

"But you said that I'm going to be the judge," he stated again.

She opened her mouth to retort then snapped it closed when she realized that he was, in fact, the judge in this particular case. "I'm so _not_ calling you 'your honor,' she informed him haughtily.

Pressing his lips together in a thin line to keep from chuckling outright, he nodded slowly. "Okay, counselor," he said instead just before his amusement faded slightly; just before he heaved a sigh and rubbed his forehead, dropping all pretenses of teasing, at least for the moment. "But you know, I really don't think I want the gory details."

Valerie made a face and resumed the pacing across the floor. "It wasn't like I went there with the intention of sleeping with Marvin," she pointed out almost sullenly.

"V—"

She plunged on like she'd completely missed his interruption. "I just took a shower and laid down for a nap while he went out to dinner, but I must've been more tired than I thought and so when you started doing . . . _stuff_ . . . to me— _again_ , might I add—I—"

"Me? What did _I_ do?" he blurted before he could stop himself.

Valerie waved a hand at him impatiently without breaking her stride, "—didn't see any need to stop since—"

"But I was _here_ all last night," he said, crossing his arms over his chest and slouching down a little deeper into the sofa. "Of course, if I _had_ been there with you and that little douche bag, I would have made damn sure there wasn't any _fucking_ to speak of," he added for good measure.

He might as well have been talking to the wall, however, for all the good it did him. Valerie, it seemed, was on a roll . . . "—I had already decided that it's over with Marvin, and—"

Everything in the world seemed to screech to a sudden and almost painful halt. "Wh . . . What . . .?" he croaked out, swallowing hard as the constriction in his chest tightened even more. ' _That's funny . . . I could've sworn she just said_ . . .'

She sighed, her shoulders slumping though she continued to shuffle her feet, as though she couldn't stand to be still, and maybe that was the truth of it. "I went there, and I looked at him, and I thought, just what the hell am I doing there? Why the hell did I have to fly across the damn country, just to realize that he's not the one I belong with?" Suddenly, she laughed, but the sound of it was harsh, sad. "It was a dream—a stupid dream! You were there, and I thought . . ." Screwing up her face in an obvious show of irritation, she snorted. "Why wasn't it you instead of him?" she growled plaintively, lifting her chin defiantly, pinning him with a very serious scowl.

"Me . . .? Uh . . ." Brain slowing to a crawl as he struggled to make sense out of the things she'd said so far, Evan shook his head. "You thought I . . . was the one . . . in bed with you . . .?"

" _Yes!_ " she nearly bellowed, but her irritation suddenly faded, as though it had all been tied up in that one word. "It was _supposed_ to be you," she muttered, shrugging her shoulders simply. "By the time I woke up enough to realize . . ." She snorted indelicately as a vivid blush rose in her cheeks. "Well, he was done by then, and he rolled off me and fell asleep—like always."

It was a novel feeling, really. On the one hand, a flickering sense of hope was stuttering to life, and yet, he couldn't help but to be rather affronted by the idea that Murdock didn't even have the decency to get V off, because as far as Evan was concerned, that'd be the last time that he ever had the chance to try it. "Where was he, anyway?" he asked casually, hoping that in Valerie's intoxicated state that she wouldn't find anything odd about his question.

He should have known that he just wasn't that lucky. Narrowing those startling eyes of hers on him, Valerie slowly shook her head. "Why?" she asked, unable to hide the foreboding in her tone.

"Because he needs to have his head shoved through his ass, that's why," Evan grumbled. "Selfish little—"

"You aren't going to cause trouble," she warned, rolling her eyes as she tried to stomp over to him, but it seemed more like stumbling. Then she tripped over her own feet and landed on him. Evan barely had enough time to grab her to keep her from slipping right off his lap and onto the floor. "I have a better idea, Roka," she said suddenly, her skin flushing prettily as she pushed herself up enough to get a better look at his face.

Evan swallowed hard when she shifted her position, straddling his lap as the redirection of her thoughts were reflected in a sudden surge of her scent. He was in trouble, definitely in trouble . . . "I . . . I don't think this is a good idea," he warned, closing his eyes just for a moment as he struggled to remember that she was drunk— _very_ drunk—damn it.

"You know, I think it's a great idea," she insisted, her voice dropping to a husky purr, her hands slipping under the open front of the button-down shirt he'd pulled on earlier. That he'd not fastened the buttons was neither here nor there, and he sucked in a sharp breath as she leaned in closer, her fingers kneading muscles on his chest . . . "In fact, I think it's the best idea I've had all day . . ."

"You're . . . You're drunk, V," he pointed out.

"And I want to know if you were just talk."

"What . . . What do you mean?" he breathed, shaking his head, as though to refute the sensations assaulting him.

"What was it you said before?" She leaned up, nipped his earlobe, and giggled when he shuddered in response. "Oh, yes . . . If I did this to you again, you'd fuck the hell out of me, drunk or not, right?"

"N-Not exactly," he half-whined. "V . . ."

"C'mon, big man," she coaxed, nibbling a path from his ear along his jawline. "Don't you want me?"

"That's a stupid question," he growled, grasping her hips, grinding her down against his crotch.

She moaned, rising up on her knees as her lips fell on his. "Please, Evan," she whispered, her words cut off as she kissed him again and again. "I want you . . . I _love_ you."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _I'm_** **_Still_** **_Here_** ' _by_ _John Rzeznik originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2002_ _release_ , **_Treasure_** **_Planet_** **_Soundtrack_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _John_ _Rzeznik_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _What did she just …?_


	205. 204: Tempest

' _I kn-kn-know a girl; she gets what she wants all the time_...  
' _'Cause she's fine_ …  
' _But for an angel, she's a hot, hot mess_ …  
' _Make you so blind_ …  
' _But you don't mind_ …'

 

-' _She's So Mean_ ' by Matchbox Twenty.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Wh . . . What . . .?" Evan mumbled, eyes drifting closed despite his best effort to stop Valerie—to stop her before she did something that she would probably regret once she sobered up. Hands slipping over flesh, pushing off his shirt, she paid no heed to his acute discomfort as she leaned in even closer, as though she were trying to meld their bodies into one. He grimaced. The air hung thick with the sexual frustration that he'd tried to contain for far too long, and it registered vaguely in the back of his mind that he was ultimately fighting a losing battle.

"I love you," she said again, her breathing coming in husky, rasping pants that dampened his skin in a torturously delicious kind of way. Pressing her body even closer, she heaved a quivering sigh. "God, I _want_ you . . ."

"I . . . We . . . can't . . . V . . . _Damn_ ," he groaned, struggling to hold onto a semblance of his sanity. It wasn't working. If he managed to live through the night, it would probably be a miracle. Still, her words echoed in his mind, and as much as he desperately wanted to believe them, he couldn't quite shake the unreasonable hysteria that she might realize what she'd said, that she might try to explain it away as the drunken babblings of a confused woman . . .

"Don't you want me?" she whispered.

"Th . . . That's not fair," he pointed out.

"It's fair," she insisted, reaching down between them, rubbing him through the irritating fabric of his jeans. "Do you really want me to stop?"

Closing his eyes, swallowing hard, Evan grimaced. ". . . _Fuck_ , no . . ."

"Please?" She kissed him—long, lingering, infinitely tenderly. "Please?" Another kiss, but this one was tinged with the emotion that she'd tried to deny for so long. "Please?" A kiss full of unspoken promise, of want and need and desperation . . .

Still, that small hint, that lingering shadow of doubt remained, and Evan turned his head to the side—one last ditch effort to win a losing battle. "I don't . . . V . . ."

Erupting in a low near-purr, Valerie kneaded the flesh of his chest, the muscles that rippled under her touch. Grasping her wrists, he meant to push away, wanted to wait until she was fully capable of remembering the entire thing—wanted to give her the time to make certain that it was really what she wanted, even if the very idea of letting go of her now was enough to choke him—but somewhere between his brain and his hands, the message was lost, and when she scooted back, mouth dropping to his collar bone, Evan sucked in a sharp breath and very nearly came undone.

It occurred to him in a vague sort of way that the entire situation might well be laughable, all things considered. After all, he was bigger, stronger than her, wasn't he? If he were to stop and consider it, it was preposterous, right? He was Zel Roka, for God's sake—the man who loved women: lots of them and as often as he could—so why wasn't he able to mount even a token resistance? No, instead, there he was, unable to a thing about the physical onslaught that she delivered.

Lips, teeth, tongue amassing a small-scale assault that left a his body in a state of absolute wreckage, she demolished every barrier that he tried to build up between them, banished all doubts like the sun splitting the summer rain clouds. The feel of her hands, of her mouth, burned him, seared him down to the bone. He didn't trust himself to touch her, couldn't let himself go, teetering on the very cusp of the shaky sense of self-control that was so rapidly dissolving away.

"V . . . You . . . Are you . . . sure . . .?" he managed to ask, and the words helped to bolster his resolve, at least, a little bit.   But there was just too much riding on this, too much that it could easily ruin if he weren't careful, and even if his body was dying, he still had to make sure.

Grasping his shoulders, she pulled herself up, staring at him without trying to hide anything; it was all there, all visible, all smoldering in the depths of her gaze. Cheeks pinked, lips swollen and slightly parted as she tried to steady her breathing, she stared at him for a long moment. "I want you, Evan," she said quietly, her voice still tinged by a huskiness that matched her ragged respirations. "Do you want me to beg? Okay, I'll beg." Leaning in closer, her lips brushing over his like the whisper of a butterfly's wings, he tried to capture them, but she pulled back, closing her eyes. "I want you," she repeated, "I _need_ you . . . _please_ . . . I'll do anything—" Eyes opening slowly, the intense burn igniting as her scent spiked once more, she blinked once, twice, as though she were trying to tell him that she absolutely understood what the consequences of her choice of words could be before continuing. "— _Anything_ —so _please_ . . ."

Shaking his head, more to try to cling to a modicum of self-control before he lost his head completely, he grimaced and gritted his teeth. "And if you don't remember all this in the morning?" His voice sounded as harsh as hers . . .

"Well, if I don't remember," she said as she leaned in once more, capturing his earlobe in her teeth, running her tongue along the sensitive skin until he was shuddering, almost convulsing while wave after delicious wave of shivers ran up and down his spine, "then you'll just have to fuck me again tomorrow—you know: jar my memory, Roka."

He groaned.   Long and loud and completely primitive, the sound slipped out of him before he could think, before he could stop himself, and he gathered her up, pushing himself to his feet with the back of his legs to carry her upstairs before he could talk himself out of it.

Valerie didn't stop as he hurried toward the stairs. If anything, she was growing more impatient with every passing moment. He did manage to get all the way to the second floor with only a couple pauses while he fought to regain a semblance of control, but he slumped against the wall briefly as she dragged her fingernails over the muscles of his chest, his arms, as she scraped her teeth over his throat. The unsteady rhythm of her heartbeat echoed in his ears, and he shouldered himself away from the wall, staggering the last distance into his bedroom.

She blinked in apparent confusion when he set her down on the bed, rising up on her knees as he yanked at the buttons of his jeans. It took her a few moments to figure out just what he was doing, but when she did, she reached out, pushed his hands away, and made quick work of unfastening them and pushing them down his legs. Then she slid off the bed to remove her own clothing while Evan kicked off the jeans, leaving them in a careless heap on the floor, half-inside-out and completely forgotten.

He finished before she did, and he stood, watching as she clumsily tugged the soft, off-white angora sweater over her head, as she discarded her own jeans next to his on the floor. Balling his hands into tight fists at his sides, he didn't dare reach for her, didn't dare try to help her remove the pretty pink silk bra and panty set. Considering that he'd love nothing more than to rip them right off of her—something she really might object to in the morning—he figured that it was as safe as he could get, at least, at the moment.

But the sight of her absolutely gorgeous breasts as they bounced so perfectly when she reached behind herself and flicked the hooks that held it closed very nearly brought him to his knees; the beautifully puckered rosy nipples wrenched a low moan from him, and he started to reach for his penis, to stroke himself as he waited, but he thought better of that. He was already much, much too close to the very brink of his control that he wasn't entirely sure that he could withstand any kind of touch, even his own.

Kicking off her panties, she straightened her back, arms at her sides as she stood quietly, as she stared at Evan in a completely unabashed kind of way. She seemed to be asking him a silent question, and he gritted his teeth hard then rasped out a harsh and very weak chuckle. "If I move, I swear to God, I'll come," he growled.

She blinked a few times and considered his statement. Then with a breathy giggle, she reached out, grasped him in her hands.

And his world exploded.

He almost slumped to the floor. It registered in the back of his mind that she was laughing. Either she hadn't believed what he'd claimed or she just couldn't help herself. Either way, it took him a minute or two to get his brain to function. Standing at the foot of the bed, his arms stretched over his head, holding onto the upper part of the frame so tightly that he'd dug his claws into it, he struggled to catch his breath, only to gasp when the shocking heat of Valerie's mouth closed over him. Every muscle in his body was straining, every nerve resounding with the need to touch her, to love her, and still he didn't dare move.

Uttering a roughened groan, he closed his eyes, let his head fall back, unable to do anything at all as she grasped his ass, as she fucked him with her mouth. The feel of her tongue stroking him, the absolute sensation, the demanding suction rattled through him, straight to his brain, reverberating throughout his body. The hungry, slurping sounds that filled the room warred with his breathing, with his moans.

She leaned back on her heels, her lips letting go with a lurid 'pop', she laughed unevenly. He started to lift his head, to look down at her, only to let it fall back once more when the tip of her tongue touched him once more, delicately running around the head of his penis. One hand pumping him in a steady, hard cadence while the other gently massaged his balls, she teased him unmercifully.

Deep inside him, he could feel it; the familiar tensing, the incredible ache that feverishly multiplied upon itself, over and over again, the rise of his climax. "V, if you don't stop . . ." he whispered, face contorting in a formidable scowl as the pleasure rapidly shifted into near-pain.

She laughed again, giving him one last squeeze, one last yank, then let go, slowly kissing her way up his body as she got to her feet once more. Tongue flicking out, delving into his belly button, she didn't seem to be in a hurry, and, while Evan could and did appreciate that, he wasn't exactly in the mood to wait, either.

He grabbed her by the shoulders, dragged her roughly against him, pulling her to her feet and bending down to kiss her, smashing her lips under his, all finesse forgotten as rampant lust took over. They tumbled onto the bed, a tangle of arms and legs, of raging need and insatiate desire. Trying to touch every part of her in the space of an instant frustrated him. Unwilling to relinquish his claim on her mouth, unable to ignore the steadily growing passion, the overwhelming need to dominate every part of her. Well past the point of control where he could dictate his body's will, he dragged his lips down her body, searing a path on her skin, grazed his fangs over her unblemished skin.

She gasped and jerked beneath him when his mouth closed over her breast, arching her body against his, asking him intuitively more for, and he gave it, his tongue flicking over her swollen nipple as she half-cried, half-moaned, as he sank two fingers deep into her. Bucking her hips against him, allowing him to penetrate her deeper, deeper, she quaked and quivered. With a strangled cry, his name tumbling from her lips, she tightened around him, her entire body tensing as a powerful orgasm slammed through her.

Sliding down her body, he slipped his arms under her legs, spread her open wide, breathing in the heady scent of her, mesmerized by the glistening flesh he exposed. Closing his mouth over her, shifting his gaze upward, he savored her. She arched her back, breasts thrust upward, grinding her hips against his mouth, against his tongue, babbling nonsense. He slid his fingers inside her again, rocking them in and out of her as her gasping breaths grew louder, more demanding. She ground her hips against his mouth, uttering harsh, rasping gasps, broken entreaties.

Savoring the taste of her, mind reeling from the complete inundation of his senses, Evan reveled in absorbing her reactions. Every slight quiver, every tumultuous sigh, everything goaded him, growing more insistent as his own need built upon hers. Slipping his tongue up and down , flicking it over over-sensitized flesh, he moaned against her.

Valerie cried out again, her fingers tangled in his hair, her body tensing again as absolute pleasure took over. Fingernails digging into his shoulders, the sound of his name spilled from her lips, echoed in the air, pulsed with the beat of her heart. "Fuck me, Evan," she moaned. "Fuck . . ."

It was all he waited to hear.

He sat up, crawling over her to yank the nightstand drawer open, to fumble around for a condom. Damned if his fingers wanted to work at the moment. Not content to wait for him, Valerie sat up, pressed her body against his back, wrapping her arms around him, running her hands over his chest. He could smell the wine, sweet on her breath, and he damn near ripped the condom in his haste. Hands shaking, breathing stunted and uneven, intoxicated by the scent of the woman, Evan somehow managed to roll the condom on before turning with a roughened growl, grasping Valerie's shoulders, and shoving her back as he positioned himself between her legs and slammed his hips against hers.

She screamed, body quivering, convulsing around him, legs locking around his waist instinctively, as though she were afraid that he was going to leave her, and Evan groaned, squeezing his eyes closed, gritting his teeth hard as he tried to hold himself in check.

It took a minute for him to regain a modicum of control, at least enough that he wasn't in as much danger of coming if he so much as breathed. Valerie, however, seemed to be absolutely hell-bent on his ultimate failure. Lifting her hips, grinding herself against him, she created a cadence that wrung a low growl from him. She dug her nails into his back, and he didn't care. Meeting her motions, shoving her back down against the mattress with a force that rattled straight through the both of them as the tension inside him rolled and frothed, climbing higher with every stroke.

The molten heat of her, the incredible tightness that surrounded him precluded everything else, as if the entire world had somehow ceased to exist, leaving Valerie and him and the voracious need that spiraled higher and higher.

"Fucking hell, I'm going to die," Evan murmured, pushing himself up, grabbing Valerie's knees roughly, yanking her toward him to meet his thrusts.

Her response was a loud groan, almost a moan, her body tensing around him, drawing him in deeper, beckoning him toward the cusp of complete oblivion.

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do this?" he growled, driving himself into her, the sound of his flesh cracking against hers like thunderclaps.

Valerie replied with a half-whimper, half-moan, reaching up, tightening her fists around handfuls of the comforter. Arching her back, her breasts flushed, hardened nipples presenting an absolutely beautiful display of complete abandon. She opened her eyes slightly, gnawing on her lower lip as she gasped, staring at him with an intensity that wrapped around his brain.

The burgeoning ache swelled and intensified, the growing sense that he was tumbling past the point of no return urging him on in a frenzy of sensation, a tide of lust. Harder, faster, ever more insistent, the tingling in his body converging into one point, one consuming need that grew larger, loomed heavier, thickened in the air around them.

Valerie's movements became more frenzied, more wanton. Rising up off the bed, only to be slammed back down again, over and over as she whimpered, moaned. Every beat of her heart reverberated from her to him, and in the space of a breath, he could feel himself coming apart.

She cried out, her body tensing, every muscle straining, locking around him so tightly that he gasped, unable to do more than collapse against her while his body tried to remember to breathe, while he fought for some tiny bit of control. It didn't work, and with a hoarse cry of his own, he tumbled over the edge, his body exploding in a collision of want and need and ultimate fulfillment that would be as transient as the morning tides.

It seemed like forever before he managed to push himself up on his elbows, opened his eyes, only to find her staring at him. When he met her gaze, she smiled, albeit weakly, her hands roaming up and down his chest almost idly.

"Damn, woman," he said in an unsteady exhalation as he let his forehead drop against hers. "Goddamn . . ."

"Hmm, not bad, Roka," she mused, her hands reaching around him, trailing her fingers up and down his spine. "Not bad . . ."

He snorted, lifting his head to pin her with a cocky grin. "Not bad?" he echoed incredulously. "That's all you've got to say about it? Not bad?"

"It was fine for starters," she went on. "Are you telling me that it was your best?"

"That's some pretty big talk from a person who used to believe that women didn't really have orgasms," he pointed out.

She wrinkled her nose, a devilish sparkle illuminating her gaze. "I faked those," she lied.

He reached out to grab her. She shrieked and tried to clamor away from him. He held on and kissed her again. "You're a damn liar," he insisted.

"Maybe," she relented, leaning up to kiss him back.

"I could go again, you know," he grumbled, closing his eyes for a moment, savoring the feel of her before he gave her a quick kiss and carefully eased himself out of her. Gritting his teeth against the rioting protests of his nerves, he sat up to get rid of the used condom.

"So, rockstar," she said, her voice throaty, intimate like a caress. He could feel her sit up but didn't look to verify it as he leaned over to snag a new condom from the nightstand. "You going to tell me that's all you've got?"

"Oh, not even close, V," he assured her, grasping the corner of the packet between his teeth to rip it open.

She uttered a little laugh and wrapped her arms around him again, content for the moment to nuzzle his neck. "Good because it's still early, and we've got all night. Don't worry, though. I promise I won't rub your nose in it too much if you can't keep up with me."

Chuckling at her not-so-subtle challenge, Evan slowly shook his head. "Is that right?"

She bit down on his shoulder then laughed again, and he raised an eyebrow when he saw the fire igniting behind her gaze once more. "Yeah," she promised, reaching out, turning his face with gentle fingers so she could kiss him. "That's right."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _She's_** **_So_** **_Mean_** ' _by_ _Matchbox_ _Twenty_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2012_ _release_ , **_North_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Kyle_ _Cook,_ _Paul_ _Doucett_ , _and_ _Rob_ _Thomas_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Valerie_** :  
>  _Wow …_


	206. 205: Doomsday

' _But only love can break your heart_...  
' _Try to be sure right from the start_ …  
' _Yes, only love can break your heart_ …  
' _What if your world should fall apart_ …?'

 

-' _Only Love Can Break Your Heart_ ' by Neil Young.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

He lounged in the doorway, casually sipping a cup of coffee, frowning slightly as he watched Valerie, fast asleep in the middle of the bed. It had only been a couple hours since she'd fallen into a deep sleep. How much of it was caused by the booze and how much was a direct result of the hours they'd spent in each other's arms, he wasn't sure, and it really didn't matter. He himself couldn't sleep; there was just no way possible, not after everything that had happened, and, while the cautious sense of hope still lingered, so did the irksome doubt that persisted just around the edges.

Still, the sun was spilling through the windows, bathing the entire room in a brightness that only added to the surreal feeling that had yet to relinquish its hold on him. On the one hand, she'd said it already, hadn't she? It was over between her and Marvin. Evan had won—well, if he wanted to think of it in terms of some kind of epic battle. Somehow, that seemed a little more impersonal than he liked.

She'd chosen him.

Hadn't she?

Letting out a deep breath, he shifted his jaw to the side, sucked in one cheek. If he had understood her correctly, that's exactly what she was saying.

So why did he hesitate now? Why couldn't he shake the dreadful feeling that when she woke up, she'd realize what had happened, that his cautious hope would come crashing down around him . . .?

' _Don't be so negative, lover-boy. She was as horny as you were. Remember, if you will, the entire thing was all her idea_ ,' his youkai piped up. ' _Damn, what a night_ . . .'

' _Way to put it, pervert,_ ' Evan grumbled. ' _Just because we made love_ —'

His youkai interrupted with a loud snort. ' _You didn't make love. Guys like your dad or your brother—now those saps 'make love'—and probably sob like damn babies about it afterward. You fucked: mind-blowing, ass-kicking, howl-at-the-moon fuckin'-fucking. That's what it was_.'

Rolling his eyes as the vaguest hint of a smile quirked his lips, Evan shook his head and lifted the mug of fragrant coffee once more. ' _Yeah! It totally was!_ '

' _Too bad she fell asleep_ . . .'

He sighed a little wistfully. ' _Tell me about it_ . . .'

' _Oh, and before I forget, just why the hell did you use condoms last night? She's our mate, right? What was the point of that?_ ' his youkai-voice griped.

Evan snorted and made a face. ' _Because she was drunk_ ,' he grumbled since he wasn't too happy about the whole thing, either. That was neither here nor there. The point of it all was quite simple. ' _Besides, I haven't told her anything yet, if you'll remember_.'

' _So wake her up, tell her, and let's claim our mate_.'

Shaking his head, Evan sighed again. It wasn't exactly that easy. Well, maybe it could be, but if he were to be completely honest with himself, he'd have to admit that there was actually another very different reason: one he hadn't really stopped to think about until this morning, and when he had, he'd realized that it was the truest reason of all. The truest reason of all had very little to do with whether or not she was drunk, nor did it really have much to do with the idea of telling her about what he was.

But he'd gotten up to get her a bottle of water, and when he'd returned not even five minutes later, she was completely and utterly passed out and snoring lightly, not that he'd ever tell her that. Besides, he'd noticed that before, too. She only snored when she was drunk, anyway. He'd slipped back into bed with her, and she had instantly curled herself around him, likely seeking his warmth, and it was nice—too nice, actually, which was another reason why he'd gotten up. If he stayed in bed any longer, he would have been all about waking her up, and if she wasn't going to rake him over the coals about last night, she very likely would if he had given in to that urge . . .

Even so, there was something to be said for being able to just stand there, watching her sleep. Still very naked, covered by just a sheet that she'd tugged over her hips, her breasts carefully tucked under the arm she had slipped up under her pillow as she curled up on her side, her hair spilling out around her in waves of gorgeous blonde ripples, matted slightly from their night's activities, but that didn't detract from her overall radiance, even as she slept.

No doubt about it, he couldn't think of anything better than waking up next to that particular woman for the rest of his life . . .

The vibration of his cell phone on the nightstand galvanized him into action. It wasn't loud enough to wake her, he didn't think, but he also didn't want to chance it. Hurrying over, he set the coffee mugs on the nightstand and grabbed the device to turn it off, but the name that registered on the caller ID drew a thoughtful frown, and, with one last glance at Valerie, he ran lightly out of the room to answer the call.

"Hey, what's up?" he said, skipping any kind of proper greeting.

"Morning, Evvie," Jillian replied, the ebullience in her tone coming across loud and clear. "I just wondered what you were doing next weekend?"

"Next weekend? Not sure . . . I think I have a couple interviews and such, but nothing too demanding. Something up?"

"Oh, well, Gavvie and I were going to be in Maine, and I was kind of hoping to throw Mama a surprise baby shower—short notice, I know, bu-u-u-ut . . ."

Evan grinned. "I'll check my schedule and get back to you. I know there's nothing major, so I'm pretty sure that I can just reschedule, if I have to."

"You're sure?" Jillian pressed. "If not, I can always try for a different weekend."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Evan told her. "Just let me know the details, but . . . Should we have her shower already? I mean, she isn't due until September."

"I know," Jillian said. "But you know how that goes. I'm sure that other people will want to throw her a shower, too, and this one is just small—you know, just immediate family and really close friends that are already in the area."

"Oh, so you're going to invite Bubby."

Though he couldn't see her face, he had a fair feeling that Jillian was rolling her eyes, and she did giggle. "Of course I am! Besides, I want to have a baby derby!"

"What's that?"

Heaving a sigh since she thought that he obviously should know as much already, Jillian clucked her tongue. "It's where we all place bets on whether she's having a boy or a girl!"

"Placing bets on Mama? Cain'll love that."

Jillian giggled again. "It's all in fun, Evvie!"

"All right; all right."

"Oh, and make sure you ask V to come with you, of course. I mean, she's practically family already, right?"

And that statement was enough to bring a ridiculously cheesy smile to his face. "Yeah, I guess she is," he allowed.

"Okay, then I'll let you go. Gavvie's awake, and he's got a _really_ big 'morning glory' going on!"

" _Jilli!_ " Gavvie complained in the background. "Don't tell anyone _that!_ "

Evan laughed and raised his voice to be heard over Jillian's insistence that Evan was a guy so he ought to know about that without her having to say it. "All right, Jilli. Call me later."

Jillian twittered in laughter. "Bye, Evvie!"

"Aw, Evan? Now, that's even worse!" Gavin complained.

Still chuckling, Evan hung up the phone and wandered back down the hallway to the bedroom, resuming his stance, leaning against the doorframe. Valerie hadn't even stirred, which was just as well. He was a little busy at the moment, convincing himself that he didn't need to stride right in there and show her _his_ morning glory, damn it . . .

Evan smiled just a little, loving the way that the sunlight played in her hair, how it kissed her skin with a tawny sort of glow. As though she could sense his perusal, she uttered a soft sigh and snuggled down into her pillow, lips parting as her breathing deepened.

Well, she had been sleeping for almost three hours . . .

Pushing himself away from the door frame with his shoulder, Evan took his time, crossing the floor and set the phone on the nightstand. Then he carefully slipped back onto the bed. He didn't know if she'd felt the motion or had just realized that he was there. In any case, she snuggled close to him, wrapping her scent all around him as he slipped his arms around her and closed his eyes, willing his body to understand that he wasn't in a hurry to wake her up, that she, unlike he, really did need to sleep.

It didn't work nearly as well as he might have liked. In fact, it didn't work at all.

Damn it.

Cracking an eye open to gaze at her, her head resting on his shoulder, the coolness of her exposed skin a stark contrast from the absolute warmth where their bodies touched. Idly rubbing her shoulder with the pad of his thumb, he smiled when a pretty pinkness suffused her skin where he touched her, when an isolated patch of gooseflesh rose to meet him.

She really was everything in the world to him, and still . . .

Still, he couldn't quite shake that hint of doubt, that slight worry that she really would wake up and decide that everything was just a mistake, that _he_ was just a mistake . . .

That wouldn't happen, would it? She would never think that; never in a million years. She'd said it herself, and he knew he hadn't imagined it. She'd told him that it was over with Marvin.

He was just being stupid. It was simply hard to shake the worry that had plagued him for so long, the times when he'd felt as though he'd made a breakthrough with her, only to realize that he hadn't. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He had made breakthroughs with her. She simply hadn't known how to deal with them, so she'd retreated to the familiar, and as much as he hated it, he also understood it, too, but even if he hadn't, what did that matter when he loved her, would always love her? All he had to do now was to have a little faith.

She stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering but not quite ready to open, and she half-breathed, half-sighed his name. Kissing her forehead gently, he didn't really mean to wake her, but she slowly opened her eyes and smiled at him: that drowsy kind of half-drunken kind of smile, even though she should be sober enough now.

"Smell coffee," she murmured, her eyes drifting closed again, snuggling closer against Evan's chest.

"I brought you some," he told her though he made no move to let her go, either. "You want it? Sit up."

"Okay," she agreed in a still-groggy tone.

Evan chuckled and kissed her forehead again. "Damn, you feel nice."

"Mmm," she intoned. "Warm . . ."

He had a feeling that she wasn't even slightly awake, not really. That was all right. He could deal with that. After all, she wasn't freaking out, and that was a good sign, even if she wasn't completely coherent. "You want to sleep a little more?"

"Hmm . . . cuddle."

His cautious smile widened just a little. "I can do that."

It was just too nice, feeling her body so close to his, close enough that his heartbeat seemed to resonate with hers. Or maybe his was just so attuned to hers that it made the whole thing easy . . .

Somehow, he liked that idea—liked it a lot. They belonged together; he knew it. She knew it, too, didn't she? She fit too perfectly in his arms, too warm, too vibrant, too _everything_.

Gently tilting her chin with a crooked finger, he kissed her softly without actually intending to wake her. No, it was more that he simply wanted to, maybe needed to. She sighed against his lips, kissed him back almost clumsily, reaching up, stroking his cheek. When he stopped, she did manage to open her eyes a little bit, smiling almost bemusedly. "Are you going back to sleep?" he teased, catching her fingers in his hand, bringing them to his lips to brush over her knuckles.

"Thinking about it," she admitted, wiggling around just enough to make herself more comfortable as her eyes drifted closed once more.

"Keep that up, and there won't be any more sleeping for you this morning," he warned her, only half-joking.

"Last night was amazing," she murmured without opening her eyes again.

"Oh, so you do remember it."

"I wasn't that drunk."

He snorted despite the smile still on his face. "Drunk enough."

Pulling her hand away, she slapped it over his mouth. "Can't sleep when you're yappin', Roka."

That did make him laugh as he kissed her palm. "Guess I'll be nice and let you sleep a while longer," he said, pulling her hand down and pressing it against his chest. "You'll have to pay for it later, of course."

"You should be nice to be nice," she pointed out with a slight pout.

"I should," he quipped, "but I'm not."

"Jerk," she breathed then moaned as she snuggled against him some more.

"I'll take what I can get, V," he said. "Why you so tired, anyway?"

"Hmm, I wonder," she retorted dryly.

Evan grinned. "Want that coffee now?"

With a groan, Valerie leaned up on her elbow and reached out her other hand, swinging it around slightly, as though the movement was going to somehow draw her coffee into her hand. Evan chuckled but leaned to the side to snag it for her. "Here you go. Don't spill it."

"Thank you," she said, her voice already muffled by the mug as she slurped it down hastily. "Mmm . . ."

"That's sexy," he remarked as a little coffee dripped down her chin. She ignored it as she continued to drink.

"How much begging would it take to get you to refill that for me?" she asked, plunking the now-empty mug smack in the center of his chest and using the back of her hand to wipe her chin in an entirely un-graceful kind of way.

"What kind of begging?" he countered.

She rolled her eyes and flopped back down, resuming her place, nestled against his shoulder. "Oh, I'm so sore . . . Muscles are hurting that I didn't know I had," she groaned. "Did you try to bend me around like a pretzel or something?"

"Hell, yeah," he replied then uttered a long, drawn out moan of his own. "Aww, I'm getting a boner just remembering it all . . ."

"You always have one of those," she reminded him, leaning up long enough to kiss the tip of his nose before snuggling back down again.

"It's just because I'm the fuck-master," he said.

"The—? Really."

He chuckled. "That's right. "You can call me Lord Fuckity Fuck, if you want."

"No," she said flatly.

"Why not?"

"Don't make me beat on you today, Roka," she warned.

He chuckled again. "I'd probably like that."

She sighed. "You probably would."

"But you loved it."

She blushed and turned her head to hide her face against him for a moment. "I . . . I did," she admitted.

"Yeah, and you could have been loving it a lot longer if you had just listened to me about ol' Marzipan earlier."

She lay still for all of ten seconds, and then, with a very loud gasp, she sat bolt-upright, eyes flaring wide as she shot him a completely shocked look. "Oh, my God! Marvin!"

"Wh-What?"

Covering her face with her hands for a moment, she groaned. "Damn it! I forgot all about—What time is it?" she suddenly demanded, head snapping up as she tossed the blankets aside and scrambled out of bed.

"Time?" he echoed almost stupidly as his brain slowed to an absolute crawl. "Almost nine, but—"

"Nine?" She heaved a disgusted sort of sigh, yanking her jeans on with one hand as she groped around for her sweater with the other. "Oh, no!"

"W-Wait a minute!" he blurted, sitting up, trying to reach her, but she was too quick, or maybe she simply didn't notice his efforts. "What are you—?"

A very loud, very irritated growl cut him off abruptly as she raked her hands through her hair and then grabbed his jeans to rifle through the pockets. "It wasn't supposed to be like this! I'm so sorry!" she went on, and Evan had to wonder if she realized she was even speaking out loud. "I should have . . . Oh, God! What was I thinking?" She dropped his jeans after locating her keys. "Evan, I've got to go!"

"Go? Go where?"

She drew a deep breath and glanced at him, making a face as she scooped up her bra and panties that she hadn't bothered to pull back on. "I've got to call him," she hurried on to say. "I've got to call Marvin!"

Evan blinked. "Mar . . .?"

Valerie darted over to kiss the air near his cheek. "I'm sorry! I'm _so_ sorry!" she blurted as she hurried toward the door. "I'm sorry, Evan! I'll . . . I'll come by later!"

Evan did move for several minutes, long after he'd heard her run down the steps, long after he'd heard the door in the distance open and close. Long after he'd heard the squeal of her tires in his driveway.

As his frozen mind began to thaw, as Valerie's words resounded in his head, Evan reached up, raked his hands through his hair, rubbed his face over and over again, and it felt as though his entire world had just come crashing down upon him.

All of the things that he'd thought, all of those things that he'd feared, and . . .

And he was right, wasn't he? Valerie . . .

Valerie had still chosen Marvin.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Only_** **_Love_** **_Can_** **_Break_** **_Your_** **_Heart_** ' _by_ _Neil_ _Young_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1970_ _release_ , **_After_** **_the_** **_Gold_** **_Rush_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Neil_ _Young_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Evan_** :  
>  _What the hell was that …?_


	207. 206: Devastation

' _We seem to have a knack for miscommunication_...  
' _It stabbed us in the back this time_ …  
' _Is this the end of the line_ …?  
' _'Cause that'd be a crime_ …'

 

-' _Miscommunication_ ' by Delta Goodrem.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

' _What . . .? What are we going to do now . . .?_ '

Ignoring the question posed by his youkai-voice, Evan flopped back against the pillows and stared at his reflection in the mirrors mounted on the ceiling as the sound of Valerie's voice echoed through his head.

" _It wasn't supposed to be like this . . .! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry . . . I'm sorry, Evan_ . . ." Sorry, sorry, sorry . . .

Wincing as a dull but steady ache erupted in his chest, Evan squeezed his eyes closed, tried to block out those words.

He couldn't.

" _It wasn't supposed to be like this . . .! I should have . . . Oh, God! What was I thinking . . .?_ "

It was . . .

All of it was . . .

"A . . . mistake," Evan murmured, wincing as a searing ache shot through him. _He_ was a mistake—what they'd shared . . . It was all a mistake?

There really was nothing left, was there? He'd given her absolutely everything he had to give, and yet, it still wasn't enough. He hadn't held anything back from her, couldn't resist her, laid it all there, right out in the open, but it wasn't enough. She'd still chosen Marvin . . .?

"— _I had already decided that it's over with Marvin, and_ —"

So . . . So, why . . .? Why did she need to go call him? There was no rhyme, no reason, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to think that she'd lied to him, either. What was the point in that, anyway? She was already engaged to that little fucker, wasn't she? She'd slept with him, but she'd said that she had thought that it was Evan.

Still . . .

Wincing again, Evan sighed. Did it really matter? All the questions, and even if he got the answers, it wouldn't change a damn thing because . . . ' _Because . . . I lost. Because he's 'safe'_ . . .'

And that was what it really was to her, wasn't it? Everything—everything—boiled down to that one abstract idea—the safety that she didn't believe Evan could ever offer her. That sense of security that she'd always lacked in her life was something that Marvin had always given her, no matter what. Safe because she didn't love him. Safe because she never would, and Evan?

Grimacing, he knew the answer to that, too. Evan was about as far as she could possibly get from 'safe', from 'security'—from all those things that she thought she needed. Maybe she did, and didn't he know better than anyone that she had a lifetime of disappointment, of being scared, to reinforce that idea in her mind? He could blame her parents. After all, it was their basic failures that had spawned the feelings that Valerie still couldn't come to terms with. He could blame her numerous exes for their unwitting contributions to her anxiety, but what was the point? It wasn't going to change anything, and if the best he could do still wasn't enough, maybe . . . Maybe . . .

Maybe he should be angry. Maybe he should be pissed as hell that she'd effectively taken him for the proverbial ride. Maybe he ought to curse her and rant about her, maybe break a few things, maybe scream at her until he was blue in the face so that she could understand even a modicum of the absolute desolation he felt right now, but . . . But he couldn't do that, either, could he? He'd be lying if he tried to say that a part of him didn't want to do that—maybe more than just a part of him.

But somehow, he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to muster up that anger, couldn't convince himself that she'd ever really meant to hurt him. He _wanted_ to. He'd be lying if he tried to say that he didn't. He just . . . just couldn't.

Because he _loved_ her, and because he loved her . . .

He'd done it all, had tried it all, everything he could possibly think of to convince her. In the end, as much as she might have wanted to believe him, she couldn't, and maybe a small part of him could understand that, too. The reality of it all was simple. There was just one thing left that he could possibly do, one thing for her, one very last thing: something that she needed, even if she didn't realize that she did . . .

The vibration of his cell phone brought him out of his reverie. Evan reached over to grab it, ready to send the call to voicemail, but stopped as the familiar name greeted him, but he couldn't muster a smile as he connected the call, as he brought the device to his ear. The one person he had wanted to talk to, if only to make the necessary arrangements so that he could really say that he'd done everything for Valerie that was in his power to do. "Hey."

"Evan? Sweetie! It's Mama!"

"Morning, Mama. How's my best girl?"

She laughed softly. "Just fine, of course! Are you doing all right?"

Swallowing hard—why was it that the sound of her voice brought a thickness to his throat, a hot ache to his eyes?—Evan blinked a few times. "Never better," he lied, hoping that she couldn't discern anything amiss in his voice. "What's up?"

Gin sighed. "Do I have to have a reason to call you?" she pouted.

"Of course not," he assured her, and this time, he managed a wan smile. "You know you don't."

"Good! But actually, I was wondering if you were going to be coming home anytime soon? Just for a visit? I mean, I know you're such a busy man, but I miss you so much . . . The house is just so quiet without you here, and I know you've been on your own for a while now, so you'd think that I'd be used to it, but I'm not . . ."

"Uh . . . I . . . I don't know about that," he replied, unable to repress the tender little smile at his mother's babbling. "Been pretty busy lately."

"Oh, that's too bad . . . I was hoping you'd make it home around Memorial Day—Your father mentioned maybe having a big bonfire and stuff—maybe a clam bake . . ."

He frowned. "I'll see what I can do," he said in a non-committal sort of tone. "No promises, though. I think I might be out of the country for a while soon."

"I understand; I understand," Gin hurried to say, her tone a little brighter than normal, like she was trying to put up a good front for him. For some reason, that bothered him more than he cared to dwell upon. "It can't be helped! I mean, you _are_ Zel Roka!"

Evan didn't reply to that.

"Evan," Gin said, drawing out his name in a thoughtful kind of way when he didn't say anything for a minute. "Is everything all right? You sound a little . . . strained."

So he wasn't as good as acting as he'd hoped he was. No, maybe it was just that Gin was more attuned to him than most people. Either way, the last thing he wanted or needed was for her to worry about him right now, especially with the baby on the way. "Just a little tired," he lied. "I'm fine, Mama. Don't worry about me."

"Aren't you sleeping well?" she asked, but she sounded like his lie had worked. "Do you want me to whip up something from my herb garden to help you sleep?"

"It's all right," he told her. "I'll take a nap in a bit."

"Hmm, okay," Gin said slowly, reluctantly. "If you're sure . . ."

Pushing himself up on his elbow, Evan frowned, willing himself to be more believable, willing himself to hide the things that his mother just didn't need to know. He wanted to get off the phone—the sound of Gin's sweet voice was killing him inside, but before he let her go, there was one last thing that he needed to do . . . "Oh, hey . . . I wondered if I could ask you for a favor."

"Of course, sweetie!" Gin replied, her happiness of being asked for anything evident in her voice.

He smiled just a little despite the looming sense of darkness that he could feel, creeping up around the edges of his psyche. "It's about the Zelig Foundation. Would you fund something if I asked you to?"

"I'd do anything for you, Evan! You're my baby!" Gin insisted.

He winced. "Do you remember that guy? The one you met at the benefit last year? Uh, Marvin Pinkle."

"Hmm, Marvin, Marvin . . ." she sounded like she wasn't entirely sure who he was talking about, but suddenly, she gasped then giggled. "Oh, the pickle man! He was that tiny one, right? Like, pocket sized? The one that Valerie came to the benefit with? Children's cancer research, wasn't it?"

Wincing at the sound of her name spilling off Gin's tongue so easily, Evan rubbed his forehead. "Yeah, that's him."

"Okay, yes. Yes, I remember him. Why?"

Swallowing hard, trying to keep in mind that it was for _her_ , for her happiness, Evan had to force himself to speak in an even tone. "Can you okay it? Underwrite it?"

Gin's tone turned thoughtful. "Oh . . . How much funding?"

"All of it," Evan replied. "Everything he needs."

"Hmm . . . That's a pretty good sum of money, isn't it? You want the Zelig Foundation to take care of it all?"

"Is that possible?" he asked. "If it's not, I could—"

"Of course, it's possible," Gin insisted with a little laugh. "I mean, strictly speaking, the Zelig Foundation belongs to all of you kids as much as it does to anyone, so if it's something you feel that strongly about, of course we can do it. Do you want me to approve it in your name?"

"Uh, no . . . No, just . . . In the name of the foundation is fine."

"Oh, all right," Gin agreed, but a hint of reluctance had crept back into her voice. "Evan? Are you sure that everything's fine?"

"Of course, Mama. I told you, I'm just a little worn out. I'll be right as rain in a couple days, I promise."

"Your brother's in the city . . . Should I have him stop by to check up on you?"

Making a face, Evan snorted indelicately. "God, no. Not necessary."

Gin sighed. "You can't blame me for worrying about you . . . I love you, you know."

"I know," Evan replied in a much gentler tone. "I love you, too, Mama . . . You . . . You're the best mama, ever."

"Aww, thank you, sweetie!" Gin gushed. "You're so sweet!"

"Tell Cain . . ." Swallowing hard a few times, Evan found himself smiling wanly, sadly. "Tell Cain he'd better take damn good care of you, and, uh . . . g-give Jilli a hug for me the next time you see her."

"Of course I will, and you know your father always takes good care of me," Gin insisted. "Speaking of your father, he's here now, so I have to go. We're driving out to Portland today to look at some baby furniture! I thought it'd be nice to decorate a boy and a girl room since we're waiting to keep it a surprise."

"Okay," Evan said. "Be careful, and make sure you spend a crapload of the old man's money. Love you."

"Love you, too!"

The call ended, and Evan heaved a sigh, punching in the number for the airport and quickly booking the first flight out in the morning. Then he rubbed his forehead as he turned off the phone completely and let it fall onto the floor.

"Damn."

Closing his eyes for a long moment, Evan couldn't shake off the numb feeling that had settled over him, but then, maybe that was for the best. Maybe that would help him figure out exactly what he ought to do.

No, he already knew, didn't he? Knew what it was that he needed to do. It was all over but the crying . . .

Rolling to the side, he leaned up to dig through the nightstand drawer until he found what he was looking for, and he didn't bother to sit up as he rooted around for the papers then rolled himself a joint. The smell of the room was driving him insane, the still-fresh scent of the both of them seemed to permeate everything. For a second, he considered getting up to open the windows, but he discarded that idea just as fast. As much as it hurt . . . Well, he couldn't bring himself to do that, either.

He pushed himself up and lit the joint, letting his head fall back against the headboard, watching as the smoke escaped his lips, floated upward in its filmy strands, only to dissipate, like it had never been there at all. That was the reality of life, too. As much as people liked to think that nothing could touch them, that they were invincible, that wasn't true. No, it could slip away like those strands of smoke, fade into nothing without anyone really noticing at all . . .

The irony in that thought amused him in a vague sort of way, bringing a sad little smile to his lips. If he had it all to do over again, would he have blown off that appointment that Madison had insisted that he keep? The fateful meeting with the attorney that would change his life . . .?

Exhaling softly as he pondered that question, Evan slowly shook his head. No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't do a damn thing differently because, like the old song said, it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, and even if he wished that the end result were different, he wouldn't trade a moment of it, either. Every one of her smiles, every echo of her laughter were memories that no one could take away from him, and as much as they hurt, there was a certain comfort in it all, too.

He was really going to miss that woman, no doubt about it . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan awoke from a fitful nap. He couldn't remember anything about the dream he had, but it had left him feeling desolate, empty.

To be honest, he couldn't remember falling asleep in the first place, anyway. He'd gotten up after talking to his mother, dyed his hair, applied his tattoos, and thrown on the requisite rockstar garb. Then he ran out to meet a reporter for lunch and a quick interview, and when he got back home, he locked the doors, stripped down naked, and crawled back into bed to breathe in the scent of Valerie that still lingered thick in the air. Funny how no one seemed to notice his mood. Maybe he was a better actor than he thought.

Or maybe they just didn't give a rat's ass.

Now, however, he had no idea what time it was. He'd broken the only clock in the room a while ago when he'd caught himself staring at it, when he'd realized that he was waiting, waiting, waiting, hoping that she'd call. About that time, he'd remembered that he'd shut his cell off just after he'd finished talking to Gin, and for a split second, he had started to lean over to look for it. Then he decided that he was better off, leaving the damn device wherever the hell it was.

There really wasn't anything left to say, now was there?

The sun spilling through the windows had continued a crawling pace across the room, had thinned to little more than lines of light that bounced off the wall of mirrors in a blinding haze. Staring at that light in a rather perverse kind of fascination was enough. Something about the steady glow seemed to dull the ache deep inside him.

Then again, maybe it was the dope.

In any case, he was about ready to give Mikey a call to see if he had more of it since Evan had shot through most of his stash. The only thing that stopped him, at least, for the moment, was that he really didn't feel like indulging Mikey's version of the mother-hen thing, which was probably what would happen if he did break down and call.

Bone, however . . . Yes, he could send the big guy a message, and Bone would have no issue in finding whatever Evan wanted . . .

Too bad he really just didn't feel like dealing with anyone right now.

In fact, he didn't feel like dealing with anyone any time in the near future, either. As it was, he had gotten away with not saying a whole hell of a lot in the interview. Chalk it up to simply agreeing with the preconceived notions that were already set in the guy's head. Amazing how easy it was to do those things without actually having to give away that much of himself . . .

He thought about getting up, of packing a suitcase, but discarded that idea. If he needed anything, he could damn well buy it. Didn't he already have more money than God? Besides, where he was going, would he really need anything anyway?

But he couldn't stay here, and he had known that, too, which was why he had already made the reservation for the flight out in the morning. Valerie, whatever it was she felt for him, would be impossible to avoid, and to be honest, he wasn't sure he could do that, anyway. Nor did he feel like lying around here, watching people worry over him—at least, the ones who cared about more than a paycheck from him. And Gin . . .

The very last thing that she needed was to be upset right now, and that was almost as painful as the thought of Valerie. Some part of him had realized that when he spoke to her on the phone. The crazy urge to hop into his car, to drive up and see her ripped through him once more. It seemed like he'd been drifting between bouts of unwelcome yearning all day long.

There were no good solutions, were there?

The sound of the door opening and closing downstairs drew his attention in a vague kind of way. He heard it, it registered in his brain, but he didn't care. It only took a second for his senses to tell him that it wasn't Valerie, and that was enough.

But he heard her approach long before he saw her: the echo of her heels clicking softly on the floor, growing steadily louder, closer, and she smiled as she strode into the room. "Laying in bed all day, huh? Well, I guess there's nothing wrong with that, but . . ." She trailed off as a thoughtful frown surfaced on her gorgeous features, only to be replaced by a very pronounced eye-widening as she scanned the room slowly. "Valerie's been here," she concluded as her smile returned. "Guess I don't need to ask what you two were up to. The smell in here is still thick. Feel better now, Evan?"

Evan said nothing as he took a long drag off another joint and held out his free hand toward Madison.

She shook her head but wandered over to him, let him take her hand and tug her down on the bed beside him where she snuggled into the crook of his shoulder, reaching up to finger a long lock of deep brown hair, the color he'd chosen for the interview. Considering she'd seen him with every conceivable shade of hair known to man and then some on a regular basis, she asked no questions about that. "Have you even been out of bed today?"

"Nope," Evan drawled, letting Madison take the joint from him, watching as she lifted it to her lips.

"That's not like you," she replied. "So where's V? She's not here, I can tell . . ."

He sighed, and for a moment, he considered trying to lie, but it was Madison, and Madison could see right through that. Usually he respected her ability to do that. Today, it annoyed him. "Eh, you know V. Had some stuff to do."

Madison craned her neck to stare up at Evan in that 'don't-bullshit-a-bullshitter' kind of way. Apparently, she wasn't buying the carelessness he'd tried to inflect into his tone. "Stuff? Like what?"

Giving up the pretense he had been trying to hold onto, Evan shrugged and snagged the joint back. "Had to call Moovis, of course. Probably telling him that she's sorry, trying to smooth things over right about now."

Madison sat up, tucking her legs demurely to the side as she scooted around on the bed to face Evan full-on. "What?"

Evan waved a hand, tried to offer her a smile full of mock-bravado, but couldn't quite muster enough of it to come off as anything other than the grimace that it was. "It's over, Maddikins. I lost. End of story. Let's move on, shall we?"

It took a minute for Evan's words to sink in, and Madison slowly shook her head. "What do you mean? But the two of you—"

"I know what we did," Evan interrupted, irritation quickly rising. He wasn't sure who the irritation was directed at; not really, but it was harsh, thick, bitter. Then he made a face, drew a deep breath meant to calm him down. It sort of worked—kind of. "Listen, it's no big deal, okay? It was just sex, and now that's it's all out of my system, it's all good."

"Tell me why I don't believe you."

He shrugged but stubbornly refused to look her in the eye. "It's fine; I swear. She took off out of here because she had to call him. It . . ." Grinding his teeth together for a moment, Evan had to choke back the bitterness that rose up in him. "It didn't mean anything to her, and that's okay. I mean, I've fucked enough women to know that it just doesn't matter. Pussy is pussy is pussy."

She shook her head and snorted. "Maybe you're misinterpreting things, Evan. Maybe it's something entirely different."

"Maddy, I'm not stupid. I know what she said, and I know what she meant. Leave it alone."

"I didn't say you were, but if you misunderstood—"

"She said she had to go, that it was a mistake, that she didn't mean for it to happen that way. I _know_ what she said, and if you don't mind, I'd rather not re-hash it. Besides, I've told you already, it's no big deal, so who the fuck cares? I'm not the kind of guy who likes to go back for seconds—present company notwithstanding—and I swear, I'm completely over it."

The look on her face stated quite plainly that she wasn't buying his story, and he rolled his eyes. "I don't want to talk about it, okay? Can we drop it?"

"But—"

"No 'buts', Maddy. I mean it."

She didn't look at all pleased with it, but she did let it drop, at least, for the moment. "So tell me why you're holed up in your room today," she said instead.

Satisfied that she was going to leave it alone for now, Evan reached over, grabbed her wrist, tugged her back to his side once more. "Doesn't everyone have a day when they just don't feel like getting out of bed?"

Madison sighed and snuggled close against him. "I suppose," she replied. "But you don't usually do it. You're too hyper to stay in bed all day."

"Then I'm long overdue, don't you think?"

"Hmm . . ."

He snorted. "I _did_ get up. Went out to grab some lunch and met a reporter from _Revolver_ magazine. He did his thing, I did mine, then I came home. Besides, I _was_ up all night last night. Kind of needed a nap anyway . . ."

She didn't reply to that, and he could feel the weight of her unasked questions. She didn't believe his claims that he was all right, not that he honestly thought that she would. Still, she must have figured that she wasn't about to get any more answers than that, and for what it was worth, Evan would take what he could get.

Heaving a sigh, he decided that a change in subjects was in order. Besides, it was something he'd thought about earlier, anyway. "You remember when we were kids? That time I got you to sneak off with me so we could go exploring, and we ended up, falling asleep in your parents' pear grove?"

She laughed softly. "I remember," she allowed. "We were up all night, and you were scared of the owls in the trees, but we fell asleep anyway . . ." Trailing off for a moment, she laughed and slowly shook her head. "I thought Daddy was going to beat on you. They had everyone out looking, but your brother found us."

He smiled, too. "Yeah, he did. One of the few times when Bubby didn't yell at me, right?" He chuckled, but it died away as he recalled that day. He'd woken up, only to find Bas carrying him and Madison both, and when he'd looked down at Evan, he had only managed a weary little smile. "Well, we were, what? Six? Seven?"

"Something like that," she said. "You filled up your 'explorer's backpack' with pears . . ."

"And then your mom made that awesome cobbler out of them after we finished apologizing."

"And it was damn good, if I remember right."

"Hell, yeah, it was . . ." Evan sighed, his smile slowly dissipating as a melancholy so deep that it was almost painful opened up in the pit of his stomach. "I miss those days."

"I do, too, sometimes," Madison allowed.

They lay there for a while, cuddling in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts and just enjoying the feeling of being together. Maybe it had been too long since they'd spent any time like this. Growing older, having separate lives, and yet, when he remembered just how they were when they were younger—always together, always inseparable—it made him feel somehow sad, too.

"Maddy?"

"Hmm?"

Swallowing hard, blinking back a sudden hot sting that erupted behind his eyes, Evan tried to smile. "You know, right? You . . . You're the best friend I ever could have asked for."

She started to sit up. He held onto her, refusing to let her move, refusing to let her look at his face. "Evan—"

He shook his head. "No, just listen to me," he interrupted before she could say anything else. "I . . . I can't remember a time when you weren't a part of my life, and I just wanted to tell you . . ." He swallowed hard again once, twice. "I love you."

She did sit up then, managing to extricate herself from Evan's grasp, and she said nothing as she lifted her gaze to meet his, midnight violet eyes way too bright, lips quivering, nostrils flaring, though not a sound escaped her. She knew what he was trying to say, and as she stared at him, a single tear slipped down her cheek.

He forced a smile that felt as garish as it must have looked because Madison winced. "I think I'm going to go see the Northern Lights now. I've always wanted to, you know?"

Smashing a balled-up fist against her lips, Madison choked back a sob. "Talk to her, Evan!" she rasped out. "Talk to her, and maybe—"

"No, and don't you dare do it, either," Evan insisted stubbornly. "It's not your place. It's not your business."

"But I can't—"

"Do this for me, Maddy."

"But if you'd just talk to her—"

"And what? Have her choose me out of pity? No, goddamn it! It's not your decision."

She looked like she wanted to argue with him. She didn't. Choking out another quiet sob that she swiftly staunched with her hands, she willed herself to stop crying before she looked at him once more. "It's my fault, isn't it? Because I introduced her to you."

"Don't do that," Evan said with a sigh, all of his bravado dissolving in the air. "Don't ever blame yourself. It's okay, really. I mean it."

"O . . . Okay . . ." She stared at him for another long moment, and then she quickly glanced at her watch. "I'm, uh, I'm sorry," she suddenly blurted, leaning toward him, planting her lips on his for a moment. She smelled so familiar, so comforting, and somehow, so very, very far away. "I just remembered, I've got an appointment . . ."

He caught her hand before she could slip off the bed and narrowed his eyes on her. "You promised."

She tried to force a smile. It didn't really work. "I know," she replied. "You'll be home later, right?" Though she'd asked it casually enough, given the situation, he could hear the other part, the unvoiced part. ' _You're not going to take off yet? You're not going to disappear . . .?_ '

"Yeah, I'll be around," he said. "Maybe I'll have a few beers or something . . ."

She didn't seem entirely convinced, but she nodded. "I'll be back as soon as I'm done," she promised. "We'll . . . We'll hang out together, just like old times."

Evan nodded and only watched as she slipped off the bed and hurried out of the room.

Only after he'd finally heard the front door open and close did he heave a tired sigh. Talking to Madison had been harder than he'd thought. She had fully understood the things that he hadn't been able to say, especially to someone like his mother. Gin would have ignored him when he said he didn't want Valerie to know, would have tried to fix things for him, for his own good, never mind that the very last thing that she needed to deal with at the moment was his drama when she needed to be fully focused on the baby in her belly, instead. But it was all right; he'd said his goodbye to her, too.

And he knew it, too. There was no way that he'd be able to face Valerie again because he wasn't entirely sure that he could do it without breaking down, without begging her to stay with him, and, while a part of him wanted to do exactly that, his pride, such as it was, could not allow it. No, it really would be best for everyone if he just quietly slipped away, and that's fully what he intended to do tomorrow.

Tonight?

Tonight, however . . . Well, he might as well go out with a bang, right . . .?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Miscommunication_** ' _by_ _Delta_ _Goodrem_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2004_ _release_ , **_Mistaken_** **_Identity_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Delta_ _Goodrem_ _and_ _Guy_ _Chambers_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Damn ..._


	208. 207: Thunder

' _Then the snow; it fell without a warning_...  
' _Left me standin' out in the cold_ …  
' _My heart shattered, thinking only of yesterday_ …  
' _Does me no good to reminisce_ …  
' _I can really only tell you this_ …  
' _If I had my way, I'd take yesterday_ …'

 

-' _Summer Nights_ ' by Survivor.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Pacing across the floor and back with a slim-file in her hands, Valerie read through the police reports for one of her cases as she tried not to glance over at the silent telephone. She did, however, glance at the clock with a marked frown. Already after five, and that man had still yet to return her calls.

It truly figured, didn't it? She'd rushed out of Evan's house in such a blind panic, speeding home as quickly as she could since she'd left her cell phone at home last night, thinking that maybe Marvin had called, that she'd missed it, but no. Neither the answering machine nor her cell phone showed any missed calls at all, which had irritated her beyond belief even as it had also made her feel at least a little relieved.

She just wanted it to be over so that she could move on, so that she could be with Evan without having any regrets.

With a sigh, Valerie snapped the slim-file closed and dropped it onto a chair in passing as she wandered over to the windows. Funny how everything looked exactly the same outside when nothing in her life would ever be that way again. Right or wrong, she'd taken that first step, and now it was all in the hands of fate to see exactly where it all ended up. Somehow, she felt like there ought to be some kind of fanfare involved in it all, shouldn't there?

Even so, she couldn't help the little smile that surfaced as she gazed out the window, as she remembered the absolute contentment that had greeted her this morning when she woke up in Evan's arms. It was a feeling that she hadn't had before, at least, to that extent. As though every single thing in her was at peace, and if she had to put a word to it, she might have chosen 'joy', yet that wasn't quite right, either. It was more than that. It was the strangest sense of everything being just right, as if there were nothing else in the world that she could ever need or want as long as she knew that feeling every morning.

And the sex?

Uttering a quiet laugh, she wrapped her arms over her stomach to suppress the rise of the butterfly brigade at the mere thought of the night before. She could feel a light blush suffuse her skin, which only served to heighten her amusement, too. The wine she drank last night did nothing to diminish the memories as they flooded over her, one after another, a tumble of thoughts and mental images that cascaded around her with the majesty, the beauty of a waterfall. Kissing, touching, reveling in the feel of his body, and she'd known, hadn't she, that it was perfect, absolutely stunning. How was it that it could be so vastly different from any encounter she'd ever had before? But maybe the answer to that was simple. Maybe it was because of Evan . . .

Then she sighed. As perfect as it all was, she couldn't help the small part of her that regretted what had happened, too. Well, she didn't _regret_ it. It wasn't that. It was just that she hadn't intended for it to be the way it was before she'd gotten a chance to really break it off with Marvin. It was that lingering sense that she had inadvertently turned Evan into the proverbial 'other man' that had led her to rush out of his house this morning, that attributed to the feelings of guilt that she couldn't quite shake. The one and only flaw in her memories, of the foundation of this newfound love, and she had to fix it—had to—because Evan deserved better than that.

She owed it to the both of them: Marvin, who had always tried in his own way to make her happy, who had satisfied himself with whatever Valerie had been willing to give, and Evan, who knew every terrible thing about her and loved her anyway. Evan, who might be outrageous, might act completely goofy, but possessed such a loving heart that he couldn't hide it, as much as he tried.

No, Marvin didn't deserve it, and Evan deserved far more respect, too.

Turning away from the window, Valerie sighed. If that man would just answer his phone or check his messages and call her back . . .

Drawing a deep breath, Valerie tried to remind herself that it wasn't really anything out of the ordinary. Marvin was always like this, and to be fair, he had no idea just what she wanted to say to him. It was something she'd reminded herself a hundred times or more since she'd walked in the door after leaving Evan's house. If she could just get Marvin to call her back, she could go back over to Evan's house, and besides, she still wasn't exactly done talking to him. There were still a number of things that she wanted to tell him; things that she'd forgotten about last night—and she still hadn't really apologized for what had happened with Marvin, either.

Then and only then could she get on with enjoying her time with Evan wholeheartedly, making sure that he understood that she loved him, that she wanted to be with him.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she strode across the room, grabbed her cell phone off the coffee table and dialed Marvin's number. It didn't really surprise her when the call went straight to voicemail. "Hi, Marvin. It's me. I want you to call me as soon as you get this. We really need to talk," she said. "Okay. Bye."

With a sigh, she let the phone fall onto the coffee table once more and slowly shook her head, reminding herself that she just had to be patient, that it would all be fine when he did call back.

For the briefest of moments, she considered calling Evan, but she dismissed the idea as soon as it formed. Knowing him, he'd insist that she come back over, and, while she wanted to do that, she needed to wait until after she'd explained things to Marvin. After all, Evan was nothing if not incorrigible, and she didn't want to miss Marvin's call if and when Evan decided that he'd rather drag her off to his bedroom again—something that was entirely probable, given Evan's preoccupation with sex.

Which brought on another bout of blushing on Valerie's part. For the first time in her life, she could appreciate just why the man might want to spend every waking moment in bed, not that she would be telling him that any time soon since he really didn't need the added incentive. Still, she thought as a secretive little smile surfaced on her features, she supposed that she could understand his feelings, after all . . .

An ominous rumble outside the window drew her attention, and Valerie frowned when she noticed that the skies had clouded over. She couldn't say that she'd paid much attention to the weather forecast, but judging from the sound of the thunder, they were in for a pretty good storm.

Not even that could damped her mood, though. The only actual thing that could bother her was just the waiting.

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie reminded herself that it did no good to be impatient, and willing the phone to ring just wasn't going to do her any good. It didn't really help nearly as much as she was hoping . . .

Wandering back over to the windows once more, Valerie leaned against the frame, smiling just a little as she stared outside. The first fat droplets of rain had started to come down, pelting the panes of glass win a series of pings, snaking downward trails that didn't necessarily make it far in their descents. Evan as she watched, though, the rain grew harder as the light sprinkles gave way to a steady sheet of gray that had so rapidly dropped over the city like a veil. The little plings of sound had evolved into a deeper percussive sound, and no insular one couldn't be as easily discerned, layering atop one another as a steady wave of water ran down the glass.

There was something altogether soothing about it, a lulling effect that served to calm Valerie's restlessness, and she wondered if Evan was staring at it, too. Probably not. He wasn't exactly the kind given to watching the rain. Still, she smiled. She'd be over there again soon enough, and she almost laughed at herself when another wave of butterflies erupted in her belly. Just the thought of seeing him again was enough to do that? Almost thirty and acting like a teenager with her first crush . . . Well, if she had to wait that long for it, then she supposed that it was all right, too. Evan was most certainly worth it.

The only real sticking point in the entire thing was Marvin. As much as she wanted to be with Evan, she couldn't help but feel guilty when she thought of her soon-to-be ex-fiancé. He really had no idea just what was coming, and that bothered Valerie. Maybe he should. Objectively speaking, even she knew that the signs were all there, had been there for a while. But Marvin, in his complete and utter blind faith . . . No, he didn't know, and that made her feel even worse about it because the last thing she'd ever wanted to do was to hurt either of them, and despite the innate understanding that she was doing what was ultimately right for her, she couldn't help but feel as though her happiness had a price, and that price was Marvin's feelings.

Biting her lip as she pondered the entire situation, Valerie sighed softly, rubbing her forearms against the slight chill permeating the window panes. It had crossed her mind earlier that maybe she was taking the coward's way out, that really, she ought to hop back on a plane and go see Marvin in person, to tell him everything face to face, and to listen to whatever he wanted to say to her in response. In truth, it was something that she had seriously considered, but in the end, she'd discarded that idea. She had very little doubt in her mind that Evan would understand her reasons, but she wasn't as confident that he would allow her to do such a thing by herself.

It was all right this way. She'd already dragged Evan away from work often enough lately that she would feel bad if she went and he insisted upon going, too. Besides, speaking of work, she'd missed entirely too much lately herself. No, she had her opportunity to tell Marvin everything in person, and she'd chickened out, and even if she did realize on some level that she wasn't really in a mental state to have that particular discussion with Marvin in the right way, she should have at least tried.

But standing around, considering things that she should have or could have done wasn't going to do her any good. All she really could do was what she was doing now: waiting to explain things to Marvin, waiting on that so that she could honestly feel free, so that she could start to give back to Evan everything that he'd given her already.

The knock on the door jarred her out of her thoughts and made her jump. Loud, hard enough to rattle the door in the frame, it continued in a steady thud as she hurried across the floor. Surely that couldn't be Evan. After all, he had a weird fixation with using her fire escape as his own personal entry, but who in the world would be beating down her door like that if not him . . .?

"Valerie! Valerie, you'd better open this door right now, or I swear to God, I'll break it down!"

Valerie's frown deepened at the sound of the familiar voice—familiar, yes, but colored with a hostility that Valerie couldn't quite reconcile. She might not know exactly why Madison sounded so angry, but there was something else in her tone, too, like a certain level of desperation . . .

It took her a moment of fumbling with the lock in her haste to get the door, but she finally did. Madison must have heard her, because she gasped as the door was flung wide open—she barely had time to react and step back—but the closed fist that flashed toward her faster than she could credit couldn't be avoided, and the impact hit her hard just under the cheekbone. Head snapping to the side, Valerie fell back and slid, stopping only when she smacked against the side of the sofa—hard.

"Wh-What . . .?" she stammered, hand cradling her cheek as she blinked back tears and tried to force back a wave of blackness that momentarily ringed her vision.

"Get up, Valerie! Get up, goddamn it!" Madison screeched, taking a step toward her. She stopped abruptly, as though she were afraid to get too close.

"Wh—? No!" Valerie blurted, shaking her head, trying to figure out just what had set Madison off.

" _Get up!_ " Madison screamed, eyes bulging slightly, shooting fire and filled with rage so deep that Valerie wondered whether or not her friend could even see her. "Get up so I can hit you again!"

Again, Valerie shook her head, cautiously grimacing as she refrained from the urge to spit out the blood that was pooling in her mouth where her teeth had dug into the flesh.

"So help me God, if you don't get up, I'll yank you to your feet!" Madison railed, looking like she was absolutely serious in the threat she was making.

"What . . .?" Valerie managed, reaching for an empty cup on the coffee table without taking her eyes off of Madison's face.

"Just tell me why!" Madison went on, ignoring Valerie's question. "Why would you do it? My warning wasn't enough? You just had to have your little fling so you can run off and marry that little jackass? You and your sanctimonious bullshit! You bitch and moan when Evan fucks other women, and then you— _you_ —you just have to do the very same damn thing to him, and maybe that's all right, right? After all, that's all he's _good_ for, isn't he? But you missed one little thing when you were out doing whatever the hell you wanted! That man loves you! And you've completely destroyed him! _What the hell is wrong with you?_ "

Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Valerie set the glass on the table with a shaking hand, but as the gist of Madison's tirade sank in, she slowly shook her head, as though the action could refute the charges levied against her, as though they could shield her from Madison's outrage. "I didn't . . .!" she blurted, holding up her hands in front of her. "I never—I don't—I'm not going to marry Marvin!"

Snapping her mouth closed on whatever she had been getting ready to say, Madison blinked then narrowed her eyes on Valerie, like she was trying to decide whether or not to believe her. "Then why did you tell Evan that you were sorry?" she demanded, cracking her knuckles in a way that made Valerie wonder if she really knew Madison at all because she had certainly never pegged her as a violent person, but, given the circumstances, she had to wonder about it now. "Why did you leave him?"

Rubbing her face as she tried to make sense of Madison's uncharacteristic behavior, Valerie sighed then grimaced when the forced air hit her raw cheek. "I told him—"

"That you were sorry, that you didn't mean for it to have happened! That you wanted to talk to Marvin! That's what you said to him!" Madison growled.

"I _do_ have to talk to Marvin," Valerie insisted. "I need to tell him that it's over! I need—"

"You _need_ to march your happy ass over there and talk to Evan! That's what you _need_ to do! Right now, he thinks that you're making up with that little monkey!" Suddenly, she stopped, almost as though she had run out of the anger and outrage that had brought her this far, and she rubbed her forehead, her hands shaking visibly. "Why did you leave him? Do you have any idea what he—?" Cutting herself off abruptly, shaking her head as if whatever she were going to say was of little consequence now, Madison drew a deep breath to calm herself, if only enough to speak without yelling though the irritation, the undisguised disgust, in her expression hadn't waned. "You need to go over there," she said instead. "You need to get your ass over there and talk to him—do it before he does something stupid."

And that's what it was, wasn't it? It dawned on Valerie as she continued to give Madison a wary eye. It wasn't anger or outrage or even disgust that was goading her. No, it was . . . It was fear—the deep-rooted fear for a very precious friend. Slowly, cautiously, Valerie pushed herself to her knees, slowly grasped the arm of the sofa to pull herself up. "Let me just call Marvin once more," she said, reaching for the cell phone on the table. "I want to tell him that it's over."

It only took her a moment to dial the number, only took another moment for the voicemail to pick up. Rolling her eyes, heaving a sigh, she ended the call with a growl of frustration. "Why can't he answer his damn phone?"

"Then just leave him a fucking message!" Madison insisted, waving a hand in blatant dismissal. "'Hey, Marvin, it's me. I'm just calling to let you know that it's over. You're history. Go fuck yourself, and have a nice life.'"

Valerie made a face at Madison's cold imitation. "I can't do that," she muttered, rubbing her cheek again and wincing when a fresh wave of pain rewarded her efforts.

"Why the hell not?" Madison snapped back.

Valerie sighed. "Because! We've been together for a long time, Maddy! I can't just call and break up with him on his _voicemail!_ "

Madison made a show of rolling her eyes, and for a moment, Valerie had to wonder if Madison was going to grab her and shake her. Or punch her again . . . "Oh? And hasn't he called and left messages to put off your wedding before? Called and left messages to cancel visits or other plans you've made? I respect the fact that you are a more decent person than Marvin will ever be, but right now, I'm telling you to call him back if you must, and if he does not answer, then just leave him a goddamn message and get moving!"

"Maddy—"

"Who's more important to you? Marvin or Evan?"

"That's a dumb question," Valerie said with a scowl. "Evan is, of course!"

Madison snorted. "Then _show_ it for once, damn it! Put Evan first for once in your miserable life! Forget fucking Marvin—leave him a message if you absolutely must—but the only person on earth who can stop Evan from doing something entirely stupid to himself is you!"

Valerie shook her head, confused by the urgency in Madison's voice. There was something else, too, something just below her words, and Valerie hurriedly sat down to pull on her shoes. Whatever it was that Madison was scared of . . . Just what had Evan said to her? And did it even matter when the things that Madison had said made perfect sense to Valerie, anyway? Still, the trepidation that was growing fast in the pit of her stomach was a frightening thing as a myriad of fleeting images flashed through her head—memories of different moments in time when Evan's anger, his rage, his self-destructive streak, had frightened her, too . . . "What aren't you telling me, Maddy? What's that man doing now?"

Heaving a very weary sigh, Madison rubbed her face again, and this time, she didn't try to hide the sadness in her expression. "You know how he is, Valerie," Madison said quietly. "You know the kinds of things that he does, right?"

She did know that. Of course, she did, and, while she still felt that there was more to it that Madison wasn't saying, what did it matter when Evan . . .? Because Evan really _was_ more important to her than anything or anyone, and even if she hadn't meant for him to think anything of the sort, he had obviously misunderstood. If she had only realized as much this morning, because the very last thing she ever wanted to do was to hurt Evan. All she'd wanted to do was to break up with Marvin so that he was the only one in her life because he deserved that. But she hadn't seen it at the time. Too worried about the idea of what had happened when she was still technically engaged to someone else, she'd felt too guilty that she'd inadvertently made Evan into the 'other man' that she hadn't stopped to notice that she might be doing more harm than good in her haste to make things right . . . It figured, didn't it? At the rate she was going, she'd have to spend the rest of her natural-born life apologizing to Evan . . .

With a sigh, she stood up, strode over to grab her purse but kept her cell phone in her hand. "Okay," she said as she reached for the door. "I'm going over there."

"And Marvin?" Madison grudgingly reminded her.

Valerie didn't stop as she reached for the door handle. "I'll call him on the way, and if he doesn't pick up, I'll just leave him a message, like you said. Can you lock the door when you leave?"

"Yeah, sure," she replied, her voice flat, like all her emotion had been completely spent. "V?"

Pausing in the open doorway, Valerie looked back at her friend.

Madison didn't even try to smile. Instead, she shook her head again in an almost helpless kind of way. "Hurry . . . Please."

Valerie blinked and nodded slowly. "Okay," she agreed. "Okay."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Summer Nights_** ' _by_ _Survivor_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1981_ _release_ , **_Premonition_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Jim_ _Peterik_ _and_ _Frankie_ _Sullivan_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> _**Final** **Thought** **from Madison** :  
> She'd better get moving!_


	209. 208: Destruction

' _And now I'm begging for help I know I can't get_...  
' _I've got to face this one alone_ …  
' _And if I don't make it_ …  
' _Remember that I'll always be a part of you_ …'

' _I've trapped myself in a ring of fire_ …  
' _If I say I'm okay, I'm also a liar_ …  
' _The only way out is through the pain_ …'

 

-' _Through the Pain_ ' by Madina Lake.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Hey, Marvin, it's me . . . I'm really, uh, I hate to do this over the . . . the phone like this, but . . . But I've decided that I don't want to . . . to marry you. I'm really sorry . . ." Grimacing, hating the coldness of her words, the sense that she was somehow being a coward, Valerie gritted her teeth, forced herself to continue. "I care about you—I really do. It's just that I don't . . . I don't love you—at least, not in the right way, and . . . and I'm sorry . . . I hope you find someone who does because you deserve that. I'm . . . I'm sorry, Marvin. Goodbye."

Ending the call with a long, loud sigh, Valerie frowned at the phone for a few moments, tapping it idly against her slack palm. She leaned forward, scowled up at the rain still coming down hard, but it had lessened somewhat since she'd first left her apartment almost half-an-hour before. Getting a little wet, running up to the porch wasn't her issue at the moment, though. Taking a deep breath, she tried to push the thought of Marvin and of the phone call she'd just made out of her mind, especially after Madison's unceremonious visit. She didn't know what to expect inside that house, but if Madison's mood was any indication, then whatever awaited her was probably not exactly 'good' . . .

Every light in the place was on, or at least, they seemed to be. The overall effect was almost stunning, really, if Valerie had been in a mood to appreciate it, anyway. As it was, the light spilling out of the windows seemed to give the place a morbidly festive sort of appearance despite the heavy curtain of rain that was starting to let up a little. But the cold air that had accompanied the rain hit the warmed ground and raised a light blanket of fog that cast the area in a rather eerie kind of glow, and the odd things that dotted the lawn seemed out of place in the perfectly trimmed grass. At some point during the day or early evening, Evan must have decided that a little remodeling was in order. Near the car sat a wrecked heap that might have been the antique armoire that was in one of the extra rooms—the dogs' room, maybe? A broken chair, a busted frame and a mangled painting . . .? A few more things that she couldn't discern at this distance . . . Windows were opened all over the house, curtains blowing in the wind, and she grimaced when she wondered what kind of mess waited behind the front door. Just what was Evan thinking? One thing was for sure, his cleaning lady wasn't going to be too pleased when she saw the carnage he'd left behind . . .

Drawing another deep breath, Valerie fumbled for the door latch and stumbled out of the car then ran across the small patch of yard between the driveway, onto the walk, and up the steps onto the porch. The question of whether or not to knock before entering was answered before it could even really occur to her since he'd left the front door open a crack. But the music spilling out of the mansion made her grit her teeth, not because of the actual song—something raw, aggressive that she couldn't place but might have heard before. The sheer volume, however, was enough to make her hesitate before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

She wasn't sure what she expected to see when she rounded the corner and stepped into the living room. It wouldn't have surprised her if she walked right into more of the same mess like she'd seen in the front yard. Nothing was out of place, exactly, and that was a bit of a relief. Well, there was a thick white bath towel hanging from Dieter's sculpture in the living room, but that wasn't too bad, all things considered, and the only other thing she noticed was Evan's leather jacket, lying over the back of a chair. The drawers were pulled open on a couple end tables, the windows all opened up, too, as well as the sliding glass doors that were letting the cool, damp air inside, stirring the sheer curtains.

Stepping over to the wall panel, Valerie turned down the blaring music. Evan was nowhere to be seen, but she didn't doubt that he was here somewhere. Sparing a moment to take off her coat and lay it over the back of the chair next to his leather jacket, she slipped her phone into her back pocket and started looking for Evan.

He wasn't anywhere upstairs or down—it had only taken her a few minutes to check. He wasn't in the kitchen or the sunroom, either, and the door to the music room was wide open, too. Stepping outside, her thoughtful frown widened as she stared at a very large mass of shattered glass—beer bottles, judging from the looks of the smoky shards. Well, no, some were smoked amber, some were dark green. Some were clear, but all were from bottles of one kind of booze or another . . . Just how long had he been drinking?

She sighed and lifted her chin, continuing her perusal for Evan once more. For a moment, she had considered that he might be in the hot tub, but from where she stood, she could tell that he wasn't. Surely he wouldn't be out here in the rain, and she was starting to wonder if he really had left, but Bone hadn't mentioned anything when she'd stopped to be let through the gates.

A low groan drifted to her followed moments later by the unmistakable sound of sloshing water. Narrowing her eyes as she looked off toward the pool, she gasped softly.

The rain had lightened up considerably, now no more than a few handfuls of sprinkles despite the ominous rumble of thunder that sounded off in the distance. Sighing softly, crossing her arms over her chest, Valerie swallowed a few times to dispel the painful lump that had grown in her throat as she'd searched the mansion for the missing rockstar.

Floating in the middle of the pool on a hideously bright blue blow-up lounger, he was completely naked except for a pair of sunglasses with a lit joint casually dangling from between his long fingers on one hand and clasping a beer besides, while he held his fully erect penis in the other, stroking himself over and over again. His hair was brown, and from where she stood, she could see that he had more tattoos than usual, too. In full Roka regalia, or so it would seem. She didn't know why, but then, it was the least of the questions foremost in her mind at the moment. She wasn't sure if he knew she was there or not since he gave no indication, one way or another, and she opened her mouth to speak, only to find that she just couldn't do it.

There was a sense of foreboding that hung thick in the air, as though he were simply waiting, just waiting . . .

"E-Evan?" she said, her voice thicker, heavier than she intended for it to be.

He didn't respond. Instead, he gave another low groan as his hand seemed to move a little faster with a little more purpose.

Valerie sighed, ducking her head for just a moment, closing her eyes as she considered the situation. She'd seen Evan in many moods. She'd honestly thought that she had seen them all. Apparently not; not by a long shot. This one . . . This was a new one, and to be honest, she wasn't entirely sure how to deal with it—with _him_ . . .

"Evan?" she called again, clearing her throat, forcing herself to speak a little louder. "Evan, I . . . I need to talk to you."

"Talk later, V," he finally said. "Busy now, if you can't tell. Unless you came over to give it another go? Can't say that I'm all that interested, but what the fuck? One pussy's as good as another, right?"

Gritting her teeth, ignoring the blush that rose to her cheeks at the obvious and intentional slur, Valerie wasn't about to give up. "Come out of there and talk to me," she said, taking a hesitant step forward, only to stop when he drained the beer bottle—how he managed without catching his hair on fire, she wasn't sure—and neatly chucked it toward her. He hadn't been aiming to hit her, though, and it sailed neatly past her, only to shatter on the pavement near the doors. After taking in the sight of the smashed glass, she turned her attention back to Evan once more. "Please, Evan . . ."

He uttered a harsh laugh, as devoid as humor as it was full of edgy cynicism, bordering on hostility, and if Valerie had any lingering doubts as to what had set Madison off earlier, she certainly understood now.

"What's the matter, V? Ol' Mousewin didn't want used goods?" That laugh again. "Can't say I blame him. Gotta say, I was pretty disappointed, V . . . But you did give pretty good head . . . I've had better, sure, but hell, you're here. Beggars can't be choosers . . . Might as well make use of you, right?"

Pressing her lips together, she tried to remind herself that he was just being nasty because he was hurt. It didn't stop the tears from stinging the back of her eyelids, but she blinked furiously, managing to keep them in check.

"Anyway, since you're here, I guess I could let you get me off again. I mean, I'm almost there now . . ." To punctuate his statement, he gave himself a few more rough yanks, groaning obnoxiously as he lifted his hips to meet his hand.

"I . . . Can we talk?" Valerie asked when she trusted her voice to be steady. "Please."

He sighed. "If you're not gonna climb in here and wrap your pretty lips around my cock, the least you could do is get naked. I mean, you _are_ hot. You've got that going for you, anyway. Don't gotta do much. Maybe finger fuck yourself a little . . ." He groaned again.

"I wasn't going to call Marvin to try to make up with him," she plunged on, hoping that he was at least listening between his bouts of nastiness. "I was—"

His ungodly moaning cut her off. Before she could say anything else, she watched in mute fascination as an arc of semen jettisoned from his body. He jerked a few times, involuntary spasms, breathing heavily as his hand flopped into the water like he couldn't control himself. Wincing at the spectacle he was making of himself, she wished that she hadn't had to see him like this. There was something entirely horrifying, almost pathetic, about him, and that she had anything at all to do with his current state shamed her more than she could credit.

For a minute or more, the only sound to be heard was Evan's harsh breathing, the incidental sounds of the water in constant motion around him. Lifting his hand once, he did manage to yank off the sunglasses, only to let it fall back into the pool again, and he seemed to be trying to control himself. The worry she'd carried since she had spotted the shattered bottles by the doors intensified as she watched him. Just how drunk was he? And, more to the point, how in the world was she going to get him out of the water before he managed to drown himself?

With that thought in mind, Valerie took a few hesitant steps toward the pool, and when she spoke, she was careful to keep her tone even, soothing, coaxing. "Evan, why don't you come out of there? Let me . . . Let me explain things to you . . ." Encouraged slightly when he didn't resume his caustic tirade, she took another step closer. "I'm sorry . . . I should have talked to you before I left. I should have—"

He grunted and managed to lever himself up on his elbows, but the strings of light that ran around the perimeter of the pool didn't reach him, left his face mostly in shadows. It didn't help that the light filtering out of the living room was stronger where she stood, too. It made the shadows seem that much darker, deeper. Still, she could see the light reflecting from his eyes. It gave them an eerie kind of brightness, like a wild animal in the dark. "If you're gonna keep yakking, do me a favor, and grab a beer for me, will y'?"

"I think you've had enough for tonight," she replied softly.

He heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Shoulda known . . . _Val_ , the fun-police . . ." Then he rolled to the side, straight into the water, and for a second, Valerie almost panicked until he surfaced, swimming neatly toward the side of the pool.

She frowned. He had to be pretty tipsy, didn't he? At least, if the remnants of glass gathered by the door meant anything at all. Still, if she hadn't seen him drink that beer, if she hadn't seen the mess of glass, she might not have thought that he was even slightly drunk.

It did take him a couple tries to haul himself out of the pool, though. She heaved a sigh of relief when he finally managed by himself since he was dead-set on ignoring the hand she'd held out to help him.

He also ignored the towel she retrieved from the nearby cabinet, and she barely had time to turn her face when he decided that it'd be faster just to shake himself off instead. Refraining from comment about that, though, she cautiously looked back at him when the water finally stopped flying.

Evan stood, hands on hips, a scowl on his face, staring past her with an almost stubborn refusal to look directly at her, his gaze fixed on some point behind her. She wasn't sure what.

"Can we talk about earlier?" she asked quietly.

For a moment, she thought that maybe he hadn't heard her. He didn't react in any way at all. When she opened her mouth to repeat her question, he snorted loudly to cut her off. "I don't wanna fucking talk, _Val_ ," he growled without slurring in the least and somehow managing to force more venom into that one syllable than she had thought possible.

She winced inwardly at the absolute reek of alcohol on his breath despite the space that separated them. "Evan—"

"Listen, if you're not here to fuck, then I got no interest in you," he said. "Get the hell outta here, will you? Go back to your Murmis and leave me the fuck alone."

She caught his arm when he tried to storm off. He yanked it away, and she stumbled. Completely ignoring the broken bottles littering the ground in front of the door, Evan strode right through it, drawing another grimace from Valerie, especially when she saw the smudges of blood he tracked into the house.

Darting after him, she caught up just inside the door, and when she grabbed his arm this time, she hung on tight when he tried to shake her off. "Sit down, Evan, please. Let me see your feet."

Whipping around to pin her with a fierce glower, started to say something, only to be brought up short as he stared at her. "What happened to your face?" he demanded.

Valerie brushed aside his concern since she really wasn't sure how he'd react if she told him the truth of it now. Given his present mood, she just didn't want to find out, either. "I slipped," she lied.

He didn't look like he believed her, but he must have figured that he wasn't going to get any other answer out of her. Or maybe he simply didn't want to get side tracked by becoming concerned. He accepted what she said at face value instead, and, shaking his head, he grabbed one of her wrists in his hand, tightening his grip until she let go. The moment he was free, he jerked away from her and stomped over to the end table, digging around inside until he'd found what he was looking for—a joint.

"You don't need that," she insisted, crossing the floor to take it away from him. He was faster, using his shoulder to block her as he raised it over his head and spared another moment to scowl at her.

"What I do is none of your damn business," he growled. "Damn, you're a drag! Dunno what I was thinking! Guess it was what everyone said it was: lust. Anyway, now that I know that it wasn't nothin' special, it's over, you know? I'm over it— _totally_ over it—over _you_. So why don't you get outta here, because all you're interested in doing is ruining my fun, right?"

"No, that's not it at all!" she insisted. "This isn't you! You're not like this!"

He suddenly grinned, but it wasn't his usual expression. No, this one was full of anger, of bitterness, and maybe even a little hatred though who, exactly, that hatred might be aimed at, she wasn't entirely sure. "What's the matter, sweetheart? Don't like what you see? Well, that's all there is. This is the big show, like it or not. It's what every-fucking-body pays to see, ain't it? So sorry to disappoint you, _Val_ , but you should know better'n anyone, right? It don't get better than this."

She swallowed hard. Damn, but he could be intimidating when he wanted to be, and apparently, at least at the moment, he wanted to be. It was that emotion that stilled her tongue, that kept her from rebuffing him. That grin took on a derisive sort of mocking feel, but he lowered his arm, and she grabbed the joint, crushing it in her fist before he could stop her. "Now, what the fuck did you do that for?" he complained, rolling his eyes as he stomped away from her. "Fucking waste of a perfectly good joint!"

"I think you've already had more than enough for one day—or more," she shot back dryly.

"I hate to tell you, _Val_ , but I don't need you to pull my fat out of the fryer anymore, remember? Your terms are history. Finished. Done."

"This has nothing to do with that," she said flatly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"What-the-hell-ever," he muttered.

With the increased distance between them, the feeling of being slightly cowed diminished, and she shook her head stubbornly, ready to stand her ground, ready to make him listen. "You don't need it," she insisted. "Will you please just lis—What are you doing?" she asked, cutting herself off mid-sentence as he yanked on a ripped pair of jeans that looked like they had seen better days.

He spared a moment to cast her a look that stated quite plainly that he believed she was being dense on purpose. "What's it look like? Since you're so fucking set on being a downer, I'm going to go find some fun somewhere else."

"No!" she blurted, darting over to intercept him before he could make good on his statement.

"Back off, goddamn it!" he snarled, waving his cell phone in her face to punctuate his words.

She yanked it out of his hand to keep him from inadvertently smacking her with it. "No, Evan! I'll . . . I'll do whatever you want, okay? Anything, all right? Just don't leave . . . Just promise you'll listen to me first."

He snorted indelicately and stepped around her, grabbing his leather jacket off the back of a chair as he headed for the door. "Had enough of making promises to you," he tossed over his shoulder. "See ya."

Smothering a growl of pure frustration, Valerie darted around him, slamming herself against the door just as he had started to open it. Muttering about a million curses in the space of a few moments, Evan rolled his eyes, tossed his hands into the air, turned on his heel, and headed back the way he'd come.

The crunch of broken glass galvanized her into motion once more. He was going out the back door and probably still barefooted. For a moment, she considered following him, but the only way off the property was through the front gate, and she was closer to that than he was—for now, at least. "That man gives 'stubborn' a whole new meaning," she muttered under her breath as she yanked the door open and darted outside.

The wind had picked up, and as she ran toward the side of the mansion to intercept Evan once more, she skidded to a stop when a hint of movement caught her eye. Toward the far side of the fence—the area she'd scaled to check up on him on that night so long ago—she saw him just as he dropped off the top over the side. Whether he'd realized that she would chase him or not didn't matter, and with a few curses of her own, she ran toward the gate. How the hell had he managed that? Shaking her head, she dismissed the question instead of trying to figure out the answer. At the moment, there were far more urgent things on her mind, like how she was going to catch up with him, and wondering about his physical abilities would have to wait.

Bone saw her coming and opened the gate. She didn't even take the time to acknowledge him as she ran straight through. Down the sidewalk to the corner, and for a moment, she thought she'd lost him. Then she saw him. He wasn't even bothering to run, just affecting an arrogant swagger as he strode down the street away from her.

She started to break into a run when the cell phone in her hand nearly scared the life out of her. With a frown, she glanced at it, only to realize that she was still holding Evan's phone—the one he had waved under her nose—and that the name on the caller ID was one she knew.

"Evan? Hey, it's Bas. Mom wanted me to give you a call."

"N-No, it's Valerie," she said. She could sense Bas' surprise that she had answered Evan's phone.

"Oh . . . Valerie . . . Uh, is Evan around?"

Still ahead of her, she could still see him, and she grimaced when he turned into a corner pub at the end of the next block. For the briefest of moments, she considered lying, getting Bas off of the phone, but common sense stopped her. Even if he wouldn't appreciate it later, she had to stop him, and even though she knew damn well that it was likely going to make him even more angry, she was afraid that she couldn't actually stop Evan, at least, not without some assistance . . . "Bas, I need help," she blurted, ignoring the stabbing feeling that she was somehow betraying Evan. "I . . . Evan and I . . . Well, it's my fault—really, it is. He misunderstood me because I didn't take the time to explain some things, but now he won't listen to me, and he's drunk, and he just went into a bar . . ."

Bas didn't answer for a long moment, but when he did, his tone was matter-of-fact. "Drunk."

"Yes."

Bas sighed. "Just drunk?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to say 'yes', but she made a face. "I think he's been smoking some stuff, too . . ."

Bas sighed again, only this time, it was long and rather irritated. "All right. You're following him now, right? Try to get him back home. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thank you."

"Not a problem."

"Bye." Valerie wasn't sure if her words were enough to convince Bas that she needed help or if maybe it was the desperation in her voice that did it. What did it matter, though? The bottom line was simple: Evan wasn't about to listen to her, and even though she couldn't really fault him for that, she had to make him do it, one way or another. Try to convince Evan to go back home? She wasn't at all sure she could do that, but she'd try . . .

She heard him inside the bar long before she saw him. The place was packed, probably brought in by the stormy weather—the night crawlers, the people from the better neighborhoods, sure, but they always seemed to be looking for something. Meeting friends or co-workers, or just searching in the owlish way that they all seemed to possess, all with the same emptiness in their gazes, granted, in varying degrees . . .

Evan stood over by the bar with one girl under each arm and holding a beer, another one pawing at his chest as he rumbled out that intimate little chuckle that she thought he only used with her . . . It hurt, didn't it? Seeing him let those girls paw at his chest, whisper in his ear, as familiar as a lover . . .

"Hey, hon, better move it."

Valerie blinked and glanced up at the man who had spoken to her. A huge, hulking bear of a man decked out in full biker regalia, complete with a long braid on both sides—his waist-long hair in the back and mountain-man beard in the front—who looked sorely out of place in this neighborhood. Valerie heeded his warning, though, scooting over toward the wall as she tried to keep her eyes on the errant rockstar. "Sorry," she muttered.

He man grinned at her and scooted past in the narrow aisle before plopping down at a table a little farther up with a couple other guys that made the entire booth creak and moan loudly enough to be heard over the din of the pulsing music coming from the room just off on the far side, and the steady drone of voices.

Turning her attention back to Evan once more, she wondered whether or not he actually saw her. But that would be a little hard to do, wouldn't it? Strictly speaking, he had to know that she had followed him. Her suspicions were verified a moment later when his eyes met hers, and even in the dimly lit bar, she could see it, the hardening of his emotions, the anger in his gaze despite the mocking little grin on his face. He stared at her for another moment before very deliberately shifting his eyes away, murmuring something to the trio of girls that made them giggle. The one on his left pulled him down for a long, slow kiss, tangling her fingers into his hair, tongues flicking against each other when their lips parted long enough for them to come up for air. Valerie ground her teeth together hard, despising the blatant show she was getting, yet powerless to look away. The whole time he sucked face with her, his free hand around the other kept squeezing and releasing the one on the right's breast. Valerie had seen enough. Pushing herself a few feet closer with every intention of dragging Evan out of the bar by his hair, if need be, she stopped abruptly when he broke contact with the girl and marched them through the bar, right past Valerie.

"Why's she staring at you?" one of the girls asked, jerking her head in Valerie's direction. "You know her?"

"Nope. Never met her before in my life," Evan lied.

Ignoring the indignant heat that exploded under her skin, Valerie started to open her mouth to ask Evan to come home, but stopped when he leaned down, kissed the girl in another lewd show of tongues and touch, allowing her to run her hands up and down his chest, bare under the leather jacket, before turning his head to kiss the other girl, too. The third girl pouted until Evan noticed her, too, and she slipped her arms around his neck, ignoring her friends as well as everyone else in the bar who were now staring at the spectacle, as she ground her hips against Evan's, and that miscreant slipped his hand up her thigh, under her skirt, grasping her g-string clad ass for all to see. "Why don't we take this party to my place? You ever wanted to fuck a rockstar?" Evan drawled without sparing Valerie as much as another glance.

"I don't know," one of the girls said in a mock-teasing near-purr. "You got anything good at home?"

"Fuck! I'm Zel Roka! You think I don't got good shit?"

The girls giggled, much to Valerie's chagrin, and she started to step forward to shove them away from Evan, but he was faster, escorting them out the door and onto the street.

Trailing along behind them, ordering herself not to cry, Valerie could only tell herself that it would be fine, it would be all right, that he was going home, and that was where she wanted him to go.

Glancing at her watch when Evan stopped at the corner, long enough to pull one of the girls into another kiss, Valerie gritted her teeth, tried to keep herself from coming completely undone at the sight of it, of him, of that girl with her hand so happily pumping him through the rough fabric of his jeans. He was going along with it, too, and even though she tried to tell herself that he was just upset, just angry, just hurt, she couldn't repress the sob that she had to choke back.

It was like every nightmare she'd ever had, every doubt, every worry come to life, and yet . . . Yet she still didn't have it in her to be mad at him, not when she knew why he was acting like that. Swallowing hard, she said nothing as she followed him. He didn't seem to be in a hurry, which she would have preferred since the pace at which he was going included a lot of near-pornographic pit-stops that she would rather not witness.

How the hell had things spun so far out of control? More to the point, how the hell was she going to get him to listen to her?

With every passing moment, she couldn't help the hopeless feeling that was growing larger and larger in her gut. ' _Hurry, Bas_ ,' she thought as she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from screaming, only to gasp softly as the ragged flesh tore open once more, filling her mouth with the coppery taint of her own blood. For a brief second, Evan seemed to turn his head, to glance back at her, but maybe that was all in her imagination, because he didn't stop, didn't acknowledge her presence. Valerie sighed, veering to the side to spit the blood in a trashcan as her stomach gave an unpleasant lurch. ' _Please hurry_ . . .'

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Through_** **_the_** **_Pain_** ' _by_ _Madina Lake_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2009_ _release_ , **_Attics_** **_to_** **_Eden_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Madina_ _Lake_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _I hope he's hurrying_ …


	210. 209: Ultimate Truths

' _But we've got these ugly scars_...  
' _On our infected hearts_ …  
' _Maybe it's time for a change_ …  
' _Yeah_ …'

 

-' _Lies of the Beautiful People'_ by Sixx:A.M.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Aww, what the fuck are _you_ doing here?"

Valerie blinked and frowned as she followed Evan and the girls up the driveway and leaned to the side to see who, exactly, was drawing Evan's attention. Bas stood at the top of the steps, arms crossed over his thick chest, leaning against the pillar with a very displeased scowl on his already intimidating countenance, and beside him was Gunnar who actually looked almost bored, though he mirrored Bas' stance, minus the lean. The sight of them was enough to draw a sigh of relief from Valerie, and though it occurred to her that they had made record time, she also wasn't about to question it, either.

"What do you want?" Evan went on, wasting absolutely no pleasantries on the duo who moved almost imperceptivity to block the path, lest Evan should try to escort the women inside.

"Think you'd better send them home," Bas said in a tone that left no room for discussion on the matter.

"I think you should mind your own fucking business," Evan growled in reply.

The two men on the porch exchanged glances, and Gunnar nodded once before turning on his heel and striding into the mansion, leaving Bas alone to block the way—easy enough, considering the man was absolutely huge.

"Who are they?" one of the girls asked Evan in a loud stage whisper and without taking her eyes off Bas.

"No one you need to worry about, sweetheart," Evan replied before turning his attention back to his brother again. "Why the hell are you here?" Then he snorted. "No, wait. I've got a good guess as to who called in the dogs."

To her credit, Valerie didn't even flinch when Evan tossed her an almost hostile glance. She did, however, turn at the sound of a car rumbling down the driveway, and she wasn't at all surprised when Bone got out of the vehicle just as Gunnar stepped back onto the porch once more. He must have gone into the house to call Bone down, and that was fine. At the moment, nothing mattered to Valerie except getting rid of those women.

"Take the ladies home, please," Bas said, nodding at Bone and ignoring the protests from the girls and the scathing glower he was receiving from the younger of the Zeligs.

Valerie almost felt sorry for the head of security—almost. He was most definitely in a bind, considering his boss very obviously didn't want him to do what he was told, but the boss' older, bigger, and way more intimidating brother was just not someone that one wanted to disobey, either. After weighing his options for about five seconds, Bone intercepted the look that Valerie was giving him, and he chuckled and shook his head. "Sorry, little man," he said, very obviously addressing Evan. "Gotta go with the boss-lady on this one." That said, he stepped forward, carefully extricating all three women from Evan's sides and escorting them over to the running car.

"Well, that's just fan-fucking-tastic," Evan grumbled, stomping up the steps and onto the porch, shouldering his way through the makeshift barricade that was Bas and Gunnar. The girls were asking Bone if he'd be interested in partying with them, and of course the big man agreed, which was fine with Valerie, as long as they were nowhere near Evan . . . "While you're at it, get rid of her, can't you?" he complained, jerking his head toward Valerie without stopping.

Heaving a sigh, Valerie followed Evan up the steps at length, only to be stopped when Bas grasped her shoulders and held her back at arms' length. "Who did that to you?" he demanded without preamble, the anger in his tone measured, carefully controlled. She didn't know why she was taken aback by Bas' reaction to seeing her cheek, but she was. She also supposed that he had just gotten a good look at it when she'd stepped into better light.

It only took her a moment to realize that Bas actually thought that maybe Evan had hit her, and she quickly shook her head. "It wasn't Evan," she hurried to say before Bas decided that he was going to flatten his brother on principle.

Bas narrowed his eyes as he leaned down to get a closer look at Valerie's cheek. "You're not protecting him, are you?"

"Evan wouldn't hit me," she insisted stubbornly. She wasn't sure exactly where Evan was at the moment, so she stuck to the story she'd already told him since he was still quite volatile and since she really had no idea just what he'd do if she did tell the truth about it. But she'd seen his overreaction when she'd been injured less, and the last thing she wanted was for him to do something really unnecessary, like go after Madison for what she'd done, especially when Valerie wasn't about to hold it against her. "It was an accident."

Bas' expression stated quite plainly that he didn't buy Valerie's story. "Okay," he drawled, contesting her claim without coming straight out and calling her a liar. "But it wasn't him, right?"

"No," she said as firmly as she could. "It wasn't . . . and really, it probably looks worse than it is."

He didn't look like he believed that, either, but he heaved a sigh and let go of her shoulders, straightening up to glance over her head at Gunnar. "You want to search the house or sober up that little fool?"

For the first time since their arrival, Gunnar's expression changed, and to Valerie's chagrin, the latter actually broke into a rather nasty little smile, leaving Valerie to wonder if bringing along that particular cousin had ultimately been a bad idea. "You mean, you have to ask?"

Bas sighed and made a face. "Never should have," he muttered as he turned his attention back to Valerie once more. "What kind of shit does he have here? Just pot?"

Rubbing her arms against the chilly air, Valerie nodded. "I think so," she replied. "I mean, I haven't seen anything else . . ."

With a nod, Bas turned on his heel to follow Evan into the house. Gunnar fell into step right behind him, and, biting her lip, Valerie chased after them.

She didn't know exactly how Gunnar was planning on making sure that Evan sobered up. She might have just assumed that he'd force-feed Evan a few pots of coffee or something like that. She should have known better; she really should have. Catching up to Evan in the living room, Gunnar didn't stop to ask questions as he grabbed Evan by the front of his jacket and yanked him out the sliding doors. He didn't stop until they were beside the pool, and Valerie realized just what Gunnar had in mind about a second before the man's arm flashed straight out, catching Evan in the center of his chest and sending him crashing down into the pool.

Evan came up sputtering, wiping his face furiously, as he glowered at his cousin. "Goddamn you, Gunnar! Fucking motherfucker! Cocksucking son of a—"

"Knock it off, Evan," Gunnar interrupted in an almost bored tone of voice. "You're absolutely disgraceful."

Evan floundered over to the edge of the pool and hefted himself out of it. When he straightened up, ready to continue his tirade, he was cut off when Gunnar's arm snapped out again, repeating the process of dunking the rockstar.

"The fuck do you think you're doing?" Evan spat as he hauled himself out of the pool again. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"Still not sober," Gunnar concluded seconds before Evan hit the water once more.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you!" Evan snarled after the seventh or eighth time of being shoved into the pool. He pushed himself up on his arms, ready to climb out of the pool, but this time, Gunnar returned him to the water, hands in his pockets, using his foot to give Evan a good shove.

Valerie caught Gunnar's arm. "You're going to drown him," she pointed out.

Gunnar glanced at her then shrugged. "As if we'd be so lucky. He's fine." Then he raised his voice as he shifted his gaze to Evan. "Sober yet?"

"Fuck you, Gunnar," Evan growled, levering himself out of the water once more.

Shaking his head, Gunnar shot Valerie a meaningful look as he shoved Evan back into the water—again.

Evan came up sputtering and coughing once more, but this time, he didn't try to swim over to the side, opting instead to sink down in the water until only his eyes cleared the surface, and he contented himself by glaring daggers at the man standing beside the pool.

"You sober now?" Gunnar challenged with a raised eyebrow.

Evan rose up far enough to growl, "Yes, goddamn it!" before sinking back down once more. He wasn't finished talking, though, because a few bubbles rose to the surface along with the muffled sound of Evan's voice with no discernible words.

"Good," Gunnar continued in the same affectedly bored tone of voice. "Are you going to listen to what she has to say now?"

Another few bubbles without formed words.

"What was that?"

"Yes, damn it! Fine!" Evan snarled and sank again.

"He sober yet?"

Gunnar grunted in response to Bas' question as the big man stepped outside, glancing down at the mess of broken glass with a scowl. "Unfortunately," Gunnar replied. "Too bad. I could've shoved him in a few hundred more times. Something kind of therapeutic about it . . ."

Bas sighed, planting his hands on his hips as he shifted his scowl to his sibling. "Is it safe for us to leave now, Evan?"

Evan grunted but didn't move other than his arms that he was using to tread water as he continued to glare at his brother and cousin.

Bas shook his head slowly then turned to Valerie. "You going to be okay alone with him?"

"Yeah," she said, even as she wondered vaguely how it had all come down to this. "Did you find anything in the house?"

Bas snorted.   "Are you kidding me? A few bags of it, stashed here and there. Anyway, it's all gone. I flushed all of it."

Evan muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Fucking dick."

Bas ignored it, and instead, he reached over and tagged Gunnar's arm. "Come on, Gun." Then he looked at Valerie again. "Give me a call if he gets out of hand again."

She nodded but knew in her heart that she wouldn't be calling him back tonight.   As much as she wanted to be able to talk to Evan, as upset as she was about the things that had happened since she arrived at his house, she hated the way they'd dealt with him, too, even if the end result was what she wanted—for him to listen to her.

Bas and Gunnar headed for the doors. "You could have given me a chance to shove him into the pool a time or two," Bas pointed out as they stepped inside.

"Are you kidding? That was the highlight of my day," Gunnar shot back.

"You're such an ass . . ."

"You shouldn't have asked which one I'd prefer, then."

"Yeah, I guess . . ."

Valerie didn't speak, and Evan didn't move until after the men's voices had faded away. In the distance, she thought that she heard the front door, and she sighed.

Splashing in the pool drew her attention, and Valerie watched in silence as Evan cautiously swam to the side to climb out again.   He stood on the edge, water running down his body in rivers, crossing his arms stubbornly over his chest, his head turned to the side to avoid her gaze.

They stood in silence for a minute: Evan apparently making good on his promise to listen, and Valerie trying to figure out exactly where to start. Biting her lip, she took a reluctant step toward him. "Evan, about this morning . . . I—"

Her words were cut off by the trill of her cell phone, and with a grimace, she dug it out of her back pocket and glanced at the caller ID. It was Marvin, and didn't that just figure? She sent it to voicemail.

"Sorry," she said, stuffing the phone into her pocket once more. "Anyway, I wanted to explain things to you—things I should have told you before I left. I wasn't trying to ma—"

The phone rang again, and Valerie repeated the process. "I wasn't trying to make up with Marvin. That was never my intent," she said as she fumbled with the keys to shut off the phone entirely. "I wanted to tell him that I don't wan—" The phone rang in her hands before she managed to shut it down, and with a smothered gasp, she started to send it to voicemail.

"Answer it," Evan said, his voice quiet though no less authoritative.

She shook her head. "No, I—"

"Just answer it," Evan insisted. "It's . . . It's fine." Valerie frowned at him, but he was finally looking at her, and this time he nodded. "Do it."

Hesitating for another moment, she gave in with a curt nod and connected the call. "Hello?" she said, holding the device to her ear.

"Val? You're never going to believe this! Never in a million years!" Marvin blurted.

Valerie's frown deepened since he didn't sound at all like he'd even bothered to listen to his voicemail. No, actually, he sounded . . . excited . . .? She rubbed her forehead, wondering dizzily if it could possibly get any worse. Evan was looking anything but amused, and she . . . Well, she just wanted to be done with the whole mess . . . "Marvin," she said in a calm but firm tone. "Did you listen to your voicemail?"

"What? Oh, no! I haven't had a chance yet! But I take it you heard? I mean, I saw that you called a few times! It's awesome, right? I mean, _wow!_ I knew that they were generous, but I'm just completely blown away! Did you have something to do with it? Did you talk to your friend about it? Evan?"

Shaking her head in confusion, Valerie had no idea just what Marvin was going on about, but he seemed to think that she did . . . "About what? What are you—?"

Marvin plunged on. "You have no idea how floored I was when I got the call! It's great, right? And I know you're excited about it, too!"

"Marvin," she said, her voice a little louder, a little sharper, in an effort to gain his full attention. "What are you talking about?"

Marvin laughed. "The funding! The Zelig Foundation's going to underwrite the whole thing!"

Valerie blinked and shook her head slowly since none of it made a bit of sense. Even as she did, though, one thing clicked in her head as she shifted her gaze back to Evan once more. The Zelig Foundation . . .? Evan . . .

The man in question was still just standing there, looking like he wasn't about to fess up to a damn thing, staring at her with a blank kind of expression, as though he was preparing himself for, well, _something_.

Marvin was still rambling on in his excitement, and Valerie rubbed her forehead. "It's fantastic, right? I mean, I can come home, and we can be married whenever you want, and—"

"Marvin, wait," she blurted when he didn't stop. He didn't hear her, or maybe he simply didn't want to. "Marvin, stop!" she interrupted. He cut himself off abruptly, and she sighed. "Listen," she said, her voice dropping to a softer tone, a gentler resonance. "I really don't want to do this over the phone, but . . . I don't want to get married."

Marvin stayed quiet for a few moments, like he was struggling to understand just what she meant. Then he uttered a small, unsure little laugh. "Well, I know that you were pretty unhappy about putting our wedding off and all that, but surely we could just move it up again, and—"

"No, that's not the issue," she insisted. "Listen, I did a lot of thinking, and you know, I wasn't really that upset about the idea of delaying the wedding. Irritated that I'd paid deposits for things that I couldn't get back and that wouldn't transfer, but really, I wasn't upset, but . . . but shouldn't I have been? I mean, I _should_ have been, but I wasn't, and . . ." She drew a deep breath, frowning as she tried to find the words to say to him. "I'm sorry, Marvin, but I . . . I don't want to marry you, e-e-ev . . . er." Her last word came out as more of a reluctant sigh than anything.

"But . . . But . . ." Marvin stammered a few times as what she said finally started to sink in. "Why . . .?" Then he suddenly forced another small laugh. "Valerie, whatever's bothering you, I'm sure we can talk it out. Just give me a couple days to get things tied up here, and—"

"No, Marvin, that's not it," she said, hating what she was doing, but knowing that she had to put an end to it, once and for all—for all of their sakes, not just hers. "It's not about whether you're here or there. It's about—"

"I-It's about that rock star, isn't it? That Zel Roka? The one you've been working for, right?" Marvin blurted, late anger suffusing his tone, twisting it into something she'd never heard from him before.

"No, it's not him," Valerie insisted. "Marvin—"

"Then it's the other one, right? Evan? Evan . . . Zel . . . ig . . ."

Valerie grimaced at the understanding that was rife in Marvin's tone, and as much as she wanted to gainsay him, lying to him was just a little more than she could do, too.

"Oh, my God, that's why I'm getting the funding?" Marvin continued in shocked disbelief. "Is this some kind of weird arrangement? You're, what? A-Are you . . . Are you _sleeping_ with him?"

"I didn't know anything about that," Valerie insisted. "You got the funding because your cause is worthwhile."

He must have picked up on the hint of doubt in her voice, because suddenly, he uttered a terse, almost caustic laugh—a sound that Valerie hadn't realized Marvin could make. "But you're not going to say whether or not you're sleeping with him?"

She didn't know what to say to that, so she said nothing as her grip on the phone tightened.

"You are . . ." he concluded. "R-Really? Oh, God, you're screwing him, aren't you? All that stuff you said I didn't have to worry about, and you're _fucking_ him?"

"Is it really important?" she finally, wearily asked: a stark contrast to the raw outrage in Marvin's voice. "It's not about him; it's about us, Marvin— _Us_ . . . I don't think—"

"A guy like that, Valerie? I thought . . . I thought you were better than that! I thought you, of all people, had morals and values! Guys like Evan Zelig aren't going to stick around! You're nothing but a plaything to someone like him! He'll use you and throw you away like some kind of toy, like all rich kids do! God, you're nothing but a goddamned whore! I can't believe you'd do that, you bitch! I can't—"

Valerie gasped as the phone was suddenly yanked out of her hand, as Evan lifted it to his ear, impassive expression slowly giving way to a look of stone-cold anger. He listened for all of thirty seconds before he bothered to speak, ignoring Valerie and turning his body to avoid her hands as she tried to reach for the phone .

"That's enough," Evan said in a deceptively calm tone. Over the phone, it might well fool Marvin, but from where Valerie stood, she could see that it was taking everything within the man to keep his temper in check. "I couldn't give a rat's ass what you have to say about me, so judge me all you want, but . . . but be careful what you say about her. Now, I gave her a chance to talk to you, to tell you everything she wanted to say because she feels bad about it.   I don't know why, considering you've never treated her like anything but an afterthought, anyway, so if you really want to continue this round of name-calling, then you're just shit out of luck. It's too late for you to try to act like the outraged party here, like you have the right to be even remotely upset, and if you ever, ever call her a bitch again? Well, just _don't_."

She blinked and stared as the phone sailed over Evan's shoulder, landing with a rather anticlimactic plop in the middle of the pool.

Only then did Evan look at her again, the defiance in his expression quickly shifting into one of near-contrition as he shrugged off-handedly. "Sorry about that," he muttered, jerking his head at the pool behind him. "I'll . . . I'll buy you a new one tomorrow."

Shaking her head, Valerie managed a small half-smile. "It's okay," she said with a little shrug of her own. Then her gaze skittered away, fell to the pavement under her feet. "I . . . I deserved what he said," she admitted quietly. "Everything . . ."

"No, you didn't," Evan stated flatly. "You can't help the way you feel."

She shook her head and sighed. Maybe she couldn't, and she understood what Evan was trying to say, but it didn't really matter when she was the one who had ultimately managed to screw everything up, in the first place. She opened her mouth to say something about that, but something entirely different came to mind, instead. "You . . . Did you ask your mother to okay the funding? Why would you do that?"

Evan grunted as he shrugged off the soaked and likely ruined leather jacket. He tossed it aside where it landed in a wet heap nearby. "I thought it was what you wanted," he replied simply enough. "Thought you'd rather that he came home so you could . . . could marry the little bastard . . ."

She winced. "You did it for . . . for me . . ."

He didn't confirm or deny that. "Do you want me to tell Mama to cancel it?"

She shook her head quickly. "No . . . I mean, it is a _worthy_ cause, and even then, Marvin . . . I know he can do it."

Uttering another terse grunt, Evan didn't look like he wanted to acknowledge anything of the sort, but he did nod curtly, and that was enough.

Valerie sighed again, retrieving a towel from the small cabinet and slowly stepping over to Evan, taking her time as she carefully squeezed the length of his hair in the towel, as she used the corner of it to dab the residual moisture from his cheek, his chin. "I didn't realize this morning that I didn't take the time to explain things like I should have," she finally said as she continued her ministrations. "All I wanted to do was to properly end things with Marvin, which I'd tried to do yesterday, but he wouldn't answer his phone, and . . ." Trailing off with a sigh, she gnawed on her lip for a moment, shoving back the excuses that had been forming in her head. "I don't want you to be the other man, Evan. I've never wanted you to be that. You're the _only_ man—the _best_ man, and I—"

"V—"

Shaking her head stubbornly, she frowned up at him. "You deserve better, Evan Zelig, and I . . . I messed all that up . . ."

"No, you didn't," he replied, looking more and more disgruntled by the second. "I'm the one who jumped to conclusions, and—"

"You had every right to," she interrupted.

"Valerie—"

"Please, just listen to me."

He looked like he didn't want to comply. But he heaved a sigh and made a face as he crossed his arms over his chest, cocking his head to the side as he waited for her to continue. Her gaze fell away again as she tried to gather her thoughts, to find a way to tell him the things that she had come to know over the course of a few days. She still didn't know exactly how to word it all, but she had to give it a try. She owed it to herself. She owed it to Evan . . .

"I . . . I love you, Evan, more than I've ever loved anyone before, and it's shocking and exhilarating and wonderful and terrifying, all at the same time. I've never been happier or . . . or more frightened in my life, and I know that you understand that, which makes me . . . love you . . . even more . . ." Pausing a moment, she glanced at him, only to find him staring at her in such a way that a round of butterflies erupted in her belly, and she pressed her hands over her stomach to still them before going on. "I believe you when you say that you love me, too. I really do. That is, I know you mean it now, but I . . . I also know you can't guarantee that you'll always feel that way, and that's . . . that's okay, too . . ."

"I'll love you forever," he said. The look on his face, the emotion in his eyes . . . He believed what he was saying, and she knew that he meant it, too. He always meant it when he said things. As outrageous as he could be, he was nothing if not completely earnest, and that was not the issue, anyway. She didn't doubt for a moment that he was being absolutely honest with her, but the same words that she'd heard a million times, the same things that she knew . . . The world was ever-changing, always evolving, causing the hearts of men who might have once truly believed in this or that to falter. She knew that, too, understood it completely, just as she knew that she wouldn't ever hold it against Evan if his feelings began to change, too, even if it left her alone and lost and lonely.

Closing her eyes, she managed a wan smile as she pressed her fingers against his lips to silence him. "I'm old enough to know that nothing ever is 'forever', no matter what you might want or how good your intentions are, and . . . and it's okay because . . . because I've decided." Swallowing hard, blinking back a wash of tears that suddenly sprang up to cloud her vision, Valerie's trembling smile widened just a little, her hand moving from his lips to his cheek as a single tear slipped from her eye. "I don't care if it's only a week, a month, a year . . . Anything at all would be better than a lifetime without you, so as long as you'll have me, I'll stay with you . . ."

He frowned at her, his eyebrows drawing together in a marked scowl, and for some reason, Valerie had the distinct impression that he was angry, though she couldn't really say why he would be. Narrowing his gaze, he seemed to be trying to see into her mind. "Is that it? Is that what you wanted to tell me?"

She nodded, her hand starting to fall away. He caught it, held it, refused to let go.

"Okay," he said, giving a curt nod. "You've had your say, right?"

Blinking at the mounting weight of Evan's irritation, Valerie nodded again and tried to pull her hand away. He hung on tight. "Evan?"

Shaking his head, he shot her a look meant to quell her words, and it did the trick. Then he started tugging on her hand, his intention clear as he led her toward the doors. "No, V. You've had your say, and I listened," he said as he dragged her back inside. "Now you're going to listen while I have mine."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Lies_** **_of_** _**the**_ **_Beautiful_** **_People_** ' _by_ _Sixx:A.M._ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2011_ _release_ , **_This_** **_is_** **_Gonna_** **_Hurt_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Nikki_ _Sixx,_ _James_ _Michael_ , _DJ_ _Ashba,_ _John 5_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _He's … angry …?_


	211. 210: Wordplay

' _I hear the echo of a promise I made_...  
' _When you're strong you can stand on your own_ …  
' _But those words grow distant as I look at your face_ …  
' _No, I don't wanna go it alone_ …'

 

-' _Forever'_ by KISS.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan didn't relinquish his hold on Valerie's hand until he'd escorted her back into the living room, ignoring the negligible pain like a thousand prickles of fire that erupted in the soles of his feet as he stomped back through the mess of glass on the ground. Valerie gasped softly as the crunch of the shards reminded her that he'd already walked through it a few times.

"Evan, let me look at your feet," she said, trying to tug her hand away.

"I'm fine," he said in a tone that shouldn't have left any room for discussion.

"You're _bleeding!_ " she persisted, digging her heels in, refusing to move.

He snorted and rolled his eyes. "They're fine, I said." Then he relented with a sigh. "All right, but you're going to listen to me while you're looking at them."

She considered that then nodded, and he finally let go so that she could run off to find the first aid kit that he didn't really need. He could tell that the older wounds were already healed, and the ones he'd just gotten were nothing, but if it made her feel better, then he supposed that he wouldn't argue with her . . .

Hurrying back into the living room with the large, red canvas first aid kit in hand, she gestured at the sofa as she set the bag down on the coffee table. "Come on. Kick your feet up here," she said, unzipping the bag and rummaging around for the antiseptic spray and a few packages of gauze pads.

He heaved a sigh but did as he was told. "You're going to listen to me while you're doing that, right?" he reminded her.

She nodded but didn't really look like she was listening at all. Then she frowned as she got a better look at his feet. "These aren't bad," she remarked, sounding more than a little surprised as she carefully sprayed the antiseptic and gently wiped at the bloody spots. When most of them disappeared without leaving any trace of injury behind, Evan almost smiled at the almost consternated expression on her face. "Huh," she muttered. "Guess there's nothing too life-threatening here . . ."

He said nothing while she worked, content to let himself watch her for the moment. No matter what she said, he was pretty sure that she wasn't actually going to do much listening until she was finished, anyway. Still, it was time, wasn't it? Time to tell her everything, and maybe, once he convinced her that he wasn't losing his damn mind, maybe she'd understand why he knew that forever _meant_ forever because if she honestly thought that she was going to get rid of him any time soon, she was sorely mistaken . . .

She really had broken up with Marvin. She honestly had chosen him.

The very idea of it was so new, so foreign, so wonderful that Evan still couldn't quite believe that it was true, but he supposed that wasn't too bad. After all, if it meant that he got to spend the rest of his life, looking at her and wondering how he'd gotten that lucky, then he figured it was a fair trade-off.

' _Yeah, well, you owe her an apology before you do any other explaining, don't you think?_ ' his youkai-voice piped up.

He grimaced inwardly.   There was that, too . . . For once, he almost wished that he had gotten himself drunk enough that he couldn't remember everything. Unfortunately, he did, and he had to admit that he was more than a little surprised that she still wanted to have anything at all to do with him, and those things that she'd said . . .?

" _I . . . I love you, Evan, more than I've ever loved anyone before, and it's shocking and exhilarating and wonderful and terrifying, all at the same time. I've never been happier or . . . or more frightened in my life, and I know that you understand that, which makes me . . . love you . . . even more_ . . ."

He sighed and leaned over to catch her hand. She blinked and glanced at him, her gaze full of questions. "You're going to think I'm overreacting if I wrap your feet in gauze, aren't you? But I don't think regular bandages are going to stick . . ."

"I'm fine," he told her again, neatly sliding his feet off the sofa despite the look of chagrin on her face. "Anyway, forget about that for a little bit. I, uh . . . I need to apologize for my behavior earlier . . ."

She started to shake her head, and she tried not to look too upset at the unpleasant memories that his words had brought back to her. He sighed and pulled her over to him, wrapping his arms around her, tucking her head against his shoulder.

"No, I am. I'm sorry about that," he said before she had a chance to protest. "You promised you'd listen to me now, so I'll start off with that. It's just . . ." Trailing off, scowling over her head, he sighed again. "To be honest, I was already worried, you know? I thought . . . I thought that you were going to wake up and realize what had happened . . . that you'd realize it was all a mistake, after all . . ."

"Evan, you're not—"

He kissed the top of her head, closed his eyes for a moment while he inhaled the scent of her shampoo. "My turn, remember?"

She heaved a sigh of her own but nodded. "Yes, I remember."

"Even if I didn't get what you were trying to do, I . . . I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions, and I . . . I never meant to hurt you." Suddenly, he barked out a terse laugh. "Man, does that sound fucking lame, or what?"

"It's okay," she assured him, leaning back far enough so that she could look up into his eyes. "I should have explained myself better, so it was my fault, too, and . . ." Drawing a deep breath, she tried to smile. It didn't quite work, but he'd give her points for the effort. "Let's just forget about all that, can't we? Just pretend that it never happened?"

He stared at her for a long moment. It was there in her gaze, wasn't it? She understood what he felt—the guilt, the remorse . . . Knew it because she felt it, too, and maybe it was for entirely different reasons, but the end result was still the same. Then he smiled. "No more apologies from either one of us?"

She nodded slowly. "That sounds good."

Letting out a deep breath, he nodded, too. "Okay. Okay . . . but I _am_ sorry. I'm such a damn idiot . . ."

"Hmm . . ." she breathed, resting a hand on his chest, cuddling closer to him. "I thought we agreed not to apologize anymore?"

"Just, you know, getting one last one in there."

"Jerk," she replied though her tone lacked any censure at all and sounded more amused than anything.

"So-o-o," he drawled, tilting her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You going to tell me what really happened here?" he asked, scowling at the ugly bruise that marred her gorgeous skin. Dark red that shifted into violet, indigo in the center of the mark, he knew from looking at her that she hadn't simply fallen against something.

"Nope," she stated flatly.

He kind of figured she'd say that. He sighed. "There's only one reason you'd refuse to tell me," he concluded almost philosophically. "I take it you don't want me going after whoever did it."

She neither confirmed nor denied it, but she did roll her eyes and pull her face away from him in favor of resuming her previous position, snuggled against his chest. "It's not a big deal, so don't worry about it."

He uttered a terse grunt, figuring that two could play the evasion game. He would find out who did it eventually—and yeah, when he did, he had a few choice things to say about it . . .

He didn't know if she believed that he honestly was going to let it alone or not, but she seemed to think that the subject was dropped. It wasn't, but at the moment, he didn't really feel like having the argument that it would likely take to get a real answer out of her, and she didn't speak for a moment, content just to be near him, idly rubbing his chest, and he started to wonder if she wasn't going to fall asleep. He had things he wanted to tell her, sure, but whether he did it tonight or tomorrow, it was all good . . . "Evan?"

"Yeah?"

Heaving a sigh like it was the very last thing she wanted to do, Valerie pushed herself up but didn't move away from him. Still, the expression on her face was troubled, drawing her eyebrows together in a slight frown, and he could tell that whatever it was floating around in her head wasn't positive, even if she did need to say whatever it was, to get it off of her chest. "Those girls . . . You . . . You wouldn't really have . . .?"

He grimaced. "I don't know . . . Maybe . . ." He sighed, too. "At least, that's what I _want_ to say . . ."

She tried not to get upset over his quiet statement, but it didn't matter when he could see the way her back stiffened, the way she drew away a little, deeper into herself.

"It's not what you're thinking," he said, sitting up a little more, drawing his feet up onto the sofa, wrapping his arms around his knees. "Some small part of me would like to say that—I don't know, I guess it's just that arrogant part of me, my ego—you know, 'I can always get the girls,' and all that crap, but . . ." Trailing off, he made a face. "No, I wouldn't have."

Valerie stared at him for a long moment. Then she suddenly laughed, shaking her head slowly, probably at the disgust thick in his voice. "Is that right?"

He snorted indelicately. "I'm losing my edge," he lamented.

"Are you saying I'm not enough woman for you?" she challenged.

Evan chuckled and flopped back in favor of pulling Valerie close again, dropping his feet back onto the floor with a dull thud. "Absolutely not," he said. "You're probably too much woman for me, actually . . ."

She laughed, letting him draw her close again.

"I could stay like this forever," Evan mused quietly.

Valerie sighed, though it was less of a sound and more of a movement instead. "Mmm . . . Me, too."

His smile shifted into thoughtful frown. "Speaking of forever, V . . ."

"Hmm? What's that?"

Taking a deep breath, he gave her a little squeeze before gently but firmly pushing her back. "We need to talk," he said. "There are some things about me that you need to know."

She smiled slightly, bringing her feet up to hug her knees, laying her cheek on them. "You mean, there's even more to you?"

He chuckled. "Of course."

Her smile faded slightly but didn't completely disappear despite the more serious glow that surfaced in her gaze. "Is this some kind of deep, dark secret?"

"Dark, no, but yes, I guess you could say that it's a secret. Strictly speaking, we're not supposed to talk about it unless . . ."

"Unless . . .?" she prompted when he trailed off.

"Unless—or rather, until—I find the one woman I want to spend my forever with."

That got her attention, and she careened her head back to peer up at him. He could see it in her eyes. She was about to start in on the same line of bullshit she'd already said to him out by the pool, and before she could say anything, he leaned down, kissed her gently, tenderly.

"You promised that you'd listen to me this time," he reminded her when he finally pulled away.

She looked entirely bemused, and Evan figured that he ought to be proud, all things considered. After all, how many people really could profess to being able to render an attorney of Valerie's caliber completely speechless? But she nodded and sat back, wiggling around to make herself more comfortable for the duration, then she held out her hand, inviting him to continue.

If only it were that easy. Telling her everything? It wasn't that he didn't want to do that. No, it was more that he really had no idea just where to start.

As the seconds ticked away, Valerie fidgeted, and the bemused little smile that she had on her face slowly dimmed and then faded away altogether. "You're making me nervous," she admitted at length. "What . . .?"

Evan bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees, scratching his head vigorously for a few moments. "It's not bad," he quickly assured her. "It's just . . . uh . . . kind of hard to explain . . ."

She digested that for a bit, nodding slowly as she mulled it over. Then she took a brisk breath and stood up, wandering over to grab a couple bottles of water before she came back and handed him one. "Why don't you start at the beginning? That's usually the most logical place, right?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "I don't think there's a beginning, per se. I think . . . Well, you've met my family. You like them—even the ones who are complete and utter asses—Bubby, for example."

"He's not an ass," she retorted, rolling her eyes as she tried not to smile.

"I beg to differ, woman. You don't think he is because you didn't have to grow up with him. Anyway, would it surprise you if I were to tell you that Bubby's ten years older than me?"

She blinked and looked a little taken aback, but she nodded. "Okay," she allowed. "He's ten years older than you. Got it."

"And my sister, Belle—you met her, remember? In Hawaii."

Again, she nodded. "She's very pretty—looks like your dad."

"Yeah, and what does that _really_ say about him?" Evan replied. Then he shook his head, reminding himself not to get sidetracked. "Anyway, I digress. Did you know that Belle and Kichiro got married just a few months before Mama and Cain did?"

". . . Huh . . .?"

"Strictly speaking, Mama and Belle are pretty close in age."

Valerie frowned. "But that would make your dad at least . . . Eighty? N-No-o-o-o . . ."

He could hear the doubt rife in her voice, and he grimaced. "Actually, Cain's just over three hundred now—three hundred twenty-something, I think."

The puzzled expression on her face gave way to the better-known, 'You've-Gotta-Be-Shitting-Me' look. " _Ve-e-e-ery_ funny, Roka," she said. "Now you're just being an ass."

"No, no, no, I swear, I'm not," he insisted, grasping her arm before she got up to leave. "InuYasha and Kagome . . . They really are my grandparents—Mama's parents. In fact, jiijii's pretty infamous back in Japan; at least, to those who know or remember."

"Jiijii?"

He grinned. "Yeah. My generation call him 'jiijii', which basically means _really_ old man . . . My uncles call him 'oyaji'—like calling your dad 'old man' or 'pops', and their cousin calls him 'jiji' . . . I called him jii-san—grandfather—once. He kicked my ass for it. InuYasha's a little strange. The ruder, the better, at least, to him."

Valerie's lips twitched. "And jiijii's rude?"

"Pretty much. I mean, if you went up to some old guy somewhere and called him that, he'd probably think you weren't too polite. It's roughly equivalent to calling him a really old man. Jiijii does let girls address him more normally, though. Mama calls him Papa. You've probably heard her. Jilli and my girl cousins get away with calling him jii-chan, too." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "The only guy I've ever heard call him anything but jiji or jiijii is my uncle, Mikio."

"And what does he call him?"

Evan's grin widened. "Papa."

"And your grandmother?"

"She's baa-chan—grandma."

Valerie laughed, but the amusement was quickly quelled as she considered what he was saying. "Cute, but I happen to know that there's no way those two are old enough to be your grandparents, and your dad? If you're going to try to feed me lines, then the least you could do is be a little more realistic."

"I'm not human, V. Well, not really, anyway."

She stopped short and blinked, her expression almost comically flabbergasted, and for a moment, Evan actually thought that she might turn tail and run. Then she narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest as she pinned him with a no-nonsense stare. "I thought you had something serious you wanted to tell me," she said flatly.

"I am being serious, V!" Heaving a sigh, he rolled his eyes. He knew convincing her was going to be tough. She was nothing if not completely and entirely pragmatic, after all. "Oh! Just watch! Don't blink!"

Arching an artful eyebrow, she pursed her lips but didn't move. Evan figured that it was as good s he was likely to get. "Now don't blink or you'll accuse me of pulling some weird trick," he warned her.

She looked like she wanted to roll her eyes again, but she didn't. Evan took a deep breath and removed the concealment.

Valerie froze as she stared at him, her gaze wandering from the tip of his pointed ear to his eyes and the elongated pupils that had suddenly appeared. As though she had to look away, her eyes seemed to fall to his lap, and she gasped softly when she caught sight of the long, razor-sharp claws that he'd kept hidden from her, too. Slowly, hesitantly, she started to reach out, as though she were going to touch them, like she couldn't quite believe what her eyes were telling her.

Grasping one of his hands in hers, she turned it over, palm-side-up and leaned in a little closer to fully inspect his fingers. When she started to reach out, though, extending her finger slowly toward the tip of one claw, he stopped her. "Careful, V. They're sharp."

She yanked her finger back and shot him a suspect glance then heaved a sigh and shook her head. "Okay, I give. How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

Wrinkling her nose, she gave a curt snort. "Change your appearance. What else?"

"I told you, V," he said with a laugh, "I'm not human. I'm youkai."

"You have fangs?" she gasped, leaning in to shove his lip up a little further so she could get a better look at his teeth.

"Oh, yeah, there's that, too. Dog-youkai have fangs, and most of the cat-youkai do, too, but some don't. It just depends on the kind of youkai, I guess."

"You-what?"

His laughter escalated just a little. "Youkai. It's a Japanese term. It basically means that I'm a magical entity. Strictly speaking, I belong to the classification known as mononoke—a creature spirit." He grinned and winked at her. "A _dog_ spirit."

The irony of that was not lost on her, if the expression on her face meant anything. She looked like she might be fighting to back a laugh but didn't want to do it since she was still convinced that he was trying to feed her some weird story. He supposed that he could understand that. It wasn't every day that someone told her that he wasn't exactly human, now was it?

"A dog," she repeated skeptically when she finally got the urge to laugh under control.

He nodded. "Now you know why it seems like I talk to mine—and why they seem to understand me when I do, right?"

"Lots of people talk to their pets, Roka," she pointed out mildly.

"Yeah, but I actually do . . . Anyway, youkai are stronger than humans. Stronger, faster, we live longer . . . Human illness doesn't affect us. That's just how it is," he said.

She still didn't look like she was buying into it, and she kind of looked like she might well be getting a little irritated, too—not surprising if she thought that he was lying to her.

Changing tactics, he got up and walked into the kitchen, returning a minute later with the wicked-sharp chef's knife that he kept up on the shelf in the butcher's block. Valerie sat up and scowled at it when he sat back down beside her, idly turning the blade a few times.

"What are you—? Oh, my God!" she screamed when he took the knife in one hand and sliced his palm open on the other. Rising up on her knees, she yanked the sleeve of her sweater down over the heel of her hand to smash against his bleeding palm. "Why did you do that? Oh, God, you are still drunk, aren't you?" Casting a wild look around, she reached behind herself for a throw pillow and jammed it under his nose. "Here. Hold this on there while I call Bone. We've got to get you to a hospital!"

"It's fine, V," he said calmly, taking the pillow and tossing it over his shoulder. "You're going to ruin your sweater."

"I don't care about the sweater!" she shot back. He winced when he heard the panic thick in her voice.

"It's okay," he told her again, grasping her hand that she was using to staunch the flow of blood and gently tugging it aside. "It's already starting to heal. See?"

She opened her mouth to berate him but blinked when she got a better look at his palm. Despite the blood that still seeped from the wound, she could see that the sides were already starting to pull together at the top and bottom of the cut. "H . . . How . . .?"

Tucking a long lock of hair back behind her ear, Evan smiled just a little. "I told you: I'm not human. I'm youkai."

Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet his, and, while she didn't look entirely convinced, she did seem like she just might be trying to consider the possibility of it. "It's really not possible," she finally said, letting her eyes fall back to his wounded hand once more.

"It is," he replied simply.

"Okay, so . . . your family are all these . . . youkai . . .? That's what you're trying to tell me."

"Yes."

"And that's why they all look so young?"

"Yes."

She looked thoughtful for a moment, as though something had occurred to her that she hadn't considered before. "That's why you were able to scale the fence earlier?"

"Yes."

Leaning back, crossing her arms and resting them on her raised knees, she slowly shook her head. "And your family . . . Are they the only ones in the world?"

He chuckled. "No. There are a lot of them, comparably speaking."

She made a face. "Like who?"

She was definitely humoring him, at least for the moment, but he figured that was all right. She'd come to accept it eventually. "Maddy's youkai."

Valerie blinked. "No, she's not! She—"

"She's a pole-cat youkai like her father."

She said nothing, just blinked at him very, very slowly.

"Bone and Bugs are both youkai, too . . . So's Mikey . . ." His smile faltered. "So was Dieter."

Digesting that for a few minutes, Valerie stared at his hand. The bleeding had stopped—it wasn't that deep of a cut to begin with—but she still didn't seem to quite believe what she was seeing with her own eyes. "If you heal like that," she finally said, nodding once at his hand, "and Dieter was . . . was like you said . . . why . . .?"

"Why did he die," Evan finished for her when she trailed off, but it was more of a statement than an actual question. "Youkai are faster than humans, and sure, we heal faster, too, but we aren't indestructible. It just so happens that his body couldn't heal as fast as a bullet could destroy him." Letting out a deep breath as he struggled with the deep-rooted emotion that the memories evoked in him, he had to clear his throat a few times before he could trust himself to speak again. "Deet was shot through the heart. There was just too much damage . . ."

She was silent for a while, and he could tell from the expression on her face that she, too, was remembering that awful day so long ago. Then she sighed. "Evan, how am I really supposed to believe this? If you really were this . . . this . . . youkai or whatever you called it, then why didn't you tell me this before?"

"I told you, V. It's not something we talk about unless we're telling our mate."

The sound of that word was enough to make her arch a brow in silent question. He chuckled. "But you have to believe me about it because there's more to it than I've already told you."

She looked like she was dreading whatever else he might be getting ready to say, not that he could rightfully blame her for that.

"You said that I might believe that I'll love you forever now, but that nothing is ever 'forever', right?"

The reminder of her own words was enough to make her look away. "Evan—"

"I do know what it means, V. Everyone like me knows what it means. To my kind, when you find your mate, you spend the rest of your life making sure that that one person is happy because their happiness is your happiness. It's not because we have to. We do it because we want to."

Somewhere in the midst of Evan's quiet speech, Valerie's gaze had returned to his face, and even though she still looked like she wasn't entirely sold on the whole thing, she did look like she felt it: that quiet sense of hope that maybe she could hold on to. But she did smile wanly. "So if I were to believe what you're trying to tell me, then you're saying that you really would love me forever?"

He nodded. "Absolutely."

She shook her head slowly but the smile didn't disappear. "And just how long have you known that I'm your . . . mate, was it?"

"Since the day I walked into your office," he replied.

That assertion made her laugh—she really thought that he was just being outrageous again, he figured. "So why didn't you tell me all of this back then?"

He shrugged. "You weren't ready to accept the idea, right? And . . ." He winced. "And you were engaged . . ."

She sighed and reached for her bottle of water, taking her time removing the cap and draining a good half of it before she deigned to look at him again, and when she did, she frowned at him in that thoughtful way of hers. "I'm not saying I believe you because even you have to admit that what you're telling me is just a _little_ out there, if you know what I mean."

"Just wait till you see Mama without her concealment," he said.

"Why's that?"

Evan chuckled again and dragged Valerie back over against him. "She has dog ears like jiijii."

Pushing against his chest so that she could twist her body to look at him, she snorted. "Dog ears?"

"Mama's half-youkai, half-human—hanyou. So's jiijii. They have dog ears. Damn cute, if you ask me."

"But you don't. You just look like Dr. Spock."

He laughed. "Yes, that sounds about right."

She laughed, too, and finally relaxed against him. There was more he wanted to tell her, but he figured that it was all right to stop for now. A moment later, he jerked slightly when her fingertip traced the outline of the crests that had appeared when he'd removed his concealment. Damn his luck for having his in roughly the same spot as Cain. It didn't annoy him, exactly, but how fair was it for those to be stuck right where it tickled the most?

"Something else that you were hiding?" she asked dryly.

Evan squeezed one eye shut and grabbed her hand, bringing her fingers to his lips. "Yep . . ."

"Hmm . . . interesting . . ."

Evan nodded. Interesting? Okay, he'd take that. It was a good start, anyway. Still, he would be surprised if she was able to accept what he'd told her without a lot of inner debate, but that was all right, too. He had a lifetime to prove it to her, and somehow, he didn't think that he'd mind that at all.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been asked a few times over the years how people actually address certain others. In this case, Evan's talking about the particulars of addressing InuYasha. Normally, I address this simply by using English equivalent, but since Evan's explaining things to Valerie, it made sense to do it here. 
> 
> **_Oyaji_** : _relatively disrespectful way to address your father. Ryomaru and Kichiro use this one; Takara might when she gets older, too, as she is a bit more forward than Gin and Mikio Otherwise, she would likely use Papa, like those two do. (Note: InuYasha often uses this one, and why the Viz translation often has him say 'father', I'll never know lol)  
> _ ** _Jiji_** : _old man. Some argue that it can be used like 'gramps' but that's kind of not exactly the context. It is considered a rude way to address an older man. Toga uses this one and Sesshoumaru probably did discourage it when Toga was younger, however, Toga would ignore that and still use it when addressing his uncle.  
> _ ** _Jiijii_** : _old(er) man. Same argument as before, however keep in mind that when InuYasha talks to Myouga, he calls him "jiijii'—the implication is clear here. Bas, Gunnar, Morio, Evan, et al use this one.  
> _ ** _Jii-chan_** : _This one would be the one that is more informal yet still okay to use, as in, gramps or a more informal grandpa. Isabelle, Alexandra, Sami, Jillian, et al would use this one._
> 
> ' ** _Forever_** ' _by_ _KISS originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1989_ _release_ , **_Hot_** **_in_** **_the_** **_Shade_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Michael_ _Bolton_ _and_ _Paul_ _Stanley_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :
> 
>  _Youkai? Sounds like a weird brand of cell phones_ …
> 
> **_==========_ **
> 
> _Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in_ **_Subterfuge_** _): I do not claim any rights to_ **_InuYasha_** _or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize_.
> 
> ~ _Sue_ ~


	212. 211: Proposal

' _If I give my heart to you_...  
' _You must be sure_ …  
' _From the very start that you_ …  
' _Would love me more than her_ …'

 

-' _If I Fell'_ by the Beatles.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

The most God-awful sound shook Evan right out of his sleep, and he cracked one eye open with a healthy groan, only to find Valerie sitting up in bed, staring thoughtfully around the room with a balloon in her hands that she kept rubbing very slowly, producing the horrendous racket that had jarred him awake. Where she'd found the balloon was anybody's guess, but that didn't really matter. The damn thing had to go.

He sat up, too, reaching up under her elbow with his index finger extended. The moment that his claws touched the balloon, it popped, whizzing across the room on a dizzying path until it fell to the floor just off the end of the bed.

"You scared the crap out of me," she complained mildly, craning her neck to look back at him.

"Care to tell me why you thought that'd be a good way to wake me up?" he countered with a wide yawn. After all, they hadn't actually gone to bed until nearly four in the morning, and they'd almost fallen asleep on the sofa. Valerie had, in fact, done that, and Evan didn't have the heart to wake her up, either, so he'd carried her upstairs and just held her while she slept. He wasn't sure when he'd fallen asleep, but he'd heard some birds outside the window, so it was safe to assume he hadn't actually gotten much in the way of rest. It was enough to just be able to hold her close, even if he had to spend some of that time, telling himself that he would live if he didn't wake her up to see to his baser needs.

"Because I'm always grouchy until I get some coffee," she replied.

Evan grunted and grabbed her around the waist to drag her back down onto the mattress beside him. "I'm always grumpy until I get some ass," he told her.

She giggled and tried to push him away, but her resistance only lasted a few moments before she kissed him back. "Coffee would be better," she remarked between kisses.

He heaved a sigh and leaned away. "Coffee would be—? Maybe if you're talking about fucking someone other than me. You've got a one-track mind, woman," he complained. Then he kissed her on the forehead and rolled out of bed. "Coffee. Right. Got it."

Stifling a yawn as he shuffled out of the room and into the hallway, headed toward the stairs, he still smiled to himself. The sky outside might be overcast and almost ominous-looking, but in Evan's mind, there wasn't a cloud to be seen.

Funny what a difference twenty-four hours could make.

' _Not so fast, lover boy_ ,' his youkai-voice said as he stepped into the kitchen. The coffee was already made since he'd learned long ago to schedule it to brew early enough that it was nearly always ready should Valerie decide to stop in early. ' _You still have to finish convincing her that you're not entirely nuts._ '

There was that, too. He had the feeling that part of her really did want to believe what he'd told her, so maybe it wouldn't be so difficult, after all. She'd come to understand eventually that he was telling her the truth, anyway.

' _Yeah, well, you'd better get a move on before she decides to pout all day because you made her wait for her coffee_.'

Slapping two mugs and the carafe onto a tray along with an apple and a couple oranges, Evan hurried out of the kitchen.

She was sitting up again when he stepped back into the bedroom a minute later. Staring around at the room with a thoughtful frown on her face, she held out a hand without comment then waved it a few times for good measure.

Evan chuckled, making quick work of filling a mug for her and handing it over.

"Okay, Roka, tell me something."

Hefting an eyebrow at her no-nonsense tone, he filled the other mug and slipped back onto the bed. "What's that?"

"I'm your girlfriend now, right?"

That question surprised him, mostly because he'd never had occasion to actually have one of those before, but the idea of it made him grin almost stupidly. "I want you to be."

She nodded slowly, taking her time as she drank her coffee. "Good, then. So since I'm your girlfriend, I get to have a say in certain things, right?"

He still wasn't sure where she was going with this, but he figured he might as well go along with it. "Sure. Want me to strip naked and do the weenie dance for you?"

She looked like he had managed to catch her off guard, if the blanker-than-usual expression on her face meant anything. Then she rolled her eyes, but the effect was ruined a moment later when a little laugh escaped her. "You're so weird. Anyway, I hate to tell you this, but that—" She waved her free hand in a broad, sweeping gesture at the room in general, "—has to go."

"Which part?"

She wrinkled her nose and held out her coffee cup for a refill that he happily obliged her. "All of it," she stated with all the diplomacy of a dictator.

"Even the stripper pole?" he complained.

" _Especially_ the stripper pole. And the mirrors on the ceiling. And the mirrors on the floor. And the mirrors on all the walls. The ones on the closet can stay."

He frowned at her. She missed it entirely since she was busy making her mental list of things she was going to get rid of. "Will you use it for me before you make me get rid of it?" he asked, only half-joking.

"I'll think about it," she said.

"Really? Hot damn!"

She heaved a sigh. "I said I'll _think_ about it." Staring at him while she drained her second cup of coffee, Valerie sighed again and took the apple he handed her.

"Why do you look so serious?" he asked, using his claws to dig into an orange.

"Just thinking."

He fed her an orange segment. "About what?"

Chewing slowly, she didn't lose that thoughtful expression on her face. "My apartment."

"You want to move in here?" he asked, trying for a calm tone and failing miserably. He didn't really want to make her feel pressured, but the idea of waking up beside her every single morning sounded pretty good to him . . .

"Well, either way, I guess I need to find a new place."

"Why's that?"

She shrugged and peeled another orange segment off the fruit in his hand. "The apartment lease is in both Marvin and my names, and . . ." She made a face. "I just can't tell him that he has to find a new apartment on top of everything else."

He could tell from her tone that she expected another round of Marvin-bashing from him. He could also tell that she didn't really want him to do it, too. So instead, Evan nodded. "Makes sense. I don't really want you staying in a place that you shared with him, anyway," he replied. "Just move in. You're here enough. You might as well."

"Hmm, _that_ was romantic," she said dryly. She was visibly relieved by his answer as she smiled at him around a huge bite of the apple. "I won't be stepping on your toes?"

"No, but if you wanted to hop up and down on my dick, that'd be okay, too."

She closed her eyes and heaved an exaggerated sigh. "You're such a pervert. Why are you such a pervert?"

He chuckled. "I dunno, V. Why were you in my bushes?"

That earned him a slap on the arm, which only served to further his amusement. "You're really never going to drop that, are you?"

"Hell, no."

She sighed. "All right, as much as I hate to, I've got to go. I have to run back to the apartment and change and get to work."

"Work? Today? But what about our new-found love?"

She stopped as she was climbing out of bed to stare at him. "Did you _really_ just say that?"

He blinked innocently and popped an orange segment into his mouth. "What?"

"That sappy crap."

He grinned. "Yeah, I totally did!"

Shaking her head, she stood beside the bed and stretched. When Evan reached for her, she laughed and scooted out of his reach. "Behave yourself until I get done, can you?"

Flopping back against the pillows, Evan sighed. "If I must."

She leaned down to give him a quick kiss, and he tried to grab her. Unfortunately, she must have been expecting it because as fast as she kissed him, she retreated again. "I'll be back after work."

"Oka-a-a-a-ay," he drawled in a very transparent effort to get her to feel bad enough to call in. It didn't work as she fussed with her hair a little and smoothed out her sweater. She spared a moment to smile at him and wiggle her fingers before heading for the door. "Wait a minute," he called after her.

She stuck her head back into the room as Evan leaned over to dig through one of his nightstand drawers. It only took a few seconds to locate the small black velvet jeweler's box he was after, and he didn't bother to look inside it before chucking it toward her.

She caught it easily and stared at it for a minute. "What's this?"

"What do you think?"

She turned the box over in her hands a few times but didn't open it. "If that was your way of proposing, you'd better try again, Roka," she said.

He laughed but caught the box she tossed back at him. "But V!"

"Think about it while I'm at work," she said over her shoulder as she started for the stairs.

He heaved a sigh loud enough that she had to have heard him, which was kind of the point. "But you tell me not to do that!"

The sound of her laughter filled the house and sounded in his head long after the front door closed behind her.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"What about these?"

Valerie glanced up from the stack of clothes she was pulling out of the closet at the stack of CDs that Evan carried into the room.

"Uh . . ." she frowned at the titles. "All of those are mine except for those two on the bottom."

Evan pulled the two out of the stack and read the titles. " _Blackhat Orchestra presents Mozart in the Park_ and the Vienna Boys' Choir?"

"Marvin prefers classical music. He's very cultured, I told you."

"Or he just wants to _look_ cultured," Evan contended.

"Either help me or go home," she said.

He chuckled and leaned in for a quick kiss. "I got it; I got it," he replied before striding out of the room again. It wasn't taking nearly as long to pack things up as he would have thought, but she had suggested it when she'd come in after work, and Evan was all for it since he really didn't want her staying here any longer than she had to. She already said that she wouldn't bother taking anything out of the kitchen since Evan already had anything she could possibly need, nor was she going to take any of the furniture, so it made things a little easier. He'd already packed up her books—they were easy since Marvin's books tended to be one of two kinds: either medical journals or a few self-help ones, like _How to be a Self-Starter_ or _10 Steps to Realizing Success_.

He had just stuck Valerie's CDs into a box when a soft knock sounded on the door. Dusting his hands off, he strode over to it, recognizing the aura on the other side of it before he reached for the handle.

Madison didn't look surprised to find him standing in Valerie's living room, but her normally effervescent demeanor seemed rather diminished as she slipped past him into the apartment.

"Hey, Maddikins . . . I was going to call you earlier," Evan said. "Then Mikey stopped by with some shit to go over . . ."

"I take it the two of you smoothed things over," Madison replied with a smile. "I'm glad . . . Are the two of you a couple . . .?"

Evan chuckled, and Madison sucked in a sharp breath.

"Oh, my God! You're _blushing!_ Evan Zelig is actually _blushing_?"

"I do that sometimes," he grumbled.

Madison laughed. "Not nearly often enough . . . Is V back in her room?"

"Yeah. She's packing her clothes."

Madison nodded, but she seemed to hesitate.

Evan frowned as he stood up straight and crossed his arms over his chest. A vague sense of suspicion crept over him. "You're the one who bruised her, weren't you?"

Letting out a deep breath, Madison nodded once. "I didn't mean to," she admitted quietly. "I didn't even mean to come over here last night. It's just . . . I just ended up here, and when she answered the door, I-I don't know. It was like something inside me snapped . . ."

Evan sighed. If it was anyone other than Madison, he'd rip him or her apart, no questions asked, and he would be lying if he tried to say that he wasn't seriously irritated with her for it, either. The truth of it was that if the situation were reversed, he couldn't honestly say that he wouldn't have done the same thing for her. "That's why she refused to tell me."

Madison rubbed her forehead. "Do you want to hit me?"

Evan snorted and rolled his eyes. "No, don't be stupid."

She didn't look comforted in the least. "I was scared," she said quietly—so quietly that Evan almost didn't hear her. "I was . . . really scared . . . More scared than I've ever been in my life . . ."

And just what could he say to that? Madison shouldn't have hit Valerie, but he could understand why she did it, too.

"I'm sorry," he told her. After all, he guessed that it was ultimately his fault, albeit in a roundabout kind of way. If he hadn't been so quick to jump to conclusions, she wouldn't have done what she did, either . . .

Madison sniffled and quickly wiped her eyes. "You should be," she muttered, but she sounded more upset than chiding. "Anyway, I just came by because I wanted to tell her that I'm sorry."

Evan nodded and watched as Madison headed off down the hallway.

He had to be slipping. Why else would he let Madison off for hitting Valerie when he'd have clocked anyone else who had done it? Then again . . . Letting out a deep breath, Evan shook his head. Maybe he was just too damn happy, or maybe he simply understood Madison's feelings a little too well.

It didn't take long to finish filling the box, and he closed it up and stacked it on top of the others waiting by the door. He'd already called and arranged to have Bone pick them up tomorrow. The only things of hers left in the living room were the computer and her knickknacks, but he figured that she would want to pack those up herself, and since there was nothing else for him to do, he strode off toward her room to see how far she'd gotten.

He stopped short when he reached the doorway and fumbled for his cell phone to click a picture before they noticed him. Sitting on the bed hugging each other, it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. "You know, if you two want to get naked and do that, I'd be all right with it," Evan remarked.

Both women's heads turned to look at him, but Valerie was the one to hurl a pillow at him. "Go away, Roka," she insisted. "And even if we _were_ to get naked, we'd do it when you're nowhere near."

"As long as you film it, I'm all right with that," he quipped.

Madison laughed shakily. "I love you, V. You know that, don't you?" she said just before she choked on a sob.

Valerie hugged her again, wailing loudly as she dissolved in tears. "Aww, of course I do! I love you, too, my Maddy!"

"Uh, you two could love _me_ , if you wanted," Evan pointed out, raising his voice to be heard over the sobbing women.

They ignored him. It figured. "I'm so so-o-o-orry I hit you," Maddy gasped out between hiccups.

"It was my f-f-f-fault," Valerie insisted.

"No-o-o," Madison wailed. "You can hit me if you want! You can have any of my sh-shoes you want, too!"

Heaving a sigh, Evan leaned in the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest, unable to do more than stare somewhat incredulously at the spectacle they were making. He honestly didn't care how long he lived, he was pretty sure that he was never, ever going to figure women out; not really.

"Oh, no, you love your shoes! We should go shoe shopping! Evan won't c-care . . ."

"Aww, Evan doesn't mind shoe shopping," Evan pointed out.

"It'll be a girls' day o-o-out," Madison stuttered. "Without Evan!"

"Hey . . ." Evan protested. They still ignored him.

"He didn't even ask me to m-marry him," Valerie tearfully whined. "He just threw the ring box at me."

"He's such a j-jerk!" Madison cried.

"And then h-h-he started telling me this ridiculous st-story about him not being hu-hu-human!" Valerie went on, her voice muffled by Madison's shoulder.

"Oh, he's n-n-not," Madison sobbed. "N-Neither am I-I!"

At some point later on, Evan was positive that he was going to remember this moment as being one of the funniest of his life. Right now, however, all he could do was shake his head and smile.

Valerie leaned away and wiped her eyes with a crumpled tissue. "You don't ha-have to go along with his silly joke," she said with a tumultuous sniffle.

Madison grabbed a tissue from the box on the nightstand and blew her nose. "I'm not," she replied when she'd gotten herself under control a little. "It's true." She seemed to be pondering that for a moment, and then she smiled, or at least tried to. With the tears that still hadn't worked themselves out just yet, it was a pretty sad-looking sight. "I'm so g-g-glad you know now!"

Valerie shot Evan a pouty look. "You got her to go along with it, too?"

He chuckled and shrugged the shoulder that wasn't leaning on the doorframe. "It's the truth; I told you."

She heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes as Madison's face shifted into a marked frown. "And what does she mean, you threw an engagement ring at her? Why didn't you ask?"

This time, it was Evan's turn to roll his eyes, and he did so with an accompanying snort. "I have asked her a hundred times, and she always says 'no'."

Madison slowly shook her head. "So ask a hundred-and-one times."

"She'd say no on principle," he said. "It's her turn to do the asking."

"Women don't ask men to marry them," Madison scoffed.

"They do if they've already said no as often as she has," Evan insisted.

Madison sighed and stood up. "You're just being stubborn. If I were you, V, I'd just withhold the sex until he proposes properly," she said. "I'll get going so you can finish packing, V. We'll go shoe shopping next weekend?"

Evan snorted and rolled his eyes but grinned. "Like she could!"

"I could," Valerie countered. Evan didn't miss the slight flush that crept into her cheeks as she lifted her chin a notch. "If I wanted to, that is . . ."

Evan chuckled while Madison sniffled and slowly shook her head.

Valerie stood up to give Madison one more hug before the latter strolled out of the room, pausing long enough to kiss Evan's cheek in passing. Valerie watched her go with a smile then gave herself a little shake before turning her attention back to the clothes she was carefully packing in a box. "You're really not going to ask me again?" she questioned.

Evan chuckled and shoved himself away from the door in favor of flopping back onto her bed. "That's right," he replied. "You want to do it, then you're gonna have to ask."

"Okay," she said simply, turning around to grab more things from the closet.

"Okay?"

"Yep."

Evan frowned. "What's that mean?"

She took a deep, cleansing sort of breath. "It means that when I want to get married, I'll let you know."

Rolling his eyes, he chuckled again. "All right, V, but you'd better make sure you have a decent ring for me when you do."

"Women don't buy men engagement rings," she pointed out.

He laughed at that. "They do if they're the ones doing the asking."

Her response was a chagrined sort of look, and that only made him laugh harder.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _If_ _I_** **_Fell_** ' _by_ _the_ _Beatles_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1964_ _release_ , **_A_** **_Hard_** **_Day's_** **_Night_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _John_ _Lennon_ _and_ _Paul_ _McCartney_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _I have to propose …?_


	213. 212: The Rub

' _You fill up my senses like a night in the forest_...  
' _Like the mountains in springtime_ …  
' _Like a walk in the rain_ …  
' _Like a storm in the desert_ …  
' _Like a sleepy blue ocean_ …  
' _You fill up my senses_ …  
' _Come fill me again_ …'

 

-' _Annie's Song'_ by John Denver.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie walked into the bedroom with a frown. Evan was somewhere in the house; she knew he was, but finding him was an entirely different matter.

Some noises drew her toward the bathroom, and she stopped short in the doorway when she spotted him, holding a bottle of something over the toilet, draining the contents in a steady stream, and she blinked. "Is that my color-wash shampoo?" she asked, leaning against the frame as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Yep," he said without looking up from his task.

She watched him for a few more moments. "Why are you dumping it down the toilet?"

"Because," he said as if it was the simplest thing in the world, "you're not allowed to dye your hair anymore. That's why."

Her mouth fell open for a second before she snapped it closed. "That stuff is expensive, Roka," she pointed out calmly. "Almost thirty bucks a bottle."

"I'll buy you some more," he told her. "Just not color-wash junk."

Biting back a smile, Valerie shook her head. "That's so wasteful . . . It was a brand new bottle, too."

"You're missing the point. You were born blonde.   You should stay blonde."

"I don't say anything when you dye your hair," she pointed out reasonably.

He snorted and flushed the toilet as he dropped the now-empty bottle into the trash can nearby. "That's completely different," he declared. "I do it to hide who I am—something you're grateful for, if you remember." Then he hopped back a step, leaning back with his body and forward with his head like he was afraid something in the toilet was going to get him.

Pushing herself away from the door frame, she wandered over, eyes widening at the pile of brown-tinted bubbles that rose almost to the rim of the toilet. Before they could escape, however, the suction action pulled them harmlessly down the drain, but she made a face at the trace stains that ringed the inside of the bowl. "You're going to scrub that out, aren't you?" she asked without looking at Evan.

"Kind of looks like someone had some major issues, doesn't it?"

She smacked him in the center of his chest with the back of her hand as she continued to stare at the toilet. "You're such a pain. Besides, I darken my hair because it keeps people at work from thinking that I'm just some stupid blonde."

Evan rolled his eyes. "You're an attorney, V. I don't think anyone's going to think you're a stupid blonde."

She sighed. "I can't believe you did that."

"Believe it, baby."

She laughed. "Jerk."

He slipped an arm around her waist and planted a kiss on her temple. "So was there a reason you were looking for me? Want me to take you for a ride on the hEvan Express? I have a radio interview later on, but I could spare a few . . ."

"Hmm," she drawled, turning toward him, slipping her arms around his neck. "Unfortunately, that'd be a bad idea at the moment—and what do you mean, a 'few'?"

He nuzzled her neck. "Okay, a little longer than a 'few' . . . and for the record, I think it's an _awesome_ idea—best one I've had all day."

Closing her eyes for a moment as a delicious shiver ran down her spine, she let herself savor the feeling before gently but firmly pushing against his chest. "Mike's here," she said when he tried to lean in again. "Says he 'needs' to talk to you."

"Aww, that is so un-sexy," Evan complained. "Tell him to go the fuck away. Better yet, tell him you're my new manager and that he's fired."

Valerie laughed and managed to extricate herself from Evan's grasp. "Anyway, you take your time, talking to him because I've got a meeting with Xavier."

Evan heaved a longsuffering sigh. "All ri-i-i-ight," he said in an exhalation of breath.

She smiled and him and kissed him on the cheek before sauntering out of the bathroom to change clothes for her meeting.

Xavier wanted updates on the cases she was working on. At the moment, she only had two, one of which would be resolved within the week when the judge signed the plea agreement, while the other one was fairly straightforward, too, and wouldn't take a lot of work. It was the kid's first run-in with the law, and he seemed to be genuinely contrite for a fight in a restaurant that started when some guy said some rude thing to the kid's girlfriend. Jimmy Hall, the hottest young actor in the country, thrived on his 'nice boy' image, so the real problem was for his PR people to deal with, and as far as Valerie could tell, the only reason that Jimmy had been brought up on charges was because of his fame since he'd only hit the guy once. But she'd already gotten a call from the DA, who was interested in cutting Jimmy a deal, and as long as said-deal was decent, Jimmy would probably take it and call it good.

Valerie had been reluctant to take on any other cases, though, and that's why Xavier wanted to talk to her. She wasn't entirely sure why she felt such a sense of reticence, either, but she couldn't quite shake the feeling that she didn't want to commit herself to anything at work that she couldn't easily work out. She supposed that if she were to stop and really think about it, it would probably have to do with the idea that things were already so up in the air, as far as her life went. So many things had changed in the span of a week that it was hard for her to grasp, and she couldn't help but wonder if her choice in fields of law was ultimately the right one for her. Granted, had it not been for her current position, she might not have met Evan, but still, she couldn't help feeling that there was so much more she could do if she were to change her focus from representing stars who got in trouble to something a little less high-profile but perhaps far more fulfilling.

Besides, Evan had mentioned that he wanted to go to Maine for an extended vacation, of sorts. He wanted to be near his mother as she got further into her pregnancy, and Valerie couldn't really fault him for that. She really liked them, anyway, and she'd figured that spending the summer in Maine might well give her the time away to really think about her career, too.

So her main reason for meeting with Xavier was to tell him that she was going to take some time off, not that she thought he'd really mind. All she'd really have to do was to tell him that she was going to be keeping Zel Roka in check, and that would be more than enough incentive for Xavier to give his seal of approval. It might not be the entire truth, but as long as Evan paid her retainer fees, which, of course, he would, then Xavier wouldn't really care.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"So what's the scoop, Mikey?" Evan asked as he vaulted the banister and landed neatly on the floor.

Mike shot him a chagrined look over a cup of coffee and chucked a newspaper at him. "That."

Evan caught the paper and glanced at it with a frown. It didn't take him long to spot the picture that Mike was so obviously up in arms about. Front and center on the first page of the entertainment section was a picture of Valerie driving out of the gates of the mansion early in the morning, along with a caption that alluded to the idea that Zel Roka's attorney might be more than just an employee and that it appeared that she was taking up residence with the rockstar. Beside that was a picture of Bone and his crew moving the boxes out of Valerie's apartment building with a smaller inset of Bone unloading the same boxes here. The pictures were slightly blurred by the dense bushes around the front gates, but whoever had taken them had gotten enough of the vehicle and the man carrying one of her boxes to back up the claim, "Big deal," Evan said, tossing the paper onto the coffee table. "So they got a picture of her leaving here. Nothing wrong with that."

Mike shrugged. "Not in the short-term, no, but you'd better be thinking about the long term. Didn't you go out of your way all these years to hide the connection between Evan Zelig and Zel Roka?"

Dropping onto the sofa with a heavy sigh, Evan nodded. "I gotcha," he muttered.

It was all in the master plan, wasn't it? The real reason he'd hidden his true identity . . . Sure, he had done it to protect his immediate family, but he had also known all along that there really was a deeper meaning behind it all. Hiding who he was because he'd hoped to one day have a mate, a family of his own, and as much as he might love the limelight, he didn't want to impose that upon them. Valerie might understand, and she knew what it was, the insanity of the life of Zel Roka. She'd seen it for herself on multiple occasions, but not to the extent that it would be if it were common knowledge that Zel Roka and Evan Zelig were one in the same. As it was, Evan had a pretty good system for making sure that he kept the two separate, and the times that he spent with Valerie, he was most definitely not Zel Roka.

In a broad sort of sense, he'd known all along that eventually, the alter ego would have to disappear, and one as large as Zel Roka? When the time came, Zel Roka would have to die. That wasn't something that he was planning on any time soon.

"Point taken," Evan concluded.

Mike didn't look satisfied. If anything, he seemed more agitated than before. "Look, I'm not trying to bust your balls," he said. "I think Valerie's the best thing going in your life. I'm just saying that you should probably look into some other kind of arrangement."

"What kind of arrangement do you mean?" Evan asked, sitting up a little straighter, the edge in his voice a viable warning.

Mike sighed and shook his head, holding his hands up in front of himself as though he were trying to placate Evan. "That's not what I mean. Now, listen. Why don't you think about buying another place? This one is known as Zel Roka's house, so if you want to continue to keep the two separate . . ."

Relaxing a little, Evan considered that. Mike had a valid point—one that he probably would have thought of himself, given time. It wasn't that he was afraid of what hooking up with someone might to do Zel Roka's image. He simply didn't want to have to lock Valerie into the crazy lifestyle that surrounded Zel Roka. Having to exist within the constant bubble of security detail and the ever-critical eye of public scrutiny? It had a way of destroying people and tainting even the best of relationships. He'd seen it happen time and again, and Valerie was way too independent for him to ask her to put up with such a thing, too.

"Yeah, thanks," Evan said as Valerie descended the staircase in one of her no-nonsense work outfits. "I'll call around later, make a few appointments to talk to someone about it."

"Okay," Mike said, heading over to grab something to drink.

"All right, Roka, I'm leaving. Stay out of trouble until I get home?"

Evan shot her a cheesy grin as she leaned down to kiss him goodbye. He tried to catch her and slow her down, but damned if she wasn't good at evasion. He heaved a sigh to let her know exactly what he thought of it, and she laughed.

"Bye, Michael," she called.

Mike lifted a hand. "Later." He took his time, wandering back over with a couple of bottles of hard tea. They heard the front door close, and Mike grinned as he handed Evan a bottle and sat down. "So . . . you told her about you?"

Scratching his head, Evan made a face. "Yep."

His reaction earned a raised-eyebrow-ed look from his manager. "She doesn't buy it, does she?"

"In a word? Nope." Evan chuckled. "She thinks it's some weird story I made up."

Mike nodded slowly, as though he thought that it made sense, and given that he knew Valerie, Evan figured that he could understand that kind of reaction. "Did you show her what you look like without your concealment?"

"'Course I did. She thinks I was playing some weird trick on her."

Mike didn't look too surprised by that, either. "Well, you'd better do something to convince her . . . You at least make any progress on getting her to marry you?"

Draining half of his hard tea in a series of long gulps, Evan shook his head when he finally came up for air. "Kind of. Sort of." Then he grinned. "Not really."

"She doesn't want to marry an idiot like you?" Mike grinned, too. "Can't say I blame her for that."

"Actually," Evan admitted with a shrug, "I don't really know. I did tell her, though, that if she wants to do the marrying, she's gotta do the asking first."

Mike blinked, his bottle poised at his lips and frozen there. "Come again?"

Setting the bottle aside, Evan reached up over his head to stretch. "I told her that she'd have to do the asking," he stated once more.

"Why would you say a fool thing like that?"

"Because I've already asked her a million times, and she always turned me down."

Mike stared at him for a long moment before slowly shaking his head. "Oh, I get it," he concluded finally. "You're afraid that she's going to say no again."

Evan made a face but didn't answer.

Mike sighed and got to his feet. "All right, I've got to go. Don't forget your radio spot later on and give Wicked a call. They want to ask you about your new material."

Evan lifted a hand to indicate that he'd heard Mike as he got up to head over to his desk.

' _Find a new place, huh?_ ' his youkai-voice piped up. ' _Good thing V likes shopping_.'

Evan nodded absently, sitting down and turning on the computer. He liked this house, sure, but he could fully appreciate just what Mike had pointed out, too. This house was too well-known for being Zel Roka's den of iniquity. He'd keep it for appearances, sure, but there was something to be said for finding a new house, too. Mike had suggested it more than once, that Evan might want to consider it for use during his downtime. Evan had never bothered before, simply because he just hadn't had enough spare time to mess with it.

Glancing over at the coffee table with a frown, he thought about those pictures. No, the sooner he took care of it, the better off they'd be because V might well be familiar with the craziness that went hand-in-hand with the existence of Zel Roka, but trapping her in that kind of thing? She'd hate it.

He sighed as he fired off an email to the real estate agent that had helped him find this house. He was a good guy—also youkai—who understood Evan's situation since he dealt almost exclusively with youkai, and, while Evan gave a brief summation of things that he figured both he and Valerie would want in a house, he also mentioned that she would ultimately have the final say in the matter. For some reason, the email made him smile. He already sounded rather domesticated, didn't he . . .?

' _Yeah, and about that . . . You're being a pussy, do you know?_ '

Evan snorted indelicately and shut off the computer. ' _What do you know about it?_ '

His youkai-voice echoed the sentiment. ' _I know that you're just being a wuss. Not asking her to marry you? Just because you think she'll turn you down flat_.'

Making a face, Evan stood up and wandered over to the glass doors that opened into his back yard.

There was truth to that—truth that Evan hated to have to admit, even to himself. The thing was, he really didn't know exactly what she was thinking, especially about something as serious as marriage. He'd marry her in a heartbeat, no questions asked, but Valerie . . .? Yes, they were together—she'd even called herself his girlfriend—but what did she really want?

And even if he asked her, he had a feeling that she might well think that he was just joking around. She'd probably think that it was just an extension of the whole youkai-thing that she still hadn't even remotely started to believe. That was the real reason that he'd pretty much left the whole question of marriage strictly in Valerie's hands.

Heaving a sigh, he shook his head. There were just too many things that he didn't know. But he'd already been patient this long, hadn't he? He supposed that he could do it a little longer, too . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"I'm losing my mind."

Uttering a soft little laugh as she closed the web browser on the jeweler's site she had been browsing.

" _That's right . . . You want to do it, then you're gonna have to ask_."

She must be going crazy if she was actually considering it. Still . . .

What if he said no . . .?

He wouldn't do that, would he? After all, he _was_ right; he had already asked a number of times. Granted, she'd always thought that he was just blowing.

Or had she just wanted to believe that he was joking around at the time? If she had said yes back then, would he have really gone through with it . . .?

Somehow, she had to wonder. That he'd already had an engagement ring for her should speak volumes, shouldn't it? So if that were true, then it meant that he had become serious about it somewhere along the way. The question was, was it really what he wanted?

"Stop that," she told herself briskly, shoving the thought out of her mind as she stubbornly shook her head and glanced at the clock. Almost ten. Evan's radio interview should be just about over. He said that the radio show lasted about an hour, and it started at nine. All he was doing was hanging out with the D.J. and playing some of his favorite songs.

She'd started out, looking at various real estate sites since Evan said that they needed to look for a new house after showing her the newspaper and telling her that he wanted to buy a place for him and her that wasn't known to be Zel Roka's house, and she'd agreed. Then he'd gone on to tell her that he wanted her to pick it out and that he'd already called someone to help, but she might as well look around to get an idea of exactly what she wanted. On the one hand, she was happy that he cared enough to take her preferences into consideration. On the other?

She frowned as she stood up and shuffled over to pour herself a glass of wine. On the other hand, she didn't want everything to be one-sided, either. She'd had enough of that kind of life with Marvin. When she thought about it, she knew that everything was ultimately up to her to do or to arrange, and at the time, she'd really believed it was what she wanted. Oh, sure, Marvin had his say, too, usually when it came to his schedule and the obligations that he couldn't break: the things that so often resulted in her, having to change things around. With Evan? She smiled to herself. With Evan, she wanted him to help her decide things—everything . . .

Well, almost everything, maybe. There were moments when she had to question his judgment, like his choice of décor in his bedroom . . .

"Hey, baby, pick out anything you want to look at?" Evan asked as he breezed into the room. She turned as he dropped his jacket over the back of a chair. It was a different jacket since the one he used to wear the most was ruined by the chlorine in the pool.

"No," she said with a smile, picking up a notepad along with a pen to hand to him.

"What's this?"

"I wrote down the things that I definitely want in any place we look at, and now it's your turn," she told him.

He glanced over her list and nodded slowly. "Sounds good to me," he said, tossing the paper onto the coffee table in favor of pulling Valerie into his arms.

She rolled her eyes and braced her hands against his chest to keep him at bay, at least for the moment. "I'm serious, Evan."

He grinned. "Your list was good," he told her. "Honestly, I don't care as long as I have a music room, and you put that on your list, so . . ."

"Yeah, but you're missing the point," she grumbled, chagrined that he didn't seem to grasp just what she was trying to say. Still, on some level, it made her happy, too—happy that he cared enough about what she might want to leave the decisions up to her.

He heaved a sigh when he realized that she was, indeed, serious. "Honestly, V, I can't say that I'm that fussy about any of it," he said. "As long as you're there, then I'm good."

She blinked, her arguments dying on her lips as she stared at him. He meant it, every word of it. It was all there in his eyes despite the gray-green contacts that he was currently wearing to mask the true color.

"You wanna go fuck now?"

And just like that, the momentary spell cast on her by his words was broken, and she sighed. "Forget it, Roka," she said, shoving against him in an effort to get him to let go. "You just had to ruin it, didn't you?"

He chuckled and pulled her closer. "It's a rare talent," he told her.

She snorted but gave up with a sigh. "It's _something_."

Leaning down, nuzzling her neck, Evan chuckled again. The balmy heat of his breath sent a shiver down her spine—a delicious kind of sensation. It really wasn't fair, was it? That he could so easily destroy any resistance in her with a simple gesture, a breath, a heartbeat . . .

"I made . . . dinner . . ." she managed to say between moments of trying to remember that she really needed to breathe.

"It can wait," he murmured, tilting her chin, dropping his lips over hers.

Just the feel of his lips was startling, almost inebriating. Struggling to hang onto what little conscious thought she still possessed, she pushed against him weakly, turned her head away. "It'll . . . burn . . ." she said without any conviction at all.

"Let it," he growled, dragging his fangs along her throat, nudging her blouse open to plant a hot, wet kiss on the hollow at the base of her throat.

She shivered, letting her head fall back as her hands tangled around handfuls of his currently-red hair, powerless to fight against him, against the consuming need that surged inside her. It was almost shameful, wasn't it? How fast he could completely and utterly devastate her senses . . .

"I want you," Evan breathed, an underlying sense of desperation resounding in his touch, in his words. Crushing her against him with one arm, letting his free hand drag up and down against the flimsy fabric of her blouse as the heat of his palm marked an invisible path up her side, lingering on her hip.

She melted against him, clinging to him as she reeled in the sensation of being absolutely lost in him. She could feel his overwhelming power just below the surface of the restrained gentleness that he showed her, his own body quivering as he barely kept himself in check. Lips zigzagging a trail of fire along her throat, inching upward in a languid sort of way, he flicked his tongue against her skin, as though he needed to taste her, every inch of her, every bit of her.

The nerves in her body reacted, a dull hum erupting in her ears. Suddenly, it just wasn't enough—not nearly enough. The contentment of simply allowing him to do as he would was too much, too compelling, spinning around in her body as the need to touch him, to know him, grew deep inside her. It wasn't nearly enough just to let him do as he would. Untangling her fingers from his hair, shoving aside the button-down shirt that he hadn't bothered to fasten, she reveled in him as his body seemed to lurch in reaction to her touch, as her fingertips danced lightly over his skin. Tracing the hollows on his abdomen, feeling the underlying muscles jerk and leap in an ripple of motion, she pushed her hands up, kneading burning flesh, reveling in the way his body responded to her.

He growled low in his throat, somehow managed to bend over, to scoop her up in his arms without losing contact with her as his lips closed over hers, the gentle draw tinged with a drunken sense of unmasked desire. The novel feeling of clinging to him was back as she slipped her arms around his neck, as she parted her lips to capture his tongue, using hers to caress him back. He groaned softly, almost staggering as the reaction hit him. She tightened her grip but didn't let up.

Reveling in the feel of his lips against hers, she was only vaguely aware when he let her legs drop onto the bed. He let go of her, relinquished his hold on her, and stepped back with a heavy sigh, as though the act of doing so had cost him dearly. Maybe it had, but Valerie's little whimper that escaped before she could catch it seemed so loud that it sounded like thunder in her ears.

Or maybe that was simply the sound of her own heartbeat.

Hanging onto one of the bedposts, he stared at her, his gaze lit with an independent kind of light that had nothing at all to do with the ambient bedroom lamps. Shirt hanging open, tattered jeans clinging to his lean hips despite the thickness of him that strained against the fabric, his breathing was labored, harsh, each breath setting off a ripple of motion in the muscles delineating his chest. There was something absolutely mesmerizing about watching them, and, as though he could read her thoughts, Evan chuckled. "Getting an eyeful, V?" he teased.

She could feel the heat stealing into her cheeks but stubbornly refused to look away. "Nope," she replied flippantly, dropping onto her side, her hands tucked neatly between her knees. "You're still dressed."

He chuckled again and let go of the bedpost in favor of shrugging off his shirt and discarding his boots and jeans in much the same fashion.

"You should leave the socks on," Valerie quipped, rising up on her elbow to peer over the side of the bed. "That's pretty hot."

"I know, right?" he replied, hanging onto the post with one hand and tugging off his socks with the other.

She laughed as she scooted off the bed, reaching up to fumble with the buttons on her blouse. But she stopped suddenly as a rather wicked idea occurred to her, and she only considered it for a moment before shoving Evan onto the bed and wandering over to the panel by the door.

He landed with a grunt, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see him as he propped himself up on his elbows. He seemed to be curious as to what, exactly, she was doing, but he remained silent as she brought up the music player and took a minute to select a few tracks. She might have to ask him later, just why he had some perfect stripper-tunes in his music files . . .

He chuckled softly when she stepped away, obviously amused by her choice in ambient music since the song that filtered through the house system was the raunchiest, sleaziest tunes, complete with heavy rhythms and throbbing beats. Evan's amusement escalated as she reached for the stripper pole and spun around it, turning herself as she grasped it in both hands behind her back, dropping to her knees in one fluid motion.

Her blouse was tricky with all its buttons, but she managed it, spinning it over her head before tossing it into Evan's lap. The delicate fabric was horribly distended over his erection, and she giggled. The pants were a little more difficult to get out of gracefully, but she finally kicked those aside, too, and Evan watched in rapt fascination as she danced around the pole. Gyrating her hips, grinding against it to the beat of the music, she ran her hands up and down her body, leaning forward to give Evan a very nice view of her cleavage.

He groaned and scooted toward the end of the bed, either to get a better view or to try to grab her. Valerie stepped back and knelt down, stretching out her left leg, bouncing up and down a few times before grasping the pole, wrapping herself around it as she pulled herself back up again.

The bra was easy to discard. Dropping it on the floor as she continued her dance, she smiled at Evan, paused long enough to wink at him. He heaved a sigh, reaching down, taking his time as he alternated between stroking himself and toying with the thick silver barbell stud that pierced the head of his penis. Valerie could feel her body trembling as the anticipation in the air intensified.

Hooking the sides of her panties, Valerie slipped them down her body, only to turn around, to grasp the pole as she bent over, carefully lifting one foot free and then the other as she wiggled her ass, as though daring Evan to take the bait.

She didn't turn to look at him; she didn't have to. In the mirror on the far wall, she could see him as he scooted to the side of the bed to grab a condom out of the drawer, and he didn't waste a second as he tore the packet open and rolled it into place. As quickly as that, he was off the bed. It only took him four strides to reach her, and he didn't stop as he grabbed her hips and yanked her back against him hard. She screamed as he slid into her, her arms taut as she held onto the pole.

He leaned over her, kissed her back, already damped with a light sheen of sweat from her exertions, and reached around her, rubbing his deft fingertips against the throbbing, aching part of her. The moment he touched her, she exploded, her body reacting so violently that it wrenched a scream out of her, set off a chain reaction as she quaked and shook and cried out. He wasn't done by a long shot, ramming himself into her with a ferocity that nearly drove her mad, so intense that she lost the ability to comprehend where one orgasm ended and another one began.

"C'mon, V," Evan goaded, his voice raw, husky, strained. "Fuck me back, can't you?"

"Y-Yes," she gasped out, bucking her hips as she reared back to meet his thrusts. Her shallow breaths erupted in a loud groan when he reached up with his free hand, when he grasped her nipple between his fingers and squeezed hard, only to let the pressure off, again and again every time he slammed against her ass.

"Is this what you want?" he whispered to her, slowing his pace deliberately, keeping her balanced right on the cusp, pushing her enough to keep her there yet unwilling to allow her release. "Is it? You want to fuck me, don't you, V?" He paused for a moment, letting himself slide out of her, only to drive it back into her so hard that she cried out again. "Or do you want _me_ to fuck _you?_ "

"Fuck me forever, Roka," she gasped out.

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes . . ."

"You want my cock?"

"Yes . . ."

"You want it hard?"

"Yes . . ."

"You want it fast?"

"Yes . . ."

"You want it now?"

"Yes . . .!"

He uttered a low growl. "You wanna come?"

"Yes . . ."

He chuckled huskily and kissed her back again. "You wanna marry me?"

"Yes . . . _God_ , yes . . ."

"Good," he growled, grasping her hips in his hands once more. "Don't forget you said that later."

Her shriek preempted any kind of answer she could have given as he thrust himself into her, driving her over the edge into a stunning and shocking realm of satisfaction, as he yanked back on her hard, as his own cry mixed with hers when he followed her there, lost in the reverberations of song.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Annie's_** **_Song_** ' _by_ _John_ _Denver_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1974_ _release_ , **_Back_** **_Home_** **_Again_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _John_ _Denver_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Evan_** :  
>  _Du-u-u-ude! She totally said yes!_


	214. 213: Planning

' _All you gotta do is hold him and kiss him and squeeze him and love him_...  
' _Yeah, just do it_ …  
' _And after you do, you will be his_ …'

 

-' _Wishin' and Hopin''_ by Dionne Warwick.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Heaving a sigh, Valerie ignored the passing scenery in favor of pinning the driver with an incredulous look.   "You _cannot_ be serious," she said, slowly shaking her head.

Why she bothered, she didn't know, considering they'd been having this particular discussion every day for the last week and a half since he'd so neatly gotten her to agree to marry him—a sneaky move, if she wanted to argue her point, but Evan insisted that it didn't matter how he'd gotten her to say yes as long as she had. All's fair in love and war, or so he'd claimed. It was all right, though, she supposed, turning her hand slightly as the diamond set in the platinum band shone brilliantly in the sunlight spilling into the car. After all, she _did_ want to marry him. She just wasn't too keen on telling people how he'd proposed when and if they asked . . . Naturally, he was, jerk that he could be . . .

Evan didn't glance away from the road. "You doubt me, woman?" he asked her mildly. "Of course, I am."

"N-No-o-o-o," she drawled, shaking her head again for good measure and to reinforce her point. "No!"

"Look, baby, as far as I see it, I'm being pretty damn patient, if you ask me. I mean, I'd be more than happy to do a quick trip to the local Justice of the Peace, but, being the generous and understanding man I am, I'm willing to meet you halfway and let you have the wedding of your dreams—in three months—or less . . ."

Narrowing her gaze at the man and his threats, Valerie snorted indelicately.   "Evan, as much as I'd love to go along with you on this one, there is no way in hell I can properly plan a full wedding in three months! I just _can't!_ It's impossible!" she insisted, judiciously ignoring the 'or less' part of his statement.

"V, baby, nothing's ever impossible, and you aren't really the type to give up without trying, now are you?"

She sighed. "We're talking about floral arrangements, guest lists, tuxes, dresses—in Maddy's case, the right shoes, and you know that those could take the longest of all—the venue for the wedding, the venue for the reception, the catering arrangements, the cake arrangements, finding the right person to officiate the ceremony, hiring a service staff, interviewing and selecting a photographer, musical arrangements, planning the honeymoon, finding the right rings, booking flights and making travel plans for members of the wedding party that might not live nearby, not to mention the meetings with the real estate agent you hired . . ." Making a face as the list grew longer in her head, she had to wonder yet again if Evan had gone crazy at some point between last night and this morning. "And even if we can do all of that, don't forget that you're supposed to be back in the studio in September, which means you'll need to have all your songs written and ready to go by then, too, and I happen to know that you haven't written a damn thing yet."

"Hmm, you're starting to sound more and more like Mikey," Evan pointed out. "Relax, baby. I got your back. I'll even take care of the honeymoon, so don't even worry about that one."

Somehow, that wasn't nearly as reassuring as Evan probably thought it would be. "We're looking at six months, tops, to get everything arranged," she told him flatly, "and even that is pushing it."

He glanced at her and then right back at the highway once more. "Three months, V, or we head for the Justice of the Peace as soon as we get to Bevelle."

"Why such a rush?" she asked, leveling a pout at him that didn't work since he wasn't looking at her.

"A: I'd like to go on that honeymoon before I hit the studio in September—something you've already pointed out. B: We've been together for a while now, even if we weren't officially 'together', so I don't feel that it's rushing, in the first place. C: you don't really want to get married in the fall; you've said so yourself, and D: if I give you too long, then you're going to change your mind; I just know it."

She laughed outright at Reason D. "I'm not going to change my mind," she told him as though it were a foregone conclusion.

Evan wrinkled his nose. "Are you sure? I mean, you still don't believe that the whole youkai thing is the truth."

That didn't even deserve a comment as far as she was concerned. "Three months," she said with a sigh, shaking her head, unsure if he was the crazy one for suggesting that she plan an entire wedding that fast or if he was the crazy one for putting that kind of limitation on the whole thing. "You know, it's a good thing I _want_ to marry you," she pointed out dryly.

He chuckled. "Do you really?"

She shot him a look that stated quite plainly that she thought he was being dense on purpose. "Do you think I don't?"

Offering her a bashful little smile, he shrugged. "It's nice to hear it."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she scowled at the claws on his hands, currently wrapped around the steering wheel. Shifting her gaze to his profile, her frown deepened at the point of his ear sticking out of his hair, at the sight of the fangs as he sang under his breath.

Those things . . . She'd seen them since that night, since he'd told her all of those things about the whole youkai thing, but things like that just weren't possible, and she knew that, too. No one could possibly live as long as he claimed, no one could do the things that he had told her about.

" _To my kind, when you find your mate, you spend the rest of your life making sure that that one person is happy because their happiness is your happiness. It's not because we have to. We do it because we want to_."

She'd love to believe that, wouldn't she? Would love to think that Evan would be hers, that he truly understood what 'forever' meant to her . . . The thing was . . .

It simply wasn't possible, was it? Too good to be true, right?

And still . . .

She'd seen it for herself, hadn't she? That cut on his hand was gone the next morning without even a trace that it had been there, to start with. It was the same with his feet and the injuries he should have had—the ones she'd seen herself—from walking repeatedly through those shards of broken glass.

Part of her wanted to believe him because that would be the completion of the dream, and yet the pragmatic part of her simply could not, absolutely could not, trust in such things.

"What are you thinking about?" Evan asked quietly, drawing Valerie out of her musings.

"Oh, uh . . . We're almost there, right?" she said, ignoring the questions that were spinning around her head.

"Maybe another twenty minutes or so . . . I figured we'd stop by my house and get settled in before heading over to the old homestead."

"That's right. You have a house up here."

He nodded. "Yeah. Miss and Daniel were staying there, but they found a place nearby."

"How's she doing?"

Evan made a face. "As well as can be expected." A sudden sense of sadness seemed to drift over him, and Valerie almost wished she hadn't asked.

A weird sense of foreboding crept up her spine. "What does that mean?"

For a moment, he seemed almost startled at the reticence in her tone. Then he smiled, though it seemed kind of forced, though why she thought that, she wasn't sure. "Well, you know, just the shock of losing, uh, Dieter . . ."

Why did it feel like there was something he wasn't telling her . . .? "Shouldn't Miss be doing all right?" she asked quietly, carefully.

"Uh, y-yeah . . . Yeah, she should. Of course, she should," he replied quickly, casting her a bright smile. "Oh, hey, I have something to show you up here, too."

He was definitely avoiding something, but for now, she let it drop since she wasn't sure whether or not it was worth the confrontation. Whatever it was, he'd tell her eventually. He always did. "What's that?" she asked instead.

"Well, I guess you could say it's kind of an early wedding present," he mused thoughtfully.

That got her attention quickly enough. "Is that right?"

He nodded, turning his head long enough to give her that lopsided little grin—the little boy smile—that she loved. "Yeah . . . I figured that I needed something to keep me busy for the next three months while you're planning the wedding."

She snorted but smiled, too. "You're going to help me with that, Roka," she maintained.

He chuckled. "I already did, didn't I?"

"Offering to plan the honeymoon wasn't exactly what I had in mind as far as 'help' is concerned."

"Well, there's that, too . . ." Another chuckle. "But that's not what I meant. I did already give you those cards."

She rolled her eyes but laughed. Just yesterday, he'd given her three credit cards, all right, and all three bore the name 'Valerie Denning-Zelig'. Three platinum cards, and when Valerie had asked him what they were for, he had simply laughed at her and dared her to try to max them out.

"Why do they say 'Denning-Zelig', anyway?" she asked.

Evan wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, I realize that you told ol' Maverick that you weren't going to take his last name, and I'm willing to meet you halfway, but you've gotta take Zelig, too."

She smiled. She'd actually forgotten that she'd told him any such thing. "I . . . I like the name 'Zelig'," she ventured at length.

He blinked, shot her an anxious sort of grin. "Yeah?"

"Hmm, yeah. Besides, writing out 'Denning-Zelig' would take too long."

"If you're going to go through the trouble of changing your name, anyway, why don't you just change your first name to 'V'?"

"I like my name," she told him with a smile, "and it's kind of nice that only you call me that."

"Maddy does, too . . . and Bone and Mikey and—"

"And it all came from you," she concluded.

He grinned. "Thought you hated it," he reminded her.

"It's grown on me," she admitted. "Kind of like you."

"I'll grow on you, baby . . ."

Valerie rolled her eyes but smiled. "But I'll have you know, Roka, I have credit cards of my own, and I pay for them myself, thank you very much."

"Save your money," he told her, turning onto the road that ultimately led to the Zelig estate. "Put it in a trust fund or something. I'll be paying your bills, thank _you_ very much."

"Hmm," she drawled, letting him know that the discussion wasn't actually over.

"There's the house that Miss bought," he said, pointing at a very nice, if not relatively small, cottage set back from the road amongst a sparse forest of evergreens.

"That's cute," she said, taking in the view. Evan's house up here was about double the size of the one Evan had pointed out. She hadn't seen the inside of the place, but he'd driven her past it while they were here for the announcement of Gin's pregnancy.

"Yeah, and not far from Bubby's. He's been kind of keeping an eye on her."

For some reason, that surprised Valerie. Maybe it shouldn't have. "I didn't realize that he even knew her."

"He didn't until after Dieter died," Evan admitted. Then he laughed, but there was a weird edge to the sound, like he found the entire situation somehow ironic. "Just doing his job."

"What do you mean by that?"

Evan gave a half-hearted shrug. "Bubby's going to be the next tai-youkai," he said simply, as though it answered everything. "Cain's the current one, and Bubby, as his oldest son, is the next in line."

It was true that Valerie didn't necessarily believe the youkai-thing. That didn't stop her from being curious, though. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Evan replied, turning down the long lane that led to his house, "that Cain's in charge of all the youkai in North America, so if they step out of line, he has to deal with the bullshit."

She laughed. "You make him sound like some kind of law enforcement agent."

"Well, kind of . . ."

Staring at him for a moment, Valerie shook her head. "You mean, he works for the police or the FBI or something?"

"No," Evan said, pulling to a stop in front of the house. "I mean, he doesn't deal with humans; only youkai."

"Are you trying to tell me that youkai exist outside of the laws that govern humans?" she asked dryly.

"Not at all. We're just as susceptible to them as the next guy, but there are certain things that the human authorities leave to us. They might not know they're leaving them to us, but it happens."

"Things like what?" she couldn't resist asking despite the dubious tone in her voice.

"Certain crimes," he told her simply.   "Things like killing humans, especially if there are a lot of humans involved."

"Like serial killers?" she blurted as she got out of the car.

"Sometimes," he replied, pausing long enough to stretch his arms over his head before striding around to grab their bags out of the trunk. "A lot of times when you read about serial killers who are never actually caught and all that? Yeah, there's a good chance that they were youkai, and that the powers-that-be—Cain, most likely, at least, if you're talking about North America—took care of them."

Taking the handle of her suitcase and giving it a little yank to extend it, Valerie waited for Evan as he slung a couple others over his shoulders. He only had one bag since he hadn't needed to bring a lot, so the others were hers, which he'd teased her about when he saw how much stuff she was bringing along. "What do you mean, Cain took care of them?"

"Cain's got hunters—youkai who search out the ones who have done things that threaten our existences—things like murdering humans. The hunters kill them."

She blinked, unsure if she was more surprised by the ease of Evan's explanation or the matter-of-fact quality in his voice when he had spoken. "That sounds so cold," she said.

"Maybe, but it's necessary," Evan replied. Unlocking the door, he pushed it open and stepped back to allow Valerie to go inside. "But we're talking about youkai who have slaughtered helpless humans just because they can—a lot of them. You don't end up on the hunt list just by killing one person, and you don't end up there just because you've disagreed with someone, either. Because we are what we are, bringing harm to humans—hell, even just fighting with them—can get you into some serious trouble."

Letting go of her suitcase, Valerie pivoted on her heel to scowl at Evan. "And these people . . . they just disappear?"

"Pretty much," he said, casting her a sidelong glance. He must have seen the dubious expression on her face because he sighed. Then he chuckled. "You're not buying, are you?"

"Evan . . ."

He laughed. "It's okay, V. It's just a matter of time before you believe me."

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"So, what do you think?"

Valerie blinked and turned to pin Evan with a droll sort of look. "I think it's the same lighthouse you brought me to while we were here over Christmas."

Breaking into a very happy little grin, nodded vigorously. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, but what do you _think_ of it?"

Slowly shifting her gaze from one end of the run-down two story end, complete with the holes in the roof, the obscenely naked beams that peeked through the hold shingles, the crumbling chimney, the weathered and chipped paint that might have been white once upon a time but was now dingy and grayed, crumbling off of the old stones that reinforced the foundation of the old lighthouse, over the rising tower, lifting her chin and shielding her eyes as she stared up at the broken windows of the light room.

"I think," she said slowly, almost carefully. "I think it's about ready for the wrecking ball."

Letting out a melodramatic sigh, Evan shook his head. "Consider this: with the right contractor, the right crew that's knowledgeable in restoration, this place . . ." He laughed suddenly. "This is where I want to be."

Exhaling in one loud gust, Valerie looked like she couldn't decide whether to completely nix Evan's ideas or if she ought to simply lend an ear for a while before she told him that what he wanted to do was bordering on impossible. "It would cost more to restore it than it would just to tear it down and build a different house here," she pointed out in an overly reasonable tone.

"I know," he allowed. "But it wouldn't be the lighthouse."

Taking a few steps forward, she shook her head again. "That is not a three month project," she said. "It's more like . . . ten years . . . maybe more . . ."

Evan grinned. "Actually, the tower itself is pretty stable. Had a guy from the historical society come out here with a couple building inspectors, and they said that the tower did need some work but not nearly as much as one might think. It's the structure of the house that is the problem, but the inspectors both agreed that the actual supports of the house are sound, too. It'll have to be gutted and everything replaced on the inside—floors, walls, ceilings, roofs—but that's not so bad. One of the contractors I've talked to said that it wouldn't be too difficult to find salvage for most of the project. I'd like to restore it, not just rebuild it."

She still didn't look entirely convinced.

Evan went on. "If we do it right, we'll be able to refurbish it in the same design as it was originally built, and I've already gotten recommendations for a couple guys who are experts at this kind of thing—talked to a couple of them, too."

"Not to sound like a spoiled brat or anything, but I kind of like the modern conveniences," Valerie pointed out as she stared at the lighthouse with a thoughtful frown.

"We'll hide the modernizations so that it looks entirely authentic . . . It'll be beautiful—a perfect home for you."

She sighed, but he didn't miss the sudden brightness in her gaze. She liked the idea; she was simply worried about the amount of work involved. Slowly, she smiled. "A lighthouse, huh?"

He shook his head. " _Your_ lighthouse."

Staring at the edifice for a long minute, then she let out a deep breath and shot him a sidelong glance. "And you honestly think you can get this done in three months?"

"No," he admitted with a shrug. "However, I _am_ hoping that we can get enough of it done to move in after the wedding, though part of it will still be under construction. We'll focus on making a livable space first, and then they'll be working on it while we're on our honeymoon, too."

Valerie opened her mouth then snapped it shut as she crossed her arms over her chest and leveled a frown at Evan. "Why do you keep saying 'we'?" she finally asked.

Slipping his arms around her, Evan chuckled. "I'm gonna help, of course!"

"You're going to—? Oh, boy," she sighed, rubbing her forehead as though she had suddenly come down with a massive headache. "Evan, you know that I think you're a wonderful, amazing, talented man, don't you?"

His grin widened. "You do?"

She nodded. "But you're not a carpenter, and if you try to 'help', you're going to end up making more work for the pros, aren't you?"

"I'm really not bad with a hammer," he insisted, his amusement very evident. "Trust me, V."

Blowing out her breath in such a way that she made a sound that was a fair imitation of a child playing with a plastic boat in a bathtub, she gave up with a shrug. "You still have to help me with some of the wedding planning," she reminded him.

Evan nodded. "No problem, baby." Then he took her hand and led her toward the old lighthouse. They didn't step inside, but he did settle back on a short stone wall that was crumbling in places further down. Pulling her back against his chest, resting his chin on her shoulder, he sighed happily. "I just want to marry you."

"August eleventh," Valerie mused, folding her arms over his. "It seems so sudden." Then she sighed. "I don't know if I can get everything done in that short of a time."

He considered that and made a face. In fact, he was about to tell her to forget the three months and to take as long as she needed, even if he did hate the idea of prolonging it, when she drew a deep breath, like she was ready to make some kind of resolution, and she squeezed his arms. "What am I saying, right? I mean, you're Evan Zelig. The people around here bend over backwards for your family, don't they? I've seen them do it. They love your family."

"They love my _mama_ ," Evan corrected with a smile.

She craned her neck to gaze at him for a long moment, and then she finally smiled, too. "Maybe it won't be as hard as I thought."

Tightening his arms around her, he chuckled. He felt her shiver, which had nothing at all to do with the weather but might well have something to do with the feel of his breath against her neck, as he pulled her more securely against his chest. "I have another idea," he ventured.

Arching an eyebrow, she looked like she was almost afraid to hear it, and that only made him laugh. "What kind of idea?"

He smiled at her. "Why don't you call your mama? Invite her and your dad up here. There's room at my house, and they're welcome to stay. She can help you plan the wedding . . . and I'm sure that my mama will be happy to help, too. No reason why you shouldn't have help, right?"

Biting her lip as she considered his idea, she was silent for a moment, staring at the lighthouse, though he got the impression that she wasn't actually seeing it, at all. "Do you . . .?" she finally began, only to shake her head and sigh. "Do you think they would?"

"I don't know," he replied. "Can't hurt to ask, though, right?"

Scooting around, she slipped her arms around his neck, smiling gently as the sunlight gathered in her gaze. "You really wouldn't mind having them?"

He made a face. "Of course not, and besides, there are a few specialists up this way that your dad could see, too."

She nodded. "I'll give them a call then. Maybe when school's out for the summer . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Wishin_** ' **_and_** **_Hopin'_** _'_ _by_ _Dionne Warwick_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1963_ _release_ , **_Presenting Dionne Warwick_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Burt_ _Bacharach_ _and_ _Hal_ _David_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _A lighthouse, huh …?_


	215. 214: Faith

' _I've been loving you_...  
' _For such a long time, girl_ …  
' _Expecting nothing in return_ …  
' _Have a little faith in me_ …'

 

-' _Have a Little Faith in Me'_ by John Hiatt.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"Did you tell her all about Papa?"

Evan nodded and crunched on a carrot. "All of it, yup."

"Hmm," Gin drawled, her cute little hanyou ears twitching around. They always did, like they were always looking for disruptions in the mansion she called home. "And that didn't work?"

"Nope. She still thinks it's some kind of elaborate hoax on my part."

Gin blinked and shook her head in very obvious confusion. "But you don't lie," she said, as though it were a foregone conclusion.

"I know, right?" he said in a tone of mock-wonder. "She's a tough nut to crack, Mama."

"And you showed her what you look like without your concealment?"

He nodded slowly. "She thinks it's all some kind of trick." Reaching for another carrot, he grinned suddenly. "Maybe I should tell Bubby to show her his dick. After all, ain't no human alive with a pecker that big . . ."

Gin gasped then giggled, reaching across the counter to flick Evan with a kitchen towel as her cheeks shot up in flames. "Evan!" she chided though the overall effect was lost when she tittered out a laugh. "I can't believe you said that!"

Evan leaned away to avoid the snapping towel as his grin widened. "I can't believe his schlang is that big! Damn, I've got penis-envy!"

"Maybe your father can talk to her," Gin went on, her cheeks darkening despite the smile on her face.

"Don't think I don't know that you're trying to change the subject, Mama," Evan pointed out.

"Yes, I am," she agreed. "There are just some things that your mother doesn't want to talk about, and that's one of them."

Too bad Evan was never one to leave well-enough alone. "Did he get it from Cain?"

Gin made a wheezing sound and actually managed to darken a shade or two. "Your father is a very tall man," she informed Evan in a somewhat strangled tone, "and he's very well proportioned."

Evan choked back a laugh.

"What are you two talking about?" Cain asked as he shuffled into the kitchen. Glancing at Gin and then over at Evan, he arched an eyebrow and didn't look overly amused. "What did you say to your mother this time?"

"Nothing much," Evan replied, picking up a celery spear to munch on. "Just wondering if Bubby got his entirely enviable penis from you or her."

Snapping his mouth closed on whatever retort had been forming, Cain snorted indelicately and reached across the counter to take a swing at Evan's head. He missed when Evan leaned away but didn't fight Gin when she planted her hands in the center of his chest to push him back a step. "No fighting in my kitchen," she reminded them calmly.

"Twisted little ass-monkey," Cain grumbled just before giving Gin a reassuring squeeze. "And stop trying to embarrass your mother."

Evan chuckled and crunched into the celery. "Sorry, Mama," he said, sounding anything but contrite. She smiled at him, though, and all was forgiven.

"Evan was telling me that Valerie doesn't believe him," Gin said, stepping away to retrieve a huge slab of roast out of the refrigerator. "I don't understand . . . I mean, why would he lie about such a thing?"

It was pretty obvious in Cain's expression that he wasn't really surprised in the least, but he didn't say as much to Gin. "You'll figure it out," he said to Evan as he reached into the pot and nabbed a carrot, too. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"Get out of the vegetables, Cain Zelig," Gin said without turning away from the opened refrigerator. "If you eat them all before they're cooked, then there won't be anything with the pot roast—such a _shame_ if I can't eat any of them . . ."

Rolling his eyes at Gin's very blatant sarcasm, he shook his head as he watched Evan pop the rest of the celery into his mouth.

Evan straightened up. "Well, there is one thing," he said, dusting his hands together before reaching across the counter to pull the colander of potatoes over. "Hand me that knife, will you?"

"Use your claws," Cain countered mildly but did slide it across the counter. "What's that?"

"Well, I haven't asked V yet, but I was thinking. Would you mind if we had the wedding and reception here?"

Cain blinked, looking momentarily surprised. "Uh, of course," he said, breaking into a little grin. "Just try to keep your mother from stressing out over it, if you would."

Evan nodded. "Of course . . . but are you guys sure that the baby's due when you say? I mean, it looks like she's got a basketball under there . . ."

"Make her cry, and I'll kill you," Cain said mildly, under his breath so that only Evan would hear him.

"I am pretty round, huh?" Gin commented with a giggle as she kicked the refrigerator closed and hefted the roast onto the counter.

Evan held up his hands and chuckled. "You're beautiful, Mama."

She positively beamed at him. "You're such a sweetie! I'd love for you and Valerie to get married here! In the garden or maybe down by the beach . . .? Oh! How about on that cliff that overlooks the ocean? It's so beautiful up there! You could get married in the gazebo . . ."

Evan quickly sliced up a potato and reached for another one. "I'll talk to her about it. She might be looking for someplace indoors, though, but I figured I'd clear it with you before I offered it to her."

Cain nabbed a bit of potato and popped it into his mouth before Gin could stop him. "Just let us know."

"Oh, hey," Evan said suddenly, setting the knife on the cutting board before turning to face his father completely. "How do you feel about getting your hands dirty, Cain?"

"Depends on what you have in mind, and I'd prefer it if you'd call me 'Dad' . . ."

Evan ignored the second half of Cain's droll comment. "I bought that lighthouse," he said instead.

Cain nodded. "I know."

"Yeah, well, I hired some people, but I want to have the place livable—at least, enough for V and me—by the time we get home from our honeymoon, so I thought that the more hands, the better, so to speak."

Cain considered that for a moment then nodded. "All right," he agreed. "I'll talk to Bas about it—you did hire a licensed contractor, right?"

Evan chuckled. "Yes, Cain."

Cain nodded and gave Gin a quick kiss on the cheek. "Okay. Like I said, I'll see if your brother can't help out, too. Maybe Kurt though I don't know how much help he'd be . . . and Gavin when he gets here . . ."

"Jiijii could help, too," Evan mused almost idly.

Cain snorted. "Let's pretend you didn't say that or don't you remember that your . . . InuYasha tends to break more things than he ever fixes."

He shuffled back out of the kitchen, and Gin sighed. When Evan glanced at her, she was smiling. "What's the matter?" he asked, arching an eyebrow when she sniffled suddenly and ducked her head against her shoulder to wipe away a tear.

Shaking her head quickly, she barked out a rough laugh, blinking rapidly as she met Evan's gaze, as her smile widened. "It seems like you're getting along better with your dad; that's all," she said.

"Why? Because I asked him to help out with the lighthouse? That's not really 'getting along better' . . . That's just me, using Cain for his body."

"Oh, I like to do that, too!" Gin said then gasped at the implications of what she'd just said. Then she giggled. "Be that as it may, you're still asking him for help, and I know that it means a lot to Cain, too."

Evan wasn't entirely convinced, but if it pleased his mother, then he figured it was all good. Now, if he could just convince Valerie, he might well be one step ahead of the game . . .

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Evan tells me that you don't believe that he's youkai."

The talk around the huge Zelig dinner table ceased abruptly, forks halting mid-air, heads turning to stare at Valerie, who slowly set her fork down and shot Evan a withering look. She wasn't sure if it bothered her more that he, alone, kept eating, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, or that Gin, the one who had said it, had uttered her question in much the same tone as someone who might be asking about the weather.

"W-Well, the whole thing is a little far-fetched," Valerie remarked, unsure why, exactly, she felt as though she needed to choose her words carefully.

"Do you think so?" she asked with a little giggle.

Across the table from her, InuYasha grunted something and leaned toward Kagome to whisper in her ear. Valerie frowned. Grandparents? ' _Ri-i-i-ight_ . . .'

"He . . . he said that all of you are youkai, too," she ventured with a disbelieving shake of her head.

"Oh, I'm sure he didn't," Gin said, her laughter escalating as she shot Evan an indulgent smile. "I'm not youkai! Papa isn't, either . . ."

Valerie's breath escaped in a whoosh as a sudden sense of relief washed over her. Fast on the heels of that, however, was a strange sense of melancholy, though she didn't stop to dwell upon that, either. "You've got a strange sense of humor, Evan Zelig," she heard herself saying. "I knew that—"

"I'm hanyou, just like Papa!" Gin exclaimed.

"What does that—?" Cutting herself off as a sharp gasp escaped her, Valerie pushed away from the table abruptly, causing the strange triangular things that had somehow appeared atop Gin's head to flatten, just like . . .

"D-Dog ears . . .?" she blurted, staring at Gin's head in wide-eyed shock.

Cain's fork hit his plate in a clatter. "This is going well," he muttered, slowly shaking his head.

"They're cute, right?" Evan chimed in, grinning at Valerie. "Jiijii's got 'em, too."

Cain heaved a sigh and waved a hand at Evan. "You really stink at this, Evan," he pointed out. "Valerie, it seems like he's done a bad job at explaining everything to you, so—"

"Now, Cain, I take exception to that," Evan interrupted. "I explained it all very well. She is just having a hard time believing it."

"Even so . . ."

"Oh, for the love of—" InuYasha growled, only to be brought up short when Kagome tapped him in the middle of his chest with limp knuckles.

"I'm sorry, Valerie. Why don't you and Gin and I go in the other room and have a little chat?" Kagome said, smiling encouragingly.

Valerie wasn't entirely sure that she wanted to comply, but she nodded once, shooting Evan a dark look before following the other women out of the dining room. Very definite sounds of scuffling, followed in short order by Evan's laughter, trailed after him, and she sighed.

"I can only imagine what that scamp told you," Kagome said as the three of them sat down. "He's always been a little outrageous—Is that the right word?"

Valerie nodded and sighed. When she caught Gin's gentle smile, she grimaced. "I . . . I don't know," she began hesitantly. "I don't think that he's really ever lied to me, and . . . and it seems so farfetched, I just assumed it was all a joke. I mean, non-human beings? That's just not . . ." Shaking her head, she sighed. "It's not possible."

"Yeah, I can understand why you'd think that," Kagome replied with a laugh. "I didn't think so, either, even when I first saw InuYasha, pinned to Goshinboku by a sacred arrow. He had those same cute little dog ears, just like Gin—all of our children have then, actually—because he's hanyou—half-youkai, half-human. I guess it might have been easier for me to accept since I'm Japanese, and we tend to be a little more open to these kinds of things, but still . . . Tell me, Valerie. Exactly what parts of the things that Evan has told you do you find the hardest to believe?"

Drawing a deep breath, Valerie shook her head. "All of it," she admitted quietly. "He says that some of them live for hundreds? Thousands of years? But . . ."

Kagome smiled as she reached over to pat her hands. "I'm ninety-two," she said, her smile widening when Valerie's eyes shot up to meet hers.

"I'm almost seventy," Gin quipped for good measure, "and Zelig-sensei is three hundred twenty-eight—but he doesn't like to hear it out loud," she added in a stage-whisper.

Digesting that for a moment in silence, it just didn't make sense in her head. It was insane, wasn't it? Having their ages laid out to her like that while she was sitting there, staring at the both of them . . .? It just wasn't possible . . . It _couldn't_ be possible . . . Could it . . .? "But . . . What are you, then?" she asked.

Kagome laughed, but it wasn't an unkind sound. "I'm human, just like you are," she said.

"H . . . How . . .?"

"Well, for me, it was different . . . Did Evan tell you about the Shikon no Tama?"

Valerie shook her head. "I don't think so."

Kagome nodded, as if something made perfect sense to her. "When I was a girl—on my fifteenth birthday, actually—I was helping my brother look for our cat in an old well house on our family's shrine grounds, and somehow, I was dragged into it— _through_ it. I ended up five hundred years in the past, and that's where I met InuYasha. It turned out that I was the reincarnation of a priestess who had spent life protecting the Shikon no Tama—the Jewel of Four Souls. An evil hanyou named Naraku deceived the priestess, Kikyou and InuYasha into believing that each had attacked the other, and even though they were in love, she pinned him to the Sacred Tree with her arrow, where he was suspended in time, neither alive nor dead, for fifty years—until the day I fell through the well and released the seal that bound him."

She paused here with a sigh, reaching over to smooth Gin's hair lovingly. "Shortly after that, Kikyou died from wounds that she thought InuYasha had inflicted upon her, and when she was cremated, she was supposed to have taken the jewel with her into the afterlife. When I was born five hundred years later, the jewel was inside my body, but during the struggle with the youkai that had dragged me into the well in my time, the jewel was torn free. InuYasha destroyed that youkai, and a few days after that, I . . ." She grimaced. "I accidentally shattered the jewel. We had to travel all over Japan to recover the shards, and, in the end, we defeated Naraku. After that, I made a wish and purified the jewel, and the souls of the priestess Midoriko as well as the youkai that were trapped inside it were released. Youkai have a ritual called marking—it's basically a blood exchange that will allow your human body to live out your life in your mate's time instead of yours—but back then, it was done in a pretty harsh way. A youkai had to cut open his mate and drain her blood then do the same to himself to give it back, and InuYasha . . ." She laughed and gave Valerie's hands another reassuring squeeze. "InuYasha couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to hurt me. Midoriko did it for him."

"Nowadays, it's a very simple process," Gin hurried on to say, probably because Valerie was feeling a little faint, and it likely showed on her face. "Think of it as a blood transfusion." She suddenly smiled brightly. "My brother, Kichiro refined the process."

Valerie shook her head. "If all of this is true, why didn't he tell me sooner?"

"The thing is," Kagome went on, "Evan couldn't."

"What do you mean, he couldn't?"

She didn't miss the glances that Kagome and Gin exchanged. There was something to it, something darker or uglier or even more frightening, and for some reason, Valerie wasn't entirely sure she wanted to hear it.

"The youkai back in InuYasha's time didn't hide what they were, and why should they? They were stronger, faster, more resilient than humans. They could take injuries that would kill a human and heal within a day or two—less if it wasn't that severe—but when humans invented gunpowder, all of that changed. Humans were able to fight back, and the ones who had secretly feared and hated the youkai started to kill them off _en masse_. It got to the point that the lesser youkai were easily destroyed—clans of them, wiped out . . . Entire families, whole villages, all gone until only the strongest remained. Then InuYasha's older brother—"

" _Half_ brother!" InuYasha interrupted from the dining room. "Half brother, half bastard."

Kagome rolled her eyes and almost smiled—almost. " _Half_ brother," she amended, "made the reset of them hide what they are, convinced them that, in order to survive, they should hide their true natures and blend in with humans, and it's because of this that they have managed."

Staring at her hands, gnawing her bottom lip, Gin glanced at Kagome then at Valerie. "And then three years ago, my niece—well, or my granddaughter, whichever you prefer—was captured and forced to endure what they called 'testing' in a laboratory—That's what the humans said it was, anyway. They did terrible things to her—awful things . . . unspeakable things . . . evil things, all because they'd accidentally found out about youkai, so now, until you're sure that the one you're with is your true mate, we're not allowed to tell anyone, not even family, if it came to that." Those little ears of hers drooped as she slowly shook her head. "I'm sorry, Valerie. I wish that we could have told you sooner."

It . . . It made sense, didn't it? The things that Gin and Kagome were saying . . . Put into a story with that kind of context, it made more sense, and yet . . .

Kagome sighed. "It's a lot to swallow, isn't it?" Then she laughed. "I might have thought that InuYasha was crazy if he had told me all of this, if I hadn't seen it all for myself," she admitted. "You don't have to believe Evan right away, but maybe . . . maybe you could try to believe him a little bit at a time?"

Valerie tucked her hair behind her ear as she tried to process everything she'd been told. The whole thing was beyond insane; common sense told her that much. Still, weren't there things in life that were so absurd that they had to be real? She frowned. Okay, that would be pushing it, though, wouldn't it? "It's just so . . ." She shrugged as she trailed off, like it was the only real response she could give. "So . . . unbelievable."

Gin seemed to be lost in her own thoughts, and suddenly, she hopped up and ran back into the dining room again. She was back a moment later, all but dragging her husband along behind her. "Come on, Zelig-sensei!"

"What are you up to?" he asked in a tone that indicated that he was simply humoring her.

Gin paused long enough to pin him with a brilliant smile. "I've thought of the perfect way to convince Valerie that we're telling her the truth!"

He arched an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"

Gin giggled happily and grasped Cain's arm again. "You've got to show her your big dog!"

Cain choked. "My . . . what . . .?"

"Your big dog!" she repeated.

"Holy shit, Cain's gonna do _what?_ " Evan exclaimed as he hurried out of the dining room.

"Over my dead fucking body," InuYasha growled, following fast on Evan's heels.

Gin blinked and glanced at the two men in a blank sort of way. "What's the matter?"

Evan snorted. "It's pretty damn obvious to me that there's been enough of the whole show and tell thing around here already," he blustered, waving a hand in Gin's direction.

"Shut the hell up, baka!" InuYasha grumped, swinging a fist at Evan's head and missing when the latter ducked away.

Gin still didn't seem to quite grasp what Evan was alluding to. "But there's more than enough room outside," she insisted.   "Oh, come on, Zelig-sensei! It's been too long since you've showed him to me!"

"Not that long," Evan muttered with a grin.

"Though I told you to shut up!" InuYasha snarled.

"We could play fetch!" Gin suddenly exclaimed, clapping her hands and looking entirely too happy about the idea.

"Yep . . . just toss the ol' dog a really _big_ stick," Evan added for good measure.

"I really should have drowned you when you were born," Cain muttered but not before a healthy blush suffused his cheeks.

"I shoulda let you," InuYasha growled.

Gin giggled. "Of course you'd never have done that!"

Cain didn't look very reassuring, and Valerie wasn't entirely sure that she blamed him for that.

"Oh!" Kagome exclaimed, hopping up and insinuating herself between InuYasha and Evan rather neatly. "You didn't tell me how you proposed!"

The question was enough to make Valerie groan softly as she buried her face in her hands. Evan, jerk that he was, broke into a wide, smarmy grin. "Well, obaa-chan, I guess I could tell you if you _really_ wanna know . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter.com/SuericFanfics'
> 
> ' ** _Have_** **_a_** **_Little_** **_Faith_** **_in_** **_Me_** _'_ _by_ _John_ _Hiatt_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1987_ _release_ , **_Bring_** **_the_** **_Family_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _John_ _Hiatt_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _Cain's … wha-a-a-at …?_


	216. 215: Belief

' _I have a tale to tell_...  
' _Sometimes it gets so hard to hide it well_ …  
' _I was not ready for the fall_ …  
' _To blind to see the writing on the wall_ …'

 

-' _Live to Tell'_ by Madonna.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan rolled over and slipped an arm around Valerie, leaning up on his elbow to kiss her shoulder. "Morning, V," he murmured, ducking his head to trail a few more kisses along the rise.

She laughed softly and let her phone drop on the bed beside her as she rolled over to snuggle against Evan with a contented sigh. "Morning."

"Your mom?" he asked between rounds of nuzzling.

She sighed again. "Yes . . . She said that she'd talk to her work about taking an extended leave of absence, and Daddy . . . Well, he's already telling her what to pack."

"Mmm."

Snuggling against him, she ran her fingertips lightly up and down his chest. "You really don't mind having them here?"

"Not at all," he assured her, giving her a little squeeze as he wrapped his arms tighter around her. "The pool house is big enough, anyway, and that'll give them a little privacy, too."

"And the kids?"

"Garret'll be in the city part of the time to lay the tracks for his album and when he's here, I'm pretty sure that he'll want to stay in the main house, but K can stay with us in here or out there in the pool house, too, whichever she wants."

She sighed, snuggling closer to him for a moment before tossing back the covers and scooting off the bed. "You're such a sweetie, did you know?"

"Aww," Evan complained, propping his head on his hand and doing his best to give her his most pitiful pout. "V . . ."

"And as much as I'd _love_ to stay in bed with you all day, _some_ of us are on a really tight schedule to plan a wedding in three months," she pointed out. "A schedule that _you_ insisted on, if you'll recall."

Evan heaved a sigh but couldn't help the grin that surfaced as he watched her move around the bedroom, completely oblivious to the fact that she was still very, very naked. Or maybe she simply was comfortable enough that it didn't actually bother her. Either way, it worked out to Evan's benefit, so what the hell did he care? "But it's only eight," he complained.

She nodded. "Yes, and today I've got appointments with a couple florists that your mother recommended as well as meetings with potential photographers. Maddy'll be arriving this afternoon, so I want to get with her and ask her to be my maid of honor, and—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Evan interrupted, waving his hands as he sat up straight. "You can't have Maddy! She's mine! She's gotta be my best man!"

Bumping the drawer closed with her hip as she donned a pretty pink bra that matched the panties she'd already pulled on faster than should have been humanly possible, Valerie shot Evan a droll look. "Maybe, except she's not a man, and . . . I said it first, so I get her."

"But I've known her longer," Evan protested.

Valerie rolled her eyes. "That doesn't matter. Besides, she loves me more than she loves you."

"No way!" Evan argued. "What about K?"

Striding over to the closet, Valerie waved a hand over her shoulder. "I'll ask Kaci Lea to be a bride's maid, and even if I did ask her to be my maid of honor, she'd probably say no."

"But—"

Valerie wrinkled her nose. "Listen, if you expect me to plan a wedding in three months, then the least you can do is let me have Maddy," she replied.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times then heaved a sigh as he slowly shook his head. "All right," he drawled, sounding less than pleased about the whole thing. "That was entirely unfair, though, just so you know." Then he snapped his fingers and pointed at her with both hands. "Wait! I've got it! How 'bout you take Bugs?"

"Bugs?" Valerie repeated incredulously. "He hates me!"

"He doesn't hate you," Evan argued. "He just wants to keep me for himself."

"Exactly," Valerie replied. "You keep Bugs, and I'll keep Maddy."

Heaving a sigh, Evan flopped back onto the bed. "How about we both ask Maddy and let her decide who she wants to deal the big shaft . . ."

Valerie considered that for a moment then giggled. "Deal," she agreed, obviously sure that Madison would choose her over Evan.

"No bribery," he warned.

Valerie snorted. "You're the one who would do that," she said as she glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "You should be getting ready, too." She tossed a blue tee-shirt over her shoulder. It landed on his chest.

"Why's that?"

"Hmm . . . Didn't you tell me last night that you, Cain, and your brother are meeting with the contractor at the lighthouse this morning?"

Evan made a face but sat up. "Damn, forgot about that."

"Still think you can have part of it ready in three months?" she challenged softly.

"Of course I can," Evan scoffed. "I was just preoccupied, watching you put on clothes that I'm just going to rip off you later."

"You won't," she warned, shaking her head at him as she smoothed the oversized fisherman's sweater over her hips. "I happen to like this, and I _won't_ like it if you ruin it."

"Okay, okay," he agreed reluctantly. "If you say so."

"I do," she said, heading for the bathroom. She stopped long enough to cast him a meaningful look. "And don't you dare tell them how you really proposed to me," she reminded him.

He chuckled as she disappeared, closing the door behind herself. He'd tried to do that last night, but she had stopped him, which was probably a good thing, considering there was a good chance that InuYasha might well have cleaned his clock if he had managed to get the whole truth out. Too bad, really, since Evan considered it to be the best proposal in the history of marriage . . .

Then he sighed as he yanked the tee shirt over his head. She still didn't believe the whole youkai-thing, but at least she was beginning to show a little more curiosity than she had before. She hadn't wanted to even entertain the thought, or so it would seem, but last night after they'd gotten home from dinner with the family, she actually had asked him if there was anything else she ought to know. He might have told her more—if he hadn't been sidetracked by the smell of her, so fresh and vibrant, and the blatant reminder that he had her, all to himself . . .

By the time they'd finished what had to have been a marathon sex-session, she was so exhausted that she'd drifted off almost immediately, and that was all right, too. They had a lifetime together to look forward to . . .

Dragging on a pair of faded blue jeans, Evan was just stuffing his wallet and keys into his pockets when Valerie re-emerged from the bathroom. "Oh, hey, on your way to the florist, can you stop and pick up some more condoms?" Evan asked as he reached into the closet for a light jacket. He didn't figure he'd need it, but one never knew, especially at the lighthouse.

"Okay, but why do we need those?" she asked, tilting her head to the side as she fastened her earring.

He grinned. "Because we ran out last night," he reminded her.

She rolled her eyes but smiled, too. "That's not what I mean," she corrected. "We're getting married, aren't we? So do we really have to use those?"

He blinked and raised an eyebrow at her. "Actually, yes," he replied.

Valerie looked confused for a moment. "Why . . .?" The confusion slowly shifted into something a bit darker. "If you tell me you caught some disease from one of your many one-night stands, I swear to God, I'll—"

His laughter cut her off. "Nothing like that, V, I promise," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "It's just that, in my world, you can't sleep with someone without a condom without making her your mate—permanently."

It took her all of precisely thirty seconds to digest that bit of information, and when she finally did, she snorted. "That again? A youkai-thing, right?"

He nodded. "Yes, and considering not a damn one in my family has ever gotten that one right, I figured it'd be pretty damn funny if I was the first."

That drew her attention quickly enough. "What do you mean?"

Evan grinned. "Ol' Cain marked Mama before they were married—'course, there was a good reason for that, but still, he did it . . . Bubby and Sydnie were mates before he brought her home to meet Mama and Cain, and Jilli? Well, she didn't want to give Gavin a chance to change his mind, so she kind of forced the issue, if you know what I mean . . ." Turning thoughtful, Evan scratched his chin. "Though Kichiro and Bellaniece did it in the right order, I _think_ . . . Kind of ironic, considering he's the ass-monkey . . ."

Valerie shook her head. "Kagome mentioned that, too—marking," she ventured, looking rather unsure about the entire affair. "The . . . The _blood_ thing . . ."

"Well, there's two ways to complete the marking—two steps, I guess. The first step is to have unprotected sex. The second part is the blood exchange."

She blinked and raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you've always said you use a condom?"

He nodded. "Youkai cannot get human diseases," he told her. "Be pretty dumb to accidentally make someone my mate, though." He chuckled and shrugged. "Besides, you're the one thing I want to do right."

She smiled even though she didn't look entirely convinced. "That's sweet of you—I think . . . But how, exactly, does having unprotected sex make me your mate?"

Scratching his head, Evan grinned. "Well, I don't know the particulars, but I guess it has something to do with a chemical breakdown . . . You could ask Kich; he'd know better than I do." Heaving a sigh as he sat on the wooden chest at the foot of the bed, Evan thought about the process, of what he knew of it. In truth, he hated to give her half-answers, but honestly, he hadn't really delved into it too far. It had always been enough for him to know what was what and all that jazz . . . "I think there's gotta be more to it, too, though," he said slowly. "I think that's what Kich said before. Think of it like a way of making physical a purely psychological bond. Any more than that, though, you'll have to ask Kich. Luckily for you, he likes answering questions like that."

"You mean, there's something you don't know?"

He heard the teasing in her tone. He also didn't miss the underlying seriousness of her question. "There're lots of things I don't know," he admitted with another grin. "For example, I don't know how I'm gonna make it through the day without my morning 'luvvins' . . ."

Valerie rolled her eyes again but smiled. "You'll be fine, Roka," she promised before turning on her heel and hurrying out of the room before Evan decided that he needed to detain her anyway. "I'll send you pictures from the florist."

Evan chuckled and stood up. "All right, V. Be careful—and you promised to let Maddy decide!"

"Bye!" she called, her voice echoing through the house.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Three months, huh?"

Making a face, Valerie heaved a sigh and nodded once. "Ugh, I know," she lamented, accepting the glass of wine that Madison handed her before settling down on the sofa beside her. "I must be crazy to have agreed to it . . ."

Madison laughed and set her glass down in favor of grabbing Valerie's hand to inspect the engagement ring. "Shouldn't that be bigger?" she asked, manipulating Valerie's hand one way and then the other.

"I like this one just fine," Valerie insisted, smiling as she opened her eyes to gaze at the ring, too. "Any bigger would be gaudy."

"You think so?" Madison parried, letting go of her hand and drawing her knee up on the sofa, twisting her body, resting her elbow on the back cushions and leaning her temple on a balled-up fist. "He could afford it, you know." Suddenly, she laughed. "Then again, there's a good chance he didn't buy that stone, anyway."

Lowering her glass of wine, Valerie narrowed her eyes on Madison. "What do you mean, he didn't buy it?" Wrinkling her nose, she waved a hand. "Never mind. Let me guess: the Zeligs own a diamond mine somewhere, right?" She sighed but smiled ruefully and shook her head. "That family is disturbingly wealthy."

Madison laughed, too. "No, but they don't need to. When the boys finish their sword training, InuYasha teaches them all how to perform the Kongousouha, and the diamonds are a direct result of that."

"The wha . . .?"

"Kongousouha . . . It's an attack that can only be performed with jiijii's sword. Basically, it sends spears of diamonds at the enemy and impales them, but there are always smaller shards, too, and the boys keep the diamonds they've created—at least, that's what Evan said. I've never actually seen him do it—more's the pity . . ."

Valerie made a face. "Ah, the whole 'youkai' thing again, right?"

Madison laughed, though whether it was because of the dubious tone of Valerie's voice or the face she'd made, she didn't know. "Evan mentioned that you weren't buying into it."

Waving a hand in dismissal, she sipped the wine. "He doesn't have to make all that stuff up," she said with another shake of her head. "I already decided that I want to be with him, so concocting weird stories . . ."

"Why do you think that he's making up stories?" Madison asked gently. "Why can't you just take what he says at face value and call it good?"

"Maddy, there are no such things as these youkai," Valerie stated matter-of-factly. "That's like saying that there are aliens on earth . . ."

"Maybe there are," Madison said simply. "I'm pretty sure that if they're here, they probably live down by the docks. Some of those people are pretty weird, don't you think?"

Valerie heaved another sigh and rubbed her forehead in a tired kind of way. "Hmm . . ."

Madison laughed and started to speak, but her cell phone cut her off. Glancing at the device, she wrinkled her nose at Valerie. "Just a sec . . ."

Valerie nodded while Madison read the text message she'd received and quickly fired one back. "Sorry about that," she said, slipping her phone onto the table.

"Evan?"

Madison shook her head. "No, it was Miss. She invited me over tomorrow. Do you have time to come with me?"

Rubbing her face, Valerie let out a deep breath. "As much as I'd love to, I have a bunch of things to do . . . I'm sure that we'll see her soon, anyway. Evan said that Bas has been keeping an eye on her . . ." Trailing off with a frown, she stared at Madison. Was it just her imagination or did the woman seem strangely troubled? Suddenly, though, the image of Evan's expression flickered to life in her head, too, and Valerie reached out, touched Madison's hand. "Why do both you and Evan act like you're more worried about Miss than you're letting on?"

Madison blinked, tried to force a smile. "Do we?" she asked, her smile brightening.

Valerie's frown deepened in turn. "Yes. She's not . . . not suicidal or anything, is she?"

The fake smile on Madison's face faltered then slowly disappeared. "No," she said quickly with a sigh and a grimace. "It's just that, you know . . . Her mate died."

"So you're saying that Miss is like you and Evan?"

"No, actually, she's not. She's human," Madison said. "Evan said that maybe it was a good thing that Dieter never got around to marking her . . . I want to believe that, but . . ."

A strange sense of foreboding ran up Valerie's spine with an icy kind of chill. True, she didn't necessarily buy into the whole story, and yet it struck her, too, that it was entirely too complicated for it to all be a lie, wasn't it . . .? There was something else, too—something that Valerie couldn't quite per her finger on . . . "W . . . Why would that matter?"

Madison sighed, reaching for her wine with a slightly trembling hand, and she didn't say anything until after she'd drained the glass. "When a youkai's mate dies, so does that youkai," she said quietly, so quietly that Valerie almost missed it. Staring down at her hands clenched so tightly in her lap that her fingertips were leeched of color, Madison winced. "It's not a lie that youkai spend their entire lives, trying to find their mates, and once they do, then that's it, you know? And with humans . . ." She shook her head. "I don't know exactly how it works. I guess that it's the whole theory that a youkai's blood only lives as long as the youkai does, so when Dieter died, his blood would have, too—blood that _should_ have been inside Miss' body but wasn't . . ."

The sense of foreboding grew thicker, more cloying. "What . . .?"

"That's why Evan lied to everyone," Madison said. For some reason, Valerie had the feeling that Madison didn't even realize that she was talking out loud. Gaze clouded over, staring at something that only she could see . . . What was it . . .? "Back then, he was afraid that Miss would really reject Dieter if he was sent away to prison again. He was afraid that Dieter would give up, that _Miss_ would give up on _him_. He didn't want to see Dieter die because his mate rejected him . . ."

"Die?" Valerie echoed, shaking her head in confusion.

Madison sighed. "If our mate rejects us for real, then yes . . . but with Miss and Dieter, nothing was ever certain, and . . ." Suddenly she shook her head. "But now that he's gone . . . It all kind of depends upon how deep their bond really was. Even Kichiro doesn't know . . ."

"But that's crazy," Valerie scoffed. Her words were more sure than her tone, however. "You're saying that someone else would die just because the other one does? That's preposterous! That's just—"

"It's just how it is, Valerie," Madison said quietly.

"But why—?" Cutting herself off abruptly, Valerie's eyes widened as a strange sense of understanding dawned upon her. Madison's fear, so real, so raw that night she'd come over to her apartment. That fear that had driven her, and there was nothing feigned about it . . . She was afraid because . . . because she'd thought, like Evan, that Valerie had . . .? But . . .

" _You need to get your ass over there and talk to him—do it before he does something stupid . . . Put Evan first for once in your miserable life! Forget fucking Marvin—leave him a message if you absolutely must—but the only person on earth who can stop Evan from doing something entirely stupid to himself is you . . .! Hurry . . . please_ . . ."

" _I thought it was what you wanted . . . Thought you'd rather that he came home so you could . . . could marry the little bastard_ . . ."

"Oh, well, hot damn, if it isn't a couple of my favorite women in the whole world!" Evan exclaimed with a broad grin as he swaggered into the house.

Madison untangled herself and stood up to kiss Evan on the cheek. "Don't think I don't realize that your mother and sisters rank higher than I do on that list," she teased, wiping lipstick off his face gently.

"Your right up there," Evan assured her. "So did V get around to asking you yet?"

Madison blinked. "Ask me what?"

Evan chuckled and scooped Valerie up before sitting down and settling her on his lap. "Well, you get your choice. You can either be her maid of honor—but why would you want to do that when you could be my best, uh, _wo_ -man!"

She seemed momentarily surprised as her gaze flickered from Evan to Valerie. "You want me to be your maid of honor?"

Lost in contemplation as she tried to draw some conclusions for herself, Valerie blinked and started when Evan gave her a little squeeze. As much as she might have said that she still didn't entirely buy into the whole story, there was something unsettling about the things that Madison had said, and it took Valerie a minute to figure out exactly why that was. After all, she'd been hearing things from various people all along, hadn't she? So why . . .?

And then she knew. Everything that everyone else had told her so far was all positive, wasn't it? Making the youkai out to be so elite, and maybe that's why Valerie couldn't believe it. Longer life spans, stronger, faster, immune to human disease . . . But what Madison had said . . . If what Madison had maintained were true, then it meant . . .

"You okay, V?"

"What? Oh, yeah," she blurted. Her brain felt extra slow, sluggish, but she managed a wan smile when Evan planted a kiss on her cheek.

Madison sighed as she glanced at her watch. "You two decide who wants me, and I'll go with it," she said with a wink. "But I've got to go. Daddy wants me to go to the firing range with him, and if I do, he should leave me alone for at least a week . . ."

"Okay, Maddy," Evan said with a chuckle. "Don't hurt Cartham's ego too bad."

She laughed and blew them a kiss before letting herself out of the house.

Evan gave Valerie a little squeeze. "Get anything done today?" he asked.

She nodded. "Actually, I did . . . I also brought some photos home for you to help me pick out the centerpieces for the tables and arrangements for the ceremony . . ."

He nodded. "Whatever you want, baby," he told her with a happy grin. "As for me, I tore up a bunch of stuff today. It was pretty exciting."

She smiled wanly then sighed. Why was it that she simply couldn't shake that sense of foreboding that had invaded her senses when Madison had started talking . . .?

" _If our mate rejects us for real, then yes . . . but with Miss and Dieter, nothing was ever certain, and_ . . ."

" _If our mate rejects us for real, then yes_ . . ."

She sat up straight, twisted her body to stare at Evan directly. "That's why she was scared!" she blurted, unmindful that Evan would likely have no idea just what she was talking about.

"V?" he asked, brows furrowing as confusion surfaced in his expression.

She shook her head. "Oh, my God, it is! The reason she was so scared when she came to my apartment . . . What were you going to do?"

He seemed surprised by the sharpness in her voice, the rising pitch that was attributed to the late fear that ran unchecked through her. She didn't know why she felt that way—at least, not in concrete form—but she couldn't help but to feel as though Madison's fear that day might well have been totally grounded, after all. "Uh . . . what was I going to do when?"

"Is it true? What Maddy said?"

He looked even more puzzled. "Um . . . depends on what she said?"

Valerie scowled at him. "She said that if one mate dies, you both die," she said. "Is it true?"

He was going to lie to her; she could see it on his face. Well, maybe not lie to her, but he was certainly going to try to downplay whatever it was he was about to say. Valerie shook her head. "Truth, Evan. You want me to believe you about everything, don't you?"

Letting out a deep breath, he flinched slightly. "Yeah, that's true," he admitted. Then he smiled, or tried to. It didn't exactly work. "It's all right, though," he went on quietly. "If something ever happened to you, my life wouldn't be worth shit, anyway."

"How can you say that?" she demanded just as quietly. "How could you possibly—?"

"I told you, V. My life is all about pleasing my mate—you."

She shook her head, but whether she was trying to refute his claim or trying to deny any belief in what he was saying, she had no idea. "Madison said that youkai die if their mate rejects them," she said. "That's what you thought, wasn't it? You thought that I . . . and that's why you asked your mother to fund Marvin's research . . . because you thought . . ."

"It's all right," he told her, wrapping his arms a little tighter around her. "V—"

"Why didn't you tell me all of that, too?" she demanded, her voice cracking, sharper than she intended, tainted by the emotion that threatened to choke her: latent fear that seethed to the forefront of her brain, unquestioned, unbidden, uncontested. Somewhere in her mind, she knew it; knew that these things she'd been so convinced were just fantasy were somehow true even if it really couldn't be possible, even if logic screamed at her that it just did not happen that way. Those things that she had never been able to understand, the things that Evan had just laughed off or ignored when she'd asked, and the things about his family, too . . .

"What was I supposed to do, V?" he asked softly, stroking her hair, rubbing her back as though he were trying to console a small child. "The last thing I wanted was for you to stay with me because you felt sorry for me."

Somehow, the irony in that statement wrung a coarse laugh from her that she staunched with the back of her hand. "And just who on earth would ever feel sorry for you?" she countered, but her question sounded more sulky than defiant.

"You know what I mean," he muttered. "I just . . . I want you with me because it's where you want to be."

She smiled and sniffled and wiped away a tear. "I _am_ where I want to be, Roka," she said. "Not sure I like the idea of being your weakness, though . . ."

He chuckled quietly. "You're not my weakness," he amended. "You're my strength."

"Am I?"

Wiping her cheeks with a gentle finger, Evan nodded. "Forever," he told her.

Her smile brightened—delicate, still trembling, but brighter. "You . . . You mean that."

Leaning down, kissing her gently, he sighed against her lips. "Absolutely, V. Absolutely . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Live_** **_to_** **_Tell_** _'_ _by_ _Madonna_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1986_ _release_ , **_True_** **_Blue_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Madonna_ _and_ _Patrick_ _Leonard_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Valerie_** :  
>  _Youkai, huh_ …


	217. 216: The Future

' _Try to leave a light on when I'm gone_...  
' _Something I rely on to get home_ …  
' _One I can feel at night, a naked light_ …  
' _A fire to keep me warm_ …'

 

-' _Light On'_ by David Cook.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Evan plopped over the back of the sofa, landing beside Valerie with a grunt as he swung his legs around to drape over the armrest. She didn't do a thing to acknowledge the invasion except to drop a leather-bound, zippered photo album on his chest.

He grunted again and rolled onto his side to lean up on his elbow while he picked up the album and flipped it to stare at front and back. "What's this?"

"It's the sample album from Bob Gross Studios," she said without looking up from the guest list that currently preoccupied her. Suddenly, though, she heaved a sigh and tilted the notepad to the side in favor of pinning Evan with a raised-eyebrow-ed look. "Tell me something, Roka," she drawled, her voice silky smooth, almost caressing.

He grinned in response. "You wanna go fuck?" he asked a little too hopefully.

"No," she said with all the finality of an executioner.

He heaved a sigh to let her know exactly what he thought of her no-nonsense rebuttal.

She ignored it. "Who the hell are all these people?"

He laughed. He couldn't help it. "Family," he replied simply enough.

She blinked a few times and then slowly shook her head. "That is one huge family," she retorted mildly.

"I know, right? Sucks to be me," he quipped lightly.

"I thought you said that you wanted a small wedding in the interest of arranging things quickly. This," she went on, waving the list at him, "is not 'small'."

He heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Actually, it is," he ventured with a wan grin. "Cain being who he is, the list of those that would expect to be invited is pretty extensive. He was . . . nice enough . . . to condense it for me, though."

Which really wasn't that hard to do, if Evan wanted to be honest. All he'd really had to say was that Valerie didn't want to have a huge wedding. Cain had grunted and nodded at Gin. " _Tell that to her_ ," he'd said simply enough.   " _Save me the trouble of trying to remember names of people I only see once every fifty years, anyway_."

Gin, on the other hand, had been a little more circumspect about the whole affair, worrying whether or not this person or that would be offended if they were left off the list. In the end, however, Evan had pointed out that Valerie's list was pretty concise—fifty people, maybe less—and to that end, Gin had finally given in, too. After all, Gin still hated to think about how one-sided the guest list was back when Bas and Sydnie had gotten married. It didn't really surprise Evan that she'd take that into consideration when presenting Valerie with the edited list.

Valerie sighed and rubbed her forehead as a trace of weariness crept into her aura. "I guess there's no help for it, then," she concluded, more to herself than to Evan. "I'll just have to call the printer tomorrow and make sure that they can adjust the order—probably charge an arm and a leg—maybe an IOU for your first-born, too," she muttered with a sigh as she rubbed her forehead with a weary hand.

"If they do that, then don't worry about it," Evan reassured her with a grin.

"Oh, I'm not," she quipped. "You're paying for all of it, remember?"

"Maybe, but when we get married, you're going to have everything I have, so actually, I guess you could say that you're paying for it, too."

She shook her head. "See? I knew that there was a reason we should have just gone to the justice of the peace."

Evan chuckled and rolled over, slipping his arms around Valerie in one smooth motion. "No way, baby. I'm going to make sure you have the wedding of your dreams."

She snorted indelicately but smiled as she ran her fingers lightly through his hair. "In three months," she muttered. An all-too-familiar stab of panic shot through her with the thought as she wondered for the umpteenth time if he wasn't asking for the impossible—and if she weren't actually being a little too stubborn for her own good since she's the one who had insisted that she could plan the wedding. After all, it had damn well better be the only one she'd ever have, so the idea of hiring a wedding planner just hadn't appealed to her. "I want everything to be perfect . . . and speaking of 'perfect' . . ."

"What's that?" he asked when she trailed off.

"You're going to have to find another best man, Roka. Maddy's agreed to be my maid of honor."

Evan snorted indelicately. "What? You bribed her, didn't you?"

She smiled a little smugly. "Bribe? Nope . . . She just figured she'd rather wear a dress than a suit—and I _might_ have _given_ her a pair of shoes . . ."

"Bribery!"

She laughed. "I'd call it . . . sharing between friends . . ."

He scowled at her. "That's dirty, V—really dirty."

"Suck it up, Roka. It'd look weird, don't you think, if your best man wasn't a man."

Evan heaved a particularly petulant sigh. "Fine, fine . . . Just remember: cheaters never prosper."

"It wasn't cheating," she insisted with a casual flick of her wrist. "She just loves me more. That's all."

He snorted, signaling that he was giving up the fight, albeit with all the ill-grace he could possibly muster, and went on to change the subject. "Yeah, well, don't forget that your parents are flying in tomorrow, so I'm sure your mama will be more than happy to help you out," he reminded her with a stifled yawn.

"Hmm, thank you for that. Daddy's saying that he feels like a rock star, having a private jet fly them up here," she teased.

Evan grinned. "Easier on him than a regular flight. I would've gone down myself, but we've got that guy coming tomorrow with the molding samples, and it was the only day he could make it."

"It's fine," she assured him. "They know you're just trying to get on their good side."

His grin turned cheesy. "Yeah? Is it working?"

She couldn't help but to smile, too. "Probably."

He looked so self-satisfied that she rolled her eyes. "Good . . . Now your mama can help you finish up the wedding plans, and we can get this show on the road."

Valerie sighed. "Y-Yeah," she allowed slowly as a slight scowl surfaced on her features.

"What's that look for?" Evan pressed. When she didn't respond right away, he poked her in the belly for good measure. She giggled and shoved his hand away.

"Do you know what she said about the flower portfolio I sent her?"

Evan nodded and gave her a little squeeze. "Said they were all beautiful and that she thought any of them would be perfect for the occasion."

Valerie shot him a droll look. "Exactly."

He blinked and stared at her for a moment. "That was the wrong answer?"

That earned him a very consternated frown. "I want her input, Evan," she complained with a sigh. "I don't want her to just say that this or that is all good. You know, it's like she's afraid of . . . of offending me or something if she speaks her mind." Trailing off to heave yet another sigh, Valerie shifted around so that she could rest her cheek on Evan's chest—no small feat since he was still resting his head on her upper thigh. "I don't want it to be like this. I want . . . I want thing to be _normal_ between us . . . It's like she's walking on eggshells around me, like she's afraid of saying anything that'll upset me . . . It shouldn't be this . . . this . . . _formal_ , right?"

He considered that for a moment as he sat up and let her rest her head on his lap in much the same way as he had done to her. Stroking her hair, he smiled, albeit wanly, and shrugged. "I think it's part of your mother's way of showing you that she's sorry," he finally said. "I mean, if you think about it, it's pretty sweet of her. She's going out of her way to make absolutely sure that she doesn't say or do anything else to hurt you."

Valerie stared at him for a moment then rolled her eyes. "Good God, you sound like some warped after school special or something," she grumbled. "Talk about completely corny . . ."

"Yeah, but think about it, baby. If she didn't care, then she wouldn't try to spare your feelings. Maybe what you really need to do is to sit down with her and tell her that you'd value her honest opinion."

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him. "I _have_ told her that," she insisted. Then she sighed. "I don't want the reminders that things weren't always all right between us."

Evan's only response was to hug Valerie a little tighter. "It'll be okay, baby. You'll see."

She gave him a wan smile that grew brighter the longer she looked at him. Somehow, just staring into his eyes was enough to reassure her that he was right, after all . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

The evening shadows were starting to spread, impossibly thin fingers of darkness cast by the trees that surrounded the small yard where Bas Zelig was folding up a small metal table. "Hey," Evan called as he stepped off the road and into the grass. He'd opted to walk the distance to his brother's house instead of driving, partly to prolong the inevitable, and partly because it just happened to be an absolutely brilliant spring evening. Valerie had asked if he wanted her to come along, but for once, he kind of didn't. Besides, she was planning on heading over to the mansion to look over a few things with Gin before calling it a day, anyway. "That looks like Bailey's doing," he commented, nodding at the folded up table. "Was he building a fort or something?"

Bas snorted. "Or something," he muttered, bending down to swipe up a piece of cardboard that he proceeded to hold and frown at for a moment before turning it around to show Evan. In Bailey's unmistakable scrawl were the words, "Will trade for cookies."

"What was he trying to trade?"

Bas snorted again. "His sister."

To his credit, Evan did manage to keep from laughing, but he could feel his cheeks twitching. "Wow."

Bas blinked and stared at him for a long moment. "I could have told him it'd never work, anyway. At least, it didn't when you were a pup."

"You tried to sell me?"

Bas shrugged and started to stride toward the garage. "I wanted a skate board," he replied over his shoulder. "Let me put this stuff up. Be right back."

Evan chuckled. It didn't take Bas long to put the table up and grab a couple beers out of the small refrigerator under the tool bench. He tossed Evan one and popped the cap off the other. "So what's up?"

Evan took his time, twisting the cap off his beer and taking a long swig. "Just wondered if you'd been by to see Miss lately."

Bas nodded at Evan's unvoiced question. "How she's doing, you mean? I assume you've been over to see her?"

"Of course," Evan allowed, staring down at the bottle in his hand with a thoughtful frown. "What do you think, though?"

This time, Bas sighed, only it wasn't a regular sigh. It was long and drawn out and almost tired. "Seems a little pale, maybe a little run-down, though I can't say that it's because of Dieter. It could just be stress."

"That's what I thought, too," Evan agreed. "So doesn't seem to be worse, though, so I guess that's a good sign."

"And she's human, so that might have something to do with it since he never marked her."

Evan smiled almost sardonically as he lifted the bottle to his lips again. "Deet said that she didn't completely buy into his story until after Daniel was born."

They fell silent for a moment, and Evan could feel Bas' gaze on him, as though he were trying to figure out just what Evan was thinking. Finally, he sighed and drew a deep breath. "So you going to tell me why you're really here?" he asked, striving for a casual tone and inflicting a little too much of it into his voice. "I mean, I just saw you earlier while we were working on the lighthouse."

Evan chuckled. "All right; all right. I was building up to it, you know."

Bas broke into a slight grin as he casually sipped his beer and waited for whatever Evan wanted to say.

Even so, it took him a few moments to actually gather his thoughts before he spoke. "I just thought, maybe—If you wanted to, anyway . . . I need a best man, and I thought that maybe you'd . . .?"

Bas blinked as the smile on his face faltered and faded, only to be replaced with a thoughtful scowl—an expression that Evan was a lot more familiar with, given their history. "You want me to be your best man?" he repeated with a shake of his head. "What happened to all your buddies? Bone and whoever else?"

Evan frowned and gave a shrug meant to be a casual kind of gesture as he turned on his heel and headed for the road once more. Honestly, he wasn't entirely sure just why he wasn't surprised, and he supposed that a small part of him actually expected a response like that from Bas. "Forget about it," he tossed over his shoulder as he wandered away. For some reason, though, Bas had just seemed like the natural choice for best man. He should have known that there was no way that Bas would do it, and for some ridiculous reason, Evan couldn't help but to feel just like he did when he was a child, chasing after the big brother who didn't really want to hang out with him. "Just a thought. No big deal."

"Evan, wait!" Bas called after him. Evan didn't turn back, but he did hesitate in his gait as the sound of Bas' footfalls sounded behind him. "Hey, I'd be honored. I mean, if you're sure you don't want someone else. I just thought—"

Evan blinked and glanced over his shoulder at Bas, standing there, looking somewhat confused but with the slight smile back in place. "You were my first choice—after Maddy, anyway."

That statement made Bas chuckle, and he slowly shook his head. "Maddy, huh?"

"Yeah, well, what can you do? V wanted her as her maid of honor, too, and Maddy looks better in a dress than she does in a tux, anyway."

Bas laughed a little more. "You're sure though? That you want me to be your best man?"

Evan grinned and gave another slight shrug before tossing back the rest of his beer in one steady gulp. "Yeah. You're my bubby, right? Who better?"

For a moment, Bas looked like he might be at a loss for words. Suddenly, though, he smiled and jerked his head toward the house behind them. "Come on in and have another beer. Besides, the game's about to start."

Evan chuckled as he followed Bas. Football season might well be over, but everyone knew that Bas' love of all things sports knew no bounds. "Isn't it about dinner time?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. Sydnie went for pizza. You're welcome to stay for it, if you want."

"Did she ever learn to cook?"

Bas snorted as he ran up the steps onto the front porch. "Are you kidding? The one time she tried, she nearly burnt the house down, remember?"

Evan laughed since he did, indeed, remember that incident not long after the two had gotten married. He hadn't realized that one small burning pot roast could produce enough smoke to fill an entire house, but it could and did . . . "Yeah, I guess you've got a point."

Bas paused in yanking open the front door and shot Evan a knowing look. "Besides, she's perfectly happy with letting Mom cook for us. I mean, we told her not to worry about it right now with the baby and everything, but you know her . . ."

Evan nodded, making a mental note to mention it to Gin later. He could give her a hand in her weekly task of making reheatable meals for Bas and Sydnie, after all. Besides, he loved cooking and spending time with her, so it was all good. Truthfully, he was mildly surprised that Cain allowed Gin to do all of that, as anal as he tended to be about her, especially now that she was pregnant.

"This best man thing," Bas went on as he headed for the kitchen to grab more beer, waving a hand toward the living room in passing. "You're not expecting me to do anything weird, are you?"

Evan grinned as he dropped onto the overstuffed sofa and reached for the television's remote control. "Nah, nothing weird," he said, but couldn't help adding, "though I did have some ideas about the bachelor party. What do you think about taking a trip to the city? There's a great little club in the Village that serves food on naked women, and they offer lap dances while you're eating."

Bas snorted, the sound echoing through the house. "No way, you twisted little monkey," he called back.

Evan chuckled. ' _Yep_ ,' he decided with a nod, asking Bas to be his best man was the greatest idea he'd had in a while because seeing just how far he could push his brother was always worth a laugh or two. "No?   Okay, then how 'bout we . . .?"

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Light_** **_On_** _'_ _by_ _David_ _Cook_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2008_ _release_ , **_David_** **_Cook_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Chris_ _Cornell_ _and_ _Brian_ _Howes_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Bas_** :  
>  _The best man, huh …?_


	218. 217: Equilibrium

' _Well, I never quite knew_...  
' _Where I stood with you_ …  
' _And my safest bet_ …  
' _Was to disconnect_ …'

 

-' _On Your Side_ ' by Thriving Ivory.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"So how'd you enjoy your first rock concert, ever?"

Kaci Lea ducked her head and scrunched up her shoulders in a shy sort of way despite the pinked cheeks and the still-dazed glassiness in her eyes. As if she couldn't quite get over the things she'd seen and experienced in the last few hours, the girl seemed entirely overwhelmed as she toyed with the all-access laminate that hung on a bright purple nylon cord around her neck. "It was unbelievable!" she exclaimed softly. "It was . . . _wow_ . . ."

Chuckling softly as he toweled his hair, still damp from the hasty shower he'd just taken, he did his best to tamp down the post-show restlessness that always reared up inside him, very mindful of the company he was currently keeping. "You used the earplugs, right?"

She nodded quickly, shooting him a bright, if not somewhat shy, grin and dropped the laminate in favor of grasping the earplugs that still hung around her neck, connected as they were by a rubbery purple string. "I didn't think I'd need them, but you were right. I could hear everything just fine with them."

Evan dropped onto a folding metal chair beside her. "Well, I don't think one show would've damaged your hearing, but I'd rather be safe than sorry."

The cell phone Evan had left on the dressing table nearby erupted in the ringtone that he reserved for Valerie, and he couldn't help the silly grin that surfaced on his features. He reached over to nab the device as the door opened, and Garret stuck his head in. "Hey, baby! Just the woman I was getting ready to call!"

"Zel, the limo's here," Garret said, obviously not wanting to interrupt the phone call, but needing to pass along the information. Hair still damp from his own shower, he was back in the same street clothes he'd worn to the venue hours ago. Tapping his foot, his free hand thumping an imagined rhythm against his thigh, he seemed like he was having trouble coming down off the stage high just like Evan always did. "C'mon, K," he said, jerking his head to indicate that she should follow. He'd taken Evan's cue and opted to call both his sisters by the first letter of their names. "I'll take you out the back way."

"I'll be right there," Evan called behind the departing siblings as the din of the backstage crowd was abruptly cut off with the closing of the heavy steel door. "Wish you'd have come along, too," Evan ventured almost ruefully. Sleeping in an empty bed tonight? He heaved a longsuffering sigh. "I miss you like you wouldn't believe."

Valerie's soft chuckle was like a balm on his nerves—and an all-too-welcome caress that made him grimace. "Well, unlike _some_ people, _I_ don't have the time and luxury of running back to New York City, just to play around for a few days," she teased. " _Some_ of us have a wedding to plan . . ."

He grinned and grabbed his leather jacket off the back of a chair as he sauntered toward the door. She knew well enough that the only thing that could possibly drag him away from Maine and the lighthouse he was struggling to get done was this kind of prior engagement that he simply couldn't get out of. After all, the show at Madison Square Garden had been planned for months, and in a venue like that, one simply didn't cancel at the last moment unless it was of earth shattering importance. "Do you miss me? Just a little?" he pressed hopefully.

Valerie laughed. "Oh, maybe just a little," she relented. "How was the show?"

"Well, what do you think? I was killer, of course!" he gloated.

"Of course you were," she agreed in what could only be described as a tolerant tone of voice. "Is Kaci Lea enjoying herself?"

"Great show, Roka!" one of the techs hollered as Evan strode past. Evan shot him a broad grin and kept going, ignoring the other shouts of congratulations as he went, offering a curt wave now and then to indicate that he'd heard anyone.

"She's having a great time," Evan assured her as he nodded at Mike and reached for the airlock door handle that led out of the arena. "Bone said she barely said two words once the concert started—Did you know that she knows all the words to my songs? Said she was blushing a little, but she sang along to every single one."

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me," Valerie said dryly.

"So did you get much done today or did you spend the whole day, missing me?" Evan teased. There was an eruption of screams, of catcalls as he stepped out of the building. Though the crowds back here weren't as bad as they were in front, enough kids had managed to make it past the initial security barrier that additional teams had already been dispatched to keep them in check back here.

"I miss you," she agreed with a soft sigh. "Sounds like your fans are calling, though. Go spend a few minutes doing your thing, and you can call me later when you can."

"All right," he agreed easily enough. "I'll call you when I get back to the house."

"Behave yourself."

"Love you, baby," he said, lowering his voice and wishing he had time to say more.

"You, too. I'll talk to you later."

Evan heaved a sigh when the connection ended since he honestly didn't want to hang up, didn't want to be cut off from Valerie's voice, but she was right. Those kids had made him into Zel Roka, and he owed them, just as he always had. Still, he didn't deviate from his course as he headed toward the limo, dropping his cell phone into his pocket. The limo driver quickly and efficiently pulled the door open as he approached, and he leaned down to grin at Garret. "Come on," he said, jerking his head toward the crowd of screaming kids. "They want to see you as much as they want to see me."

Garret blinked and looked like he was going to argue with him. Evan rolled his eyes and grabbed Garret's arm to pull him out of the limo before he could protest.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Valerie stared at her phone for a long moment, the smile on her face not diminishing as she let out a deep breath and turned her gaze out the window at the velvet darkness that had fallen over the landscape. Around the perimeter of the neatly manicured yard stood ambient little footlights that, during the day, seemed to fade right into the scenery so that they weren't actually noticed. Those little lights seemed to twinkle, lending a friendly glow that was neither overpowering nor overstated. They merely lightened the shades of darkness by degrees enough to dispel it without jarring it, either. All in all, a lovely effect that she absently hoped that he'd employ at the light house when he had time to get around to considering the landscaping.

She couldn't quite wrap her head around how quiet it really was in the house whenever Evan was gone. It made her feel lonely, almost unreasonably so. It wasn't as if he made that much of a ruckus when he was home, either, but the feeling in the place—even resonating from the walls, it seemed—was so desolate, so somber, that it was hard to ignore.

' _Stop that_ ,' she told herself firmly, giving herself a mental shake and turning away from the window. He was only going to be gone another couple days, and then he'd be home, so it wasn't a huge deal. Besides, she knew, didn't she? He was a busy man, and there would be many times when she wouldn't be able to travel with him.

He'd decided that he might as well stay in the city over the weekend since Garret was supposed to meet with Mike and the reps at Wicked Soundsations bright and early Monday morning to deliver the signed contract. As predicted, there had been a number of labels vying to snare Garret, but in the end, Wicked Soundsations had offered the best deal from the start, allowing Garret a slightly larger share of any profits than was normal in a standard deal for a relatively unknown act, and no doubt attributed to his connection to Zel Roka and Mike. After all, Zel Roka's name was the glitz and glamour, but everyone understood that Mike was most definitely the force behind the man—the one in the shadows who had enough business savvy to help propel the name and taking care of everything that should remain in the dark, allowing Zel Roka to do what he did best: to shine brighter than them all. That same business-set-mind would guide Garret's future, too, which was really no small feat, considering that Mike didn't make it his business to focus on more than he could handle, which, at this point, only really included Evan and now, Garret, as well.

Still, Valerie didn't delude herself into trying to believe that all the attention Garret was garnering was solely because of his proximity to Zel Roka, either. No, even if she were inclined to believe that, she knew damn well that no company—and that really was what Wicked Soundsations was: a company—would focus that much time and energy, and especially, the money that went along with it—in a product that they didn't fully believe could, in the end, make them even more money than they'd invested, and, while she hated to think of Garret in terms of being someone else's commodity, that was the truth of it all. In Garret himself they saw the next generation of rock star, didn't they? She'd even heard Mike say as much to Evan and Garret during one of their impromptu meetings last week while the plans were being finalized for this sojourn into the city.

She could only hope that none of it went to her brother's head, and, with a mentor like Evan? She was even more hopeful that he would remain grounded. If she had thought it once, she'd thought it a hundred times or more, worried that it would all be too much, too soon for the young and impressionable boy from the proverbial sticks.

Sighing softly as she set the phone on a nearby table and retrieved the now-tepid cup of tea she'd prepared before deciding that Evan's show was likely over and that she could certainly call him, just to hear his voice, Valerie slowly stepped back toward the sofa and the open portfolio that she'd carelessly left laying there.

Almost everything was done: at least, the big things. Enough was finalized that she had felt more at ease than she had since she'd started planning this wedding, anyway. Sometimes, she wondered if he hadn't given her such an impossible goal so as to keep her mind busy, to keep her from asking too many questions about his kind, about their lives, about what she could and should come to expect from her own. At such times, she would spend a moment, wondering about it all, only to heave a sigh and shake her head and tell herself that she was just being ridiculous. Even wouldn't do any such thing; there was no point in it, anyway, and then she'd glance back at the piles of flyers and brochures and heave yet another sigh as she slowly shook her head.

Oh, there were still a legion of things that still needed her attention and, ultimately, her decision, but the larger things were done, at least. Today, she'd dragged her mother, Gin, and Madison along with her to make her final wedding dress selection, which had been the largest and most pressing decision that had concerned her.

Rhonda hadn't said much of anything, not to mention that she would never have spoken ill about any of them. As before and despite Valerie's insistence that she really did want her mother's input on the plans, Rhonda simply didn't disagree. As though she were afraid to speak against anything that might upset Valerie, she had only smiled and nodded, but when Valerie tried on the last dress, she'd known. Maybe it was the way her mother had involuntarily sucked in a sharp breath, or maybe it was the quick, almost unnoticed way she'd brushed a delicate finger across her bottom eyelid. Valerie supposed that she might well have believed that Rhonda was simply brushing away an errant bit of something borne in the air if she hadn't noticed the heightened brilliance in her mother's eyes, and, though she said nothing and simply sat there, smiling, Valerie had known.

That was the dress. From the moment she'd seen Rhonda's reaction, it didn't matter what anyone else in attendance had said. The dress she would wear when she walked down the aisle to meet her husband for the first time would be the one that Rhonda chose, whether Rhonda realized it or not.

"Am I disturbing you?"

Snapping out of her reverie, Valerie broke into a welcoming smile as Rhonda stole quietly into the living room. She still seemed to be quite nervous, despite having been reassured a number of times that she was absolutely to feel at home here. Glancing at the clock on the predominant fireplace mantle, Valerie supposed that her mother had just finished getting Jack comfortable for the night, and she held out her hand to invite her mother closer. "Is Daddy comfortable?"

Rhonda nodded and hurried over to sit beside her daughter. "He's watching the news, but he said to get out of there and to come down and spend some time with you before bed," Rhonda explained with a decidedly nervous laugh.

"You never told me how his appointment went," Valerie pointed out as she headed for the open kitchen across the room. "Tea? Water? Wine?"

"Tea would be wonderful, if it's not a problem," Rhonda replied, bracing her hands on the sofa cushion, as though she was going to get up to fetch her own tea.

Fluttering a hand to indicate that she should sit back down, Valerie made quick work of pouring two glasses of ice cold sweet tea and dropping in a good wedge of lemon into each one. "House wine of the south, right?" she quipped, handing her mother a glass as she rejoined her on the sofa.

"Mm, this is really good," Rhonda commented after taking a long draught. Then she sighed, though it was more like a breath and less of a mournful sound. "As for the doctor, he says your daddy's doing real well. He may not be getting better, but he isn't getting worse, either, thank God."

"Really?"

Rhonda nodded quickly. "That man's determined to see you married, Valene—Valerie," she quickly corrected herself with a slight grimace.

Valerie wrinkled her nose. "Call me whatever you want, Mama," she said with a smile. Then she laughed. "Just call me 'V', like Evan does."

Rhonda smiled, too, but after a moment, that smile subsided, and she slowly set her glass on the coffee table. "I . . . I want to thank you for inviting us," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You didn't have to, and I know that your childhood—"

Reaching out, clasping her mother's clenched hands in hers, Valerie cut her off with a gentle, albeit firm squeeze. "You know that the person I am today is a direct result of the things that I've lived through, right?" she countered softly. "Mama . . . I don't want to spend my life being angry or carrying around hurt feelings, especially when there were many things I never knew. You're here because it's where you're supposed to be, right? And what's the point of holding onto a past that might have been less than perfect?" Shaking her head, answering her own question, she sighed and smiled at her mother. "There isn't one. I want you to be a part of my life, and being a part of my life means that I want you to tell me things, even if you don't think I'll like what you have to say." Letting go of Rhonda's hands, Valerie reached for the nearest brochure and waved it at her to emphasize her point. "Like the flowers, you know? If you don't like certain ones or if you think that one type is prettier than another, I _want_ you to say so."

Rhonda didn't look entirely convinced, but she nodded slowly. "But your wedding day isn't about me, Val," she pointed out with a gentle, quivering smile. "It's about you—the things that you want, that you prefer."

Again, Valerie shook her head. "Mama, you're wrong," she countered softly. "A wedding's about family—about creating a new family while celebrating the family that you've already got. It's about joining two families into one."

She looked like she hadn't really thought about it in that way before, but as she considered what Valerie had said, her smile slowly brightened. "Is that what you really think?"

Letting out a deep breath, Valerie nodded. "Well, I'll admit, Evan said that to me the other day, and the more I considered it, the more I agree." Then she made a face. "Just please, for the love of God, don't tell him I said that or he'll never let me forget it."

Rhonda laughed, her hand lifting to flutter over her lips, as though the sound of her own amusement embarrassed her. "You've got yourself a good man there," she remarked at length. "It's not really fair, come to think of it."

"What's that?"

Rhonda sighed, and this time, it was a more wistful kind of sound. "Mother-in-laws aren't supposed to like their son-in-laws, are they? Leastways, your father's mama didn't like me too much. She thought I was the devil, leading your daddy down the paths of sin and ruin."

Valerie's eyebrows lifted at that disclosure. "You didn't do a very good job of ruining him," she mused.

Rhonda shrugged, as though it were of little consequence. "I made my fair share of mistakes, too. Don't you believe otherwise."

"Does Daddy agree?"

Taking her time, sipping her tea, Rhonda seemed to be considering just what she wanted to say. Finally, though, she smiled again, her gaze glassing over, as though she were looking back into the past. "He might not say so, but he'd have to agree. I mean, I was such a baby when we got married. Looking back now, I have to wonder just how we managed to keep it all together and not end up hating each other now."

"But you don't."

Rhonda snorted indelicately. "That might change if he doesn't stop eyeing your future mother-in-law," she predicted darkly.

Valerie laughed. She couldn't help herself. She'd been close enough the first time that Jack had been introduced to Gin, and she'd found it amusing that he hadn't really been able to keep his eyes off Evan's mother. He'd said later that he was simply trying to figure out how someone as tall as Evan had come out of someone as tiny as Gin. When he'd met Bas, however, Jack had only been able to shake his head in complete wonder. "He's just trying to figure out how she's their mother," Valerie pointed out reasonably.

Rhonda shook her head. "Oh, no. He told me that—and I quote—if he ever cheated on me, it'd be with her."

Try as she might, Valerie couldn't contain her amusement at that, either. "And what did you tell him? Cain's good looking, too, isn't he?"

Rhonda rolled her eyes and blushed a little. "He is," she agreed reluctantly. "Of course, that cousin—that Gunnar? He's a pretty fine piece of work, too."

Valerie's mouth dropped open, and it took her a moment to realize before she snapped it closed once more. In truth, she wasn't entirely sure what to think of that particular discussion. Certainly, she had noticed before, just how good-looking that cousin was—at least, until he opened his mouth, or so it would seem. Then she laughed and quickly shook her head.

"Wow," she said, still shaking her head. "But he's kind of a jerk sometimes."

Rhonda laughed and held up her hands in her own defense. "I didn't say I'd do anything," she reminded Valerie. "Just that he was good-looking, is all."

Valerie got up to refill Rhonda's iced tea glass. "Then I guess that's okay," she allowed as she strode over to the kitchen. "I can't believe you two were talking about that," she went on.

"As your daddy likes to point out: we're not dead," Rhonda replied almost defensively.

Valerie smiled at her. "I swear, Evan's family has the beautiful gene nailed down . . ."

Rhonda laughed again, then sat up a little straighter, her expression shifting into one of absolute concentration. "Oh! Have you heard from Evan tonight? How are the kids, do you know?"

"Everything's fine," Valerie assured her as she handed back the glass and sat down once more. "I called him just before you came in. He said that Kaci Lea was having a great time and that the show was fantastic."

Rhonda didn't look like she could decide whether to be relieved or not. "I still worry," she admitted. "I know that Kaci Lea likes to think that she's a big girl now, but she's still so young, and there are a lot of things out there that could get a girl like her in trouble . . ."

"She's got a good head on her shoulders," Valerie told her calmly. "Besides, between Garret and Evan, I highly doubt that anyone could get close enough to her to start any trouble—at least, the kind of trouble you're worried about."

Rhonda didn't look entirely convinced, but she nodded slowly. "I hope you're right," she finally said. "I'll feel better when they're back."

"They'll be home Tuesday," Valerie reiterated. "Evan said he wasn't sure how long the meeting with Wicked Soundsations will take."

Rhonda nodded. She knew all of that. Still, she couldn't help but worry, and that was something that Valerie could definitely understand. "They're fine," she stated once more, offering her mother a reassuring squeeze of her hands. "Besides, it'll be good for Kaci Lea to get out, to do some things."

Rhonda sighed but nodded her agreement. "I know, and I'm glad that she's getting a chance. Hopefully, it'll cheer her up some."

Valerie grimaced inwardly but tried not to let her expression register her feelings, since she knew damn well that the reason that her sister was unhappy about being here in Maine had everything in the world to do with her.

Whether Rhonda sensed Valerie's emotions or if she simply realized just what was going through her head, she made a face. "I didn't mean—"

"I was hoping that she'd be excited to spend some time on an extended vacation, so to speak," Valerie admitted. "It's okay. She doesn't really know me very well yet. It'll all just take time; that's all."

"Of course," Rhonda hurried to say. "She's just at that awkward age, you know. She'll come around; you'll see."

Despite the determination in Rhonda's tone, she had distinct trouble meeting Valerie's gaze. "You're right," Valerie decided, unwilling to allow her mother to feel guilty over Kaci Lea's behavior.

Rhonda didn't get a chance to reply when Valerie's cell phone rang. She knew before she got up to retrieve it that the incoming call was Evan. "I'd better take this," she said and shot her mother an apologetic smile.

Rhonda stood up and waved a hand, as though to hasten Valerie's movements. "I'm going to go on to bed, anyway. I'll see you in the morning, Val."

She waited until after her mother stepped out of the living room before connecting the call. Hopefully, her mother would forget about their discussion by the morning. The last thing that Valerie wanted was for her parents to end up in the middle of things. She didn't want either Rhonda or Jack to try to smooth things over, and she had little doubt that they'd try. No, the only real thing that could repair the rift between them was time, and, luckily for Valerie, she was in it for the long haul.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _On_** **_Your_** **_Side_** ' _by_ _Thriving_ _Ivory_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2010_ _release_ , **_Through Yourself_** **_and_** **_Back_** **_Again_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Clayton_ _Stroope_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Valerie_** :  
>  _Let's_ _hope_ _he_ _can_ _stay_ _out of trouble this time_ …


	219. 218: The Rush

' _I don't care if you sink or swim_...  
' _Lock me out or let me in_ …  
' _Where I'm going or where I've been_ …  
' _No, I don't care at all_ …'

 

-' _The Great Song of Indifference'_ by Bob Geldof.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"Don't forget that meeting with Reverend Jenkins this afternoon," Valerie called after Evan as the latter sauntered toward the bathroom to disappear into the shower.

"Do we really have to do that?" Evan called back with a loud, decisive snort. "I mean, holy God, we're just getting married, not thinking about starting our own cult."

Rolling her eyes despite the smile on her face, Valerie stretched and pulled the snowy white comforter up under her chin. "One hour of premarital counseling isn't going to kill you," she retorted dryly.

"Should we tell ol' man Jenkins what we just got done doing? Bet he'd _love_ to hear the details."

"You'd better be on your best behavior, Roka, or I swear, I'll hurt you," she threatened. Too bad the sternness was undermined by the giggle that slipped from her, too.

"Hai, hai," he muttered. "Come join me if you want."

Valerie sighed happily and snuggled down a little more under the protection of the comforter though she ignored his offer. After all, she had a busy morning ahead of herself, and she was already going to be running a little late since she hadn't been able to dissuade Evan's advances.

Two weeks until the wedding.

She wasn't entirely sure that she believed it, and yet, surprisingly, everything was taken care of, all of the plans were made and set—at least, the big ones. Every day, she realized that there were still a million little things that had to be taken care of—silly little details, maybe, but ones that were still just as important as any of the rest.

A reluctant knock broke Valerie out of her reverie, and she sat up to reach for her robe. "Come in."

Very slowly, the door opened, and Rhonda poked her head into the room, her eyes darting around quickly, as though to make certain that her daughter was awake—or that Evan was either out of the room or decently covered . . .

Deciding that Valerie was, indeed, alone, Rhonda smiled and finally stepped inside. "Morning . . . I was hoping you were already awake."

Valerie grinned and tugged the belt into a feminine bow at her waist. "I know; I'm already late," she apologized with a heavy sigh. "Blame Evan."

Rhonda chuckled and waved a hand dismissively. "Your fitting isn't until noon," she reminded Valerie.

Valerie nodded and paused long enough to slug back the half-cold mug of coffee that Evan had left there for her just before heading off to take a shower. "I wanted to go with you to Daddy's appointment," she said, her voice muffled by the cup. Glancing at the clock, she made a face. If she hurried, she could still get a shower before it was time to leave . . .

Rhonda sighed and bit her lip, tapping her palms together in the decidedly nervous fashion that Valerie had come to realize meant that she didn't particularly want to say something. Still, she waited, because that particular gesture also meant that she would tell Valerie as soon as she figured out how she wanted to say it. "Your daddy said that he'd rather that you don't come along to his appointments," she finally blurted. A moment later, she winced apologetically, as though she was afraid that she had been just a little too blunt. "He just . . . He doesn't like for you to hear all the bad things," she finished weakly.

She wanted to argue with Rhonda. It was on the tip of her tongue to do exactly that. She didn't, though, mostly because the logical part of her—the part that she could separate herself from that tended to see things in a more reasonable light, even if she didn't want to—could understand why her father might feel the way he did. "But I already know he isn't well," she said though she made no move to gather her things for her shower, either.

This time, Rhonda sighed and crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring the fact that she was wrinkling the pale blue blouse she'd ironed last night for today. During the shopping trips that never seemed to end, Valerie had managed to talk her mother into letting her buy a few nicer outfits, her agreement no doubt fueled by the acute awareness of her wardrobe after spending time with Evan's mother. Gin, of course, would never comment about the idea that Rhonda's clothes were well-worn for the most part, and certainly not new by any means, and Gin never treated Rhonda badly for it, either, but, well, Valerie had felt a few qualms about taking advantage of her mother's insecurities, but in the end, she'd convinced herself that her mother's misplaced pride could take a back seat for once. True enough, she hadn't been able to convince Rhonda to pick out anything expensive, but the clothes she had managed to buy her mother were definitely nicer than anything Rhonda had been able to afford before. Then her father had also insisted that Rhonda buy a few things with their money, and Valerie had been more than happy to accompany Rhonda to the nice if not more moderately priced places in the area.

Besides, it was a smallish victory, in and of itself, that Rhonda hadn't complained at all about the dress that Valerie had helped her to pick out for the wedding. She supposed that Rhonda had decided that it was all right to spend more for that dress, after all. As the mother of the bride, she had to look her very best, didn't she? And the dress that they'd chosen was absolutely stunning, too. Evan had seen it and had proceeded to complain that Rhonda was going to show up the bride. Then he'd winked at Valerie and shot her a cheesy grin.

"Your daddy says you have enough stuff to worry about right now, especially with your wedding day so close, and you don't need to add him to that list," Rhonda reiterated.

Valerie wasn't pleased with the statement, but she nodded once, mostly because she knew damn well, just how stubborn her father really could be. "Okay," she agreed reluctantly. "If you're sure."

Rhonda looked somewhat relieved and gave a brusque nod. "It's fine; I promise," she assured Valerie. "So," she suddenly said in a bright tone as she industriously brushed her palms together, as if she were sweeping away the current topic of conversation for a new one entirely. "What's on the agenda for today?"

"I guess I'll make a few phone calls while you take Daddy to the doctor," Valerie said slowly, her face taking on a scowl of concentration. "I just want to make sure that everything's arranged so there'll be no bad surprises later on . . . Then Evan and I have that counseling appointment this afternoon, and I made arrangements for you to take Daddy up to have his tux fitted again, just in case, and then I wondered if you'd like to meet me, and we'll go to Linden's together?"

Rhonda nodded slowly. Though Jack didn't seem to be getting worse physically, he had lost a bit of weight since coming to Maine and having his tux fitted then. Valerie didn't think that it would need to have too many alterations done now, but she wanted to be sure. As for Linden's, well, they were the company that Valerie had hired to take care of the food for the reception. "The caterer?" Rhonda asked, opting not to comment on the tux fitting.

"They called and said that they had a few new recipes they wanted me to try in case I want to adjust anything on the menu. If Daddy's feeling up to it, he can go out to the lighthouse with Evan and hang out with him while he gets a couple hours of work—and I use that term lightly—in today."

Rhonda nodded but leveled a no-nonsense look at Valerie. "Is he actually going to get that thing done enough for the two of you to move in there after the wedding?" she asked in a tone that indicated that she truly believed that Evan had, in fact, bitten off more than he could chew.

Valerie heaved a quick sigh. "That's what he says," she replied without stating her beliefs, one way or another. "Evan said that Cain and Bas both promised to make sure that whatever Evan can't get done before the wedding gets done while we're on our honeymoon."

Rhonda thoughtfully digested that for a long moment. "Has he let you see it since he showed it to me?"

Valerie shot her mother a wan smile and shook her head. "He says he wants it all to be a surprise," she admitted with a little shrug. "I have to admit, I'm not entirely sure that even the great Zel Roka can work that kind of miracle, though . . ."

"Oh, ye of little faith!" Evan exclaimed in an arrogant tone as he swaggered out of the bathroom with a towel draped over his head and wearing nothing more than a tattered pair of faded and worn old blue jeans. "You'll see—you'll both see!" he predicted happily, unwilling to let their skepticism affect his mood.

Valerie didn't argue with him, but she did sigh softly. Neither she nor her mother had been allowed to go anywhere near the lighthouse since Evan had showed Rhonda the property just after they'd arrived. Sure, that was a couple of months ago, but, given the condition of the house, she couldn't help but wonder if Evan's reassurances might be a little misplaced.

He wandered over and slipped an arm around Valerie's shoulders, giving her a quick squeeze accompanied by a kiss on the temple. "I'd better get moving," he told her, letting his arm drop away with an overly dramatic sigh. He nabbed a tee shirt off the dresser and paused long enough to plant a loud and somewhat obnoxious kiss on Rhonda's cheek as the latter giggled like a schoolgirl before continuing out of the room.

"Don't forget Reverend Jenkins this afternoon!" she hollered after him as he tugged a shirt over his head without stopping.

"If Cain or Bas call, tell 'em I'm on my way," he hollered back.

Valerie crossed her arms over her chest as she watched him go, a secretive little smile toying at the corners of her lips.

Rhonda chuckled as she glanced at her watch. "All right, then," she decided as she shot Valerie another slightly apologetic smile. "I'd better get going." Suddenly, though, she sighed and slowly shook her head. "I can't believe your wedding's so close," she said with a wistful sigh. "It seems like just yesterday . . ."

Trailing off, she seemed almost as though she felt guilty for what she was about to say. Maybe she thought that Valerie would hate to have the reminder yet again that her childhood had been less than perfect . . . or maybe she just didn't want the reminder herself. Either way, Valerie smiled, even as she wished somewhere deep down that her mother's obvious reticence would dissipate. It would eventually. She supposed she simply had to be patient.

Besides, right now, she had a wedding to finish planning.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"There are going to be some tits, right?"

Bas deliberately ignored Evan's current line of questioning as he took his time, measuring the opening for the arch that would lead from the living room to the kitchen.

"Aww, c'mon! You can give me a hint, right?" Evan persisted.

"Your life's been one big bachelor party," Cain remarked dryly, hunkering down to squint along the long board that he was sanding to use as a shelf under the gently-winding staircase. "Don't you think that you've had enough of that already?"

Evan snorted loudly but couldn't help the smile on his face, either. "Can't ever have too much of a good thing, Cain," he shot back.

"It wouldn't hurt to do a little looking as long as there's no touching involved," Jack mused rather philosophically, his voice muffled by the paper respirator mask that he had to wear in the lighthouse. There was so much sawdust and stuff in the air that Evan had insisted. Jack hadn't argued much, either, though he had grumbled that he'd be fine. He'd also said it while pulling the mask over his head, anyway.

"Well, it'd be rude not to tuck a buck or two," Evan drawled, shooting his soon-to-be father-in-law a saucy grin.

Jack laughed. "That goes without saying," he agreed.

Bas shook his head and muttered something under his breath that Evan couldn't quite catch since the contractor and his crew were currently on the next floor up, and making a hellacious amount of noise. They were working on the subfloor up there.

"Just remember, Evan," Cain went on, reaching for another of the shelving planks, "there are going to be some people at your bachelor party who might be a little uncomfortable in that kind of place—your great-uncle Sesshoumaru, for one."

"And Jiijii," Evan added despite the grin that widened on his face at the very thought of his rough and tumble grandfather, InuYasha so much as walking into a strip club anywhere. As adept as he was with a weapon in his hands, the same could not be said for his ability to deal with women other than ones that were directly related to him. If his foul mouth didn't offend someone, then Evan was quite sure that his tendency to come off as rude and abrasive would certainly do the trick.

Cain snorted. "I'd rather forget that InuYasha's even here, thank you very much."

Evan chuckled. It was no secret that there was very little love lost between Cain Zelig and his father-in-law, the angry hanyou. That InuYasha was already in Maine and staying at the mansion was a sore spot for Cain, and considering he'd be in residence until after Gin gave birth, Evan figured that it was a part of the reason that Cain had been so easy to talk into helping with the lighthouse. InuYasha had offered to help, but Evan had declined his offer since everyone knew, too, that InuYasha wasn't exactly known for his patience, and the last thing that Evan could afford, time-wise was a bunch of repairs on things that InuYasha got pissed off at and went after with his insanely huge sword, Tetsusaiga. "I'll bet you would, Cain."

"Where do you want these?"

Evan glanced over as Garret shuffled in with a couple of two-by-fours resting on his right shoulder. "Over there behind Cain," he instructed with a jerk of his head.

"The future rock star is doing manual labor," Jack said, a glint of amusement illuminating his gaze.

Garret laughed and dropped the boards on the small stack. "No worse than working on the road crew," he replied with a good-natured grin. "So what are we talking about?"

"Evan's trying to find out what Bas has planned for his bachelor party," Cain supplied absently.

Garret considered that for a moment then shrugged in a deliberate show of nonchalance. "Well . . . I mean, it wouldn't be right to have a bachelor party without strippers."

Evan laughed. "Yeah, see? Even Garret knows!"

"If we did go to a strip club," Bas grumbled with a marked scowl, "you couldn't come along, anyway, considering you're underage."

"Ignore Bubby," Evan replied. "He's always been a downer."

Bas snorted. "I didn't have a bachelor party, and everything turned out just fine," he pointed out.

"That's because Sydnie would've scratched your eyes out," Evan shot back.

Bas didn't deny that, but he did slowly shake his head. "Relax, Evan," he said as the barest hint of a smile quirked his lips. "It's all under control."

Blinking in surprise, Evan thumped the screwdriver in his hand against his open palm. "Oh, yeah?"

Nodding slowly, Bas shot Evan a no-nonsense look. "Don't ask," he stated before Evan could try to wheedle details out of him. "All you need to know is that everything's already set up."

Evan considered that for a moment then grinned as he turned back to his project. It couldn't be that bad, he figured. After all, Bas might well live a little further on the upstanding side than Evan, but he figured that it didn't really matter what Bubby had in mind, anyway. Marrying Valerie was the goal. The rest of it really was just icing on the cake.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"I really like that dress."

Whirling around with an embarrassed flush blossoming under her skin, Kaci Lea hastily tossed the pale pink party frock onto the bed, hanger and all, before pinning Valerie with a guarded sort of look. "I was just trying to decide what shoes would look best with it," she muttered, her cheeks pinking even more as her gaze skittered to the floor.

Valerie ignored her sister's obvious discomfort and stepped into the room. "Those white slippers would look really great with it," she mused thoughtfully. "Unless you want to go look for something else? I've got time, if you'd like to go now."

She could almost hear the wheels turning in Kaci Lea's brain. She seemed to like the idea of shopping for another pair of shoes, but she didn't look like she was sure she wanted to take Valerie up on her offer. "I thought you had some kind of counseling thing to go to," she pointed out.

Valerie shrugged. "We did that already. In fact, I got all the things done I had on the schedule for today, so I'm free until the party." It was just a dinner party, or so Valerie had been told, that Gin had planned so that the families could better get to know one another. That it was being held at one of the most exclusive restaurants in Bevelle was irrelevant; almost an afterthought, really, though Evan had mentioned that the Zeligs had rented the entire establishment for the festivities. He hadn't batted an eye when he'd dropped that little bomb on her a couple nights ago, and didn't that just figure since Valerie knew damn well that her entire family would have to run out and buy suitable clothing for the event, even if Evan did insist that no one would care. Biting her lip, she turned to stare at Kaci Lea thoughtfully, her eyebrows drawing together as she took her time regarding her. "Those shoes . . . are they in your closet?"

Kaci Lea nodded, and Valerie strode over to retrieve them. Turning them from side to side, her thoughtful scowl deepened. They were cute, absolutely, and yes, they would really be fine to wear this evening, but something told her that Kaci Lea didn't really agree. The closed in, almost boxy toe of the simple slipper style brought to mind a strapless version of a little girl's Mary Janes, and maybe that was the reason that Kaci Lea was reluctant to wear them. She'd bought them a few months ago during the shopping spree with Madison, but it didn't really matter when young girls' tastes often changed faster than anything else in the world, and what she might have liked a few months ago might not be the same thing she was looking for now. But the last thing that Valerie wanted to do was to talk down to Kaci Lea or to come off as patronizing her in any way, so instead, she set them on the floor and gestured at them as she stood up again. "Can you put those on?" she asked, nodding at the shoes for added emphasis.

Kaci Lea didn't look like she was entirely sure why Valerie would ask her to do that, but she did.

Valerie twirled her finger, indicating that Kaci Lea should do a turn, and after a moment, she did though the frown on her face didn't wane. "Hold the dress up again please?"

Kaci Lea did as she was asked, floating the dress before her as she tilted her head to the side to stare at Valerie.

"You know, if you want to wear those, they're fine," Valerie began slowly, thoughtfully, "but really, if you want my opinion, I think heels would look even better."

As though she had been holding her breath, Kaci Lea's chin raised a notch as the tenseness in her shoulders seemed to release all at once. Her eyes brightened in surprise, and she actually looked like she might smile. "You . . . You think so?" she blurted almost breathlessly.

Valerie nodded. "Come on. There's this great little shoe store that Maddy introduced me to. I'm sure that you'll find something absolutely perfect there."

Kaci Lea seemed pleased by this idea as she kicked off the slippers and hastily jammed her feet into a pair of sneakers, but she paused for a moment as a slight shadow passed over her features, and for a moment, Valerie had to wonder if Kaci Lea's stubborn streak had kicked in once again. "You don't think Mama will say that I'm too young for heels, do you?" she asked reluctantly.

"I'm absolutely sure that she won't mind," Valerie reassured her with an encouraging smile.

Kaci Lea didn't look completely convinced.

Sensing her sister's reluctance, Valerie pulled out her cell phone and dialed Rhonda's number. As far as Valerie knew, their mother was still helping Jack at his fitting. She answered after the second ring. "Hello?"

Switching her phone over to speaker, Valerie turned up the volume so that Kaci Lea would be able to hear easily enough. "Hi, Mama? I was going to take Kaci Lea to get a pair of sandals for tonight," she explained. "You don't have a problem with her wearing heels, do you?"

Rhonda was silent for a moment. "Heels? That'd be okay, as long as they're not sleazy. I know, you wouldn't let her get something like that."

Valerie laughed. "No, nothing like that."

"That's fine," she said with a laugh. "I'm glad the two of you are going to go do something together," she added.

"Me, too," Valerie ventured. "I'll see you at the party."

"Okay," she allowed. "We're almost finished here. I hope there's enough time for your daddy to get a little rest in before then."

"All right. It shouldn't take too long."

With that, the call ended, and Valerie turned to smile at Kaci Lea once more. "You ready?"

Kaci Lea nodded and finally smiled, albeit a bit bashfully, but she grabbed her purse and followed Valerie out of the room.

She didn't say anything as the two of them got into the car to make the trip to town. That was fine, as far as Valerie was concerned, pleased enough that Kaci Lea would allow her to accompany her anywhere.

She was coming around, little by little, and that was fine, too. She might not single Valerie out for a sisterly discussion or a heart to heart talk, but at least she didn't immediately dismiss her, either, and that was progress. Interesting, really, if Valerie stopped to consider it. Kaci Lea reminded Valerie of herself at that age in so many ways. Kaci Lea tended to silently analyze things, seemed to keep a little distance as she cautiously tested the waters, so to speak, and Valerie couldn't really find fault with that, either, given that she tended to do the same thing, and even if Valerie wished that Kaci Lea would open up to her sooner rather than later, she couldn't deny that the progress she felt they were making was definitely worth it.

Besides, Kaci Lea had agreed to be Valerie's bridesmaid, which was no small feat, as far as Valerie was concerned. She'd been a little reluctant, but in the end, she'd agreed.

Evan swore up and down that he hadn't interfered at all during their trip to New York City, too. Valerie had made him promise not to say anything about it, not to put any pressure on Kaci Lea, and he'd reluctantly agreed. No, she wanted Kaci Lea to come around on her own terms, and the last thing that Valerie wanted was for her to feel like she was pressured into accepting Valerie. Maybe they'd never be as close as Valerie might have liked, but anything was better than nothing, and she could be patient, even if she didn't particularly like having to be so.

But from everything the kids and Evan had said when they'd gotten home from their trip, they'd done nothing but fun stuff the whole time, including Evan arranging a special tour for Kaci Lea at the American Museum of Natural History as well as Museum of Modern Art. While Garret had gone to do a photo shoot for promotional purposes, Evan had taken Kaci Lea to see _Chicago_ on Broadway. All of that on top of getting to attend her first ever rock concert, and not just any concert, either, but a Zel Roka show? Valerie smiled to herself. It was no wonder that the teen honestly believed that Evan could walk on water.

They pulled into the parking lot at the understated shopping center, and Valerie shot Kaci Lea a grin before stepping out of the car. To her surprise, the girl actually smiled back just a little.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _The_** **_Great_** **_Song_** **_of_** **_Indifference_** _'_ _by_ _Bob_ _Geldof_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1990_ _release_ , **_The_** **_Vegetarians_** **_of_** **_Love_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Bob_ _Geldof_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Valerie_** :  
>  _A little progress is better than none at all._


	220. 219: The Gift of Giving

' _And you can tell everybody this is your song_...  
' _It may be quite simple but now that it's done_ …  
' _I hope you don't mind; I hope you don't mind_ …  
' _That I put down in words_ …  
' _How wonderful life is while you're in the world_ …'

 

-' _Your Song' by_ Elton John.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"So I was wondering about something."

"What's that?"

"Just, you know, what are your plans?"

Evan glanced over at Cain and frowned when he saw that his father hadn't paused at all in his work as he painstakingly matched up the pattern in the wallpaper before applying the next strip. Staring at the intricate pattern with a slight scowl on his face, he had casually tossed out the question in such a way that made Evan wonder exactly what he was talking about. "Plans for what?"

Cain gave a slight shrug, no more than the vaguest lifting of his shoulders and otherwise didn't seem to have heard Evan's question for a moment. "I mean your career. Are you going to drag Valerie along with you whenever you're out on the road and stuff? Have you talked all that over with her? What about her career? You're not ready to give up being Zel Roka, right?"

"You've been wondering a lot there," Evan muttered more to himself than to his father. "She doesn't mind who I am," he went on, louder this time.

"I didn't think she did," Cain went on evenly, either completely missing or choosing to ignore the tightness that Evan hadn't been able to filter out of his tone. "I'm just saying that your lifestyle could be a little hard for her after a while, don't you think?"

"And which part of my lifestyle do you mean, Cain?" Evan shot back. "Do you really think I'm ass enough to go out and dick around on her or something? Is that what you're trying to say?"

Turning away from the wallpaper, Cain leveled Evan with a 'Don't-Be-Stupid' kind of look as he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Evan for a long moment. "I never thought anything of the sort, Evan, and you ought to know that," he replied shortly. "I meant all the time you spend away from home. You've been on the road for months at a time before—almost a year at a stretch, if I recall rightly. I just wanted to know if you'd given that kind of thing any thought at all, given that Valerie doesn't seem like the kind who wants to travel like that all the time."

"We'll figure it out," Evan reassured Cain with a glower. "Don't even worry about it."

"I'm sure you will," Cain tossed back then sighed. "Listen, I didn't mean to offend you. I know that you love her and that she's definitely your mate. I also know the lengths you've gone to in order to protect your real identity—your future mate and children—and, to be honest, I'm glad you have."

Irritation was enough to make Evan grit out, "Yeah, well, you won't have to worry about that, either, Cain. V doesn't want pups, so it's no big thing."

Cain's eyebrows rose in unabashed surprise, and he blinked a few times as he shook his head once, twice, while he struggled to understand just what Evan had said. "She . . . She doesn't?"

Evan snorted. "Again, something that isn't really any of your business, wouldn't you say?"

He looked like he wanted to say something. Evan cut him short before he could. "Look, you don't have to worry about us," he said tightly. "It's not like when I was a pup, and you had to lecture me about every single thing I ever did. I'll worry about V. She really isn't any of your concern."

Turning on his heel, Evan strode out of the lighthouse before his temper got the better of him, and he didn't stop outside. Instead, he veered to the left, stomping along the trail that eventually led down and around the cliff onto the beach below the house.

Did Cain honestly think he was still some idiot teenager, that he hadn't already given the whole situation some thought? Did he really think that Evan wouldn't have talked to Valerie about all this already? He had. Of course he had. True, they didn't have any kind of agreement set in stone, but it wasn't like Valerie was completely against the idea of traveling with him as much as her schedule would allow.

Besides that, she'd already left her job in the city—unavoidable since they were moving into the lighthouse after they returned from their honeymoon. Evan had offered to pay the early-termination fee that was stipulated in her contract—basically repaying the firm for what they'd paid on Valerie's outstanding student loans from college. Valerie had insisted, however, that she would pay it as well as the payments for the rest of her loans by herself out of her own money—an easy thing for her to do, given that he had adamantly refused to let her spend any of her money on anything else. He wanted to take care of her, and he would. She'd agreed, albeit reluctantly, since he hadn't really given her a choice, so any money she made would be hers to do with as she wished. At the moment, she was spending some of it on the wedding, he was sure, despite his offer to pay for that, too, and he knew that she had set up a very nice trust fund for Kaci Lea, as well, even though the girl didn't know about it yet, either. Valerie probably wouldn't tell Kaci Lea, at least for a while, anyway. As it was, knowing the girl, she would probably see some kind of strings attached, and, though it was true that she was likely smart enough to get full scholarships to any number of schools, scholarships might not take care of everything, and even if they did, at least Kaci Lea would have enough money to be comfortable and not have to worry about finding and keeping a part time job, too.

But as for Cain's concerns, sure, they would have to spend time in the city, too, but that wasn't really a huge deal, either. At the moment, she was toying with the idea of opening her own law firm here in Bevelle, but first, she wanted to take some time to study up more on family law so that she could switch her area of expertise when and if she did open an office.

It just figured, didn't it? Leave it to Ol' Cain to come up with some sort of twist that would make Evan into an ass. That it surprised him irked him beyond belief, too. After all, it was a normal thing—something he ought to have been used to, but no. Somehow, he'd almost started to think that maybe—maybe—things weren't so bad between them lately.

Plopping down on the pebbly sand, Evan heaved a sigh as he raked his hands through his hair. Nothing at all had changed; not in the least. No matter what he ever did, it wasn't enough for Cain, and he figured that it never would be, either. They might have moments when they got along, but there was always something that reminded him that he wasn't nearly as good as the rest of his siblings, wasn't there?

' _But you hoped_ . . .'

Face twisting into a marked scowl, Evan stubbornly refused to answer his youkai-voice.

He should have known better. He really should have.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"So tell me what's bothering you?"

Evan blinked and glanced up almost guiltily from the guitar he was idly strumming, and for a moment, he looked like a child with his hand caught in the proverbial cookie jar. Then he forced a smile, albeit a wan one, and shrugged. "Just trying to figure out the best way to get into your panties," he quipped.

Valerie pursed her lips and rolled her eyes as she tossed the notebook aside. She'd been looking over her list of things yet to do before the wedding and checking off what she'd gotten done today. Too bad that every time she managed to cross something off that list, she added another two or three things that she'd forgotten before . . .

"You don't look good in my panties," she replied lightly.

"I thought I looked very good," he retorted. "Okay, maybe not _that_ great, but still . . ."

Shaking her head, she leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees, a gentle smile toying with the corners of her lips. "Having trouble with the lighthouse?" she prompted.

"Nah, it's all good," Evan assured her, sticking the guitar pick between his teeth so he could set the guitar aside. "All according to schedule."

"Hmm . . ." She nodded slowly, deliberating for a moment as she considered the best way to get him to answer her truthfully. "You've been really quiet tonight," she went on, careful to keep her tone light, neutral. "Tell me why."

This time, he sighed. "Nothing," he insisted, then held up a hand to stop her before she could challenge him on the matter. "Nothing important, anyway. Just Cain being an ass. Again."

"How's that?"

Evan ignored that question for a moment, or rather, he pretended to. Considering that talking about his father—or more pointedly, the discussion he'd had with his father earlier—was the last thing he actually wanted to discuss, he figured that he ought to at least take a moment to gather his thoughts on the matter first.

"Evan?"

Sparing a moment to shoot her a glance that ought to have warned her that he'd rather let the whole thing drop, Evan slowly shook his head. "It was stupid, V," he replied instead, unable to keep the terseness out of his tone. "I don't want to—"

"Of course you don't," she retorted dryly, "but if it's enough to put you in this kind of mood, then I want to know what happened."

He stared at her for a long minute then heaved another sigh—this one full of irritated resignation. "Same ol', same ol'; that's all. End of story," he remarked with a curt shrug as his gaze fell away, as a marked scowl surfaced on his features.

"And that's normal—at least, it is, according to you," she prompted when he made no indication that he was going to continue.   "Are you going to tell me what happened, or are you going to make me drag it out of you?"

Evan slumped forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. "It's not important, V. Just Cain, thinking I'm nothing but a damn fool." Shooting out of the chair suddenly, Evan stomped across the floor and back again as a vicious and hot swell of righteous anger took hold of him. He had to move, didn't he? Had to before he lost his temper completely. "You know, you'd think that after all this time, I might deserve just a little credit, wouldn't you? I mean, would you honestly think that I'd screw up something as fucking important as finding my mate? He thinks that I don't give a damn about you or your feelings—what you want to do or don't want to do . . . It's a fucking load of —"

"Evan, you're not making any sense," Valerie said calmly, grasping his shoulder and gently bringing him around to face her.

He opened his mouth to growl at her, but his anger seemed to dissolve when he met her concerned eyes. "He just assumes that everything's going to go on the same way," Evan finally said, this time in a much calmer tone of voice. "Like I'm going to marry you and just leave you home and go running off to be Zel Roka without even blinking. Like I'd go out there and fuck anything on two legs without so much as a second thought." That statement was enough to reignite the rage that had been so easily quelled by Valerie's mere glance, and he yanked away from her to stalk across the room again, opening and closing his hands as though he dearly needed to hurt something.

Valerie sighed softly and slipped her arms around him from behind, stopping him abruptly once more as she held on tightly. He could feel her heartbeat, strong and calm, and slowly, slowly, it calmed him, too. "You wouldn't do that," she said quietly, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

"'Course I wouldn't," he half-growled.

Valerie laughed softly—more of an exhalation than laughter, really. "I'd kill you if you did," she assured him matter-of-factly.

Peering over his shoulder at her, he finally managed a wan smile. "As if I'd want anyone else," he grumbled with a shake of his head. "Cain's a damn idiot if he thinks otherwise."

She sighed again, holding onto him for another moment before letting her arms fall away from him. Then she took a step back and idly wandered a few steps. "I really wish I understood the whole thing between the two of you," she ventured at length as she shifted her gaze out of the windows at the darkening night.

"Nothing to understand," he insisted, taking the last few steps that separated him from the wet bar. "I gave up trying a long time ago."

"But it wasn't always this way," she said. Pivoting on her heel, she pinned him with a pointed stare. "Your mother said that the two of you used to get along very well."

He shrugged. "Depends upon your definition of 'well'," he parried, taking his time as he poured two glasses of beer. "To tell you the truth, I really don't know what or why. All I know is that Cain's always been that way with me."

She considered that while he rinsed out the beer bottles and dropped them into the empty crate for recycling. "Have you ever tried talking to him about it? About your feelings?"

"As if that would make a difference," Evan scoffed, striding across the floor, holding out a glass to Valerie.

"It might," she countered, taking the glass and then his hand, pulling him toward the sofa. "Think about it, will you? You'll never know if you don't ask."

"Can we just . . . let it drop?" he asked with a sigh.

She frowned at him, and he could tell by the expression on her face that she wasn't complying; was, in fact, trying to find another way to make her point. He chose to ignore that, however, figuring that a change in subject was in order. "So did you think about what it is that you want as a wedding present from me?" he asked, hoping that she would take the bait.

"Don't think that I don't know what you're trying to do, Roka," she remarked baldly as she lifted the glass to her lips. "As for your question, though, I've already got everything I want."

He rolled his eyes but chuckled since she'd said the same thing every other time he'd asked her, but that was all right. "Baby, it's my mission in life to spoil you abso-fucking-lutely rotten, so either tell me what you want or I'll just go buy something on my own, and if I do, you can't return it, no matter what it is."

She snorted at his blatant threat and laughed softly. "Why don't you just save that money, and we'll pick something out together on our honeymoon."

"Is this some ploy to get me to tell you where I'm taking you?" he parried.

Her smile widened. "No . . . Well, maybe . . ."

"Forget it, woman. It's not going to work." Setting the glass aside, Evan shook his head. "I'm on to you, V. You're not nearly as slick as you want to think you are."

Valerie laughed then snapped her fingers as she sat up a little straighter. "Oh, I almost forgot," she said as she stood up and hurried across the room. Grabbing a blue-backed docket off the desk, she took her time returning as she scanned through the bound pages.

"Whatever it is, I swear to God, I didn't do it," he said in lieu of whatever she was about to say.

Valerie blinked and looked up from the docket then pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose. "For once, Roka, you're not in trouble," she stated as she flopped back down beside him. "Sign it."

He jerked back when she shoved it under his nose and cast her a questioning glance as he took it from her. "A pre-nup?" he said, arching an eyebrow at her and moving to hand it back. "Don't need it."

She sighed and pushed his hand away. "Just sign it," she stated, nabbing an ink pen off the table beside the sofa and extending it to him.

"Forget it," he insisted, dropping it on the cushion between them.

"Look, I don't want anyone saying that I'm only with you for your money," she persisted.

He blinked. "But you are, aren't you?"

Rolling her eyes, she snorted. "Of course I am," she scoffed.

"Ah, I knew it," he quipped.

She giggled and jabbed him in the chest with the pen. "Now sign it."

"I don't need to because we're never getting a damn divorce," he growled.

"I know what you've said," she began slowly, "and I believe you, but it just looks better if we have this, and—"

"To who? And who the hell cares?" he cut in. "I'm not signing it."

She wasn't quite ready to give up. "What if—?"

"The only way you're getting rid of me is if I die," he said, raising his voice in an effort to let her know just how serious he was. "For that matter, if you ever left me, I'd die, so all of it would be yours, anyway. I don't give a great goddamn."

"That's not even remotely funny, Evan Zelig," she gritted out.

Evan snorted. "The truth usually isn't. Anyway, I'm not signing it, so forget it."

She opened her mouth to argue with him, but he held up a hand to silence her. "No," he stated once more. "Those things are basically like announcing to the world that you have no intention of staying married, that you don't really take your vows seriously." He snorted. "I'm not signing it, period, so you might as well save your breath."

Valerie didn't look like she was ready to concede, but she did heave a very loud, longsuffering sigh. "Even if it would make me feel better?"

"Better about what?" he challenged mildly.

She almost smiled—almost. "It'd make me feel better to know that you can't take my money away if you decided to run away with some barely-legal groupie."

"I should beat you for that," he grumbled.

"It's just for appearances, then," she said. "It's really not that big of a deal."

"No one in my family has ever had a pre-nup," he insisted. "I'll be damned if I'll be the first."

"All right; fine," she said, looking anything but pleased with the idea of dropping the subject. "I'll let it go for now, but I really would like for you to sign it."

He didn't comment since he knew damn well that he wasn't going to be signing his name on that particular bit of nonsense.

"You know, I kind of feel like this whole thing is entirely one-sided," she went on thoughtfully.

"What whole thing?"

She shrugged simply, turning to the side, drawing her knees up to tuck her feet up under her. "Our relationship."

He couldn't help the offended tone that crept into his voice. "How do you figure?"

She shot him a cursory glance. "I mean that you're always giving me things, and I don't get a chance to do the same for you nearly as often."

"What? Birthday presents and stuff?" he teased as the tension drained away.

She stared at him for a moment as though she were trying to decide whether he was being serious or not. "Everything," she ventured, her brow furrowing as she sought to put her thoughts into words. "I'm not talking about material things. When I think about who I was before I met you, I start to realize just how much I've changed, and . . ." Trailing off for a moment, she reached out, brushed his bangs out of his eyes, only to turn her fingers inward, to trail her knuckles down his cheek until they lingered just beside his chin. He caught her hand before it could fall away, giving her fingers a squeeze, kissing the same knuckles and refusing to let go of her hand. "You gave me back my family," she said, her voice thickened by emotion.

"I didn't," he began.

"You did," she insisted gently. "Do you think that I would have even tried had it not been for you?"

"But that was you," he replied. "You're the one who reached out to them. I didn't do anything but go with you."

"That's really not true," she said. Then she sighed, her eyes darkening as she continued to stare at him. "Would you . . . Would you talk to your father? For me?"

Evan blinked and let go of her hand in favor of reaching for his glass of beer, and he didn't answer her until he'd drained it completely. "What? That's . . .! Hell, no," he grumbled, letting the empty glass plop down on the table once more with a loud thud.

She had the grace to look somewhat ashamed of her request, but she didn't take it back. No, instead, she lifted her chin a notch and nodded. "That's what I want."

"Come again?"

Licking her lips, she let her gaze skitter away before coming to meet his once more. "You asked me what I want for a wedding present, didn't you? That's what I want. I want you to try to reconcile with your father."

"That is entirely unfair!" he exclaimed. He started to stand up, but she caught his hand and held it tight.

She looked like she agreed with him on some level, but she stubbornly refused to back down. "I want you to promise me you'll talk to him about the way you feel," she reiterated calmly. "I want you to find out the reasons why you feel the way you do. You . . . You've taught me just how precious family is, Evan. If there's even the smallest chance that you can come to terms with your father, then I want you to."

Evan made a face but didn't argue with her. Sure, if he tried, he could probably talk her out of it or at least make her feel guilty for her demand. After all, it wasn't like he honestly thought that having a talk with dear ol' Cain would make any difference in the long run, and he opened his mouth to tell her so, but the quiet emotion in the depths of her gaze was enough to still his tongue. She really thought that it would help.

Too bad Evan wasn't entirely sure that he agreed . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _Your_** **_Song_** ' _by_ _Elton_ _John_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1970_ _release_ , **_Elton_** **_John_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Elton_ _John_ _and_ _Bernie_ _Taupin_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Evan_** :  
>  _How's that a wedding present …?_


	221. 220: Reconciliation

' _A child arrived just the other day_...  
' _He came into the world in the usual way_ …  
' _But there were planes to catch and bills to pay_ …  
' _He learned to walk while I was away_ …'

 

-' _The Cat's in the Cradle'_ by Harry Chapin.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Gin hurried into the bright and airy kitchen humming a low song under her breath as she made straight for the refrigerator without noticing Evan, sitting in the breakfast nook with a cup of tea and a scowl on his face. The moment he saw his mother, however, that scowl dissipated, and he couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped him at the sight of his tiny mama and her less-than-tiny belly. "Mornin', Mama," he called as he lifted the mug of tea to his lips.

Gin squeaked in surprised and whipped around to face him, nearly losing her balance when her extra girth kept going but her feet did not. "Oh, Evan!" she exclaimed softly, steadying herself on the counter beside her. "When did you get here?"

"Just a few minutes ago, actually," he admitted, then nodded at the white enameled kettle on the stovetop. "Made up some hot water if you want tea."

She spared a moment to stare almost longingly at the pot then sighed. "I promised your father I'd drink more milk and less good stuff," she admitted, her face contorting for a moment, designed to let him know what she thought of the idea of drinking milk.

Evan grinned. "Well, some people put milk in their tea," he remarked mildly.

"That sounds so gross! Why would any— _Oh-h-h-h_ ," she breathed as her eyes flashed open wide in understanding. "That would make the milk taste better," she decided, spinning around to retrieve a mug out of the cupboard behind her.

"Speaking of Cain," Evan said with a frown, deliberately taking his time in choosing his words, "he in his studio?"

"Your father?" Gin asked, her voice preoccupied as she set about making a mug of tea. "Well, he's probably up now, but he was sleeping when I came down. Is that why you're here?"

"Mmm," Evan replied in a non-committal sort of way. "I promised V I'd talk to him."

Gin didn't seem to find anything amiss in his words, and she spared a moment to cast him a bright smile before resuming her task once more, and Evan had to shake his head when she stopped only long enough to pour about a tablespoon of milk into her teacup. "He mentioned working on that sculpture for your wedding present," she went on before sipping from her cup. Then she sighed and closed her eyes as though she were in heaven. "Oh, this is nice . . . Well, aside from the _milk_ . . ." Then she blinked and frowned as she glanced at Evan once more. "Will you be staying long? I could make a nice lunch . . ."

Evan sighed and shrugged as he forced himself to stand up. No sense in delaying the inevitable, now was there . . .? "I, uh . . . I don't know, Mama. Maybe."

Her frown shifted from thoughtful to slightly worried, and Evan could have kicked himself for the change. "Is everything okay?" she asked in a brighter tone than he supposed she would have normally use—proof positive that she was more concerned than she ought to have been.

For that reason alone, Evan wandered around the counter to give her a hug and a loud, obnoxious kiss on the cheek. "Everything's right as rain, Mama," he assured her. "I just . . . I just need to ask Cain a few things."

"All right," she relented, taking her time as she sipped her tea. Staring at Evan over the brim of the delicate cup, she seemed to be considering something. "Make sure you find me when you're done! Seems like we haven't had much time to visit lately."

Sparing a moment to smile and to step over to give her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, Evan wasn't so sure, but he didn't gainsay her, either. "I will, Mama. Promise."

 

 

- ** _Cain_** -

 

 

He almost missed the soft knock on the studio door. Having just taken a step back to give the painting a critical eye, Cain blinked as the abrasive sound intruded on his thoughts. "It's open," he called, crossing his arms over his chest, using the heels of his hands to idly rub at his sides and inadvertently smearing traces of paint onto his skin in the process.

"Hey, uh, Cain . . . Got a minute?"

Scowling at the paint he'd managed to get all over himself, Cain spared a moment to glance over at Evan and nod. "Sure," he said, reaching for a work cloth to clean himself off, only to succeed in adding to the mess since he'd been using it to dab his brushes on, too. "Um . . ." he drawled, jerking his head in the vague direction of the bathroom. "It's _'Dad'_ , and let me clean this up, first . . ."

Digging his hands into the pockets of his jeans, Evan shuffled forward, following in Cain's wake. "If, uh . . . If you're busy, I can come back later . . ."

Glancing up a he stuck a clean white washcloth under the running tap, Cain shook his head quickly, casting Evan an apologetic kind of glance. "No, it's fine," he assured him quickly. There was something weird in Evan's aura, a sense of reluctance, of complete reservation, and Cain wasn't sure why. "I just need to get this off me before I forget about it." Rubbing at the drying paint smears, he frowned. "What do you need?"

Letting out a deep breath, Evan slumped back against the shower stall, crossing his arms over his chest as he considered Cain's question. "I . . . I don't need anything, Cain. I just . . . just wanted to . . . talk."

That got Cain's full attention. Frowning thoughtfully as he stared at his son's reflection in the plate glass mirror over the sink, he nodded slowly and dropped the washcloth on the counter. Something about Evan's stance, the reticence that he was trying to hide . . . "Okay," he said, leading the way out of the bathroom, lifting a hand to gesture for Evan to follow. He said nothing as he crossed the floor to the small sitting area at the far end of the studio, Sitting on the sofa, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and waited for Evan to sit down, too, before asking, "Is this something about the lighthouse or the wedding . . .?"

Evan made a face and quickly shook his head, and for the briefest of moments, time seemed to reverse, bringing to mind Evan as a small boy when he'd had to confess that he'd accidentally knocked Cain's cake off the counter because he was running through the house with the first bokken he'd just been given. Cain smiled at the memory and wondered vaguely just what could inspire Evan to make that same kind of expression now.

Turning his head to the side, Evan scowled at the far wall, as though he thought maybe he could find the answers he sought written there. "V," he said at length, haltingly, hesitantly. "She . . . She asked me to talk to you about . . . about things . . ."

Cain's nostalgic smile dimmed then disappeared, and he gave the smallest shake of his head. "What kind of things?"

Heaving a sigh that seemed almost defeated, Evan let his gaze drop to the floor under his feet. "Just things . . . like . . ." Face screwing up into a disgusted grimace, Evan quickly shook his head again. "Like . . . Ah-h-h, this is _stupid!_ " he growled, shooting to his feet, striding around the coffee table as he headed for the door.

Cain stood up, too. He wasn't exactly surprised by Evan's show of temper, but there was something else there, too—something that Cain couldn't quite put his finger on but there, nonetheless. "Evan, wait," he called after him. Evan stopped abruptly but didn't turn around. "What's this all about?"

"Nothing," Evan grumbled, still refusing to face Cain. "It's not important. Go back to your . . . well, whatever you were doing."

"No," Cain insisted, stuffing his hands into the pockets of the smudged and rumpled khaki pants. "I want to know what's on your mind. I want to know why . . ." He made a face that Evan didn't see. "If this is about yesterday, I apologize. I really wasn't trying to say that I thought you weren't taking things into consideration, and I'm sorry if you thought that I was."

Evan snorted indelicately, his shoulders slumping forward as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Just yesterday, huh? Nothing about the million other times you've just _assumed_ I was a damn idiot without bothering to ask me anything first, right?"

Cain blinked, more in reaction to the raw vehemence in Evan's tone than because of the actual accusation. "I've never—"

"Bullshit, you've never!" Evan snarled, his words warped slightly, enough for Cain to understand that he hadn't opened his mouth to utter them. The crackle in Evan's youki spiked, jagged, sharp, as though it could keep everything—or maybe just Cain—away. "That's all I've ever gotten from you, isn't it? The only faith you've ever shown in me is that you _know_ that I'm _always_ gonna fuck everything up, right?"

Shaking his head as though to refute Evan's claims, Cain took a step toward his son, but stopped. "That's not true. I—"

"Forget it," Evan growled once more, his words galvanizing him into action as he started toward the door again. "Settle things with you? Keh! How the _fuck_ can you tell me why you've never wanted m—" Biting himself off with a very decisive snort, Evan shook his head again. "Dumbest damn idea, ever."

"Evan!" Cain called, striding after Evan to intercept him, only to draw up short when Evan slammed out of the studio so hard that the door creaked and groaned against the hinges. The sound echoed in the quiet as Cain tried to figure out exactly what had set Evan off. _'Never . . . Never wanted . . .?_ Him _. . .? But_ . . . _that's not . . . Why would he think . . .?_ '

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Slamming out of the studio, Evan was so absorbed in his own anger, his own emotions, that he smacked right into Gin. She squeaked in surprise as he caught her, steadied her. "Mama . . . sorry," he muttered. It took another moment for him to get his rampant fury under control, and, willing himself to take a few deep breaths, he closed his eyes for a moment and struggled for a semblance of calm, forcing a smile that he hoped would fool Gin. It didn't.

"Evan? What's going on?" she asked gently, concern marring her brow as she reached up to touch his cheek. "Why are you fighting with your father?"

Giving up the pretense that wasn't working anyway, Evan let out a deep breath and furiously shook his head. "It's nothing, Mama. At least, nothing important."

She didn't look like she believed him. "It didn't sound like 'nothing important'," she pointed out in a carefully reasonable tone. When he refused to volunteer anything more, she sighed and reached for his hand, dragging him down the hallway and toward the stairs.

He let her lead him through the house and into the kitchen, and she finally let go long enough to heft the giant cookie jar she always kept fully stocked. "Sit with me," she said, her tone light and pleasant as always but with an underlying sense of purpose that he couldn't ignore.

Seeing no way around it, Evan slipped into the breakfast nook but shook his head when Gin nudged the jar toward him. "V . . . V wanted me to try to talk things out with Cain," he finally admitted.

"Did the two of you have a disagreement?"

He shook his head. "Not exactly . . . Not unless you can call my whole life one massive disagreement, anyway."

"What do you mean?" she demanded, unable to keep the nonchalant tone that she had previously managed to maintain. "Your whole life . . .?" When he didn't answer right away, Gin sighed softly, shaking her head, gnawing on her bottom lip in a troubled sort of way. "The two of you used to get along so well, Evan. I . . . I just don't understand . . ."

Uttering a terse snort, Evan flopped back in his seat, his foot hammering up and down in a nervous kind of cadence. "Yeah, well, that makes two of us," he grumbled.

"Did . . . something happen?" she asked carefully, as though she needed to measure her words.

"Not really," Evan admitted grudgingly. "I mean, nothing out of the ordinary."

Gin sighed, her ears flattening as she winced. "Evan, your father . . . He loves you, you know? I mean, he doesn't really come out and say it all the time, but surely you know—"

"Do I?" he interjected, his gaze blazing as it locked with his mother's. Too many memories of different things over the years—too many to count, too many to list—and the underlying knowledge that he just had never really measured up . . . "All I've ever been is a disappointment," Evan concluded with a furious shake of his head. "That's all he's ever seen in me."

Gin's soft gasp was audible in the ambient quiet. She drew herself back as though he'd struck her, blinking quickly as a wash of suspect brightness entered her gaze. "That's—That's not true!" she insisted, the hurt inspired by his words, a palpable thing. "Your father's just as proud of you as he is of your brother and sisters! Why ever would you think any differently?"

"Aw, c'mon, Mama!" Evan complained. Cutting himself off abruptly, he made himself take a deep breath, willed himself to calm down before he really managed to upset her even more. "He stuck me in the basement away from everyone else," he said in a tone so low that she had to struggle to hear him. "He couldn't even be bothered to have any pictures taken with me, ever. The only time he has anything at all to say to me is when he is telling me just what I've done wrong, and God forbid that anyone ever find out that Zel Roka and Evan Zelig are one in the same . . ." Pausing for a moment to drag his hands through his hair, Evan shook his head once more. "Hell, he couldn't even be bothered to attend my college graduation, now could he? It kind of speaks for itself, don't you think?"

"But," Gin began slowly, shaking her head in obvious confusion, "of course he was at your graduation, Evan. Why in the world would you think otherwise? As for Zel Roka . . ." Trailing off, she suddenly stood, reaching over to grab Evan's hand, to haul him to his feet once more. "Come on."

"Mama? What . . .?" he said but allowed her to drag him out of the living room once more. Through the living room, into the foyer, and around the corner into Cain's study, she led him, not stopping until they were standing in front of a small bookshelf near the far windows. On that shelf were CDs—Evan's CDs—every last one of them, but that wasn't Gin's target. No, it was a small leather-bound book, and she picked it up, turning it over a time or two, before sticking it in Evan's hand and stepping back again. "What's this?" he asked, frowning down at it. Upon first glance, he figured that it was a very small photo album, but it didn't seem to have any pictures in it.

"Just look at it, Evan," Gin encouraged gently.

Sparing a moment to stare at his mother, Evan slowly lifted the cover.

Inside the plastic-pocketed pages were stubs—ticket stubs from various concerts he'd had in the area, even as far away as Massachusetts—and all of them were from his shows. There had to be at least seventy-five or more of them, all carefully stuck into the pages of the book. "What . . .?"

Gin laughed softly, sadly. "We never miss one in this area," she admitted with a shrug. "Even the shows that sold out so fast, Cain's always managed to get the tickets."

Blinking slowly as he tried to understand the meaning of it all, Evan leafed through the pages once more. "I could have gotten you tickets if you'd just told me you wanted them," he muttered.

Gin giggled. "Your father said that it wouldn't be right, that you made your money from performing," she said. "Besides, it's always so exciting, being in the audience!"

 _'All right, so he's been to some of the shows . . . That doesn't mean_ . . .'

' _I don't know, Evan . . . Maybe there really is more to it than you thought_. . .'

"When your last CD came out, your father and your brother stood out all night in line with all these teenagers, waiting for the store to open," she went on. "Sydnie and I took them coffee and blankets. It was so cold, but your father was afraid that they'd sell out of he waited to go in the morning. They always make sure that they get your CDs the day they're released . . ." As the memory faded, so did Gin's smile, and as her gaze cleared once more, she sighed.

Evan wasn't sure what to think of that. Bubby and Cain, waiting out in the weather, all night to get his CDs? That was entirely ridiculous, wasn't it? There wasn't any way in the world they'd do that . . . was there . . .? But . . .

"Your father loves you, Evan . . ." Suddenly, she grimaced, her gaze skittering away as a hint of a blush crept up her cheeks. "Maybe it's my fault," she admitted quietly. "Cain always held Sebastian, you know? So . . . so I told him that you were mine, that he had to let me hold you and baby you . . . You were . . . and Cain . . ." Shaking her head, she paced the floor, uttering a soft laugh that was tinged with a little sadness. "You know, he'd try to take you with them when they went to pick out the Christmas tree. But I . . ." Wincing as though she were ashamed of what she was about to say, Gin sighed. "But I always wanted to keep you close to me . . ."

"You . . . did that . . .?" Evan couldn't help asking as year after year of memories rushed to the fore—always asking if he could go, the strange look that Cain always got on his face, like he might have wanted to take Evan along, and yet . . . And yet, Evan had never stopped to think about what those expressions meant, had he . . .?

Still, the other things . . . The explanations of a few minor details did not really change the bigger picture, and there were far too many instances of the same thing that couldn't just be wiped away.

Gin slipped her arms around him, gave him a reassuring hug. "You know, Evan, maybe . . . maybe you should go look at the gallery—really look at it, I mean," she suggested.

Evan shook his head, unsure why she would suggest that, all things considered. "What difference would that make?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at his mother.

She shrugged a little too off-handedly. "They say the easiest way to understand an artist is through his art, right?" she replied lightly. "I just thought that if you looked at your father's work, maybe you'll see something you haven't noticed before."

Evan digested that in silence as Gin leaned up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Casting him a warm smile that trembled just the tiniest bit, she left him there alone to think.

' _Keh! What the hell is there to 'think about'?_ ' Evan fumed, dropping the book onto the shelf again before turning on his heel and heading for the door. ' _Completely useless . . . Sorry, V, but there just isn't any 'fixing' some things_. . .'

It wasn't at all like her family, was it? They made their mistakes, sure, but they hadn't stopped loving Valerie, and as far as he could tell, Cain had spent much of his life barely tolerating a son who hadn't been able to fit into the perfection of the Zelig family framework.

' _Yeah, but maybe your mama has a point,_ ' his youkai voice remarked slowly. ' _Maybe there is more to it. I mean, strictly speaking, Mama sucks at lying, you know? And she really seems to think_ . . .'

' _Of course Mama thinks that this is all in my head_ ,' Evan scoffed though his tirade had lost some of the overwhelming anger. ' _It's second nature to defend Cain, isn't it? He's her mate, after all_.'

' _And you're her precious baby_ ,' the voice shot back dryly. ' _So maybe instead of doing all this for you or for V or for whatever reason, maybe you should consider trying—just trying—for the sake of that woman instead. After all, you can't really think that leaving her in the middle like you always do can be a fun thing for her, either_.'

That thought drew him up abruptly. Standing inches in front of the door, he let his hand drop away with a heavy sigh. ' _All right; all right: point taken_.'

It wasn't as though he honestly believed he'd get any real answers out of anyone, least of all Cain. It really wasn't that Evan truly believed that Cain was really trying to be a jackass about everything, either. No, a part of him had to wonder, didn't it, if everything had just become a habit to Cain, that his indifference might just be something that he didn't really think about at all.

Or maybe he was the one who had grown to expect it.

Still, there were so many times, so many instances and examples. Even Valerie had noticed, too, hadn't she? He'd realized a long time ago that the photo albums that Gin had so carefully and lovingly put together really didn't have even one photo of him with his father—not one. So many pictures of Gin holding him while he slept or playing with him on the floor, Gin holding onto the back of the bicycle that he'd first learned to ride. Gin catching him as he flew down the slide at the park, Gin, Gin, Gin . . .

Even so, he found himself moving toward the stairs once more, not really knowing just what it was that his mother thought he would see, unable to reconcile the sense of resignation that he'd carried around for so long when it came to his father with the strange and foreign hope that maybe, maybe . . .

" _I just thought that if you looked at your father's work, maybe you'll see something you haven't noticed before_ . . ."

Evan couldn't rightfully recall the last time he'd bothered to wander through the gallery housed on the second floor of the mansion. Maybe he'd avoided it, knowing what was never there. As silent as a tomb, the room was, filled with the underlying odors of paint and canvas, of linseed oil and a hint of turpentine. But those smells were faint—a human nose likely wouldn't be able to discern them. Partial walls had been constructed, hung with paintings, illuminated by soft spotlights. Pedestals of varying height were carved out of some of the structures, adored with statues of varying medias. Most of the paintings near the front of the gallery were ones that he'd seen so many times—too many to count—paintings that had evolved over time, telling the story of the Zelig family through pictures. Progressions of various family members as they grew from infancy through adulthood, insular moments in time, captured so expertly by an artist's eye, a craftsman's hand . . .

And Evan had to admit that there was something spectacular about his father's ability to project such feeling. He'd always respected Cain's work as an artist. Maybe that's what made it all the more painful in retrospect: the idea that Evan . . . Had he ever commanded that kind of thought, that kind of dedication from Cain?

' _Entirely unfair, Evan, and you know it_ ,' his youkai voice chided gently. ' _You know damn well that all those paintings of you and Gin . . . He made those, too, and with as much care and deliberation as he's ever devoted to any of his other masterworks_.'

Why was it so easy for Evan to look upon those pieces, to tell himself that the devotion had gone into immortalizing Gin on the canvas and not Evan? And yet . . .

As he wandered slowly from painting to painting, pausing now and again to touch a sculpture, to run his fingertips over the roughened texture of the dried paint, he frowned. Jillian, standing before a huge window, her hand resting lightly on Evan's arm as he leaned in to kiss her forehead, careful not to muss the wedding dress she wore . . . Bas with Bailey draped around his throat, with Olivia in his arms as Sydnie leaned in for a kiss . . . So many moments that Evan hadn't even realized that Cain had witnessed, all captured in minute detail . . .

Frowning thoughtfully, he shuffled further on, but stopped in front of a different painting—one he hadn't seen before. It was him—Evan—standing on a stage, accepting his bachelor's degree, but there was something odd about the picture . . .

He hadn't thought that Cain was there, had he? At the time, he'd brushed it off, smiled at his mother, and insisted that he couldn't hang around for a family dinner, that he'd had plans with some friends that were leaving the next day to go home. Gin had seemed upset over the entire affair, but for once, Evan just didn't have it in him to give in, to pretend that everything was all right. Ignoring the protests, the interrupted insistence that he wait, that he listen, Evan had given his family that carefree grin and waved a hand before darting off again. It had felt like one defection too many, hadn't it, but . . .

But the angle of the view in the painting and the photographs that he'd seen later . . . He hadn't ever stopped to think about that, had he?

' _Cain . . . Cain_ was _there_ . . .' he realized with a start. Cain hadn't sat with the rest of the family in the audience, no. He'd moved around to the other side, watching everything, snapping pictures . . . and Evan . . .

"Your, uh," Cain cleared his throat, jamming his hands deeper into the pockets of his rumpled khaki slacks, "your mama said she thought you might be in here."

"Cain . . ."

Letting out a deep breath, Cain tried to smile. It ended up more of a grimace, though, as the strain in the air thickened and settled over them both like an invisible fog. After a minute, Cain cleared his throat once more and shrugged. "I've been . . . been trying to figure out why you'd think that I never . . ." he grimaced, "never wanted you. That's never been true, Evan."

Evan wasn't sure what to say to that, but somehow, the idea of arguing it further just wasn't as appealing as it used to be. Turning on his heel, he took a few more steps, his gaze shifting over the collection of paintings. Cain fell into step beside him, and neither had much to say as they slowly perused the gallery.

Pausing before a painting that Evan hadn't seen before, he jerked his shoulder in that general direction. Tanny, who looked to still be a toddler, sitting on the counter in the kitchen with a pretty white dress concocted of yards and yards of antique white lace with two handfuls of Cain's cake hovering before her cake-smeared face and an angelic expression illuminating her gaze. "Sami seen that one?" Evan asked, more than a little surprised that Cain would paint such a scene, given that he hated sharing his cakes with anyone. Then he saw the brass placket under it, bearing the title, "The Cake Thief", and he chuckled.

"She saw it," Cain remarked, wrinkling his nose, obviously still quite irritated over the entire affair. "She wanted to take it home, but your mother wanted to keep it."

"At least she's better about it these days," Evan pointed out since Tanny, now five years old, had at last learned that Cain's cakes were sacred.

Cain snorted indelicately. "Not that well," he grumbled. "Last week, I caught her sneaking crumbs."

Heaving a sigh and slowly shaking his head, Evan shot his father a droll glance. "That's pretty sad, Cain," he remarked.

"I know it," Cain replied. "You'd think she'd know by now that her grandma makes those for me."

Opening his mouth to offer a rebuff, Evan snapped it closed before he could. That wasn't exactly what he had been thinking, but pointing out to Cain that stealing a few crumbs wasn't really the same as trying to take the whole cake was rather a moot point, as far as Cain was concerned.

But the traces of amusement brought on by the Tanny discussion faded away when Evan glanced at the next painting on the wall. Another one he hadn't seen before, certainly—a hazy, smoky, dark piece: a lone figure on a backdrop of inkiness, of burring lines and almost insular motion. As though the figure was the only thing worth seeing, it took a moment for it to sink in: the image on the canvas . . .

Noticing Evan's preoccupation, Cain pulled his hand out of his pocket long enough to flick his fingers at the painting almost dismissively. "Did that one a couple years ago, I guess," Cain said quietly, almost absently, as though he were trying to remember the specifics. "It was after one of your shows in Portland," he went on, his tone taking on a stronger sort of lilt. "Not that you have bad shows, of course, but something about that one was particularly memorable . . ." Then Cain suddenly laughed, more of an exhalation, a breath, than anything. "It's weird, you know . . . I see you up there, and then I think about other times . . . like when you were smaller and you'd drag that, uh . . . that blue plastic guitar around . . .? Or . . . Or when we made up that waffling song . . ."

"The Waffling Song," Evan repeated, a trace of a smile quirking his lips. The Waffling Song—a child's misunderstood version of the Wassail Song . . . ' _Cain . . . He remembers that_ . . .'

Cain sighed, digging a rumpled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and taking his time as he shook one out and lit it. Staring up at the ceiling so high above, watching as the tendrils of smoke rose and dissipated, he gave an offhanded shrug. "Your mom said . . . Why didn't you ever tell me that you didn't like the basement?" he asked quietly.

Evan blinked and shot Cain a quick glance, but he couldn't really tell what he might have been thinking.   Just staring at the ceiling, but not really seeing much of anything . . . "It's . . . It's not that I didn't like it," Evan replied. "It just seemed like . . . like you were trying to distance me—trying to get rid of me or something."

That got Cain's attention quickly enough. Evan could feel the intensity of his father's gaze though he didn't look to verify it. "That's not . . . Evan," he said, and maybe it was genuine surprise that halted his words, "You liked to stay up, to play your music and stuff," he explained. "We thought about soundproofing your room, but I thought . . ." His smile suddenly seemed a little sad, a little lost, and maybe he was second-guessing himself, the decisions he'd made years ago. "Your mom said that it'd be cool to put in a little studio for you down there," he went on almost philosophically. "There was more room in the basement . . ."

He hadn't stopped to think about that before, had he? Concentrating instead on the proximity, the idea that he, unlike Bas or Jillian, was being moved out of the upper levels . . . That wasn't what Cain had been trying to do, and maybe . . .

Drawing a deep breath, Evan tried to brush off the last lingering doubts, and yet, there was one thing: one big thing . . . "All right," he allowed, a forced neutrality entering his tone, "then tell me, Cain—not that it matters, I guess, 'cause it kind of doesn't—why didn't you tell me you were at my college graduation?"

Cain blinked and gave his head a little shake. "I . . . I thought you knew," he finally said. "I mean, why wouldn't I have been?"

Was it true? All of those things that Evan had perceived over time . . . Had he been wrong?

' _It's possible_ ,' his youkai voice remarked slowly. ' _So quick to assume that your father has always treated you like an afterthought, but you know . . . I . . . I don't think that's true . . . Do you?_ '

Always so quick to assume that he understood the meaning behind it all, Evan had to wonder just how many things had been altered by his own desire to see them in a certain light. Was that . . . Was that what Valerie was trying to make him understand?

He winced inwardly, stealing a surreptitious glance at Cain once more. Gaze trained on the image of Evan on stage, there was a certain level of recrimination just below the surface that Evan could feel. Regret that he hadn't told Evan these things before, maybe . . .? Or could he simply not comprehend just how much anger Evan really had been trying to hide . . .?

And suddenly, Evan realized something: something he hadn't really considered before. Maybe Cain didn't truly understand him, or maybe he did, Evan wasn't sure. But maybe that didn't really matter, after all because Cain . . .

"I, uh . . . I guess I never got a chance to tell you," Cain began slowly, shuffling his feet, rolling his shoulders as though he were trying to diminish his stature. "I was really proud of you that day . . . and I'm . . . I'm really proud of you now, too." Then he chuckled and glanced at Evan for just a moment before his gaze flickered back to the painting once more. "I mean, at least you weren't kicked out of college for fighting."

Evan chuckled despite himself at the not-so-subtle reminder that Bas had, indeed, been expelled from law school for that very reason. "Yeah, well, don't take it too hard, Cain," Evan relented, breaking into a tiny smile as he shifted his gaze to his father's face once more. "Guess there are things I never told you, too."

Cain met his stare and raised his eyebrows. "Like what?" he asked almost hesitantly, and Evan supposed he couldn't blame him for that, either.

"I . . . I went on to grad school," he admitted.

That seemed to surprise Cain. "Did you?"

Evan nodded. "I was going to tell you. To tell the truth, I was going to surprise you by just inviting you to my graduation, but . . ." Trailing off with a grimace since he knew well enough why he didn't bother to do that, he shrugged. "I ended up missing it, anyway."

Grasping Evan's shoulder, Cain pulled him around to face him, irritation surfacing on his father's features. "What do you mean?" he demanded. "Graduate school? That's a huge deal!"

Holding up his hands to stave off whatever lecture Cain was gearing up for, Evan shook his head. "Sami was missing," he explained with a simplistic shrug. "She was more important than anything. To be honest, it slipped my mind at the time, and by the time I remembered it afterward . . . Well, it just didn't seem as important as everything else."

Cain didn't look like he agreed. "You don't think we'd have wanted to hear about this?"

Again, Evan shrugged, but he also smiled. "It's not like I can go around, calling myself Dr. Zel Roka—though that'd be kind of cooler than shit . . ."

"Doctor . . ." Cain repeated, his tone a mix of wonder and amusement. "So what'd you get your doctorate in?"

"Music theory," Evan replied simply. "I mean, it's not like I could deliver babies or anything."

Cain chuckled, too, clapping Evan on the shoulder. "You know . . . Why don't you call Valerie? Tell her to come on over, and we'll go out to dinner. Celebrate your accomplishment, even if it is a little late."

Evan opened his mouth to tell Cain that it wasn't a big deal, that it was fine. Instead, however, he uttered a chuckle, but there was nothing dry or sarcastic to the sound. "All right," he agreed. "You paying?"

Cain laughed. "Sure. I'll call your brother—see if he and Sydnie can join us."

Evan watched as Cain strode away, watching as he dug his cell phone out of his pocket and put it to his ear before slipping out of the gallery once more.

" _I want you to find out the reasons why you feel the way you do. You . . . You've taught me just how precious family is, Evan. If there's even the smallest chance that you can come to terms with your father, then I want you to._ "

As her words resounded in his mind, Evan's grin widened. All right, so there was a good chance that Valerie was going to do some gloating when he told her, but that was okay. The understanding he'd gained was well worth it, wasn't it?

' _Of course it is._ '

Evan chuckled and pulled out his cell phone, too. ' _Yeah_ ,' he allowed as he brought up Valerie's number and dialed it. ' _Yeah, I guess it is_.'

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _The_** **_Cat's_** **_in_** **_the_** **_Cradle_** ' _by_ _Harry_ _Chapin_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1974_ _release_ , **_Verities_** **_and_** **_Balderdash_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Harry_ _Chapin_ _and_ _Sandra_ _Chapin_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Cain_** :  
>  _A … doctor …?_


	222. 221: Haste to the Wedding

' _It's the wild life that's in your veins_...  
' _You'll feel like an animal that's been uncaged_ …'

 

-' _The Wild Life' by_ Slaughter.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"You know, I'm trying to figure it out."

Valerie blinked and leaned forward in the salon chair to peer down the line at her soon-to-be sister-in-law, Bellaniece.   "What do you mean?"

Bellaniece giggled, flicking up her claws as she examined the nail polish that had just been so carefully applied. "You're actually allowing Evan to have a real bachelor party? I can't decide if you have that much faith in him or if you're just trying to give him enough rope to hang himself."

"I have serious doubts that he needs that much rope, to start with," Sierra Inutaisho remarked almost baldly despite the smile on her pretty face.

Unable to repress the slightly gloating smile that surfaced on her face, Valerie tried for an innocent expression though she had a feeling that no one was buying it. "Oh, I think he'll behave himself," she allowed somewhat dryly.

"Bassie's the one who planned the party, so I wouldn't think it'd get _too_ out of hand," Jillian commented, lifting a steamed towel off her face to peer out from under it. Then she giggled. "Well, _maybe_ . . ."

Valerie didn't comment right away, but she was hard pressed to keep her knowing grin from spreading. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Madison's questioning gaze, and she purposefully ignored it as she accepted a glass of champagne from one of the technicians passing through.

"You know something, don't you?" Madison asked in a hushed whisper.

". . . Maybe," Valerie admitted. "Let's just say I have little doubt that Evan will have a very _memorable_ night."

Madison giggled but let it go for the moment.

"And this is just heaven," Valerie went on, closing her eyes as she sank down a little lower in her seat. When Madison had suggested a spa-day for all the ladies, Valerie had jumped at the idea, and, though Madison had insisted that it would all be on the house, Valerie still stubbornly insisted upon paying her for it, instead.

At the moment, however, Madison was busying herself by giving Valerie's mother the royal treatment, as it were. Hair trimmed, color refreshed, a full vitamin body wrap along with a chem-peel for her face, and it was absolutely amazing, how young she looked now. "Shouldn't you be pampering yourself?" Rhonda asked, leaning back to raise her eyebrows at Madison.

Madison laughed and waved a dismissive hand. "I pamper myself all the time, and I love doing this!" she insisted. "And you are one hot mama!"

Giggling softly, Rhonda blushed. "It's the makeup," she demurred.

Valerie rolled her eyes. "Give it up, Mama," she scoffed. "Of course, you're gorgeous!"

"You'd better call and make sure Daddy's taken his medicine before he sees you," Kaci Lea warned with a girlish little giggle. She'd already had her cut and color retouched, not that she'd really needed it, of course.

Rhonda laughed but couldn't hide her blush at the compliments, either.

"So are you nervous, Valerie?" Samantha Drevin asked, leaning forward to peer down the line at the soon-to-be bride.

Drawing a deep breath, Valerie shook her head. "Not yet," she admitted. "At this time tomorrow? Probably."

"Well, I, for one, can't wait until you've married my Evan," Gin added happily. Suddenly, she sniffled and quickly dashed a hand over her eyes. "My baby's getting married . . ."

"Aw, don't worry, Mama," Jillian piped up with a bright smile. "You'll have another baby soon, so not all your babies will be married, after all!"

Gin giggled, and for just a moment, a strange sort of expression seemed to flicker across her features, almost as though she wanted to say something, but she must have changed her mind because she smiled instead and shifted around in her seat a little.

"Gin? Are you all right?" Kagome asked, her brows drawing together as she carefully eyed her daughter.

Gin blinked and nodded quickly, her bright smile back in place once more. "Fine, Mama."

Kagome didn't look like she wasn't buying Gin's insistence. "Maybe we should go back home and let you lie down a bit."

"No, I promise, everything's fine," Gin insisted, waving off her mother's concern with a flick of her wrist. "Besides, I took an early nap at Cain's insistence, so I'm good."

Kagome didn't look entirely convinced, but she slowly settled back in her chair once more.

"So where is Evan taking you on your honeymoon?" Evan's aunt, Deirdre, better known as 'Nezumi', asked.

Heaving a sigh, Valerie rolled her eyes. "You know, he refuses to tell me?" she complained since she was getting a first-hand lesson as to just how stubborn Evan could actually be. She'd thought that she could get anything out of him—or she had until she'd discovered that he really had no intention at all in telling her just where they were planning on going after the wedding.

"I don't think he's told anyone," Sydnie remarked, tapping a delicately manicured claw against her lips thoughtfully. "I know he didn't tell my puppy anything . . ." Trailing off for a moment, the cat-youkai's gaze shifted to Gin. "Did he tell you anything?"

Gin blinked and slowly shook her head. "He won't tell me, either," she confessed. "He just wants it to be a big surprise. I'm sure that it'll be wonderful, no matter where you two go."

"Knowing Evan, it won't matter, anyway," Madison added. "I highly doubt that he intends to step foot outside your hotel room."

Valerie laughed since she had to agree with Madison. Knowing Evan, it probably would take some cajoling on her part if she hoped to see anything outside of the hotel, after all . . . Though, she had to admit, at least to herself, she didn't think she'd have very many complaints, one way or another.

"But you're going to be going on a good, long honeymoon, right? Or does he have too many other things lined up?" Kagura asked.

"Actually, no, he doesn't. I'm not sure how long he wants to stay gone, but he did mention that it would be 'a while' . . ." Valerie glanced over at the woman who was currently leafing through the latest issue of _Cosmopolitan_. When they'd been introduced earlier, it had surprised Valerie that she had actually been a little in awe of that particular woman. Maybe it had something to do with her husband; Valerie wasn't sure, but there was a certain presence about the both of them, almost a feeling of understated royalty—or at least, what Valerie imagined that meeting royalty in real life might feel like. But Kagura had smiled, and Sesshoumaru had assured her that he was pleased to see that Evan had finally found someone to spend his life with, and that had been enough to put Valerie completely at ease.

It was no small thing, really. To be honest, Evan's entire family possessed that sort of aura, and if she hadn't known already that there was something different about them, it would have been easy to guess. After all, it just wasn't normal to see that many absolutely stunning people, was it? And not one of them looked to be the ages that she now knew they were.

Evan and the rest of his family had refrained from giving actual relationship statuses to the introductions when it came to meeting Valerie's family, though. She had to wonder if the only reason they'd actually gotten away with it was simply because of the commotion that was surrounding these last couple days before the wedding, and it helped, she was sure, that the mansion was so full, so busy, that it was fairly simple to sidetrack conversations that might have led to the harder to answer questions, anyway. It wasn't that Valerie didn't want to tell her family about Evan's, but . . .

But Samantha had no qualms in explaining things to Valerie—things that Evan had only brushed upon. It was Sami who had told Valerie the horrifying story of her initial meeting with her husband, Kurt. She'd told Valerie in such a matter-of-fact way about the atrocities that had been visited upon her when she'd spent time in a research facility, being tested because the human researchers had known that she was 'different'. She'd told all of it to Valerie because she'd wanted her to understand why there was a slight rift still between her husband and her father, who still blamed Kurt for his involvement on some level, even if he was the one who had ultimately set her free, too. Samantha had felt bad because the tension had been noticeable enough, even if everyone else had tried that much harder to be cheerful and happy, as though they believed that they could compensate for it. It wasn't that Kichiro had been openly hostile or anything, no, but maybe it was the overall happiness that seemed to engulf the entire estate that drew more attention to the strain. For his part, Kurt had been friendly, even if he was a little on the reserved side, and it hadn't taken long for his dry sense of humor to show itself, either, and that was something that Valerie could appreciate. The rest of the family including Bellaniece were warm enough toward Kurt, though Valerie would be lying if she tried to say that she hadn't noticed the slightly more reserved way that Bellaniece behaved around Kurt, either. It wasn't unfriendly, it simply wasn't as open as she normally was, either.

Samantha had also admitted, too, that Kurt had said that it might be better if he quietly ducked out of the celebration. After all, he couldn't blame Samantha's father for his feelings, either. Evan, however, wouldn't hear of that, and, given that he'd already asked Kurt to be one of his groomsmen, then having to rearrange things would have just been harder than it already was.

After that talk, though, Valerie had understood, and even when Evan had asked her if she wanted to tell her family about him, she'd assured him that it wasn't entirely necessary. Sure, she was certain that her family would be all right with the information in the end, but she couldn't help feeling as though it wasn't really her place to tell them, either. As much as she hated to think in terms of death or any of that, she knew her father's life wasn't something that could be measured in decades to come, and her mother?   Rhonda might well be in much better health, but the fact remained that parents were just not supposed to outlive their children. No, the only real question was whether or not to tell Garret or Kaci Lea, and there would be time to decide that later, too, though Evan had said something that he'd meant as a joke, but it still remained in Valerie's mind.

" _Well, we could always try fixing them up with youkai. I mean, they might be human, but if they had youkai mates, then they'd stick around, too, wouldn't they?" he said as they were getting ready for bed last night_.

" _You make that sound a lot easier than I imagine it really is," Valerie replied_.

 _Evan shrugged then grinned at her. "Never say never, baby_."

But that wasn't really the issue at the moment, even if she did wonder in the back of her head about the feasibility of the offhanded comments that Evan had made. The initial bout of nerves she'd suffered before all the guests started to arrive had proven to be groundless. It both pleased as well as humbled her to see just how sweet, how accepting Evan's entire family—direct and extended—were toward hers. The women had all been more than happy to befriend Valerie's mother and sister, and Valerie had seen most of the men taking the time to meet and talk to both her father and brother, as well. After meeting the family as a whole, she figured she shouldn't be at all surprised at how Evan had turned out . . .

Valerie's cell phone buzzed on the small stand beside her, and she smiled when she saw who was calling. "Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for your bachelor party, Roka?" she asked mildly.

Evan chuckled. "Sure, but I figured I had time to check in with you before that. Having a good time?"

"The best time," she replied. "Forget the rest of the party, I think I'd rather just move in here."

"Oh? So what are they doing to you?"

"Right now, I'm soaking my feet in this tub of goo that feels fantastic."

Evan's chuckle turned downright nasty. "I'll make some 'goo' for you, baby," he offered.

Rolling her eyes despite the laugh that escaped her, Valerie shook her head. "Go to your bachelor party," she told him, "and leave us alone, okay?"

He heaved a melodramatic sigh. "All right; all right," he agreed. "You ladies have fun. I miss you."

She smiled. "I'll see you tonight." Ending the call, Valerie laughed again. She hadn't really thought that he could be any goofier, and yet, there was something definitely lighter about his mood, if that were really possible. In the last few days since he'd finally had it out with Cain, he had been so much happier, more at peace with himself. Come to think of it, Cain seemed to be that way, too . . .

They'd gone out to celebrate Evan receiving his doctorate. They'd brought along Valerie's family, as well, making it a family outing of sorts. It was too bad that Gavin and Jillian hadn't been there, but they weren't able to fly in until late last night. Bas had looked rather shocked at first, but he'd also said later that it wasn't really surprising. Evan had always been smart like that. Gin couldn't help but to get a little teary over it all—Valerie supposed that her emotions were pretty touchy, but they were happy tears, and that was all right, too.

It was hard to believe that the wedding was so close—the wedding that, at times, she hadn't thought would be possible. All the plans were finalized, everything was ready for the big day. Now if Valerie could just remember to stop worrying about those details and to let herself enjoy the next couple days, she'd be home free . . .

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

"I can't believe you brought me to a strip club!" Evan exclaimed as he slipped into a chair beside Bas, who was leaning heavily on the table, toying with a cold bottle of beer. "You rock, Bubby! I take back every shitty thing I ever said or thought about you!"

Bas rolled his eyes but chuckled. "Yeah, well, since it's your bachelor party, I figured that you'd want to have it at the tackiest, seediest, nastiest place I could find."

Evan laughed but didn't disagree. "Did you check it out before tonight?"

Bas snorted. "Nope." Then he grinned. "I had the groomsmen do it."

He choked on a sip of beer since his groomsmen were Gavin and Kurt, the most unlikely pair, _ever_ , and the idea of those two coming in here for any reason? Well, that really _was_ damn funny, all things considered. "Bet that went over well," Evan couldn't resist adding.

Bas actually chuckled. "Their mates found it amusing enough," he had to allow. "The girls said it was much worse than the other ones on the list, so I guess you could say that they're the ones who had approved it."

Evan's grin widened. "Sami and Jilli? Those two scoped the places out?"

Bas offered a noncommittal shrug. "According to Gavin, the girls insisted on coming along. Apparently, they didn't think Gav or Kurt would actually go in if they didn't." Slumping back in his chair with a thoughtful scowl, Bas shrugged. "They were probably right."

Evan had to laugh since those two were currently sitting at a table as far back as possible with Sesshoumaru Inutaisho and Griffin Marin—all four of whom looked as though they'd rather be just about anywhere on earth than right where they were.

Grimacing when the music cranked a notch or two louder, announcing with the dimming of the house lights, the raising of the strobing spotlights above the stage that the real show was about to begin, Bas slowly shook his head and heaved an audible sigh.

"Kurt and Gavin said that you're to blame for all of this," Toga Inutaisho remarked, stopping beside the table to give Bas a very pointed look.

"If it were up to me, I'd have just had a football party or something," Bas allowed, a slight grin surfacing on his features. "But it's for him, so . . ."

Letting out a deep breath, Toga shook his head but chuckled. "Somehow, I feel that this has 'disaster' written all over it," he added.

Evan grinned. "Aw, c'mon, Toga! You can't really say that you wouldn't enjoy watching Sierra if she wanted to put on a striptease for you."

Toga's answer to that was a terse grunt, and even in the dusky light of the club, Evan could make out the trace of red that had filtered into Toga's cheeks.

"You're bent," Bas muttered as he tipped his beer to his lips.

"I have to say, I honestly didn't think you had it in you to find a place this . . . _interesting_ ," Kichiro remarked, slinging an arm around Toga's shoulders.

"Interesting is a good way to put it . . . I suppose," Toga grumbled, trying to duck away from Kichiro, who only tightened his grip on his cousin. "I feel like we're all going to have to be fumigated before Gin allows any of us back into the mansion."

"Well, Sydnie did say something like that, too, when I told her where we were going," Bas admitted thoughtfully.

"Which reminds me: did you actually tell her what you were doing tonight?" Evan asked, raising a speculative eyebrow at his brother.

Bas snorted. "Yes, I did."

"So how did you manage to make it out of the house?" Evan couldn't resist asking since everyone knew about Sydnie's legendary jealous streak when it came to Bas.

To his surprise, Bas broke into a somewhat smug kind of grin. "She was all right with it after I told her what was planned."

Frowning at Bas' almost cryptic wording, Evan turned his attention back to the stage, only to pull a classic double take moments before pinning Bas with a droll kind of expression that was completely ruined by the bark of laughter that quickly followed. "Oh, my God!" he exclaimed, smacking his hand down on the table in his complete amusement. "That is wrong _beyond_ wrong!"

Bas grinned, too, but narrowed his eyes as he tried not to watch the spectacle unfolding on the stage where three transvestites were very happily doing their thing to the ungodly loud beat of the music. "You wanted strippers. You didn't really say what _kind_ of strippers . . ."

"Kami, I've been in some nasty-assed places before, but this . . ." Ryomaru Izayoi grumbled as he stomped over to his twin and cousin. "Are those . . .? _Balls!_ " he exclaimed, the look on his face registering his abject disgust over what, exactly he was witnessing. "What the _fuck . . .?_ "

Staring in complete and morbid fascination, Evan couldn't help the idiotic grin that only widened. The tops had come off and there was jiggling a-plenty despite knowing that those three were most certainly male—even if the upper sections of their bodies didn't resemble their male counterparts in the least. "I can't believe you hired ladyboys!" he said, holding his hand up to summon a waitress. "Bring my brother another beer!" he insisted, waving a hand in Bas' general direction. "Holy hell, Bubby! This is awesome!"

Bas rolled his eyes as a soft chuckle escaped him. "I don't suppose you've seen Dad's face," he ventured as the waitress hurried away to fill Evan's order.

Dragging his gaze off of the strippers, Evan glanced over at Cain who did, indeed, have the weirdest expression on his face: a very odd mix of amusement and complete horror, like he was busy watching a train wreck full of circus clowns or something . . .

The overall effect was enough to send Evan into another bout of laughter, and Bas grimaced when the groom stuck his fingers into his mouth to unleash a loud, shrill whistle.

"Congratulations, Evan," Morio Izayoi remarked, clapping Evan on the shoulder. "Can't say your choice of bachelor party entertainment is my thing, but it's nice to see that the bride to be . . . trusts you."

Rising out of his chair to give his cousin a quick hug, Evan couldn't help the cheesy grin on his face, either. "Morio! How was your flight?"

Morio chuckled. "It wasn't so bad."

"Speak for yourself," Mikio Izayoi said, nudging Morio out of the way with a wince. Paler than normal, almost peaked, the hanyou looked like he'd seen better days, and considering his balance problems tended to be exacerbated by flying, Evan figured that he probably didn't feel any better than he looked at the moment.

"Yeah, but you always hate planes," Morio replied. "Besides, how could you possibly say it was bad when you got phone numbers from two of the stewardesses?"

Mikio made a face as his cheeks reddened—about the only trace of healthy color in his features. "I didn't ask for them; you did—and they're probably fake, anyway," he muttered.

Morio chuckled. "Are you kidding? Women _love_ you! They think you're so darned _cute!_ "

Rolling his eyes at the added emphasis on the word 'cute', Mikio wrinkled his nose and opted to ignore Morio's commentary instead. "I can't stay," he went on, turning to Evan once more, "I just wanted to stop in on the way out to the mansion."

Evan nodded but then offered a nonchalant shrug. "Might want to rethink that," he warned.

Mikio blinked, absently reaching up and fiddling with his twitching left ear. At this point, Evan had to wonder if it wasn't more of a habit than anything else since he'd done it as long as Evan could remember. "What do you mean?"

Evan's grin widened. "The women are supposed to be having V's bachelorette party out there tonight—after they finished at the spa, anyway—so unless you want to be molested by all those women, you might wanna stay here."

Mikio made a face. "The fact that I'm related to most of the women who would be at that party makes it all the more disturbing, don't you think?"

Evan chuckled. "There's that, too," he allowed with an offhanded shrug. "Oh!" he suddenly exclaimed, digging into his pocket and pulling out his wallet to hand over the keycard for the front door of his house. He never used it since the identilock only required his thumb print, but he carried around the card just in case. "Go on over to my place, if you want. There's food in the fridge, booze in the bar, and you're welcome to use the guest room. It'll be nice and quiet, too, so feel free to make yourself at home."

"Oh, uh, okay," Mikio agreed. "It's not a problem, is it?"

"Nah, it's all good," Evan insisted.

Mikio didn't look entirely convinced, but he finally nodded, taking Evan's card with a rather wan smile. "Thanks. It's just for tonight," he explained quickly. "I'll go over to the mansion in the morning."

"Stay as long as you want," Evan replied. "Besides, V was impressed when I told her that you're an attorney, too."

Mikio nodded, and Morio grinned. "I'll take him over there. Don't do anything fun without me!" Then he stopped to consider what he'd said and he shrugged. "Then again . . ."

Evan laughed and sat back down as Morio and Mikio headed for the exit, pausing here and there to greet their relatives in passing.

The stage music ended, and the strippers ran off the stage moments before the overhead lights brightened as the slightly lower in volume house music came up. Bas got to his feet and stepped around the table to grasp Evan's shoulder as he turned him to face the rest of the guests. "On behalf of my brother, I wanted to thank you all for taking the time to celebrate Evan's impending wedding," Bas said, raising his voice to be heard over the low din. "Now, I'll be the first to admit that I wasn't entirely sure that Evan would ever find a woman who was willing to put up with him, but I don't mind admitting that I was wrong. Valerie's a wonderful woman. In fact, she's so wonderful that she even sent over a cake for you, Evan . . ."

Evan turned and glanced around, breaking into another goofy grin as a huge four layer cake was wheeled out of the back by the trio of strippers who hadn't bothered to retrieve any of their discarded clothing. The tiers were lined with burning sparklers, and when they reached Evan, the 'girls' hurried over to make a show of kissing Evan's cheeks in the loudest, most obnoxious way possible.

Bas reached over and handed Evan a blunt-edge cake knife.

"I am not entirely sure I want any of that," Kurt remarked dryly as he stepped up beside the would-be groom.

Gavin flushed deep crimson when one of the strippers shot him a slow wink. "Makes me glad I didn't have one of these parties," he muttered.

"Cut the cake, Evan," Gunnar remarked from his spot at the table beside Sesshoumaru who didn't look uncomfortable, exactly, though he certainly didn't look impressed.

Evan stepped over to the cake, narrowing his eyes as he considered exactly how he should cut into it. Before he could lower the knife, however, he jerked back as the top of the cake seemed to explode. "Ta-da-a-a!" Bugs exclaimed, throwing his hands high in the air as he burst out of the cake. Decked out in a fluffy little bunny costume, the rabbit youkai wiggled his fingers at the rockstar.

Evan laughed as he helped Bugs out of the cake. The rabbit leaned over and planted a loud kiss on Evan's cheek before relinquishing his hold on him. "Surprise, Zel! You didn't really think I'd miss a chance to be your bunny, now did you?"

"I thought you said you were boycotting the wedding!" Evan exclaimed, slipping an arm around Bugs.

"I was going to," he allowed with an exaggerated pout. "But getting a chance to see all these fine men? Well, how could I possibly pass that up?" He spotted Gunnar and gave a jaunty wave. To Evan's amusement, Gunnar actually nodded in acknowledgement of the greeting. Bugs heaved a very melodramatic sigh. "That one is just absolutely _scrumptious_ , isn't he? Melt-in-your-mouth _good_ . . ."

"Looks like ol' Gunnar's in a pretty good mood," Evan remarked. "Maybe you should go over there and say hi."

Bugs giggled, waving a hand at Evan. "He'd never give me the time of day, Zel, and you know it's true . . ." Trailing off as he seemed to be considering his options, Bug's broke into a grin. "Then again, it doesn't hurt to be friendly, now does it?"

"He's not going to hit on Gunnar, is he?" Bas muttered as they watched the overzealous rabbit bound away.

Evan cleared his throat. "Oh, he might . . ."

Bas broke into the barest hint of a smile. "Is it bad that I kind of hope it does . . .?"

Evan chuckled. "Nope," he allowed with a shrug. "I kind of hope he does myself . . . So V ordered the cake, did she?"

Offering a little shrug, Bas nodded. "She figured someone as bent as you are would enjoy it, yes."

Digesting that in silence for a moment, Evan chuckled. "And here I was nice enough to hire a real stripper to show up at the mansion . . ."

Bas blinked and stared at Evan for several long moments. "You didn't."

His grin widened. "Oh, yep, I think I did . . . Calls himself John Long Dong. He's not nearly as impressive as you are, though, but the odds of getting you to strip didn't seem very good. Anyway, I figured the girls would get a kick out of him."

"John Long—?" Cutting himself off abruptly, Bas slowly shook his head. "Only you, Evan," he muttered, but he didn't seem nearly as irritated as Evan suspected he'd be. Either way, he'd thought that it'd be good for a laugh. He only wished that he could see their faces when they answered the door and found Mr. Dong standing there, waiting to join the festivities . . .

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _The_** **_Wild_** **_Life_** ' _by_ _Slaughter_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1992_ _release_ , **_The_** **_Wild_** **_Life_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Mark_ _Slaughter_ _and_ _Dana_ _Strum_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Bas_** :  
>  _John Long Dong …?_


	223. 222: Reticence

' _These four walls they could tell you some stories_...  
' _About lyin' and dyin' and fame_ …  
' _There's a price that you pay for the glory_ …  
' _About losing and choosing and pain_ …'

 

-' _The Hardest_ _Part_ _is_ _the_ _Night_ ' by Bon Jovi.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

"This way, please."

Frowning at the uncharacteristic stiffness with which Bas led Valerie into Cain's office, she said nothing as she slipped into one of the chairs across from the wide desk after Cain gestured to it. Closing the door behind himself, Bas moved off to stare out the windows behind his father, hand draped on his hip as he stared out into the darkness. Just after midnight, and she'd been ready to find her bed when the two had approached her and asked her to follow them. There was a strange sense of gravity about the entire affair, but she didn't object.

Settling back in his chair, Cain didn't speak right away, and in the quiet, Valerie's trepidation grew.

She wasn't entirely sure why Cain had asked to see her, and the formal setting seemed strained. As far as she knew, nothing unusual had happened—well, aside from Evan's repeated attempts to breach her window, anyway, and if that were the problem, she was pretty sure that she wouldn't be the one here in the office waiting for the proverbial gauntlet to fall.

Or maybe Cain had taken exception to the idea that Evan—twisted little monkey that he was—had showed up last night to take the place of the stripper that had been hired, which made for a rather interesting moment, given that most of the women in attendance at the bachelorette party were related to the miscreant, including his own darling mother—Cain's _wife_ . . . He'd even started to strip off the obnoxious bikini pouch that held his 'family jewels'—the one with 'The hEvan' scrolled across it in lurid gold glittering paint. Valerie had managed to stop him, albeit barely. The man really didn't possess even an ounce of shame.

Clearing his throat, Cain slouched lower in his chair, resting his elbows on the thickly padded armrests, steepling his fingers in front of his chest as he continued to stare at Valerie. "Would you like something to drink?" he finally asked, breaking the stony silence that had fallen.

"No, I'm fine," she replied, brows drawing together as she shifted her gaze around the room. "What is this about . . .?"

"Sorry," Cain remarked with a slight smile. "We're actually waiting for Gavin."

"For . . .?" she finally asked, her gaze shifting from Cain to Bas then back again.

Cain stared at her for several moments then finally smiled just a little. "Oh, it's nothing bad—well, _too_ bad, anyway."

"Just thought you might want to know what you're getting into," Bas remarked without turning away from the window.

Flicking his wrist as he glanced down at his watch, Cain frowned. "Well, I suppose we might as well begin. After all, it's been over twenty minutes since Evan last tried to break in."

Bas uttered a pronounced snort. "Oh, yeah? Well, at least that little shit didn't try to sabotage you," he grumbled.

Pressing her lips together in a tight line, Valerie struggled not to laugh outright since she'd been told that Evan's most recent attempt had involved catnip—only amusing when she was then informed of Bas' mate, Sydnie's remarkable affinity for the stuff.

"The only thing that works on your mother is Reese's, and that wouldn't accomplish what he tried to do to you," Cain pointed out.

"You say that like it surprises you," Bas pointed out with a shake of his head. "Twisted little monkey, anyway . . ."

Cain raised his eyebrows and gave a little shrug before turning his attention back to Valerie once more. "Anyway, Valerie, we . . . we thought that we should probably warn you about some of Evan's more . . . colorful moments," he explained. "Just so you know what you're getting yourself into."

Valerie's lips twitched, though she managed to keep from smiling—barely. If she didn't recognize the understated amusement evident in both Cain as well as Bas' demeanors, she might have taken offense to it, all things considered, but for some reason, she had the feeling that they weren't nearly as irritated over Evan's apparent misdeeds as they might have wanted to appear. "Kind of late for that, isn't it? The wedding's tomorrow."

"You still should hear it," Bas insisted, finally turning away from the window as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the glass. "I mean, he's been a pain in my ass since the day he was born."

"That bad?"

Bas nodded slowly but smiled just a little. "Well, he was kind of cute as a baby," he admitted at length. "At least, until he started walking and talking . . ."

"Back then, he only used to repeat things," Cain pointed out. "That wasn't so bad."

"Says you," Morio retorted as he slipped into the study. "He was like one of those . . . those . . . Oh, those myna birds—and he repeated _everything_ he heard."

Cain slowly shook his head. "Oh, you mean like him telling your mother just what you and your cousins had planned to prank InuYasha? You should be glad he told her that. InuYasha would have beaten the crap out of you boys."

Breaking into a wide grin, Morio chuckled. "It still would've been funny as hell."

"I didn't say it wouldn't have been," Cain allowed mildly.

Waving a hand, Morio flopped into the chair beside her, pausing long enough to cast Valerie what could only be described as a shit-eating grin. "Oh, hey, do you remember that time Evan decided to break into the city pool to go skinny dipping?"

"Why did he do that?" Valerie asked.

Cain shrugged. "Because he'd already been banned from the city pool for life for unhooking girls' tops."

Somehow, that just didn't surprise Valerie at all.

Bas wrinkled his nose. "Damn, Dad . . . He wasn't even ten at the time, was he?"

Again, Cain shrugged. "He might have just turned ten. Should have known back then that it wasn't just a phase."

Bas snorted. "I lost count of how many times he was booted out of school for screwing girls."

"Or for just pulling pranks on his teachers," Cain added with an exaggerated sigh.

"You mean, like the time he decided to moon the student assembly at the 'Just Say No To Crack' presentation?"

"Oh, I forgot about that one," Gavin remarked as he pushed into the study with Toga following close behind. "Jilli told me about it. She thought it was funny as hell. Talk about irony . . ."

"He must get it from that baka because he sure as hell don't get it from his mama," InuYasha grumbled, jerking his head in Cain's direction as he stalked into the office behind Toga and gave the younger man a shove to move him along.

Cain rolled his eyes and settled back a little further in his chair. "I beg your pardon. I've never mooned anyone in my life—though I seem to recall stories about Gin lifting her skirt in front of an entire audience before, so I would guess that would mean he _did_ get it from your side, after all."

InuYasha snorted. "Keh! She was a pup, you bastard. Think again."

"Did you _really_ just throw Mom under the bus?" Bas asked in a low tone as he shifted his gaze to his father.

"Of course not, Bas," Cain replied. "I was pointing out fact; that's all."

"I remember having to hunt that little shit down when he'd disappear from training," Ryomaru remarked as he strode into the office. "Got easier after we figured out that he was usually hiding out over at Kich's house."

"Never did take training seriously," Toga said, moving over to grab a bottle of water off of the sideboard. "I don't know how many times I'd hide the candy bags to track, only to find that he'd located them all and traded the candy for rocks."

Valerie smiled since that sounded like something that Evan absolutely would do.

"Almost flunked out of school because he never took anything seriously, right?" Kichiro added as he stepped into the room. "Guess he did test out early, though, so that's something."

"Well, he did get his doctorate, so that's something." Cain scooted back and dug into one of the desk drawers then handed a paper over to Valerie.

She looked at it and frowned. It was a standardized testing sheet with little circles that were to be penciled in. It was Evan's, but instead of bothering to answer the questions, he'd drawn what looked to be a symbol with the circles instead . . . "What's this?"

"The logo of his favorite band, I think," Bas said, nodding at the paper. "Raunchy Little Fuckers, wasn't it?"

Cain heaved a sigh and slowly shook his head. "Something like that," he agreed.

"These stories aren't nearly as bad as I thought," Valerie ventured, accepting a bottle of water from Kichiro. "I figured he'd have done much worse."

"Oh, there's worse," Bas replied with a snort. "Paid, what? Three? Four hundred bucks for a picture of Sydnie . . . I still owe him a beating for that . . ."

"A bit more forgivable than being arrested for defacing that statue at the school," Sesshoumaru said as he strode into the room to take a seat on the sofa.

"What did he do to it?" Valerie couldn't help asking.

"Pissed on it, wasn't it?" Morio said. "Him and that friend of his."

"Dieter," Cain supplied. "Those two . . ." He trailed off, tapping his claws against the armrest. "If it wasn't Evan and Dieter getting into one thing or another, it was Evan and Madison, and if it wasn't them, it was Evan and Bone . . ."

"Evan and Dieter also nearly blew up the school when they decided to make nabe for lunch in the science lab and left the burners on, but it was Evan and Bone who stole Rudy Miller's boat," Gavin mused thoughtfully. "Tried to haul themselves, four girls, and a keg of beer out to Faulkner's Landing and ended up stranded out there when the boat sprung a leak halfway across the bay."

To Valerie's surprise, Cain broke out in the vaguest hint of a smile. "That took a lot of explaining," he muttered though he didn't look any less amused. "Those girls' parents weren't impressed; not at all . . ."

Bas snorted . "Small wonder. They had to call in the Coast Guard to retrieve them, Dad."

"Or that year we had that drought so the four of them decided to host a naked rain dance," Gavin added.

"That was your fault, Dad," Bas pointed out. "I told you that Evan would do something stupid if you left him home alone."

Cain chuckled. "Well, your mother wanted to go to San Francisco with me. Was I supposed to tell her that she needed to find someone to babysit her fifteen year-old son?"

"If that son's Evan, then yes," Kurt retorted as he ducked into the office, too. "He's a menace."

"Just because he handcuffed you to the bed that time," Bas reminded him.

Kurt just snorted in reply.

"Can't imagine that you enjoyed getting that call from the police, oji-san," Morio quipped. "'Yeah, uh, Mr. Zelig, we just broke up a naked rain dance party out at your estate . . .'"

Cain nodded slowly, his expression shifting into a thoughtful frown. "That . . . was pretty accurate, actually . . ."

Bas shot his father a droll look as he slowly shook his head again. "Yeah, did I ever thank you for telling them that I was the adult in charge?"

"Well, you were," Cain pointed out reasonably.

"I was cramming for finals, and I don't recall you even telling me that you were leaving me in charge of that little deviant," Bas replied.

Cain broke into the vaguest grin and gave a little shrug, as though it excused his part in it entirely.

"You could write a book about the trouble he and Madison got into over the years," Kichiro remarked thoughtfully. "I mean, you know it's bad when we heard about all of it over in Japan."

"That one owes me more money for keeping his exploits out of the tabloids than you do, Zelig," Sesshoumaru added.

"You owe cover money?" Bas asked, his head turning to look at his father.

"Not nearly on the scale that your brother does," Cain replied smoothly.

"At least Evan's consistent," Ryomaru said. "If there's trouble to be had, he'll find it. One summer, he got into a fight with about ten other punks, all to impress a girl."

"Sounds kind of like someone else I know," Toga quipped, arching his eyebrows as he stared rather pointedly at Ryomaru.

Ryomaru grinned unrepentantly. "I never got into fights to impress girls," he clarified. "I just got into fights, period."

"You know, Valerie, it isn't too late to back out," Cain said, shifting his look to meet Valerie's. His words sounded quite serious, but she didn't miss the obvious, if not understated, amusement that added a brightness to his eyes, a sparkle to his gaze.

"And if you do go ahead and marry him, maybe you should consider adopting instead of running the risk of spreading his particular brand of troublemaking to your children," Bas added.

Valerie's amusement at the given situation faded, and she shook her head. "But he . . . he can't have kids. I mean, you all should know . . ."

"That whole sterile business?" Griffin Marin grumbled as he, too, stepped into the office. The hulking bear-youkai didn't move out of the doorway, but then, there wasn't much room to be had inside, either. "Isabelle told me about that bit of nonsense," he went on, his cheeks pinking slightly at the current subject. "I guess it made sense at the time, though . . ."

"Wait, what?" Valerie blurted, her confusion evident. Why did she feel as though she were two steps behind everything? "But he was tested, and—"

Cain waived a hand to cut her off. "Yeah, he was, you're right," he agreed, a faint hint of a flush creeping into his face, as well, "and he was sterile, I guess, at that point. I guess he never got around to telling you that, being youkai, he can choose whether or not to have pups, so if he doesn't want to, then . . ." Giving his head a quick shake, he tapped a cigarette out of his pocket and spared a moment to light it. "Anyway, that was the easiest way to deal with that particular situation. Evan's made some pretty stupid mistakes over the years, but that's never been one of them."

Valerie didn't respond to that right away. Unsure exactly how she felt on the matter, she took her time sipping from the water bottle as she considered what she'd just been told. On the one hand, he really should have told her the truth about the whole child-issue sooner, but then, she supposed that the subject simply hadn't come up. In the rush of planning a wedding in three months' time, she had to allow that her mind hadn't been on the issue of Evan being sterile, either. Still, a quiet voice in the back of her head prodded her. Why was it that the idea of children had always frightened her, but somehow, the fleeting thought of a small child with Evan's eyes and the same silver hair was enough to draw a little smile from her . . .?

"If you do decide to have children with that one," Kurt remarked thoughtfully, "we'll just hope that they take after you and not him. You seem to have much better judgment than he does, anyway."

"Keh! Marrying him, ain't she?" Ryomaru rumbled, but he grinned and winked at Valerie, just the same. "Not too sure about her judgment, either."

"Still, no one would really blame you if you decided to get the hell out of Dodge before it's too late," Kurt said. Then he, too, broke into a grin.

"Can't say you weren't warned," Morio quipped. Suddenly, though, he frowned, his gaze shifting over the assembly of men. "Oi, where's Mamo-chan?"

Bas grunted, likely at the use of the name that would likely get Morio clobbered if, in fact, 'Mamo-chan' had been there. "Gunnar took Evan home with him, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Morio allowed. "Too bad. I'm sure he had some other great moments to add."

"Last chance to run," Kichiro said despite the grin that tugged on his lips. Kurt's cell phone buzzed, and he dug it out of his pocket, only to frown at the message he'd received. Abruptly pushing himself away from the wall, he nodded at the assembled men and Valerie and ducked out of the room.

Valerie laughed and shook her head. "Thank you all for your concern," she replied as she got to her feet, "but I . . . I think I'll take my chances."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Nabe_** _: Japanese hotpot. It's a traditional Japanese 'stew' made from cooking veggies and assorted other goodies (mushrooms and seafood or meat) in a broth of fish stock, sake, and soy sauce_.  
>  ** _Oji-san_** _: polite way to address one's uncle_.  
>  ** _Mamo-chan_** _: Morio tends to call Gunnar this, mostly to irritate him_. 
> 
> ' ** _The_** **_Hardest_** **_Part_** **_is_** **_the_** **_Night_** ' _by_ _Bon Jovi_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1985_ _release_ , **_7800 Degrees Fahrenheit_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Jon_ _Bon_ _Jovi,_ _Richie_ _Sambora,_ _and_ _David_ _Bryan_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Valerie_** :  
>  _He's not sterile …?_


	224. 223: The Waiting Game

' _You are the only one_ …  
' _I've ever known_ …  
' _That makes me feel this way_...  
' _Girl, you are my own_ …'

 

-' _I'll_ _be_ _Waiting_ ' by Lenny Kravitz.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Eyes flashing open as the crush of a very large body fell on her moments before the hand smashed down to cover her lips, Valerie uttered a strangled scream, even as the realization of who, exactly, was doing the crushing sank in.

"Shh!" Evan insisted, lifting his hand to give her a quick kiss her instead. "If they find me in here, I'll catch seven kinds of hell."

Laughing softly as she leaned up far enough to kiss him in kind, Valerie smiled. "Where's my coffee, Roka?"

He chuckled and rolled to the side, extending his hand behind himself to retrieve the steaming mug of coffee he'd brought with him. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to climb up to your balcony without spilling a damn drop?" he complained, careful to keep his voice just above a whisper.

"Why didn't you just use the door?"

He snorted. "Because Bubby's guarding the stairway, that's why. Talk about monumental cockblocks . . ."

Valerie laughed again. "You know," she said, her voice muffled by the coffee mug, "it's bad luck for you to see me before the wedding."

Evan shot her a droll glance. "Are you telling me you believe those old wives' tales?"

Handing him the empty mug before slipping her arms around him, she shook her head. "Not really," she said. "So did you give in and stay with Gunnar all night?"

"That bastard did me dirty," Evan confessed with a snort. "Caught me trying to sneak out around one, so he called Kurt over to lock me in with ofuda."

"Ofuda?"

Evan made a face. "Yeah . . . paper charms that he uses to create barriers that youkai can't pass through without taking some serious damage."

"I didn't know that was even possible."

He shrugged. "Oh, it is. They use them in handcuffs and stuff so youkai can't just break them. Anyway, damned if Drevin wasn't grinning the whole time, too, little bastard . . ."

"Well," she said, snuggling a little closer to him—or as close as the curlers she still wore in her hair would allow, "it doesn't look like it hurt you or anything." She sighed as a secretive little smile tugged on the corners of her lips. "So . . . what are the odds that you brought more coffee up here with you?"

Evan sighed, poking a claw at the curlers as a little smile quirked his lips. "Have a heart, V. It was hard enough to get away from everyone, to start with! Getting away with a full pot of Joe?" He shook his head. "I am many things, baby, but I am not a miracle worker."

"It's my wedding day, Roka," she reminded him, closing her eyes for a long moment. "Thought you said this whole 'mates' thing meant that you'd do anything to make me happy?"

He laughed. "Well, I could venture down there," he allowed. "Of course, there's a good chance that they won't let me bring back your coffee. I'm sure Mama would, though, come to think of it . . ."

"What time is it?"

Leaning up and craning his neck to glance at the clock that had gotten turned on the nightstand, Evan flopped back as he tightened his arms around Valerie. "Nine," he told her, his voice muffled as he kissed the top of her head.

She heaved a long sigh. "Hmm, I guess I should get up, then," she mused though she made no move to do so. "I imagine my parents are already down there?"

"Mmm," Evan intoned, savoring the feel of her beside him, of the quiet and peaceful serenity that enveloped the room. "Mama laid out a huge breakfast buffet down there. They were all talking and stuff, and I swear to God, your father couldn't keep his eyes off Mama . . . I think ol' Jack has a thing for her . . ."

Valerie rolled her eyes but laughed. "As long as your father doesn't take offense to it."

"Cain's completely oblivious," he scoffed just before he leaned in to nuzzle her neck. "Anyway, what do you think? Got enough time for some lovin' before they discover us?"

Closing her eyes for a moment, Valerie breathed out a long, wistful sigh as she turned her face to intercept Evan's lips. Shifting his body, he couldn't ignore the lick of fire that sparked to life at her easy acquiescence. The banked heat, the searing swell of emotion surged through him, uncontrollable and free. Her lips fluttered under his, accepting his passion as hers spiraled higher.

His fingers slid over the thin cotton of her tee-shirt, creating a teasing caress. Remind himself that he really didn't have the time to press his luck, he uttered a soft little sigh against her lips as her arms snaked around his neck, her fingers sinking into his hair, her body rising up to meld against his.

The soft click of the door registered vaguely in his head, but it seemed to have come from so far away, almost more of an afterthought or a vague memory—at least, until someone cleared their throat in a completely grating and wholly obnoxious kind of way.

"Evan Roka Zelig! You're not supposed to be in here!"

Pulling away from Valerie with a very longsuffering sigh, Evan managed a wan grin as he turned his head to meet his mother's disapproving gaze. Standing just inside the doorway with a hand on her hip and a rather chagrined frown on her face, Gin shook her head and waved her free hand impatiently. "You get out of here!" she insisted. "You shouldn't see the bride before the wedding!"

Rolling his eyes, Evan shot Valerie an entirely unapologetic look as he swung his legs off the bed. "What'd I tell you, V?" he teased. "Guess this is it until two o'clock."

Valerie laughed and sat up on her elbow, tilting her face to meet him when he paused long enough to give her a quick kiss. "You'd better not try to run away," she warned him.

Evan's grin widened. "As if! Love you, V," he called over his shoulder as he slipped past his mother and out of the door.

Gin watched him go with a slow shake of her head then finally turned to face Valerie once more. "You've got a visitor," she said as she hurried across the floor to draw open the drapes that covered the sliding glass doors that led to the balcony. "I can't believe it's your wedding day! My baby boy's getting married . . ."

"Who's that?" Valerie asked about the mysterious visitor, pushing herself up and reaching for the robe lying over the end of the bed.

Gin giggled. "Oh! Sorry! It's your friend, Marvin."

Valerie froze as a thoughtful scowl surfaced. "Marvin?" she echoed. "Oh . . ."

Gin paused and looked at Valerie, her ebullience waning slowly. "If you'd rather not talk to him, I could tell him that you're busy getting ready for the wedding," she offered.

Blinking quickly, Valerie glanced at Gin and forced a wan smile as she stumbled out of bed and toward the closet where she'd stashed a couple changes of clothes. "It's fine," she assured her soon-to-be mother-in-law. "Where is he?"

"He said he'd rather wait outside," Gin replied, stepping over to the bed to straighten the blankets. "Is everything all right?"

"What? Oh, yes," she said, pulling a simple dress out of the closet.

It didn't take her long to get dressed, and she didn't bother with her hair or anything, considering Madison would have a fit if she took her hair out of the curlers before she was ready to fix it for the wedding. Still, Valerie's stomach felt as though it was flopping over and over as she headed out of the room. She wasn't entirely sure what Marvin wanted, but she couldn't help the anxiety that loomed over her, either.

Why was he there? What could he possibly want to say to her?

Biting her lip as she hurried down the stair and toward the front door, she stifled a sigh.

The morning was fresh and beautiful, and Valerie shielded her eyes against the beams of sunlight, caught in the morning dew that coated the lush grass. Marvin stood near his rental car, his expression inscrutable, hands dug deep into his pockets as he reluctantly raised his eyes to meet hers.

Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, Valerie slowly descended the porch steps. "Hi," she said, hoping that her reluctance didn't come through in her greeting.

Marvin managed a fleeting, uncertain smile. "You, uh . . . You look nice," he said with a helpless kind of shrug.

"You look good," she replied, wrapping her arms over her stomach as she drew abreast of him and stopped. It was a slight stretch, only because of the rumpled state of his clothing, the untidy way his hair stuck out here and there. Still, he was the same endearing Marvin that she'd met at college so long ago. He'd driven all night, hadn't he . . .? Just to talk to her . . .

"Thanks," Marvin replied. "Do you, um . . . I-I mean, would you . . .?" Trailing off rather helplessly, he grimaced. "Do you have time to talk?" He sighed. "I mean, I know today's your wedding day," he muttered. "If you don't, that's okay . . ."

"Do you want to go for a walk?" she heard herself asking. Something about Marvin's demeanor . . .

He seemed surprised by her offer, and he quickly nodded. "If you have time," he reiterated.

He followed behind as Valerie led him around the mansion, down toward the path that led to the beach. "I'm glad you're here," she ventured at length. "I . . . I wanted to tell you how sorry I am."

Shaking his head quickly, Marvin stopped, leaning back against the stair railing as he dug his hands a little deeper into his pockets, scrunching up his shoulders as he stared down at his feet. "No, don't apologize, Val. I mean, it really wasn't your fault, and . . . and I never should have said those things to you . . ."

"You had every right to be upset," Valerie insisted softly. "I never . . . I never meant to hurt you." She sighed and rubbed her forehead, wishing that she didn't sound so damned perfunctory because she meant it. She could only hope that he knew that. "That sounds so lame, but honestly, I—"

"You're really happy with him?" Marvin interrupted, finally lifting his gaze to meet hers.

"I am," Valerie admitted. She wanted to tell him that she hoped he'd find the same thing, too—the absolute love, the breathtaking affection that she'd found with Evan—but she winced inwardly, staunching the words before she uttered them. How ridiculous would that sound coming from her? How silly and trite . . .

He nodded, saying nothing, as though he needed a moment to absorb her statement. Turning on his heel, he slowly made his way down the rest of the steps, wandering almost aimlessly toward the rolling tide.

She followed along behind him, wishing that she could say the things she was thinking, wishing that he'd understand the things that she simply couldn't bring herself to say—things like she thought that he was a good man, that she didn't regret the time she'd spent with him, that she hoped he'd find true happiness, just as she had—but all those things sounded so very condescending, even in her head, and in the end, she said nothing.

"I . . . I want the best for you," Marvin said in a tone that left Valerie wondering if he really was speaking to her at all. Staring out over the ocean, he seemed so very far away. "That's really all I came here to say. That, and I hope that he . . . he knows how lucky he is."

"Marvin," Valerie replied, blinking fast to stave back the wash of tears that sprang to haze over her vision. She _did_ love him, didn't she, even if she hadn't ever truly been _in_ love with him. "You . . . You're such a brilliant man . . . but . . . but I didn't want to be unfair to you—or to me. I know you deserved so much better, and I know how—how—how _stupid_ that sounds, coming from me," she said. "I never, ever meant to hurt you. I hope you know that."

He sighed and slowly turned to face her, and the smile on his lips was reluctant, even nervous, but it was genuine. "It's okay, Val," he told her. Then he choked out a little laugh. "Well, it'll _be_ okay," he amended. "I just . . . I can't hate you, not when I . . . I made mistakes, too. Do you suppose we could, uh . . .?" He let out a deep breath, as though he wasn't entirely sure how she'd react to his question,. "Do you think . . . we could be friends? Did I . . .? Did I ruin that?"

Valerie smiled. "I'll always be your friend, Marvin, if you'll let me . . . and I'll be your biggest supporter for your research, too. You'll do it; I know you will."

His smile widened just a little. "Don't let Evan Zelig forget how special you are," he said, drawing a deep, almost cleansing breath. "Bet you'll be beautiful today." This time, his laughter sounded much more normal. "Well, not that you're not beautiful every day . . ."

Valerie laughed, shaking her head, flicking a hand dismissively. "You know, if you want, you're welcome to stay . . ."

Shaking his head quickly, Marvin couldn't hide the blush that rose in his cheeks. "Oh, I can't," he replied. "I just, you know, wanted to tell you how sorry I am for . . . for those things I said."

"Don't apologize anymore," she insisted. "It's okay."

He stared at her for several long moments, then he finally nodded. "Oh, uh, I should get going. I mean, your wedding starts in a few hours, right? Shouldn't you be inside, getting ready?"

She didn't say anything more as the two headed back toward the stairs. This time, however, the silence wasn't nearly as unkind as it was on the initial trek. Still stilted and vaguely uncomfortable, certainly, but the sense of trepidation had dissipated, and for that, Valerie was grateful.

The sounds of the crew that was hired to set up for the wedding was muffled. True that most of it was done yesterday, but the last minute preparations were still going strong. Marvin glanced over at it in passing, but said nothing about it. He said nothing at all until they were standing in the driveway once more.

"Thanks for taking the time to talk to me," Marvin said, his nervous smile back in place once more.

"I wish you'd have come yesterday," Valerie admitted. "I would have had more time to talk."

Marvin shook his head. "Oh, uh . . . I . . . I didn't realize until last night that I wanted to come. But I sat there, staring at your wedding invitation, and I . . . Well, I didn't want you to get married with telling you how sorry I am."

For a moment, it surprised her that Marvin had received an invitation. That surprise didn't last. Evan . . . He had done it, hadn't he? She wasn't sure what the reason behind it was. After all, it would be easy to think that he'd done it just to rub Marvin's nose in it, but she knew him better than that. No, the only reason Evan would have done such a thing was because, somewhere in his heart, he knew that Valerie wanted to have a moment to say the things she hadn't gotten to say on that awful night by the pool. That was the Evan that she knew: the Evan she was going to marry. "I _am_ glad you came," she said, hurriedly giving Marvin a kiss on the cheek.

Marvin laughed softly. It was a warm, genuine sound. "I'm glad I did, too," he confessed. For a moment, he seemed undecided. Then he hurriedly, clumsily, kissed her cheek. "I'll . . . I'll see you, Valerie. Take care."

She nodded as she stepped back, as she watched him stride around the car. She waved as he pulled out of the driveway, and she didn't turn back to the mansion until the car was out of sight once more.

"So . . . did you two clear the air?"

Valerie turned around, coming face to face with her future husband. "You invited him?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as she broke into a little smile.

Evan sighed. "Well, of course! Had to rub his it in, now didn't I?"

Valerie narrowed her eyes and slipped her arms around Evan's waist. "That's not why you did it, and you know it," she replied. "Tell me the truth."

He snorted as he folded her into his arms. "All right, all right," he relented with a melodramatic sigh. "Did you tell him what you wanted to say?"

She nodded. "Thank you."

"I don't want you to have any regrets, V," he said softly, kissing her forehead as he tightened his arms around her. "Even if I don't like the little shit . . ."

"Don't ruin the moment, Roka," she warned. "Besides, I know you're a very sensitive, very sweet man deep down, even if your family tried their hardest to convince me otherwise last night."

Evan snorted. "What do you mean?"

She laughed. "Your father and brother thought they should warn me about your less-than-honorable past," she said then shrugged. "You really _were_ bad, weren't you?"

"They did?"

She leaned up and kissed his chin before cuddling against his chest once more. Eyes closed, she missed the irritation that filtered into his countenance, the gathering storm clouds of his reaction to what she'd unwittingly implied. "They did, but it's okay. I knew you were a troublemaker from the get-go."

"All right, Evan," Bas remarked as he loped down the porch steps. "Step away from the bride, and come with me."

Evan gave Valerie another squeeze before finally letting his arms drop away. "I'll see you in a few hours," he told her, his expression shifting into an exaggerated pout.

She laughed as Bas planted a hand on Evan's shoulders and propelled him toward the porch.

"Tell me something, Bubby . . . Just what the hell did you tell V about me?"

Bas shot him a droll glance. "Nothing but the truth, Evan," Bas assured him.

"Right, right . . . You're kind of an ass," Evan pointed out. "How would you have liked it if I'd told Sydnie a bunch of shit about you the night before your wedding?"

Bas pushed him through the door before she could hear his reply, and Valerie laughed as she lifted her face heavenward. Absolutely gorgeous without a cloud in the sky . . .

The perfect day a her wedding, wasn't it?

All that was left was the ceremony itself, and then she would be Mrs. Evan Zelig.

She couldn't wait.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _I'll_** **_be_** **_Waiting_** ' _by_ _Lenny_ _Kravitz_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2008_ _release_ , **_It's_** **_Time_** **_for_** **_a_** **_Love_** **_Revolution_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Lenny_ _Kravitz_ _and_ _Craig_ _Ross_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _… Is that right …?_


	225. 224: Thwarted

' _Honey, you're my lucky day_ …  
' _Baby, you're my lucky day_ …  
' _Well, I lost all the other bets I made_ …  
' _Honey, you're my lucky day_ …'

 

-' _My_ _Lucky_ _Day'_ by Bruce Springsteen.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Evan stalked around the room with a scowl on his face as Valerie's words ran through his head for the thousandth time since he'd been so unceremoniously dragged away from her a little while ago.

" _Besides, I know you're a very sensitive, very sweet man deep down, even if your family tried their hardest to convince me otherwise last night_."

 _'What the hell?_ ' he fumed, stomping over to the window and shoving it wide open. Not even the sudden soft breeze was enough to dispel the irritation that clung to him in thick waves. Just what the hell were they trying to do? Sabotage his wedding as some kind of warped repayment for his negative behavior over the years? And why the hell didn't it really surprise him, either . . .?

No, maybe he ought to have realized that they'd do something like this. After he'd talked to Cain, after he had made peace with the things he hadn't understood, he'd thought that maybe . . . but no, he was wrong. What other reason would they possibly have for doing such a thing, and to make it even worse, Bas had admitted that it wasn't just him and Cain, oh no. All of them— _all of them_ —had been in on it, too? His so-called family—the ones who were supposed to love him, no matter what, and in the end . . .

And, of course, Bas just hadn't gotten it, had he? Nope, Bas had just laughed like it was all just one big fucking joke. Didn't realize or just didn't care how irritated Evan truly was over the entire thing. It was clear to Evan, what they were trying to do. They were trying to convince Valerie that she really didn't want to marry Evan, weren't they?

All right, so he'd be the first to admit that maybe he'd gotten into a hell of a lot more than his fair share of trouble over the years, and yeah, he'd allow that he was much farther from being a saint than anyone. Still . . .

Here he was, hours from his own wedding—a wedding he hadn't truly believed would really happen until he'd gotten up this morning—and all he could think about was his own family was trying to sabotage it all. Bad enough that he'd been too worried to credit as he'd watched from an upstairs window as Valerie had approached that damned Murvis. He'd secretly hoped that the little prick would have enough grace not to accept the wedding invitation Evan had sent, but no, of course not, and while common sense had told Evan that there was just no way that Valerie would change her mind and run right back to the little douche bag, common sense held very little sway in his mind, today of all days.

And he knew that was stupid, that Valerie had obviously made her choice. Still, somewhere in the back of his mind, Evan couldn't help but worry, and maybe that was natural, too. After all, she had almost married him, hadn't she? It occurred to him in a rather vague kind of way that his insecurity about Valerie's ex was entirely ridiculous, all things considered. Too bad he wasn't sure he could help it, either.

The last thing he'd wanted to do was to send that peckerhead an invitation to their wedding, and yet, he knew, didn't he, because he knew Valerie, that there was still a small part of her that had hated the way things had played out. Because she was a decent person, because she really did care for Merriwinkle, as much as Evan despised that, he hadn't had a choice, not really. He'd done it for her, and all the while, he had prayed that the scientist would just have the decency not to come.

So maybe it was his already turbulent emotions that were spiraling out of control, but the more he considered the idea that his family had reveled in laying out Evan's entire life of bad choices, the angrier he grew, and the angrier he grew, the more he considered it all—a vicious circle, maybe, but one that he was helpless to circumvent.

"Nervous?"

Evan swung around as Madison let herself into the room. Smiling gently as she wandered toward him, she was the epitome of calm, and, while Evan could usually draw off that sense of tranquility, at the moment, he simply could not. "Hardly," he grumbled, pivoting to glare out the window once more. "Damn . . ."

"What's the matter?" she asked, crossing the floor in a whisper of movement. She hadn't changed into her maid of honor dress, but that wasn't entirely surprising. She was probably in between tasks of arranging the women's hair for the big event to come.

"Dunno what you mean," he muttered.

He didn't have to see her face to know that she'd probably just rolled her eyes. "I mean, you don't seem like a guy who's about to marry the woman of his wet dreams. So, what's up?"

Evan snorted indelicately. "Were you in on it, too?"

"In on what?"

Flicking a hand in a blatantly dismissive gesture, Evan didn't entirely trust himself to give voice to his grievance.

Madison sighed and stepped up beside him, and he could feel her questioning gaze, even if he didn't bother to look directly at her. "I don't think I was in on anything in particular," Madison said, carefully measuring her words. "What happened?"

Evan grunted, gave a curt shrug. "Guess the powers-that-be decided to sit V down and tell her every bad thing I've ever done," he replied. "Trying to talk her out of marrying me or something."

Snapping her mouth closed, Madison slowly shook her head. "No . . . That can't be. What in the world would be the point in that? Don't you think—?"

"No, actually, that's exactly what I _do_ think," he cut in quietly, his words no less stinging because of the soft timbre of his tone. " _Damn_ it! How fucking low is that, anyway?" he fumed, breaking into a prowling gait as he stomped away, only to return again. "I guess I should have known, right? Always the screw-up, no matter what, right? _Bullshit!_ "

"Oh, Evan, I'm sure that's not what they were trying to do," Madison insisted gently. "Don't let this ruin your big day, okay? You and Valerie are meant to be, and nothing anyone ever says is going to change that."

Evan snorted again.

Madison sighed. "You're listening to me, aren't you? Because I make it a point never to sound like a Hallmark channel movie of the week if I can possibly help it."

"Oh, Madison! There you are!" Kagome interrupted as she leaned in around the door. "Sorry to interrupt, but Kaci Lea's ready for her hair."

Madison nodded, but cast Evan a questioning look before moving. "Are you going to be all right?"

Forcing a smile that he was far from feeling, Evan shrugged noncommittally. "Yep. Better go. Sounds like they need you."

She didn't look convinced, but she shot him a little smile and hurriedly kissed his cheek. "I'll be back to check on you, but don't you think you should start getting ready, too?"

"Get on out of here," he replied, jerking his head toward the door. Madison heaved a sigh, but she finally left, pausing just outside the door, she shot Evan an encouraging smile before hurrying away.

"How are you holding up?" Kagome asked, quietly closing the door behind her.

"Me? You kidding? I play sold out stadiums for a living, remember?" He snorted, hoping that Kagome couldn't see through his bravado. "This ain't nothing," he scoffed.

Kagome laughed as she strode over to the opened garment bag hanging on the rack nearby and carefully pulled the pristine white shirt off the padded hanger. "It seems like only yesterday that you were that little, tiny baby that was just happy to be held and cuddled," she ventured.

Tugging off the tee-shirt he'd dragged on this morning, Evan dropped it on the floor and held out his hand. "That was a long time ago, baa-chan," he pointed out with a wry grin.

Kagome held out the shirt and adjusted it over his shoulders before stepping around him to fuss with it more, straightening it perfectly. "Not so very long ago; not to me," she went on, her fingers deftly working the buttons, her eyes trained carefully on what she was doing. Her eyes were bright, and he could smell the hint of tears that she stubbornly held in check despite the gentle smile on her lips.

"You're not really going to cry, are you?" he teased, lifting an eyebrow to emphasize the question.

She sniffled then laughed. "I can't help it," she replied. "I always cry at weddings." Taking a step back to examine her work, her smile widened as the smell of tears spiked though they did not fall. "I just wanted a moment to tell you how beautiful Valerie is, and I think you and she make a wonderful couple, Evan."

"Thanks," he muttered, drawing her into a hug before she could discern the irritation he couldn't quite shake.

"I'd better go get changed, too," she said, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "Besides, InuYasha is probably about to start hollering, anyway. He's been to enough weddings, so you'd think that he'd remember how to tie his own tie, wouldn't you?"

The smile that Evan managed was a little closer to normal as Kagome hurried out of the room again. Given that InuYasha wasn't a big fan of tuxedos in general, Evan figured that Kagome was quite right in her estimation.

Letting out a deep breath, Evan shook his head. A thousand memories ran through his head as he strode over to change his pants. Okay, sure, he would admit that the family likely did have more than enough stories to keep themselves busy for a good, long while in discussing everything bad that Evan had ever done, but . . . It still burned him that they'd done such a thing. Telling Valerie all those stories? Just what the hell had they been trying to accomplish, anyway?

"Everything going okay?" Cain asked as he stepped into the room. Already dressed and ready to go, he stuffed a hand deep into his pocket.

Evan shot him a glance as he tucked in the shirt. "Never better, Cain," he replied tightly, unable to keep the snide edge out of his tone.

"Are you sure?" Cain pressed, a concerned frown surfacing on his features.

"Sure. Why wouldn't it be?" Evan countered. "You finished trying to sabotage my wedding, or did you think of a few more things you could tell V to convince her not to marry me?"

Cain blinked in surprise and slowly shook his head. "What? What do you mean?"

Evan snorted, yanking the tie off the hanger and jerking it over his head. "Come off it! V told me all about it. Bubby and you just had to do it, right? Make me out to be such an ass that, sure, who in their right fucking mind would marry me? Thanks, _Dad_. Thanks a lot."

The surprise in Cain's expression slowly faded, only to be replaced by a distinctly uncomfortable shifting in his youki. "That really wasn't what—" he began, only to be cut off by Evan's loud snort.

"Save it," he growled, grimacing when the tie in his hands ripped. He hadn't realized that he was yanking on it so hard, and with a heavy sigh full of self-disgust, he threw the pieces onto the floor. "Goddamn, you know, just because you and Bubby are so fucking perfect doesn't give you the right to try to ruin things for me."

Reaching up, tugging at his own bowtie, Cain carefully pulled it loose and held it out to Evan. "That's not what we were trying to do, Evan, and I'm sorry if you thought we were," he said as Evan eyed the tie for a moment before snatching it away from his father.

"Yeah, well, don't fucking worry about it. The last thing I'll do is embarrass you two in front of everyone," Evan snapped back.

Cain frowned. "Evan, you've never—"

"Forget it," Evan snarled. "Just go the hell away . . . I promise I'll be as respectable as you and Bubby today."

Cain sighed. "You're always respectable," he said. Then he turned to go. "You and Valerie . . . I hope that you're as happy together as your mother and I are."

Evan watched in the mirror hanging over the dresser as his father left the room. Gaze shifting to his own reflection, he ground his teeth together, fought for a semblance of control over the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him, to no avail. The anger, the bitterness, frothed and roiled even hotter. "Respectable," he growled, opening and closing his fists around nothing. "Respectable . . .?"

Without a second thought, he grabbed a pair of scissors that were lying on the dresser, and, grasping his hair in the other hand, he lopped the length of it off in one deft snip.

 

 

- ** _Gin_** -

 

 

"Here you go."

Giving Gin a quick smile, Valerie gratefully accepted the delicate mug of tea, careful not to pull too far as Madison meticulously arranged the pile of curls atop her head.

"You look so beautiful," Gin said, blinking rapidly as a haze of tears washed into her vision. She wasn't sure why it was that weddings always made her cry. Maybe it was just the memories of her own special day years ago. Cain, she was sure, would tease her about her sentimentality. She simply couldn't help it, though. There were so many thoughts, running through her mind, and maybe that was natural, too. Visions of Evan through the years: bringing her flowers that he'd picked just for her . . . coming to her with tears in his eyes after Bas had taken off with his friend, leaving Evan behind . . . telling her about his exploits—sneaking out to see local bands in the clubs that he was too young to frequent—telling her stories that he probably shouldn't have told her, and she hadn't had the heart to curb her wild-child . . . Those bittersweet moments that were frozen forever in her mind, those years that seemed like mere moments when Gin was the one who Evan loved best . . . Growing up, building a life for himself, becoming a man who could stand on his own . . . All those things were things that Gin cherished, even if the smallest part of her still missed that baby she'd carried over the threshold so many years ago. It was right that he would find someone who would take Gin's place as the center of Evan's world, but, staring at the bride as she nervously bit her lip, Gin figured that it was all right, too. Not just _any_ woman would do: not for her boy. She'd felt the same way, back when Bas had gotten married, too. Neither Sydnie nor Valerie was 'just any woman', after all . . . Her sons' mates . . . They'd chosen well.

Gazing at Valerie, Gin couldn't help but smile. She really was just gorgeous—not that she expected any less for her boys, of course. Bas' wife, Sydnie, and now Valerie? Both of them had that inner sparkle—the kind of light that shone from the inside out—beautiful spirits that created that incandescence . . .

"As long as Evan agrees," Valerie ventured with a wry little smile as she turned her head from side to side, examining Madison's handiwork with a critical eye.

"Agrees?" Rhonda echoed with a quiet laugh and a shake of her head. "That man is absolutely _crazy_ about you. I don't think it much matters, what you wear today as long as you meet him at two o'clock."

"Thanks, Mom." Valerie shot her mother a decidedly nervous little smile, then shifted to face Madison once more. "Maddy, do you think you could go check in with Evan?" she asked. "He's probably driving whoever's with him crazy, don't you think?"

Madison laughed and gathered her bag. "Sure," she said. "I might as well check in on the guys, anyway. Make sure they're all up to snuff."

Kaci Lea stepped quickly into the room, her eyes bright, glowing, as she smiled a little shyly. "Did you have a nice look around, Kaci?" Rhonda asked, raising an eyebrow as she fussed with Valerie's bouquet.

The girl laughed, her eyes brightening even more as a slight blush rose to her cheeks. "Y-Yeah," she admitted, ducking her head before giving a tiny shrug. "I was talking to Evan's cousin, Mikio."

"Oh? What about?"

"Just stuff . . . He told me about Japanese schools. It's a lot different from here," Kaci Lea remarked almost absently as she straightened her dress.

"Mikio . . . Mikio . . ." Rhonda repeated, obviously trying to place the name with the face. It wasn't surprising, given that so many guests had arrived within the last few days.

"He's my brother," Gin supplied, idly rubbing her distended belly.

"Oh!" Rhonda exclaimed, the confusion on her face disintegrating fast. "Oh, he's just a cutie!"

Kagome laughed as she stepped out of the bathroom, casually messing with one diamond earring. "He's always been a lot sweeter than his older brothers," she allowed.

"That's putting it mildly, Mama," Gin remarked, wrinkling her nose since she knew quite well, just how rotten her twin brothers really could be.

"You know Kaci Lea-chan, you could always come stay with us for a year, like a student exchange," Kagome offered.

Kaci Lea looked completely taken aback by Kagome's offer. "Oh, I . . . I mean, thank you, but . . ."

Kagome laughed and reached over to give Kaci Lea's arm a reassuring squeeze. "Just think about it. The offer stands. If you change your mind, just let Evan know, and we'll work something out."

Kaci Lea didn't look like she knew just what to think of it, but she nodded slowly.

"Wench! Where the hell did you put my shoes?" InuYasha hollered from the closed side of the door.

Rolling her eyes, Kagome giggled and hurried across the room.

" _Wench!_ "

"I'm coming, InuYasha!" she called back as she reached for the doorknob. "Excuse me, ladies."

Gin caught Valerie's sidelong gaze, and they both broke out in laughter. "Some things never change," Gin mused.

Valerie stood up slowly, staring at her reflection in the antique mirror nearby.

"My son made an _excellent_ choice," Gin mused, stepping over to straighten the veil. It wasn't quite time to put it on, but it would be soon enough. "I can't imagine anyone who would be more perfect for him than you are, Valerie, and I'm so happy that you're about to be a part of our family!"

Blinking at Gin's softly uttered statement, Valerie blushed as her smile widened. "Thank you," she replied, her eyes brightening even more.

Gin opened her mouth to reply, but snapped it closed when Madison burst into the room with the oddest expression on her face. She looked like she had something to say, and maybe she didn't really want to say it, at all, but her gaze flickered to Valerie, and she grimaced. "Uh, V," she began in a halting tone, like she were attempting to soften whatever she was trying to get out, "umm . . ."

Valerie's eyes flared wide as her smile faded. Turning to face Madison, she shook her head. "What? What's going on?" she demanded. "Is everything all right?"

"Well, that's kind of subjective, really . . ." Madison winced again, twisting her hands together in a decidedly nervous kind of way. "I-It's Evan," she hedged, still trying to decide the best way to break whatever it was to the bride. "He got a little . . . Well, he lost his temper, and . . ."

"Maddy . . ." Valerie began in a warning tone.

Heaving a sigh, Madison shook her head. "He kind of . . . cut off his . . . hair . . ."

Valerie stood stock still, unblinking as she stared at Madison, trying to make up her mind whether or not she believed her. ". . . What . . .?"

Biting her lip, Madison gave a helpless little shrug. "He thought that Cain and Bas were trying to sabotage the wedding," she explained quickly. "That whole thing last night, right? Anyway, I guess he got into it with Cain, and so Evan thought he'd be more respectable if he . . . cut . . . his . . . ha-a-air . . ."

" _What?_ " Valerie hissed, grabbing her skirts as she stomped toward the door.

Rhonda caught her arm and held her back. "Val, now you have to finish getting ready," she reminded her calmly. "He's okay . . ." Her gaze shifted to Madison. ". . . Isn't he?"

Madison shot Valerie a tentative smile. "I fixed it," she assured her. "He looks very nice; I promise."

Valerie stared at Madison for several moments before letting her dress drop as she helplessly sank down on the stool once more. "Oh, my God," she half-groaned. "But I _love_ his hair the way it normally is!"

Gin shook her head, unsure as to what, exactly, Cain and Bas had apparently done. "What did those two do?" she asked, slowly, almost hesitantly.   Then again, she, along with most of the women, had been kept quite busy in the kitchen, starting on things for the huge buffet they'd had this morning, so whatever they were discussing must've happened then . . .

Valerie sighed, rubbing her forehead in a completely exasperated kind of way. Gin could sense her very real upset, and she couldn't stop the flattening of her ears, either. After all, a woman's wedding day should be as perfect as it could possibly be, and getting news like this less than two hours before walking down the aisle? She winced.

"Last night, Cain and Bas—well, not just them, but they started it—sat me down and told me all these stories about Evan," Valerie admitted. "But I don't understand. I mean, they seemed to be more amused by it all than anything. I got the impression that they were just looking for a reason to relive those things . . ." She frowned and slowly shook her head. "In fact, they seemed almost . . . _proud_ . . ."

Gin snapped her mouth closed and made a face. That might have been exactly what they were doing, she figured. After all, how often in the past had Cain broken into the vaguest smile over one of Evan's antics or another, though always behind the closed door of their private room? To be honest, Gin didn't doubt Valerie's impression in the least, no, but still, did it matter if that's not how Evan saw it? And the damage was already done, as far as Evan's hair was concerned. There was nothing short of time that could rectify that, and nothing outside of a miracle that would fix it before two o'clock, either.

With a determined look on her face, Gin hurried over to the door as quickly as she could move—not exactly fast, really, given the extra weight she was carrying. Grasping Madison's arm, she didn't explain as she dragged her along behind.

"Gin? What—?"

Gin scowled, but didn't falter as she headed out the door and down the hallway toward the stairs. "If my Evan cut all his hair off because of his father and brother, then it's only fair, isn't it?"

Madison blinked. "Fair?" she echoed, not quite grasping exactly what Gin was alluding do in her muttered statement.

With a very pronounced snort—an entirely odd sound coming from her—she gripped the banister in one hand and, keeping her hold on Madison's arm with the other, she kept moving forward with a purpose.

Cain and Bas were both in the office, she could tell, and she didn't stop until she stood in the doorway, pinning each man with a formidable glower that stopped them both, dead in their tracks, their voices dying away as they stared back at her. She didn't miss the worried little glances they flicked at one another, and she wasn't entirely surprised when her mate's gaze lit up with the old traces of worry that always accompanied her pregnancies.

"Bald," she stated flatly, pointing from Cain to Bas then back again.

Madison choked, her sharp inhalation fairly whistling in the unnatural silence. "B-B-Bald?"

Gin nodded just once, determination igniting behind her gaze. "That's right," she reiterated as she crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly, still refusing to back down from her current stance. Then she jerked her head at the men once more before she stated once more, her voice even, controlled—angry, "You heard me, Madison. Bald."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ' ** _My_** **_Lucky_** **_Day_** ' _by_ _Bruce_ _Springsteen_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2009_ _release_ , **_Working_** **_on_** **_a_** **_Dream_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Bruce_ _Springsteen_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from Madison_** :  
> … _Bald …?_


	226. 225: One Summer Day

' _All my life I've prayed for someone like you_ …  
' _And I thank God that I - That I finally found you_ …  
' _All my life I've prayed for someone like you_...  
' _And I hope that you feel the same way,_ too …  
' _Yes, I pray that you do love me, too_ …'

 

-' _All_ _My_ _Life_ ' by K-ci and JoJo.

 

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

 

Pushing aside the antique lace curtain, Valerie surveyed the guests as a brigade of butterflies broke loose in her belly. The men hadn't yet emerged from the mansion, and most of those in attendance were congregating in small groups on the lawn near the raised flower gardens. They hadn't quite made it to the area where the ceremony was going to take place, and from her vantage point, she could see the gauzy white tents that were arranged further off to the side near the path that led to the beach where the tables had already been set up to accommodate the guests for the reception. After the ceremony, the chairs would be whisked away so that a dance floor could be put down before the small stage where a pristine white baby grand piano stood. When she had mentioned hiring a pianist to play while she walked down the aisle, Evan had grinned and proceeded to call his brother-in-law, Kichiro to ask him to do the honors.

He was the one who had taught Evan to play, so she'd assumed that he was good. What she hadn't expected when she'd overheard him practicing on the piano in the Zeligs' living room was the absolute skill with which he played. He was even better than Evan, which, in Valerie's estimation, was saying a hell of a lot. Evan had said it, too, right after he'd informed her that he'd arranged to have the best pianist in the world play at the ceremony.

Valerie sighed softly, shaking her head as she watched Kichiro climb the stairs and onto the platform to warm up. He would play a few different pieces leading up to the wedding, but the one she'd chosen for her journey down the aisle . . . That Evan had already come up with about a thousand off-kilter jokes about the title of it—Bach's _Air on a G String_ —was not surprising in the least, either . . .

"Do you think people would be offended if I postponed the wedding until tomorrow?" Valerie asked, only half-joking as she narrowed her eyes at the picture that Madison took with her cell phone. His hair was cut in the same way that it usually was when he was attempting to hide out in the open, and it wasn't the hair that bothered her nearly as much as it was the memories of the rather nasty run-ins she'd had with him in the past when he'd looked just like that before that made her feel edgy and even more nervous than she might have been otherwise. He felt like a completely different person, and that particular Evan was just not the one she wanted to meet at the end of her long walk.

Madison smoothed her dress and smiled just a little at Valerie's question. "They might not, but Evan probably would," she replied.

Heaving another sigh, Valerie shot Madison a droll glance. "I can't believe he did that," she muttered.

"Sit," Madison commanded as she carefully retrieved the veil. Hooked over the edge of the rice paper changing screen, the wispy antique lace was caught in the breeze filtering through the opened balcony doors. Madison gave it a gentle shake as she waited for Valerie to sit down. "If it makes you feel any better, Gin insisted that I cut Cain and Bas' hair, too." She wrinkled her nose while Valerie slipped into the bench before the antique dressing table. "Well, she said 'bald', but . . ." Uttering a light giggle as she slowly shook her head, she grabbed a couple of hairpins. "I just could not bring myself to shave the tai-youkai and future tai-youkai . . ."

"That just doesn't really comfort me any," Valerie remarked dryly.

Madison shrugged though her smile widened as she met her friend's gaze in the mirror. "Maybe not, but Sydnie damn near had a heart attack when she saw Bas."

Valerie made a face. Yes, she supposed that Sydnie probably had, and, knowing her, she probably had a few choice things to say about it, too. "That bad?"

Madison grimaced. "Oh, let's just say that I didn't know that many curse words existed. I'm pretty sure she invented a few new ones, too." Settling the veil in place, she sighed. "I'd hate to be him later on. I'm pretty sure she is taking this as a personal slight."

"She's not mad at Gin, is she?"

Madison laughed as she arranged Valerie's curls around the platinum headband affixed to the yards of lace that matched the subtle underskirt of the gown. "Of course she isn't. She blames Bas and Cain—exactly how it should be."

"Maybe, but I still have a few choice things to say to Evan," she promised grimly.

Madison laughed. "I'm sure you do."

That earned her a longsuffering glance, but she sighed instead of saying anything else on the matter.

"There," Madison announced after carefully pinning the headband in place. "You look wonderful—drop dead gorgeous."

"Thanks, Maddy," Valerie said, rising to her feet.

Valerie didn't really look relieved, but she heaved a deep breath and worried at her lower lip as the door opened behind them. The chime of little girls' laughter seemed to lift the slight foreboding that had fallen over the room, and she smiled, unable to help herself, as the three little girls ran over to her to show off their pretty new dresses.

She hadn't been able to choose one of the girls to do the duty of the flower girl, so Evan had suggested that she ask them all, and Valerie figured that was the best idea he'd had so far, really. Tanny, Kurt and Samantha's daughter, was the oldest, but Olivia and Takara were only a few months apart in age and pretty darned inseparable, so there was no real way that she could have chosen one of them other the other, anyway. Even at two years old, Olivia and Takara were fast on their way to becoming the best of friends since Takara's arrival a few months ago when Kagome and InuYasha had arrived to be with Gin while she was pregnant. Now they stood, holding hands as they waited for Valerie's approval

Kneeling down before the girls, Valerie smiled at each of them. So sweet in the barely-pink satin dresses that their collective mothers had chosen, they looked like perfect little angels. "Aren't you all just beautiful?" she said.

"I'm a flower girl!" Olivia exclaimed happily.

"Me, too!" Takara added. It was startling, just how well she was latching onto the English language. It seemed like her friendship with Olivia was beneficial to both girls since they seemed to communicate in a strange mixture of Japanese and English as they taught each other as they played together.

"I like your dress," Tanny ventured, reaching out to touch the silk covering Valerie's knee.

"And yours is just gorgeous, too," Valerie insisted, tucking a flyaway strand of the blackest hair behind the child's ear. The younger girls' dresses matched exactly, but Tanny's was just slightly different since she was older, though the satin and lace were perfectly matched. "Do you like your dress?"

Tanny nodded, then laughed when Madison handed each girl a small roll of candy. Evan had told her before that Tanny's infatuation with all things sweet was far worse when she'd first come into the family, but she hadn't gotten over it completely. Valerie figured that it was a good thing that Tanny's metabolism was apparently high enough to burn through the massive amounts of sugar.

"Okay, girls! Let's go on downstairs to wait," Samantha said, clapping her hands to gain the girls' attention.

Three little girls tried to hug Valerie at once, and that resulted in a very loud gale of laughter, and, with a swirl of satin and lace, the sounds of the pale pink Mary Janes clicking on the floor, and they were gone. "You look wonderful," Samantha said over her shoulder with a bright smile. Then she closed the door behind them as silence fell over the room once more.

A soft knock on the door drew both of their attention, and she smiled when her mother, with Kaci Lea in tow, slipped into the room. Rhonda stopped short as she stared at Valerie, a sheen of moisture surfacing in her eyes. "Oh, I can't believe . . ." she said, trailing off with a loud sniffle. "You're so beautiful."

Kaci Lea gave her the critical once over, and she finally shot her a reluctant little grin, too. Maybe it wasn't the most open expression, but it was genuine, and Valerie smiled back.

Rhonda crossed the floor and helped Madison bring the veil up and over Valerie's face. It fell to her waist.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Valerie swallowed hard as another wave of butterflies broke free in the depths of her belly. The fitted dress accentuated her figure well, skin tight to the hips where the skirt gently started to flare, wider and wider until it flowed around her ankles. The silk stopped just a few inches above the underskirt of chiffon and vintage lace, trailing out behind her a couple of feet in a whisper. The sleeveless gown was free of embellishment except for the silver thread line of embroidery that ran around the top and again around the bottom hem: a delicate line of gently scrolling vines. All in all, she had to admit that she loved the dress, even if she had teasingly dubbed it the Sausage Casing from Hell.

"Oh!" Kaci Lea exclaimed softly, snatching the garter belt off the table. "You forgot this!"

Madison took it from the girl and pulled it open as she gestured at Valerie's skirt. "Oh, no, can't forget that," she remarked with a grin as she knelt down so that Valerie could step into it.

Hiking up the skirts so she could lift her foot, Valerie laughed as Madison tugged it over her shoe and carefully slipped it up over the sheer stocking. Valerie took over and tugged it into place before letting the fabric drop once more as she shot Madison a nervous little glance as the sound of the piano far below wafted through the window. He changed songs, and it was the last one before he began _Air on a G String_. "How do I look?"

Madison said nothing as she broke into a gentle smile and simply nodded.

Rhonda smiled and carefully gave Valerie a hug as she tried not to wrinkle her. "Sounds like it's time," she said as she grasped the bouquet out of the opened floral box on the dressing table. Perfect white peonies arranged with cascades of soft white tea roses, sprays of fern, blushing tendrils of wisteria . . . The scent of the flowers was absolutely intoxicating, and Valerie took it with slightly trembling hands.

Sparing one last glance in the mirror, Valerie then followed the women from the room.

The mansion was oddly silent, a strangely empty feel radiating through the very walls, leaving behind a pensive quiet that was curiously comforting, like the calm before a storm. It served to settle Valerie's nerves. Ahead of her, the women were chattering, laughing quietly. Valerie smiled when they glanced back at her, but she didn't really hear what they were saying. It felt so normal, didn't it? Her rational brain whispered to her that everything in her life was about to change, yet a part of her knew deep down that the things that were important to her were going to remain the same.

She stopped short as she stepped off the staircase, blinking in surprise as her mouth fell open, as she got a good look at Bas. Hair cut short in much the same way as Evan's, bangs trimmed just short of falling into his eyes, he looked neat enough, Valerie supposed, despite the obvious irritation in his expression. It just looked weird, really. She had grown way too used to seeing all of Evan's family members with that flowing hair.

"Okay, come on," Sydnie prompted, sparing a moment to straighten Olivia and Takara's pale pink satin skirts before she handed each a little white basket heaping over with white and pink rice paper confetti that would dissolve instantly the next time it rained. Then she slipped Tanny's basket into her hands and handed the five year-old girl an unwrapped candy. "Make sure they stay on the runner, Tanny," Sydnie murmured, nodding at the two two-year-old girls. Tanny nodded solemnly.   Bailey shot his mother a longsuffering kind of look as he tugged on the bowtie around his neck before trudging off toward the steps that led down to the yard. She gave the girls a little shove, and they followed along just behind and flanking Bailey, who looked like he'd rather drop the ring bearer pillow and run than to walk down the aisle with his sister, cousin, and aunt. Sydnie spared a moment to pin Bas with a very dry glance before moving off after the children to take her place with the other guests.

Bas snorted indelicately, and Madison refused to look him in the eye while both Kurt and Gavin tried valiantly to look everywhere but directly at Bas, too, and both with varying degrees of success. Gavin finally turned, thus forcing his gaze away, but Kurt gave up the pretense of trying not to look as he stared at Bas rather blatantly, very curiously. "Remind me not to piss off Gin," he muttered, slowly shaking his head despite the trace grin on his face.

Bas didn't comment, but he did heave a sigh before shooting Kurt a very dark look as he bent his arm, offering his elbow to Madison. "Feel free to kill Evan on your honeymoon," Bas muttered to Valerie. She bit her lip and tried not to smile as Madison drew a deep breath and hesitantly slipped her hand under his forearm. The two of them stepped out of the opened doors and down the steps toward the long white runner.

"Well, damn."

Glancing up into her father's face, Valerie's smile widened. "Are you all right, Daddy?"

He wrinkled his nose at her show of concern. "Mind your own business, little girl. I wouldn't miss this for the world."

"Good luck," Kaci Lea whispered quickly before stepping out the door on Kurt's arm.

"You look beautiful," Rhonda said, brushing a chaste kiss in the air near Valerie's cheek. She paused long enough to cast Valerie one last, long look before sniffling softly and stepping away to take Gavin's arm.   Gavin shot her a decidedly nervous little smile before the pair followed Kaci Lea and Kurt through the doorway. Maybe it wasn't traditional to have her mother be one of her bridesmaids, but Valerie wouldn't have it any other way.

"You ready?" Jack asked, his voice suddenly rasping, harsh. She glanced at him quickly, afraid that he really was overdoing it, but she gasped softly at the sheen of tears that brightened his gaze as he stubbornly stared straight ahead, cheeks taking on a decidedly ruddy hue.

"Daddy . . ." she breathed, eyes stinging as tears blurred her vision, as she reached up to press her hand to his cheek.

"Never thought . . . Never thought you'd ever want me to do this for you," he admitted, clearing his throat, still refusing to meet her gaze.

Her smile trembled precariously as she blinked to dispel the moisture gathered in her eyes. "Of course I would," she said softly. "I love you."

He coughed, gaze dropping, and he quickly turned, pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug, unmindful for the moment, whether he was wrinkling her dress or not. "I . . . I love you, too, little girl," he rasped out, tightening his grip for a moment.

She hugged him back, unwilling to let go, wishing that minute could last for a lifetime, and maybe it did. Reaching back into the lonely place, into those memories of a childhood that was spent in solitude, and suddenly, it didn't matter at all. She could feel it, couldn't she? All those things that her father might not ever have been able to say, all those things that culminated in the somber sense of regret that was so palpable to her that it might as well have been a tactile thing . . . Closing her eyes, she willed him to know, to understand, that it was all okay. He might well be her daddy, but she didn't expect him to be perfect, and what did it matter, in the end? And maybe . . .

Maybe all those things had led her to Evan, and that, in her estimation, was absolutely worth it.

"It's time," Jack whispered, giving Valerie a last little squeeze before reluctantly letting his arms fall away moments before offering her his elbow. He cleared his throat and sniffled loudly. "You, uh . . . You ready? I mean, it's not too late to run away."

She smiled, her laughter slightly ragged, as she gazed up at her father. He was teasing, and she knew it, and she shook her head. "I thought you like Evan," she reminded him.

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter if I like him or not," he reasoned. "You're the one marrying him—though I think you made a damn fine choice." He shrugged as she slipped her hand under his elbow. Covering her hand with his, he started forward, leading Valerie toward the doors as the first notes of ' _Air_ _on a G String_ ' drifted to them. "Better than that damned Murwad, anyway."

Stopping abruptly for just a moment, Valerie shot her father a suspect glance. "How do you know about—? Never mind. Evan told you, didn't he?"

Jack neither confirmed nor denied Valerie's question, and she heaved a sigh and then giggled softly. "He is a very nice man," she maintained stubbornly, leaning toward Jack and dropping her voice to a whisper as they stepped off the porch stairs and onto the white runner. "I have very little doubt that whatever Evan's told you is completely untrue."

He chuckled then sighed. "Can't believe you're getting married," he murmured.

Smiling as she met Evan's gaze over the heads of the assembled guests, Valerie bit her lip. He seemed nervous—she could feel it. Bas leaned toward him and said something, and he shot his brother a droll glance before shifting his gaze back to meet hers once more.

"Aww," Jack drawled, stopping just long enough for Valerie turn to face him. "Would you look at that? That boy actually seems kind of nervous."

She laughed softly. "Daddy . . ."

Jack snorted quietly. "Tell me you ain't above making him sweat it or was your mama lying about you being upset with him for hacking all his hair off?"

"Oh, well, when you put it _that_ way," Valerie mused. Then she laughed when her father resumed his slow gait once more.

Then Jack sighed. "He's the one, huh?"

Glancing up into Jack's face, she nodded. "He is."

"All right," he allowed at length. Less than ten steps separated Valerie from Evan, but even at that distance, she could feel the nerves that were rattling off Evan in waves of energy.

She'd seen him moments before taking the stage in front of hundreds—thousands—of fans, and she'd felt his energy at times like that, but it was always wrapped up in more excitement than anything. This was something else entirely. Nervous? Rather novel, wasn't it . . .?

As she reached his side, Evan turned to take her hand from Jack, but he stopped the groom when he covered Valerie's hand in one of his again, and when Jack's gaze shifted to meet Evan's, he was entirely serious. "I've made her cry enough to last a lifetime," he said quietly, just loud enough for Evan to hear. "You make her _laugh_ , son, got it?"

Evan blinked and nodded, his eyes suspiciously bright as he stared Jack in the eye. "Yes, sir," he replied just as solemnly.

Jack eyed him for another long moment, then finally broke into the smallest of smiles. "I'll hold you to that," he promised, taking Valerie's hand, gently placing it in Evan's.

"So will I," Evan vowed as his gaze finally shifted to meet Valerie's. "So will I."

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder: _**Purity** _ 11 and 12 preliminary chapters are available to read in the Spoiler Room forum on the forum (Kind of redundant, isn't it?)
> 
> ' ** _All_** **_My_** **_Life_** ' _by_ _K-ci_ _and_ _JoJo_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1997_ _release_ , **_Love_** **_Always_**. _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Joel_ _Hailey_ _and_ _Rory_ _Bennett_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Let's get this show on the road!_


	227. 226: Inauguration

~~ ** _Chapter Two_** **_Hundred Twenty-Six_** ~~

~ ** _Inauguration_** ~

 

 

- ** _OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_** -

 

' _And now the times are changin'_ …  
' _Look at everything that's come and gone_ …  
' _Sometimes when I play that old six-string_ …  
' _I think about you, wonder what went wrong_ …' 

-' _Summer of '69_ ' by Bryan Adams.

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

"I can't believe you did that," Valerie murmured as Evan led her down the aisle and along the runner that led up to the patio of the vast mansion.  Reaching up to tug on the short wisps that brushed his neck, Valerie slowly shook her head.

Evan shot her a grin.  "I can't believe you're really my wife," he countered, looking entirely too pleased with himself to credit.  "Mrs. Evan Zelig, huh . . ."

"Mrs. _Dr_. Evan Zelig," she corrected, wrinkling her nose.  "I had to think about it," she admitted, heaving a little sigh as she slowly shook her head.  "If I had my way, I'd have postponed all this till your hair grew back."

"It's just hair," he argued as they stopped in the spot that they'd chosen to receive their guests.  "It'll be back by morning."

She sighed then shook her head once more.  "Considering we don't have the best track record of you with your short hair?  I think you undergo some kind of weird brain manipulation when your hair's short," she parried dryly.  "Not to mention the wedding pictures?  Maybe we can postpone them till we get back from our honeymoon . . . You realize, right?  Twenty years from now when I think back to our wedding, I'm going to remember that you chose _to_ day to flip out entirely."

"Well, you know," he drawled, a slow, lazy grin filtering over his features as his gaze shifted away.  "There were a couple of very pronounced benefits to it, even if I didn't think of them at the time . . ."

Following the direction of his gaze, Valerie wasn't surprised to see Gin and a very disgruntled-looking Cain making their way down the runner behind the wedding party and Jack.  Considering he resembled a freshly shorn sheep, Cain was holding up remarkably well, in Valerie's estimation.  "You're terrible," she chided, though her tone lacked any real censure.

He shrugged.  "I'll ask Jilli if she wouldn't mind doing the pictures tomorrow before we leave; how's that?"

She rolled her eyes, but broke into a smile. "Fine with me—just means that you can't rip or tear my dress tonight."

Evan heaved a sigh and carefully tugged her closer against his side to plant a kiss on her temple.  "Damn, I'm happy," he murmured.  "V Zelig . . ."

She chuckled softly and leaned in to kiss his cheek, then carefully rubbed the lingering trace of lipstick from his skin.  "I still prefer Mrs. _Dr_. Evan Zelig," she quipped.

He made a face, but his grin widened.  "You forgot the esquire part."

She wrinkled her nose as her eyes sparkled mischievously.  "Mrs. Dr. Evan Zelig, esquire . . . Though I don't think that it should be added to the end of that.  It makes you sound like the lawyer—or a professor of law."

Evan's smile dissipated as a fairly alarmed expression slammed down over his features.  "Good God, way to rain on my parade, why don't you?"

"You're right," she agreed with a shrug.  "The idea of you being an attorney or teaching some hapless law students to be attorneys?  I don't even want to go there."

"Afraid of who I'd pop a Get Out of Jail Free card?"

"Something like that."

"I can't believe you married him," Madison quipped as she tugged Valerie away from Evan's side long enough to give her a quick squeeze.  "I figured you'd realize what you were doing halfway through the ceremony and run."

"Hey," Evan complained, though the smile on his face widened as he grasped Madison's arm and pulling her into a very tight hug.  She giggled and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

"Welcome to the family," Bas remarked, ignoring Evan entirely as he gave Valerie a quick hug.  "And let me be the first to offer my sincere apologies for whatever that little devil does from here on out."

"Nice hair, Bubby," Evan quipped pleasantly.  Bas snorted but made no comment.

"You'd better step back," Gavin commented as he tapped Bas on the shoulder.  "You should also remember you're at a wedding, not a funeral," he added, nodding at the scowl on Bas' features.

Bas rolled his eyes and stepped back as Gavin gave Valerie's hand a quick squeeze.  She couldn't hide her amusement, though, as the big man's face erupted in a very becoming shade of pink, and he let go of her hand as quickly as he'd taken it.  Jillian had told her once that Gavin was better than he used to be in regards to his acute embarrassment when it came to women, but Valerie still thought it was cute.

"You should have run for the hills when you had a chance," Kurt remarked, leaning in to give Valerie a kiss on the cheek.  "They're psycho—the whole damn lot of them—but Evan's the worst of them all."

"Yeah, but they all _like_ her, _taiyja_ ," Evan retorted with an unrepentant grin.

Kurt snorted.  "They . . ." trailing off for a moment as he deliberated the rest of his statement, Kurt gave up, digging one hand deep into his pocket as his daughter started shamelessly inspecting his person as though she were a cop, frisking a felon.  With a squeal of delight, Tanny pulled a small purple sucker from his other pocket, barely taking the time to strip off the protective wrapper before jamming it into her mouth and darting away from the adults.  "Well, they don't want to _kill_ me anymore," he finished.

"Well, not _all_ of us, anyway.  Something tells me that Kichiro still does," Evan added with a chuckle, reaching out a hand to beckon Kaci Lea closer.  "Damn, you look fine, K . . . Prettiest girl here, V notwithstanding."

Kaci Lea blushed and rolled her eyes despite the shy smile that brightened her eyes as she smoothed her dress self-consciously.  "Congratulations," she replied, blushing a little darker when Evan pulled her in for a hug.

Evan's smile widened.  "Save a dance for me, okay?"

"I don't think that'll be a problem," she replied, ducking her chin.

"Oh, I don't know," Valerie remarked a little too innocently.  "I could have sworn that one of Cain's associates' sons was looking your way at the dinner last night . . ."

That got Evan's attention quickly enough.  "Yeah?  Which one?"

"Umm . . . Martin Billings, I think . . . His son—uh . . ." Valerie ventured, affecting a thoughtful frown.  Then she uttered a cute little growl of frustration.  "I've met too many people lately!  You didn't tell me you were related to or acquainted with the entire population of the northern seaboard.  Anyway, what was his name . . .?"

Evan shot Valerie a thoroughly amused grin over Kaci Lea's head before sucking in an exaggerated breath.  "Oh, right, uh . . . It's right there, on the tip of my tongue . . ."

"Christian—Chris . . ." Kaci Lea murmured without raising her chin.

Valerie smiled.  "That's right!  Christian!" she allowed.  "He's a cutie.  His hair—" She suddenly turned toward Evan.  "Is that his real hair color?"

Evan blinked then chuckled.  It wasn't entirely surprising that Valerie had asked since Christian, like Martin, was a wind-youkai, and because of that heritage, their hair was a strange mix of earth-tone browns with an almost bluish hint of sun streaks through it.  Quite striking, really, given the pale blue-green of their eyes, too.  "I think so," he allowed with a shrug.

Valerie stared at him for another long moment, like she was trying to decide whether or not he was teasing her, but she nodded finally, turning that smile back on her sister.

Kaci Lea made a face and scrunched up her shoulders.  "I don't know that he'd be interested in me," she replied, her voice heavy with doubt.

"If he's got eyes, he'd be interested," Evan countered, slipping an arm around Valerie and sparing a moment to kiss her cheek.  "Just no running off to smooch or Garret's liable to blow an ass-gasket."

"All right, Zelig.  Stop hogging my daughter," Jack grouched, interrupting Kaci Lea's argument before she could begin.  He tried to look stern despite the smile on his face as Rhonda pushed his wheelchair toward the couple.  He'd sat in it after taking the trek to walk Valerie down the aisle.

Valerie leaned down  to kiss her father's cheek.  "Are you feeling all right?" she asked, frowning slightly at the pallor in Jack's face.

"I could have sworn I'd told you already: stop fussing over me and worry about this reception of yours, little girl."

She smiled, but the worry that lingered in her aura didn't dissipate.  True enough, Jack might not sense it since Valerie was doing her level best to hide it.  Evan, however, was entirely too attuned to the woman not to sense it very easily.

"I know I've already said it," Rhonda went on, her own smile, trembling and precarious, at best, as she leaned forward to give her daughter a careful hug, "but you look absolutely beautiful!"

Evan intercepted the very serious stare Jack was leveling at him and nodded once.

"Do _better_ by her than I ever did," Jack murmured just loudly enough for Evan to hear him.

Evan didn't smile, but it was a near thing.  "Absolutely," he agreed without missing a beat.  "You have my word."

"No," Jack said, shaking his head slowly, the expression on his face deadly serious despite the heightened brightness in his gaze.  "You . . . You've got my daughter, so don't you ever forget it."

 

- ** _Gunnar_** -

 

"You're going to miss him."

Madison blinked and started out of her reverie, leaning back far enough to look her dance partner in the eye.  Gunnar Inutaisho wasn't looking at her, though.  Staring past her at the happy couple, he had a slight scowl on his face—a thoughtful scowl.  "Who?  Evan?"  She laughed.  "They won't be gone on their honeymoon that long."

Gunnar's gaze shifted from Evan and Valerie to Madison.  "That's not what I meant," he said in a tone that indicated that she should have known as much already.  "Everything is going to change.  That's all."

Letting out a long exhalation, Madison suddenly broke into a wry smile.  "You mean that I can't sleep with him anymore," she concluded logically.  "You know, that ended a long time ago—right after he met her, actually."

Gunnar chuckled.  "Is that so?"

Madison nodded.  "We all have to grow up sometime, don't we?"

She was right, he supposed.  That was one of the things he'd always respected about Madison Cartham.  She knew the score, and she was resilient enough to go with it.  "Somehow, I highly doubt that marriage is really going to force that one to grow up," he remarked dryly.

"True, but it should at least be worth a few laughs, watching him muddle through it."

He chuckled again, his amusement adding a certain brightness to his bright amber eyes.

"Speaking of 'muddling through'," she said, her tone taking on a very pronounced wryness.  "Your date looks a little out of her element, don't you think?"

Following the direction of Madison's gaze, Gunnar wasn't surprised when he spotted Stephanie Lufstead standing off to the side, but what did surprise him was that she seemed to be deep in conversation with his mother and father, and, while Gunnar didn't think that Stephanie was exactly 'out of her element', he could sense even from the distance that she seemed rather ambivalent about the entire situation.  "She's fine," Gunnar allowed, dismissing it as though it were really of no concern.

Madison made a little sound low in her throat—almost a 'hm' noise, but not quite.  "She doesn't seem like your type, Gunnar," she remarked at length.  "Granted, I don't know you as well as some, but she seems a little more . . . free spirited than the ladies you normally date."

"She is," he agreed rather philosophically.  "Anyway, Steph and I have an understanding," Gunnar said.

That earned him a very direct stare.  "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

He chuckled and very deliberately turned so that Madison was faced away from the woman in question.  "Close enough."

 

- ** _Morio_** -

 

"Do you want to do it all over again?"

Meara Izayoi raised an eyebrow at her mate, Morio.  "What do you mean?" she asked, smiling sweetly as he shuffled his feet, moving her slowly around in a circle.

He shrugged and shot her a goofy, lopsided grin.  "You know.  The whole wedding thing.  I mean, we didn't have a real one, so I thought maybe you'd want to have another . . ."

She wrinkled her nose, gray eyes igniting in an amused light.  "Ach, mon, dinna be daft," she replied, her native brogue drawing an even wider grin from Morio.   Then she cleared her throat despite the hint of pink that tinted her cheeks.  "Our wedding was just as real as anyone's.  Besides . . ."

He sighed as her smile faltered, as her gaze skittered away.  He knew what she was thinking, or rather, who she was thinking of, and he hated that his stupid question had hurt Meara.  Still, he willed himself to smile once more, and he pulled her a little closer.  "I was just thinking that it'd be pretty damn awesome to have another wedding night."

Meara leaned back, lifting her eyes to meet his again, but her smile returned as she rolled her eyes.  "I should have known . . ."

His chuckle was soft, husky.  "Can't blame a dog for trying, now can you?"

Meara's answer was a round of helpless laughter, and that, in Morio's estimation, was the ultimate payout.

 

- ** _Mikio_** -

 

"I can't believe that he managed to get married before you."

Mikio Izayoi blinked, hand dropping away from his twitching ear as he turned to face his nephew, Bas.  "Oh, I don't know about that," he muttered, shuffling his feet in the grass.  "I mean, it's not like I have anyone in . . . in mind . . ."

Bas grunted, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Evan lean in to whisper something into his new bride's ear.  "Fifty bucks says the little miscreant's trying to talk Valerie into sneaking away from the reception."

That drew a smile from Mikio as he mimicked Bas' stance and pivoted to watch the couple, too.  "I never take a bet that I know I won't win."

Slowly, Bas shook his head as Evan took Valerie's hand and tried to hurry away from the dancers.  "I suppose I ought to go stop him," he mused thoughtfully.

"You're not going to?" Mikio prodded when Bas made no move to intervene.

He shrugged.  "Well, Dad's over there, so I suppose he can have the honors."

Even as he spoke, Cain stepped into Evan's escape path and pulled Valerie's hand out of Evan's with a smile.  Mikio chuckled as the North American tai-youkai paused to say something to the groom before pulling the bride back toward the dance floor.  "Nicely done, Cain-nii-san," Mikio murmured.

"And Evan looks fit to be tied, doesn't he?" Bas added.  "Definitely a plus, if you ask me."

Mikio nodded sagely.  "Are you sure he wasn't adopted?"

"Well, I definitely remember Mom getting big and round when she was pregnant," Bas drawled thoughtfully.  "But it wasn't like I was in there when she had him."

"So you're saying it's possible that there was some weird mix-up at the hospital?"

Scratching his chin, Bas nodded slowly.  "It would explain a helluva lot."

"Isn't there a rule about not badmouthing the groom by the best man on his wedding day?"

Bas chuckled and glanced down at his wife as she made her way toward them.  "No, I don't think there is," he replied with an unrepentant grin.

Sydnie uttered a sound from deep in her throat as she smoothed the pale pink sundress that she'd chosen for the occasion.  "Well, there should be."

"Sorry, sorry," Bas said without sounding sorry in the least.  "Want to dance, kitty?"

Sydnie made a face and shot her mate a sidelong glance.  "I don't think so."

"Because I was talking about Evan?"

Rolling her eyes, she stubbornly shook her head.  "Because you look nothing like my husband," she countered.

"That's totally not my fault!  It's . . . It's _his!_ " Bas protested, waving a hand toward Evan, who had dragged Kagura Inutaisho out to dance.

He was saved from Sydnie's retort, though, when Olivia, with Takara in tow, ran over to them.  "Mama!  Mama!"

"Oh, what are you two up to?" she asked, hunkering down to fuss with Olivia's dress.  Takara raised her hands and hopped around Mikio's feet until he picked her up.

"We want cake," Olivia said in a stage whisper, leaning to the side to peer up at her father.

"It's not quite time for that yet, Livvy," Bas said, bending at the knees to kneel before his daughter as he held out his hands.  "You want to dance with Daddy?"

To Mikio's undisguised amusement, the tiny girl quickly shook her head and ducked behind Sydnie once more.  "Not my daddy!"

"Aww," Sydnie crooned, hugging her daughter and shooting Bas a very narrow-eyed glare.

Bas heaved a sigh and shook his head.  "Yet another reason to hate that little shit," he muttered, giving up as he pushed himself back to his feet once more.

"Nii-tan, dance!" Takara said, bouncing up and down in Mikio's arms to emphasize her request.

Mikio made a face.  "Sorry, Takara-chan.  Nii-tan can't dance . . ."

"Then it's a good thing that Onii-tama's here!" Ryomaru Izayoi said, scooping his youngest sister neatly out of Mikio's arms.

Bas snorted.  "Pfft!  Onii-tama, my ass," he muttered.

Ryomaru grinned unabashedly at Bas, sparing a moment to plant a very loud, very obnoxious kiss on Takara's cheek before swaggering away to dance with her.

 

- ** _Kichiro_** -

 

"Do you want to go sit down for a bit?" Kichiro Izayoi asked, leaning away to peer down at Gin's face.  "You look a little tired."

Gin smiled up at her brother and shook her head.  "I feel fine," she assured him.  "You're almost as bad as Cain."

"Keh!  And that was a rotten thing to say to your favorite brother," he pointed out.

She giggled.  "Then we're even."

"Hmm . . . Speaking of Zelig, have you told him?"

She paused mid-step and shot Kichiro a guilty glance before resuming the dance once more.  "There hasn't been a lot of time," she hedged.

Golden eyes glowing in the late afternoon sunshine, he stared at Gin for several seconds.  "Don't you want to tell him?"

She made a face.  "It's not that I don't want to tell him," she said slowly, thoughtfully.  "It's just that he's already so worried, you know?"

Kichiro considered that for a moment then nodded.  "And you don't think he might be just a little irritated if you don't tell him beforehand?"

Gin shot her brother a petulant glance.  "Since when do you take his side, nii-chan?"

Kichiro snorted as he continued to slowly spin his sister around the dance floor.  "It's not about taking sides," he corrected gently.  "But you have a terrible habit of trying not to say or do things that you think might cause more trouble.  You'd think that you'd have learned that by now, wouldn't you?"

Heaving a sigh when her ears flattened, Kichiro relented.  "Anyway, just tell him soon, okay?"

"O-Okay," she agreed.

"All right.  You've danced with her long enough.  Go find my daughter, why don't you?"

Gin smiled and waited while Kichiro rolled his eyes but stepped back and offered Gin a slight bow before turning to look for his mate as Cain stepped in to dance with Gin.

He couldn't help the soft little chuckle that escaped when he spotted Bellaniece not far away, dancing with their son-in-law, Griffin.  The poor bear youkai looked like he would rather be anywhere than where he was at the moment, however.  True to form, Bellaniece leaned in, said something to Griffin that resulted in a very noticeable flush, and Kichiro slowly shook his head as he stepped forward to save him.

"Mind if I cut in?" Kichiro said, stopping beside the pair as he dug his hands deep into his pockets.

Griffin tried not to look completely relieved—tried, but failed.  "Oh, uh, sure."

Bellaniece rose up on tiptoe to kiss the huge man's cheek.  "Thank you for humoring your mother-in-law," she demurred as he stepped back to allow Kichiro to take his place.

"I-It's fine."

Kichiro chuckled as he watched Griffin lumber off, as he slipped his arms around his wife.  "What did you say to him?" he asked, arching an eyebrow as he pinned Bellaniece with a knowing look.

She blinked, casting Kichiro an overly-innocent gaze.  "I only asked how he was doing since his last surgery," she commented.  "Why?  Did you think I'd intentionally embarrass him?"

"Considering you think it's cute when he blushes?  Yeah, I think I do . . ."

Pursing her lips as she let her head fall to the side in an exaggerated show of deep thought, Bellaniece gave an offhanded shrug.  "Well, I might have asked him when he and Isabelle were planning on starting a family of their own . . ."

Kichiro tried to look stern, but he couldn't help the soft laughter that he couldn't contain, either.  "That's my Belle-chan."

She giggled, her scent wrapping around Kichiro with the comfort and familiarity that both exhilarated as well as humbled him.  "I'll be your Belle-chan," she nearly purred, raising her face, her lips hovering just out of range.

"Sex and wildflowers," he murmured.

She leaned up, nipped at his bottom lip.  "Whenever, wherever, lover."

Kichiro could only groan.

 

- ** _Kagome_** -

 

"Yasha-jiji looks . . . uh . . . _pretty_ . . ."

Kagome laughed as Toga leaned down to kiss her cheek before turning her attention back to the hanyou, hunkered down on the ground under the shade of a very large white ash tree.  The summer breeze gently lifted his long, silvery hair, tossing errant strands to the wind.  He had his eyes closed, as though he were meditating.  Kagome knew better, mostly because there was simply no way that the two little girls darting around him would allow that.

"Hmm, he does, doesn't he?" she agreed, her smile widening as their youngest child, Takara ran to her father with her arms loaded with a riot of flowers, pilfered, doubtless, from Gin's massive gardens.  She dropped the blooms beside InuYasha before selecting the perfect one to slip into the hanyou's hair while Olivia did the same.

Toga slipped into the empty chair beside his aunt and chuckled.  "It's been awhile since I've had to endure that kind of thing," he admitted, his voice taking on a slightly rueful lilt.  After all, the youngest of his daughters had moved out of the family home a long while ago.

"If you're trying to say that you didn't enjoy playing with your daughters, I won't believe you," she chided gently.

Toga chuckled.  "Not at all . . . Some days, I miss being . . . pretty."

She laughed at his outrageous claim and leaned over to pat his hand.  "Come over any time.  I'm sure Takara would love to make you pretty, too."

Toga sighed and slowly shook his head, casting Kagome a rather serious look—very uncharacteristic from this nephew of hers.  He tended to be laid back most of the time, despite the daunting title of tai-youkai of Japan that he carried with ease.  She raised her eyebrows in silent question.

"Sierra wants to go back to college," he remarked at length, his gaze unconsciously scanning the crowd until he located his wife where she stood, chatting with Nezumi.  "Says her journalism skills could use a refresher course."

"And you don't want her to do that?" Kagome questioned since it didn't really seem like something that would put that kind of expression on Toga's usually cheerful face.

He shrugged offhandedly.  "It's not that," he assured her with a careless flick of his wrist.  "It's more that we'd also been talking about . . . you know . . . maybe having another pup . . ."

"Oh . . .!"

"Yeah."  He sighed again.

Kagome nodded slowly, tucking an errant strand of pitch black hair behind her ear as she considered Toga's admission.  "I take it you're more excited about the idea of having another baby than her going back to college?"

Screwing up his face in an expression that reminded Kagome of the little boy she'd first met all those years ago, Toga leaned to the side, resting his chin on a raised fist as he stared at Kagome for several long moments.  "I want her to do whatever would make her happiest," he replied.  "I mean, she could go back to school.  We'd just have to wait for the baby."

"And whose idea was the baby?"

Toga's gaze darkened considerably.  "Hers."  Then he made a face, sitting up straight in the chair once more.  "I don't know.  Maybe it's just because kaa-san's been talking about having another one, too, that Sierra thought about it.  But you know, it's not entirely fair for her to bring it up if she didn't want me to get excited about the idea."

Pressing her lips together to keep from laughing outright at the entirely pouty way that Toga had made the last statement, Kagome coughed delicately before responding.  "It'll work out, Toga.  Things usually do.  You'll see."

Toga heaved a longsuffering sigh, but he finally did break into a smile.  "It's your fault, you know.  Ever since you had Takara, okaa-san's been dropping little hints.  Tou-san blames Yasha-jiji . . ."  Then he laughed.  "Of course, when does tou-san _not_ blame Yasha-jiji for everything?"

"Those two . . . You'd have thought they'd be over all that by now, those two . . ." Kagome snorted, uttering a sound that almost sounded like her mate's usual response to things like that.  "So your parents haven't made up their minds yet?"

Toga's face took on a pensive sort of look, his eyebrows drawing together thoughtfully, lips pursing, slipping to the side as he pondered Kagome's question.  "They haven't officially said anything to us, no, but she cancelled their annual trip to Hawaii, if that means anything.  I mean, if they have decided to go for it, kaa-san would be too far into it to fly by then."

Kagome nodded slowly.  "Is that right . . .?"

Holding up a finger in front of his lips, Toga gave a curt shake of his head.  "You didn't hear anything from me, though."

Kagome couldn't help the happy giggle that bubbled out, but she clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes shining merrily as she leaned toward Toga.  "Don't worry.  My lips are sealed!"

 

- ** _Sesshoumaru_** -

 

"I'm surprised at you, Zelig ."

Cain blinked and glance at Sesshoumaru before shifting his attention back to the dance floor, or more exactly, at his wife being whirled around by the groom.  "Why's that?"

"You don't think she looks a bit tired?"

The slight scowl that surfaced on Cain's features didn't really surprise Sesshoumaru, all things considered.  "Even if I did think so, she'd disagree."  Sparing a moment to cast Sesshoumaru a calculating look, Cain shrugged.  "Shouldn't you be more worried about your mate?"

Sesshoumaru broke into a very wan smile.  "Kagura is just fine," he maintained.

Cain snorted.  "Congratulations, by the way."

Sesshoumaru's vague smile didn't falter.  "Thank you.  I trust that you'll keep this between us, though.  We've yet to mention it to Toga or the girls."

"Pfft.  They're hardly stupid," he stated flatly.  "My best bet is that they already know."

"More than likely.  Even so, Kagura has planned a special dinner so that we can tell them all together once we get home."

"Keh!  I thought there was some sort of law against you spreading your spawn all over creation," InuYasha grouched as he stomped over to stand beside Cain.  "And if there ain't, there damn well ought to be."

"If there's not one against you, spreading your baka-gene, then there wouldn't be one against me.  I dare say at least my offspring use their brains for more than how to get out of trouble for their deviant behavior," Sesshoumaru retorted smoothly.

"It's been a while since I've broken out Tetsusaiga," InuYasha growled.  "Be happy to do it."

"Anytime, anywhere, ignorant half-breed."

"Well, that degenerated quickly enough," Cain muttered, taking the opportunity to step away from the brothers.

InuYasha grunted.  "I still hate him," he stated.

Sesshoumaru shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest.  "Why _do_ you hate him?  Aside from your general penchant to be otherwise unpleasant, that is?"

That earned him as dark a scowl as InuYasha could muster.  "He's a bastard," InuYasha retorted.  "Kinda like you."

"Can't you two ever quit fighting?"

Sesshoumaru inclined his head as Rin and Shippou stepped up beside them.  "That would be a miracle," Shippou remarked, idly scratching his chin as he regarded the legendary Brothers of the Fang.  "Besides, life would be boring if they did, don't you think?"

She tapped Shippou in the middle of his chest with the back of her hand to shut him up before he became the target for the feuding siblings.

"Then again, I don't think that they're happy unless they're fighting, Rin," he said, ignoring her subtle warning.  "Kind of like _dogs_ that way . . ."

"Shut up, Shippou," InuYasha growled.

"I remember back in the old days," Shippou went on.  "It's a miracle they never succeeded in killing each other.  I mean, to be completely unbiased, Sesshoumaru did hand InuYasha his ass a time or— _Ow!_ "

Rin rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh as InuYasha balled up his fist and smacked Shippou upside the head.

"No, he didn't," InuYasha insisted, glaring at Shippou like he was just getting warmed up.

Sesshoumaru watched the escalating disagreement with a heavy dose of disgust that manifested itself in an even more bored than usual stare.

"Dance with me," Rin said, slipping her hand into his as she spared another moment to cast her mate a disgusted look that he completely missed since he was busy, backing away from InuYasha.

Sesshoumaru said nothing as he allowed his daughter to lead him toward the dance floor.  After all, what needed to be said when the whole thing was pretty well par-for-course in the family, anyway?

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

"He's a little too close, don't you think?"

Valerie pressed her lips together in an effort not to smile as she watched Garret scowl across the dance area.  She didn't have to ask to know exactly who her brother was talking about, either.  "They're fine," Valerie stated instead after sparing a glance over at Kaci Lea and her current partner, Christian Billings.

Garret snorted indelicately.  "They are not!" he insisted, tightening his grip on Valerie's hand.  She winced then wiggled her fingers to remind him that he needed to loosen up.  "He's got his hand on her ass!"

"It's her waist, Garret," Valerie corrected as her smile finally leaked out.  "Now stop acting like an overprotective brother."

"I'm not an overprotective anything," Garret retorted hotly, taking a moment to pin Valerie with a chagrined glance before seeking out the dancing teens once more.  "That's it.  I’m going to cut in."

Catching his hand and pulling him back before he had a chance to make good on his threat, Valerie rolled her eyes but laughed.  "You'll do no such thing, Garret," she chided.  "Humiliate her like that, and she'll never talk to you again."

"How would that be humiliating?" he shot back with a loud snort.  "He's a damn poser!  She'll thank me for it later."

"No, she won't," Valerie insisted, grabbing Garret's arm when he abruptly tried to walk away.  "It's my wedding reception.  Don't you _dare_ ruin it by starting a fight with Christian Billings."

It was almost comical, just how torn Garret looked.  On the one hand, he didn't want to just let it slide on principle, Valerie supposed.  On the other?  Well, he certainly didn't want to be the reason why Valerie would be upset at her own wedding reception, either.  It didn't leave him with much of a choice, and he'd figured that out, too, judging from the look on his face, anyway.

"Come on," she said, taking his hand and dragging him away from the dance floor as she scanned the crowd for her new husband.  Cain had warned him to stay away from Valerie if he couldn't control his desire to ditch the wedding reception, and surprisingly, Evan had complied.  Of course, he'd managed to steal the stage from the string quartet that had been hired to provide the music for the day, but only for a couple songs, and surprisingly, he hadn't played anything raunchy—yet, anyway.

Still, Valerie felt like getting things moving along.  As much as she was enjoying herself, she had to admit that maybe, just maybe, she'd had enough excitement for one day.

"Where are we going?" Garret asked though he didn't try to pull away.

Valerie just smiled at him and let go of his hand.  Satisfied that he wouldn’t run right back to cause a scene, she paused long enough to kiss him on the cheek before moving off to find Evan once more.

It took her a little longer than it might have otherwise since she couldn't get far without being stopped to accept congratulations and well wishes.  When she finally found Evan, though, she stopped, her smile brightening as she paused to watch while the man in question danced around with Olivia in one arm, Takara in the other, and Tanny hanging down his back, her thin arms locked around his neck.  Somewhere along the line, he'd lost the jacket for his tux, and the sleeves of the pristine white shirt were rolled up casually.   All in all, she figured it was one of the cutest things she'd ever seen, and now that she'd found him, she was loathe to interrupt him, too.  Evan with children . . . it seemed so natural, didn't it . . .?

The song ended, though, and Evan gave each of the girls a sound kiss on the cheek before setting them back on their feet once more.  Then he stood back and watched as they ran off together, a sweet cloud of high pitched giggles and lace and taffeta and slightly scuffed Mary Janes.   As though he sensed her presence, and maybe he had, he turned to face her.  He wasn't smiling, but he didn't have to.  The brightness in his gaze was enough, and he stuffed his hands deep into his pockets as he started toward her.

"Fancy meeting a hottie like you here," he teased, finally letting the smile that had heightened his gaze slip down to encompass the rest of his face.  "Are you having a good time, baby?"

Valerie laughed and let him draw her into his arms.  "I'd be having a better time if you weren't trying to avoid me," she teased.  "Have you danced with every woman here but me?"

He chuckled.  "I danced with you," he replied.  "Besides, all I've wanted to do was to drag you the hell out of here, so I figured that I'd do better to stay away from you—at least, till you're ready to blow this popsicle stand . . . Are you?"

Leaning up to kiss him, Valerie sighed.  What she meant to be a quick peck apparently didn't coincide with Evan's ultimate plan as he captured and commanded the kiss, as he pulled her a little closer, as he breathed with her.  The gentleness behind his every movement drew the sting of tears to her eyes, and Valerie felt it: the overwhelming sense that there was nothing else in the world that would ever compare to that moment, that insular second.  No matter how fleeting, how capricious life

could be, right in that place, in that time, she knew— _knew_ —that there were no such things as regrets when it came to Evan Zelig, because the promise that she felt might well be unspoken, but it was as clear to her as anything ever had been or could be.

"Damn it," Evan complained, turning his head to the side, breaking the kiss and the magic of that moment.  "I knew we should have eloped."

She collapsed against him for a few seconds, gathering the composure that he'd managed to obliterate with a simple kiss.  It took another few seconds to find her voice again, and, with a deep breath, she leaned away to smile up at him.  "What do you say we wrap things up then?"

He blinked.  "Sounds interesting.  What do you have in mind?"

She gave a shrug, but her smile didn't wane.  "Come on," she said, taking his hand and leading the way toward the stage.

He helped her climb the stairs after she'd retrieved the real bouquet.  The silk replica keepsake one that exactly matched was already tucked away in the closet back home.  He saw it, and, with a nod, he stepped over to stop the musicians before reaching for the microphone.  He must have figured out what her ultimate plan was, because he chuckled softly, waiting to get everyone's attention before speaking.  "Sorry to interrupt," he said, his grin widening as he took her hand again.  "My new wife is ready to drag me out of here so she can have her way with me, but before we take off . . . Single ladies?"

"You're such a dog," Valerie mumbled, rolling her eyes despite the smile that still lingered on her face.  "Why are you such a dog?"

"Dunno, baby," he quipped.  "Why were you in my bushes?"

She snorted, but the sternness that she was going for was completely destroyed when she laughed.  "You are not allowed to ask me that today," she pointed out.

He smacked an obnoxiously loud kiss on her cheek and grinned unrepentantly.  Then he turned his attention back to the females that had gathered near the stage.  "Okay, V.  This is your part of the show.  Just do your brother a favor and aim away from K, will you?"

Valerie laughed and paused long enough to glance at the girls.  Kaci Lea aside, there really weren't many, but most especially, there was definitely one missing . . .

"Madison Cartham, you're supposed to be over here!" Valerie proclaimed, leaning over and bending down to speak into the microphone that Evan was still holding.  "Where is she?"

It took a moment to spot the conspicuously missing maid of honor, and when Valerie finally did, she bit her lip to keep from giggling.  Madison was sitting at a far table, deep in conversation with Mikio Izayoi and seemingly hadn't heard what was going on.

"Oh, she's there . . . Mikio, drag her over here, will you?" Evan added.

Madison turned and looked at the couple, and even from the distance, Valerie could tell that she sighed.  But she stood up and said something to Mikio before casually moving forward through the maze of tables.

"Don't aim for me," Madison teasingly called out as she stopped beside Chastity and Charity Inutaisho, much to the amusement of the listening crowd.  Bugs shouldered his way over to stand on Madison's other side, waving his hands, motioning at himself in a wild ploy to get Valerie to toss the bouquet to him.

Satisfied that everyone who should be there had stepped forward, Valerie winked at Madison and turned around.  Then she tossed the bouquet over her head as hard as she could.

"Wow," Evan laughed, shaking his head as the one woman who hadn't wanted to catch the bouquet ended up with it in her hands.

Valerie turned around and lifted a hand to flutter at her lips with a soft laugh when she spotted Madison, shaking her head as she stared at the bouquet she'd caught anyway.  "So what do you think?" she asked Evan.

Evan shrugged.  "Not too sure that'll happen," he remarked.  Then he chuckled.  "Eh, you never know.  Maybe she's got some guy on the backburner that we don't know about."

Something about the way Madison was talking with Mikio, though, and the memory of Madison's expression when Valerie had asked her about their time alone on the beach last night, though . . . But then, maybe Madison was right.  Maybe she was reading too much into it since she was, as Madison had so eloquently put it, so disgustingly in love with Evan that it was making her see things that weren't really there, after all . . .

"Come on, guys," Evan called.  "Now I get to do the fun part."

"Flipping a garter belt is fun?" she countered.

His cheesy grin widened.  "Baby, removing any kind of clothing from your sexy-assed body is fun."

She heaved a sigh.  "I should have known."

Poor Mikio was literally dragged over to the area by Morio, who ended up standing behind him since Mikio kept trying to back away.  Christian Billings wandered over, prompting Garret to join in, too, if only to keep that particular guy from catching the garter belt.  Most of the men, Valerie didn't actually know, and that was fine, too.  Even Bailey and Daniel were pushed into the crowd, much to Valerie's amusement.  The only bachelor that Valerie knew of who didn't step forward was Gunnar, but even not knowing him well, she wasn't surprised that he'd refrain from such a display.

Propping her foot up on a nearby amplifier, Valerie hiked up her dress amid catcalls and whistles, many of which came from her new husband.  Then he leaned down, grasping the garter belt in his teeth and tugging it down her leg.

Fighting back a pretty flush, Valerie laughed as Evan finally gave up, using his hands to finish slipping the belt off.  "What do you think?" he asked with a wink as he hooked the belt over his fingertip and pulled it taut with his free hand.

"You're not supposed to aim for anyone in particular," she reminded him.

Evan chuckled, clearly aiming for his uncle, Mikio, who was still trying to back away from the assembly of bachelors.  Valerie rolled her eyes but laughed, giving his arm a quick nudge upward when he released the garter belt.  "V!" he protested between bouts of laughter.

It flew in a high arch, well past the intended gathering, off to the left—toward a few men who were standing on the outskirts of the crowd, deeply involved in conversation.  "Uh . . . Oh, my," Valerie murmured as the garter belt fell directly into the open hand of one Gunnar Inutaisho, who had said-hand held out, as though he were trying to make some specific point.  The hush over the crowd slowly gave way to amused chuckles as people started to realize just who had actually caught the garter belt.  Gunnar seemed to stare at the keepsake for a moment before trying to hand it off.  All of the guys around him, however, were already married, so he wasn't having much luck.

"I couldn't have done that again if I tried," Evan quipped, looking inordinately pleased with himself over the entire situation.

Valerie giggled.  "He really looks offended, doesn't he?"

"Damn straight.  Anyway, should we just do a generic thank you and sneak out of here?"

She considered it for a moment then nodded.  "As much as I loved everything today, I think . . . I think I'd rather be alone with my husband now."

He considered what she said for a minute, breaking into a slow grin that spread over his features in isolated moments.  The lopsided, almost shy brilliance of his smile, the brightening of his deep blue eyes like a million stars dancing over the evening ocean waves—everything . . . "Me, too, baby," he said, his voice tinged with a husky quality, an understated emotion.  "Me, too . . ."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Taija_** _: Youkai exterminator.  Sango was often called this.  Sami calls Kurt this regularly since she did not find out his name for a good while in her story_.  
>  **_Onii-tama_** _: This is the way Takara addresses Ryomaru, and we can only assume that he was having some weird visions of grandeur when he decided that this was a fitting way to address him.  LOL_!  
>  **_Ani-tan_** _: This is the way Takara addresses Kichiro_.  
>  **_Nii-tan_** _: This is the way Takara addresses Mikio_.  
>  **_Jiji_** _: This is what Toga would call his uncle, InuYasha.  Basically, he's calling him an old man lol_.  
>  **_Kaa-san_** _: Mom_.  
>  **_Tou-san_** _: Dad_.
> 
>  
> 
> ' ** _Summer_** **_of_** **_'69_** ' _by_ _Bryan_ _Adams_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1984_ _release_ , **_Reckless_**.  _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Bryan_ _Adams_ _and_ _Jim_ _Vallance_.
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Can_ _we_ _get_ _on_ _with_ _the_ _sex_ _yet…_?


	228. 227: Subterfuge

~~ ** _Chapter Two_** **_Hundred Twenty-Seven_** ~~

~ ** _Subterfuge_** ~

 

 

- ** _OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_** -

 

' _Satisfied but lost in love_ …  
' _Situations change_ …  
' _You're never who you used to think you are_ …  
' _How strange_ …?'

 

-' _Pretending_ ' by Eric Clapton.

 

 

- ** _Evan_** -

 

 

Unbuttoning his shirt as he wandered slowly around the bedroom, Evan had to admit that the quiet of the house was a welcome thing.  He didn't bother to take it off completely, just let it hang open as he turned down the lights to an ambient glow.  Now, on the other side of the wedding rush, he had to admit that, if he had to do it all over again, he seriously might have tried harder to talk Valerie into eloping.  But she was happy, and really, that was all that mattered.

Stepping past the suitcases that were arrange by the door, ready to grab and go tomorrow after the wedding pictures were shot, Evan shuffled over to the window, absently rubbing the top of his head.

Somehow, he thought that he should feel at least a little different, all things considered.  He didn't.  There was only an overwhelming sense of contentment, but then, maybe it had yet to truly sink in, the idea that Valerie really had chosen him, that she had married him, that she . . . that she would be with him forever . . .

They'd even done the blood transfusion already, almost a week ago, just before many of the guests started to arrive.  Evan had to be talked into that since he'd wanted to wait to do any of it until after the wedding—wanted everything done exactly right.  But Kichiro, who had arrived just before that since he'd had to fly over to check on a young youkai girl in Chicago who needed a skin graft to repair some damage from burn scars she'd received when the car that her parents had wrecked caught fire, had told him that it was better to do it sooner than later.  Not that he was superstitious, but still, if something happened to Valerie, wouldn't it be better to be safe rather than sorry?

So Evan had agreed while Valerie, true to form, had asked him if that was his way of trying to back out of getting married.  She hadn't been too pleased with the whole process as it was explained to her, not that Evan could blame her.  The idea of letting them drain away over half of her blood was a daunting prospect, at best, but in the end, she'd been a real trooper.

The soft click of the bathroom door behind him registered in his mind though he didn't turn to look.  He was so attuned to her that he didn't have to look.  The scent of dampness, of her skin, of her soaps and shampoos, the underlying smell of her nearly made him groan, and the effect was instant and damn near painful.

"Do you want to take a shower?" Valerie asked, oblivious to the inadvertent discomfort he was already feeling.  "I still have no idea where you're taking me, but they'd better have state-of-the-art showers in the hotel . . ."

He chuckled and turned away from the window, leaning back, crossing his feet as he stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep himself from reaching for her immediately.  He wasn't sure if she did it just to make matters worse or not, but the towel she had wrapped around herself just didn't do a damn thing to cover her from his perusal.  "I assure you, V, nothing but the best."

She made a face, leaning her head to the side as she squeezed the length of her hair with another thick towel.  "You could give me a hint, at least."

Shaking his head, he offered her a little shrug.  "Patience.  You'll love it, I promise," he said.  "You know, I feel kind of bad, kicking your family out for the night . . ."

She laughed as she shook out the damp towel and carefully hung it over the wire-backed chair in front of her dressing table.  "Are you kidding?  You put them up in the nicest hotel in the area," she scoffed.  "They'll probably go back there and order room service all night—and bill it to you, of course."  Stopping suddenly, she straightened up, her expression taking on a very thoughtful scowl.  "But I married you, which means that they'd technically be spending _my_ money on room service, wouldn't it?"

He grinned.  "That's my girl: always thinking about the bottom line."

Pausing as she ran her fingers through the length of her hair, she smiled.  "Well, I guess it _is_ for a good cause, after all . . ." Then she sighed, wrinkling her nose as she resumed her ministrations.  "Then again, I guess you could call and tell them to come on back."

Evan raised an eyebrow.  "Oh?  Why's that?"

"I just . . . You just . . ." Shaking her head, she looked entirely exasperated, and she pinned Evan with a no-nonsense look, indicating that, whatever was bothering her, was most certainly his fault, indeed.  Taking a deep breath, she crossed her arms over her chest and flicked him yet another 'how could you' look.  "I really wish you hadn't cut your hair off," she finally said.

It wasn't exactly what Evan was expecting, but maybe he should have.  But how the hell was he supposed to have known that she'd object that heartily to it?  "I'm still me," he told her.

That didn't seem to reassure her, and he grimaced inwardly when her shoulders slumped just a little.  "I know," she replied, her expression growing more disgruntled by the second, but whether she was more irritated with herself or with him, he couldn't rightfully say.  "I know that!  It's just . . . I happen to like your long hair, Roka, and you just seem . . . _different_ —I don't know, maybe less approachable?  And I . . . I don't like that feeling . . ."

"But I'm not different," he insisted reasonably.  "I'm the same guy you met that night."

"Day," she corrected almost absently, stepping over to pour herself a glass of champagne.  Evan wasn't sure who did it, but someone had come by the house before they got there and had put a few things out, like the champagne and a very nice array of cheeses and crackers and soft breads.

' _That's right, Roka.  She doesn't remember that night_ ,' his youkai-voice remarked.

That gave him pause.  He'd actually forgotten . . . "No, it was night," he said slowly, thoughtfully.

Spinning on her heel, she stared at him over the rim of the champagne flute, casually sipping the drink as she pondered his claim.  "It was day," she finally argued, lowering the glass, idly swirling the champagne, watching as the bubbles rose and misted.

He chuckled again, pushing himself away from the window frame as he wandered toward Valerie and gently took the flute from her hand. "It was night," he stated once more, setting the glass aside as he pulled her close, as he folded his arms around her, and in the quiet of the room, he danced with her, and he sang.

 

.

"' _The still of the night brings you to me_ ,

"' _The whisper of angels and a promise to be_ . . .

"' _If I traveled the world to find a woman like you_ ,

"' _I'd keep searching time over if you just asked me to_ . . .'"

 

.

 

She leaned away to look up at him, her eyes darkened with silent questions, and then her soft gasp resounded in the quiet.  "That was . . . That was . . . you . . .? That party . . .? I thought I'd imagined you or something.  I thought . . ."

He couldn't help the laugh that escaped him as he pulled her even closer into a warm hug.  "I made that song up on the spot, you know.  I knew that night that you were my mate.  I just didn't know how to find you.  You should be sorry, V.  We could have been happy like this for a hell of a lot longer if you hadn't run away that night."

"I can't believe that was you!" she blurted, completely ignoring the last part of Evan's claim.  "I can't believe—" Cutting herself off abruptly, she narrowed her eyes on him.  "Just how long have you known that it was me that night?"

"For awhile.  I figured it out on the mini-tour."

She snorted and slapped his shoulder.  "And you didn't think to tell me?"

He grinned and drew her back against his chest once more.  "As if you'd have listened to me back then," he scoffed.  "Too busy thinking that you actually were going to marry Murvis . . ."

"You realize, I'm not going to marry him anymore, so you really could start using his real name," she prodded.

He grunted.  "Keh!  Mignish will do nicely, thanks."

"Mig—That's not even a proper name!" she countered.  The sternness of her tone was undermined entirely, though, when she giggled.  "I love you," she said, slipping her arms around his neck as she smiled up at him.  "I still don't know why, but I do."

"That's easy," he quipped.  "It's 'cause I'm hung like a damn—Well, I was going to say horse, but that's Bubby.  I'm hung like a dog!"

She sighed, sinking her fingers into his hair and giving a slight tug.  He could tell that it had already grown back out quite a bit, but it wasn't nearly as long as it would be come morning, either.

"I think it's time I claimed my mate," he said, letting all traces of amusement fall away.

"Is it?" she asked, her tone taking on a bemused sort of huskiness as she stared at his lips.

"Definitely," he replied, leaning down, nuzzling her neck, inhaling the scent of her.

She exhaled softly, her body collapsing against his.  "Make love to me, Evan," she murmured.

He groaned.  "I can't."

She froze for a few moments before pushing against him until he let his arms drop.  Crossing her arms over her chest, she raised an eyebrow in silent challenge.  "What do you mean, you can't?"

He grinned.  "I'm a dog-youkai," he told her.

She nodded rather impatiently.  "So you've said."

"Which means, I can't make love to you.  'Making love' doesn't work, you know.  I have to _fuck_ you—like a dog.  Get it?"

Valerie's mouth fell open in dumbfounded shock, and she shook her head.  "What?"

Evan nodded quickly.  "Yep.  In order for the whole thing to work, it has to be done the _natural_ way—the _dog_ kind of way."

She stared at him for another long moment, as though she were trying to make up her mind.  Then she snorted.  Loudly.  "My ass," she countered, her chin lowering as her gaze took on an even more dubious glint.

"Honest to God!" he insisted.  "Everyone knows that!"

She stared at him for another long moment before striding out of the bedroom.

' _Where the hell did you come up with that line of bullshit?_ '

Evan's grin widened.  ' _Aww, c'mon!  Did you see the look on her face?_ '

' _Yeah, and if we end up not getting any tonight?  That'd be your fault, dumbass_.'

A moment later, Valerie stalked back into the room with her phone plastered to the side of her head.  "Hi, Maddy?  Yes, everything's fine  . . . Well, Evan said something, and I wanted to know if he's telling the truth or just blowing out his ass . . ." She narrowed her eyes at Evan as the latter broke into a coughing, chortling fit.  "He says that in order for us to really become mates, we have to do it, you know, doggy style."

The chortling escalated to wheezing when those magnificent hazel eyes narrowed dangerously.  "I thought so.  Thanks, Maddy.  Bye bye."

Dropping her phone onto the table, she crossed her arms over her chest and did her best lawyer-during-cross-examination-pivot on her heel.  "You're such a damn liar," she accused.

Evan fell back on the bed, clutching his stomach as the force of his amusement took over.  "Aww, I figured she'd go with it," he managed to say between bouts of laughter.  "Damn, damn, damn . . ."

Grabbing a small pillow off the easy chair near the table, Valerie tossed it at Evan, which only made him laugh harder.  In fact, it took a good five minutes for his amusement to subside enough that he could push himself up on his elbows and breathe again.  "Sorry, V," he finally said.  Too bad he didn't sound sorry, at all.  "I couldn't help myself!"

Valerie rolled her eyes and yanked the belt of her bathrobe tight.  She'd put it on while Evan was deep in the throes of laughter.  "A _huge_ jerk," she grumbled as she crossed her arms over her chest and leveled a thoroughly exasperated, if not somewhat amused, look at him.  " _And_ you completely ruined the mood, just so you know."

His response was a shit-eating grin.  "You'd have said the same thing if you were me," he insisted.

She wrinkled her nose, tucking a long strand of still-damp hair behind her ear, as though she were opting to ignore him for the duration.

"Aw, c'mon, baby," he coaxed, flopping back on the bed once more.

"I don't know why I bother," she remarked with a shake of her head.  But she shuffled over after retrieving a bottle of moisturizer and sat rather primly on the edge of the bed.  Bending a knee so that her leg peeked out of the front of her robe, she pumped a few squirts of the cream into her hands and briskly rubbed them together before smoothing it onto her skin.  "Oh yeah, I meant to ask you what your mom said to you right before we left?"

That got his attention, and he sat up straight, snapping his fingers as the conversation flashed to life.  The only real excuse he had for forgetting to tell Valerie about it sooner was because of the anticipation of their wedding night.  "Damn, I can't believe I forgot to tell you!"

She shot him a cursory glance as she reloaded her hands.  "What?"

His grin widened, but this time, it was a normal expression.  "Would you believe it if I told you that Mama's having twins?"

She stopped, mid-rub, as her head snapped to the side to stare at him, mouth agape, eyes widening.  "Are you serious?"

He nodded.  "Guess she just told Cain about it at the reception . . . I wondered why he suddenly started hovering over her again."

Valerie rolled her eyes and laughed.  "I would hardly call it 'hovering', and I think your parents are absolutely adorable, for the record."

Evan made a series of fake retching noises, but stopped when Valerie shot him a playful narrowing-of-the-eyes.  "I just hope he has enough sense to not drive her insane for the rest of the pregnancy.  Cain's got a bad habit of being overbearing when she's pregnant, anyway—or so I've been told."

"He's just worried about her, and that's normal."

Evan rolled off the bed and strode over to fill two champagne glasses before returning.  "Well, his first wife died in childbirth," he said with a shrug as he handed a glass to Valerie.  "It was, um, pretty traumatic, I guess.  He was there when she died.  He . . . He had to cut Bella out of her stomach—there was a hurricane, see—and it was really hard for him to take, and that's why . . ." Holding out his hands in an apologetic sort of way, Evan shrugged.  "Anyway, that's why he kind of freaks out over Mama."

"I didn't know that," Valerie said softly.  "Well, I knew that your oldest sister isn't your mom's but . . ." She trailed off with a wince as she pondered Evan's statement.  "That's terrible."

"I don't know about terrible," Evan replied philosophically.  "Okay, yeah, it's kind of a horror story, but I mean, if she hadn't died—maybe not that traumatically, but if she'd lived—then would he have even met Mama?"  Draining half of his glass, he leaned against the thick pillows, levering off his shoes, one at a time, and letting them thump onto the floor.  "She wasn't his mate," he finally said.  "His first wife, that is."

"But he married her?"

Evan shrugged.  "Lust can be a powerful thing," he told her.  "Mama said that he told her that he just didn't get it at the time, that he didn't realize that he wasn't in love with her—at least, not in the right way.  Cain's parents died when he was still a pup, so he was raised by Sesshoumaru, and I venture to say that you've realized by now that my uncle isn't exactly what you could call a 'people person'.  He didn't really explain stuff like that to Cain, anyway."

Valerie digested that in silence for a long moment as she set the bottle of moisturizer aside on the nightstand.  "That might be, but I have no doubt whatsoever that your dad is great, twins or no twins."

He opened his mouth to gainsay her, just out of general habit.  A million memories flashed through his head, though, and he smiled: memories of Cain, wandering along the forest paths as Evan ran on ahead, jabbering a million miles a second, of his father, dropping everything to stretch out on the floor to play cars with him . . . All those things that he hadn't thought much of over the years flooding back to him once more.  "Yeah," he allowed, "I guess he is."

"Wait, did you honestly just say that Cain's a good dad?"

"I did," he admitted with a smile.  "Of course, I'll deny it if you ever tell him I said so."

She drew up her legs, turned to face Evan.  "You'll be a great dad, too."

For a moment, Evan thought that maybe his ears had stopped working.  He wasn't entirely sure that he had actually heard her correctly.  It almost sounded as though . . . ' _But_ . . .'

"I, uh . . . I thought you didn't want pups," he said, struggling to sound more nonchalant than he thought he did.

Drawing a deep breath, Valerie scrunched up her shoulders, and, while the expression on her face was pensive, there was something beneath that, too—a certain cautious hope—at least, if Evan wasn't reading more into it than there was, simply because he wanted it to be so.  "I didn't," she admitted slowly, staring at the glass of champagne she still held.  She turned and set it aside, but her gaze fell to her now-empty hands and stayed there.  "I thought that having a career meant that I couldn't have children, and even then, what do I know about being a mom?  I mean, what if I suck at it, right?  And it wouldn't be fair to screw up kids like that, either . . . but you're so good with them . . . and even if I do suck at it, you . . ." Finally, her gaze lifted to lock with his as a nervous kind of smile lit her eyes.  "You're so good with kids.  Maybe you could help me?"

For one dizzying moment, Evan couldn't breathe.  He couldn't think, he couldn't speak, he couldn't do a damn thing but stare at her.  She was biting her lower lip, her smile still trembling, like she was worried about what he was going to say.  Sure, he understood her reasons.  He'd heard them before, and with as screwed up as her childhood had been, he could absolutely relate, even if he hadn't liked it, even if he had wished that she thought differently, and here she was . . . "Do . . . you . . .?" He grimaced.  "V, if you're saying you want to have pups, then that's awesome, but only if it's really something you want, and not just something you think I do."

She considered that for a moment, her smile widening just a little.  "Alone, never," she said, "and it's not like I ever thought that Marvin's research wasn't important, but he . . ." She made a face.  "It would have been like having a child alone.  With you, it'd be different, better.  You'd be there to help me.  I mean, I know you're busy a lot, but—"

Evan reached over, grasped Valerie's hands in his.  "Baby, you're thinking about this whole thing wrong."

"I am?"

He nodded.  "Yeah, your childhood was messed up, and okay, so you spent a lot of time feeling lost and lonely, but that's okay, you know?  Because you know from personal experience what not to ever do to your own pups."

His words surprised her, but as she considered what he'd said, she smiled.  "Is it that simple?"

He shrugged.  "It could be," he said.  "Then again, I could be full of shit, too . . ."

She snorted.  "Gee, thanks, Roka."

With a chuckle, he leaned forward, let his forehead fall against hers.  "It's okay, baby," he assured her.  "There's no hurry, anyway.  We've got a long, long time to figure things out."

She reached up, rested her hand on his cheek, her fingertips idly touching him.  "We do," she allowed, and then she smiled.  "It's as easy for you as just, what?  Deciding you want to have a baby?"

He nodded.  "Yeah, that's what they tell me."

"Just like that?  Are you sure?"

"Well, it's not like I've tried it out before or anything, but yes, that's the general principle."

She looked like she wasn't entirely sure she believed him, so he crossed his index finger over his heart then held up his hand like he was taking an oath.  "If I'm lyin', I'm dyin'."

She pondered that for a minute.  Evan sat up and tugged off his shirt, tossing it toward the small chair on the other side of his nightstand.  "Okay," she said suddenly.

Evan blinked and shot her a quizzical glance over his shoulder.  "Okay?" he echoed.

She nodded.  "Let's do it," she clarified.  "Let's make a baby."

"V?"

She nodded again, this time with far more urgency.  "Yes, I mean it."

". . . You're serious."

Letting out a deep breath, she rolled her eyes in a decidedly over exaggerated way.  "Yes, Roka, I'm serious!  A cute little girl that looks like you and acts like . . . _not_ you . . . or a cute little boy that looks like you and acts . . . well, not like you, either . . ."

"Oh, I dunno . . . Might be kind of funny if we had a girl who acted like me."

"Bite your tongue, Evan," she scolded, sounding properly horrified.

He chuckled.  "Bad idea?"

She just nodded once.  "Very."

"You sure about this?"

With a grimace, she shook her head.  "No, I'm not," she admitted.  "But I . . . I _want_ to be.  I want to have your baby."

Evan stood up and strode the length of the bedroom and back again.  Sure, he wanted to have a pup with her, and most of him wanted nothing more than to go do the deed before she could possibly change  her mind.  But part of him also had to wonder, had to worry, that this was all coming out of the blue.  "It's a huge decision, V," he finally said.  "Are you . . .? I mean, we can't undo this later . . ."

"I know," she said softly.  "I . . . I want to."

"Seriously?  This is great!  I never—" Cutting himself off abruptly, Evan pivoted on his heel and crossed his arms over his chest.  "But we really do have to do it doggy-style."

Valerie stared at him, unblinking, for a few seconds.  "Not that again, Roka," she scoffed.

Evan shook his head, waving his hands in front of his chest in a vain effort to stave off her arguments.  "No, really," he insisted, striding over to grab her phone off the table.  "I'm not kidding!  This is totally different!  This is about making a pup!"

"No, Evan!  Babies shouldn't be . . . be bred like some animals," she argued.  "They should be conceived out of love."

"Well, they still would be," he argued.  "I mean, strictly speaking?  Fucking you like a dog would be pretty damn awesome, if you ask me . . ."

She made a face.  "I want to _look_ at you.  I want to hold you.  I want to feel like it's the beautiful act it's supposed to be.  That's how you conceive a child."

He opened and closed his mouth a few times before breaking into a wolfish grin.  "We have mirrors?"

She snorted, letting him know just what she thought in no uncertain terms.

"All right; all right," he relented, handing over her phone.  "If you don't believe me . . ."

She picked up her phone when he dropped it onto her lap.  "What?  You think I should call Madison again?  No way!  She probably thinks she owes you for the last time," she pointed out.  "She'd go along with it because she'd think it's funny.  She's just as twisted as you sometimes."

Evan chuckled.  "All right, then, if you really don't want to have that baby . . ."

"You're _so_ lying!" she countered.  "There's no way you're telling me the truth about this."

"I'm not lying, not this time," he insisted.  "Don't believe me?  Call anyone!  Go ahead!"

' _We're going to hell for this_ . . .'

' _Yeah, but it'll be totally worth the trip . . .!_ '

He honestly didn't think that she was buying it.  Of course she wasn't.  Valerie wasn't stupid, after all.  So he was caught off guard when she dialed a number and turned on the speakerphone so Evan could hear it, too.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Bas.  It's Valerie."

' _Bubby?  Aw, crap.  I was hoping to at least get her to believe it for a few minutes, anyway_ . . .'

' _We're going to die_.'

' _Yeah, probably_.'

Bas paused for a moment before answering.  "You're not already regretting getting married to Evan, are you?"

Narrowing her eyes on Evan, she shrugged, not that Bas could see it.  "No—not yet, anyway.  But I do have a question."

"Okay."

She sighed, her cheeks pinking slightly as she drew in a deep breath, as she gathered her resolve to actually ask him.  "Evan says that if we wanted to have a baby, that we'd have to do it . . . umm . . . doggy-style."

Bas choked out a terse laugh.  "He said—?" Then he coughed.  "Oh, uh, yeah.  Yeah, that's, uh, true."

"Oh, my God!" Evan exclaimed before he could stop himself.  "Oh, my God, oh, my God, _oh-my-God!_   I fucking love my bubby!"

This time, Bas heaved a sigh.  "Evan, you're an idiot," Bas grumbled.  "Try to help you out, and you totally ruin it."  A moment later, the connection went dead, and Evan sank to his knees as laughter overtook him once more.

Valerie uttered a sound suspiciously like a growl and threw her phone at him.  It hit him in the middle of his chest and fell harmlessly to the carpeted floor.  "You're such a doofus!" she said, raising her voice to be heard over his obnoxiously loud laughter.  "I can't believe I nearly fell for it—again!"

Evan crawled over to the bed, unable to get to his feet since he was still in the midst of his amusement.  "Sor—ry," he gasped out, wiping tears from his eyes since they were rolling down his cheeks.  "Hot damn, I love Bas!"

After a moment, Valerie giggled despite herself.  "Idiot," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

He collapsed against the bed, draping his arms over his raised knees, letting his head fall back against the side of the mattress.  "I couldn't help it," he said.

Grasping a handful of hair and giving it a good tug, Valerie sighed, though the smile on her face had yet to fade.  "So all that stuff about having to do it like a dog—That was all your idea of joking, right?"

Evan chuckled again then sighed.  "Yeah, it was," he admitted.

"Good."

He caught her hand and tugged her knuckles to press against his lips.  "I love you, V."

She shivered slightly as the warmth of his kiss shot straight to her brain.  "I love you, too, Evan.  You . . ." She scooted so that she could stretch out on her stomach, sideways across the bed, resting her cheek on his shoulder as he continued to caress her knuckles.  "I don't know how, but you became my best friend."

"Well, that was accidental," he assured her.  "I just wanted to get in your panties."

"You have the worst habit of ruining the mood," she told him again.

"It's a gift."

She rolled her eyes and kissed him on the cheek.  "Anyway, I was thinking, you know, before the wedding."

"Keh!  You weren't considering running back to that little wiener, were you?"

"No," she stated flatly.

"Okay, then sure, what were you thinking before the wedding?"

"I was thinking about how different my life would have been if I hadn't met you; how . . . how sad and lonely.  I think . . ." She trailed off, drawing a deep, fortifying breath before continuing.  "I think that I taught myself how to hide everything that I hated about myself.  I thought that I did such a great job in covering it all up.  But you . . ." she smiled, closing her eyes as she rubbed her cheek against his.  "You saw through all that, didn't you?"

"We were both pretty good at that shit," he admitted with a shrug.  "I tell you what."

"What?"

He turned his head, kissed her cheek.  "I promise I'll never give you a reason to do that again."

She scooted forward, shifted her body so that she could press her lips against his.  "And I won't give you a reason to, either," she whispered.

Evan groaned softly as the warmth, the sweetness of Valerie's mouth wrapped around his senses, dulled everything but the moment, everything but the culmination of a lifetime of subterfuge.  Whether it was his or hers, he didn't know, and honestly, it didn't matter.  Step by step, they'd broken through it all, and they'd done it together, and the only thing left was a lifetime: one that they would spend together, and that lifetime would start now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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>  ** _A/N_** :
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> ' ** _Pretending'_** _by_ _Eric_ _Clapton_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _1989_ _release_ , **_Journeyman_**.  _Copyrighted_ _to_ _Jerry_ _Lynn_ _Williams_.
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> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :
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> _Now for the 'happily ever after' shit …_


	229. Epilogue: Happily Ever After ...?

~~ ** _Epilogue_** ~~  
~ ** _Happily Ever After …?_** ~

 

 

- ** _OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_** -

 

' _Now how many lovers would stay_ …  
' _Just to put up with this shit day after day_ …  
' _Now how did we wind up this way_...  
' _Watching our mouths for the words that we say_ …  
' _As long as we stand here waiting_ …  
' _Wearing the clothes or the soles that we choose_ …  
' _Now how do we get there today_ …  
' _When we're walking too far for the price of our shoes_ …'

 

-' _Absolutely_ ( _The_ _Story_ _of_ _a_ _Girl_ )'  by Nine Days.

 

 

-*-

 

~~ ** _Twelve_** **_Years_** **_Later_** ~~  
~ _March_ _2086_ ~

 

-*-

 

- ** _Valerie_** -

 

Valerie stepped into the house with a blast of frigid air, though the snow was holding off for the duration.  A moment later, a huge whoop rattled through her as the people gathered in the living room erupted in cheers.

"Mommy!"

Breaking into a smile, Valerie laid her coat over the back of a small chair beside the table near the front door and hunkered down to catch nearly-six-year-old Cailien as he charged out of the living room.  Silvery hair flying out behind him, he laughed as Valerie caught him in a warm hug before kissing his round little cheek soundly and sparing a moment to tweak the cute little triangle-shaped ears atop his head.  "Hi, baby."

Cailien wiggled and pushed against his mother's shoulders.  "Did you buy me something?"

Heaving a sigh despite the smile on her face, Valerie shook her head.  She should have known when she told Evan she was going to skip part of his Super Bowl party in favor of going shopping.  Cailien, ever the opportunist, hopped around in his excitement.

"Okay," she said, handing him two bags from Rafferty's Toys.  "One's for Rourke, so make sure you give it to him!"  She had to raise her voice as she spoke since Cailien grabbed the bags and took off again.

Shaking her head, Valerie slowly pushed herself to her feet, making a face as she braced the small of her back and stretched.  Then she grabbed the envelope that stuck out of her purse and headed for the living room.

The twins already had the boxes of Lego—Power Puppies special editions—torn open and the pieces dumped out on the floor, and Valerie smiled.  "Not even a thank you?  Rourke?  Cailien?"

"Thanks," the two muttered in distracted unison without looking up from their task.

Valerie hadn't actually expected more than that, anyway.  After all, Mom wasn't nearly as cool as the Lego, right?

"Welcome home, Valerie!" Gin greeted without taking her eyes off the television.

"Hey, baby!  Spend a lot?"

Valerie pursed her lips and shook her head again since her mate hadn't bothered to look away from the television, either.

"Hi," Cain said.

"Hey, Valerie.  _That was pass interference, you damn moron!_ " Bas bellowed.

"Who's winning?" eleven-year-old Jackson asked as he strode into the living room just ahead of his uncles, Hayden and Connor.

"The Patriots are down by three with two minutes to go," Bailey rattled off.

"Sweet," Jackson remarked, breaking into a grin that reminded Valerie a little too much of the boy's father.

"I thought you were a Patriot fan," Bas said.

Daniel, who was sitting beside Bailey, grunted.  "He's running a betting pool at school.  If the Patriots lose, he'll clean up."

Bas snorted.  "Great.  My nephew's a hustler."

Daniel and Bailey exchanged looks then grinned.

"Mom, did you pick up more apple juice?" the hustler asked.

"No, I forgot," Valerie said, ruffling Jack's hair in passing.

Jack cast his mother a long-suffering look.  "That's okay," he assured her.  "Guess I'll just have a beer, then.  C'mon, guys!"

"You will not," she called after him.

Bailey's cell phone chimed, and he read the message before leaning back to look past Daniel at his father.  "Mom says that they're just about done at the salon and that she hopes the game will be over by the time she gets here."  It didn't surprise Valerie that Sydnie had opted out of the day's festivities since she hated everything 'football' with a passion.  Instead, she'd volunteered to host a girls' day out for Olivia and the third of Gin and Cain's triplets, Daniella.  She was a complete surprise at the time.  Gin had found out that she was carrying twins right before Evan and Valerie's wedding, but they hadn't realized that Daniella was in there, too, hiding behind her brothers until her dramatic entrance.

"Oh, tell her to pick up more beer!" Evan said.

"Evan . . ."

"And some pretzels," he added.

"Kill him!  _Kill him!_   Don't let him run away with the football!" Gin screamed.  " _Ba-a-a-aka!_ "

Valerie cleared her throat.  "Evan."

"And apple juice!" Jack called from the kitchen.

"And apple juice," Evan reiterated.

"Evan!"

He blinked and glanced at Valerie, breaking into a wide grin as he held out a hand to her.  "You bellowed, my baby?"

She ignored his gesture, dropping the envelope onto the table and planting her hands on her hips as she pinned Evan with the most formidable glower she could muster.  He raised his eyebrows at the look.  "Why do I get the feeling I'm in trouble?"

"Because you tend to get into a lot of it?" Cain suggested dryly.

"He kind of does," Bailey mused with a sage shake of his head.

"All the time," Daniel added.

"If you're talking about the other day when we accidentally caught that rug on fire, that wasn't my fault.  It was the twins," Evan said.

Bas grunted.  "It's a miracle your homeowner's insurance hasn't cancelled you yet."

Evan chuckled.  "It was just a rug, so I didn't have to report it."

"Fire trucks are cool!" Cailien hollered.

Valerie tapped her foot impatiently.  "Ev- _an!_ "

"Have I told you that you look beautiful today, baby?" Evan asked, smiling in an overly innocent sort of way.

Her gaze narrowed a little more.  "Don't you 'baby' me, Roka," she muttered.

"Oh, the game's back on!" Bas said.

"I love you?"

She snorted and grabbed the remote off the coffee table when she caught Evan, leaning slightly to the side to glance past her at the television.  "Yeah, that really isn't going to work, either," she grumbled, hitting the 'mute' button, much to the collective displeasure of their guests.

It did the trick, though.  Settling back in his chair, Evan finally gave her his full attention.  "How was shopping?"

"I lied about the shopping," she said.  "I mean, I did go after the fact, but I went to go see Isabelle."

"Isabelle?  Why?" Evan asked, his smile finally disappearing at the mention of his cousin—Valerie's OB/GYN.

"Does the TV work in your truck, Dad?" Bas asked Cain, glancing from Valerie to Evan and back again, and then deciding that, whatever was coming, he didn't necessarily want to hear it.

"Of course it does," Cain remarked, placing his hands on the arms of the chair to haul himself to his feet.

"Oh, no, you all need to stay," Valerie insisted in a tone that left no room for argument.

Bas and Cain exchanged looks but remained silent as they settled back in their seats once more.

Evan was scowling.  "You went to see Bitty?  Everything's okay, right?  Why didn't you tell me?  I would have gone with you."

She sighed and rubbed her face.  "Fine, Evan, everything's _fine._   Just refresh my memory, will you?"

He didn't look like he bought into her whole 'fine' statement, but he also didn't look like he was willing to argue with her, either.  "Refresh your memory about what?"

She peeked at him from between her fingers that she still had smashed over her face.  "When you were trying to talk me into having another baby, Roka.  What did you say?"

Evan shifted his eyes from side to side, as though he were looking for someone to help him.  Too bad Cain and Bas both looked like they were willing to stay as far away from the current conversation as they possibly could.  "Well, I . . . uh . . ."

"I believe your exact words were, "We've already got three.  What's one more, right?"

Cain whistled low.  "You said that, Evan?  That was . . ."

". . . Really stupid," Bas muttered.

"Thanks, Bubby."

"No problem."

Evan winced.  "I just meant that we're kind of old hat at this now, don't you think?"

Valerie's hands dropped to her sides as she regarded her mate with a probing stare.  Then she sighed, stomping over and grabbing Evan's hand.  Pressing it with her own hand on the right side of her belly, she shook her head.  "One."  She moved their hands to the left side.  "Two."  And she moved them to the center.  "Three."

Dead silence.  Absolute dead silence.

It took Evan a moment to grasp what Valerie was trying to say, and when he still didn't speak, she swiped up the envelope and tossed it at him.

As he pulled out the ultrasound pictures, he slowly broke into a wide grin.  "Hot damn!  I'm the fucking man!  Three of 'em!  _Three of 'em!_   I put three of 'em in there!"

"Oh  . . my God," Bas muttered, reaching for the remote to unmute the game.

"That's so fantastic!" Gin exclaimed as she hopped up to hug her daughter-in-law.  "Congratulations!"

"Thanks," Valerie said with a weary sigh.

Evan stood up to wrap his arms around her.  "Triplets!  That's awesome!"

She snorted.  "You're totally cancelling your tour this summer," she pointed out.  One baby, she could handle.  Even two would be something she was used to.  Three?  She groaned inwardly.

"Whatever you want, baby!"

She sighed yet again, but she finally broke into a smile.  Sure, she could handle another baby.  That wasn't even the issue, but triplets?  Triplets?

Even still . . .

It would be worth it, of course—entirely worth it, and it wasn't the idea of having triplets that frightened her.  No, it was the anticipation of just how much more trouble Evan and his spawn could get into that did it . . . Good thing that said-spawn were cuter than sin.

Or maybe that was a bad thing; Valerie still didn't know.

' _One thing's for sure_ ,' she thought wanly as Evan sat back down and pulled her into his lap.  ' _Life hasn't been boring since the day I married him_ . . .'

And with those triplets to add to their family?

She could only hope that they were a little less hyper than Jack or the twins.

And she hoped they'd be girls . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _July 16, 2015  
_ _4:15 AM_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _It's the future.  I pushed back the Super Bowl.  LOL_. 
> 
>  _You can download this story in full in a variety of formats from Archive of Our Own.  Just click on the "Entire Work" tab (and it will take a while for the full story to load, so don't worry if it seems like it's laggy or slow.)  Then click on the "Download" button on the far right and select your format.  (And since I've never PDF-ed Chronicles, Torrent, or Metamorphosis, you might want to grab those off there, too!)  Wish MediaMiner would do that_! 
> 
> ' ** _Absolutely_** **_(The_** **_Story_** **_of_** **_a_** **_Girl)_** ' _by_ _Nine_ _Days_ _originally_ _appeared_ _on_ _the_ _2000_ _release_ , **_The Maddening_** **_Crowd_**.  _Copyrighted_ _to_ _John_ _Hampson_ .
> 
> == == == == == == == == == == ==
> 
>  **Dear Readers** : 
> 
> February 18, 2008. 
> 
> It's hard for me to believe that it's been just over seven years since I posted the first chapter of this story.  If someone had told me then that it would take this long; that I would have so much go on in those years, I might have thought that they were full of it.  I never set out to write something this long.  That'd be crazy, and yet, I can't say that I am unhappy with the end result, either.  I feel that I said what I wanted to say; I felt that the story unfolded just as I thought it would.  I hope you enjoyed the journey as much as I did,  
> 
> I did something the other day that I don't often do: I read through the reviews for this story to get a better sense of you all, and of me.  It's so funny because I feel like a totally different person now, which is perfectly normal  Life is about change and growth.  That's what I've learned.  I mentioned a couple chapters ago that my father died earlier this year—a few hours before his eightieth birthday, actually.  I just wanted to say thank you for your kind words.  They truly mean the world to me. 
> 
> And for once, I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do from here  It'd be easy to say that I should just move into Purity 10, but this story … I will miss it.  Maybe because it's taken me so long to complete?  I don't know, but I feel the end of this story more acutely than the others.  So I do encourage you all to log into my forum and weigh in on what you might like to see next.  I can't guarantee that I'll pick up whatever is suggested, but maybe. 
> 
> Mostly, however, I just wanted to say, 'thank you'.  Thank you for not giving up on me.  Thank you for continuing to read.  Thank for your taking a moment to send me a kind word via review or email.  And to those who never did so, thank you anyway.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I write for me, but I post for you! 
> 
> **_== == == == == == == == == ==_ **
> 
> **_Reviewers_ **
> 
> **_==========_ **
> 
> **_MMorg  
>  _** Usagiseren05 ——— sutlesarcasm
> 
> **_==========_ **
> 
> **_Forum  
>  _** lovethedogs
> 
> **_==========_ **
> 
> **_Final_** **_Thought_** **_from_** **_Evan_** :  
>  _Hot_ _diggity_ _damn_!

**Author's Note:**

>  _Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in_ **_Subterfuge_** _): I do not claim any rights to_ **_InuYasha_** _or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize_.
> 
>  
> 
> ~ _Sue_ ~


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